Theatre in Review: Food and Fadwa (Noor Theatre/New York Theatre Workshop)

	Lameece Issaq and Jaaz Sleiman. Photo: Joan Marcus.

In what may be its most daring aesthetic gambit yet, New York Theatre Workshop -- a company that puts a premium on experimentation -- is presenting a thoroughly conventional, naturalistic domestic comedy-drama. The innovation is in the subject matter: Food and Fadwa is about a Palestinian family living in Bethlehem. Developed by Noor Theatre, which is dedicated to presenting the work of artists of Middle Eastern descent, this new play by Lameece Issaq (who also stars) and Jacob Kader is a close-up look at life in a stateless state, a place where the conflict between tradition and modernity plays out in the smallest details of daily life.

Fadwa is a Palestinian woman in her 30s living at home with her sister, Dalal, a schoolteacher, and Baba, her father, a once-prominent olive farmer now slipping into dementia. Big changes are imminent; Dalal is getting married and moving to New York to enter graduate school. Her fiancé, Emir, will work in a restaurant owned by Hayat, Fadwa and Dalal's American cousin. Emir's brother, Youssif, has already built a successful career in New York working for Hayat.

When everyone gets together for the wedding, many buried emotional complications rise to the surface. Fadwa and Youssif, once romantically linked, have unfinished business between them, but Youssif is now involved with Hayat. Fadwa already resents Hayat, who has become something of a culinary star in the US -- Oprah Magazine has featured her in a story titled "Ethnic Authentics We Love and Admire;" adding fuel to the fire, Hayat has a plan to take Baba back to America for advanced treatment. This tangle of emotions becomes increasingly uncomfortable when a curfew is arbitrarily imposed, leaving most of the characters stranded in the house for ten days.

Dispensing with polemics, the playwrights aim instead at exploring the texture of life in one of the world's most politically fraught corners, depicting middle-class Palestinians seeking everyday happiness in a world of checkpoints, curfews, and unexpected violence. (The characters appear to be Christians; this is not a comment on Islamic culture.) Working away in her kitchen making dishes for Dalal's wedding, Fadwa clings to tradition in a world where everything is seemingly up for grabs. Both Baba's farm and the restaurant belonging to Yussif and Emir's father were razed by the Israeli army, events that undermined the existences of both families, driving them to seek new lives elsewhere. In the play's most mordant sequence, Emir, using plates of food, explains why Jerusalem, only 15 miles away, can't be reached in less than five hours. Scattering the dinner table with food and shredded napkins, he lays out the political landscape of the West Bank, a hodgepodge of zones set up under various schemes -- some are run by the Palestinian Authority; others are under Palestinian control, but with Israeli security; still others are under Israeli control -- which can prove impossible to cross. One especially touching scene features Youssif describing to the uncomprehending Baba the pleasures of attending an American baseball game. The rules are arcane, he notes, but the feeling of freedom gotten by sitting in the open stadium can't be beat.

In their treatment of family and romantic issues, the authors are similarly neutral. They set up a comic dichotomy between Fadwa, who excels at making traditional Middle Eastern dishes -- in her rich fantasy life, she is the star of her own television cooking show -- and Hayat, who has made herself into a celebrity by peddling her "fusion" version of the same cuisine. ("How about fusing your lips together," snaps the exasperated Fadwa in response to one of her cousin's helpful kitchen hints.) At the same time, Hayat, whose American arrogance stands out in this crowd, is a goodhearted figure who only wants to help her family, and there is ample evidence that Fadwa, by being a dutiful daughter, has allowed Youssif to slip through her fingers.

In fact, if there's any complaint to be made about the play, it's that it could use a little less food and a little more Fadwa. The authors indulge in a few too many scenes depicting her imaginary cooking show, a device that becomes increasingly strained once we understand that she acts them out in front of other people. The authors admirably refuse to sentimentalize Fadwa and her predicament, but it would be interesting to know what choices she may or may not have if she loses Yussif and Baba -- Might she make a career? Is marriage an option for someone her age? We never quite find out.

Still, under Shanna Gold's sure-handed direction, a skilled cast creates a world that most of us know very little about. If Issaq the author hasn't totally fleshed out the character of Fadwa, Issaq the actress makes her into a warmly likable presence, believably the center of her family's life and just as believably beset by blind spots about her own character. Arian Moyaed -- the best-known member of the cast, thanks to his strong work in Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo last season -- is affable and amusing as Emir, making the West Bank aria mentioned earlier into one of the play's most memorable set pieces. Haaz Sleiman's attractive, sympathetic Youssif is a good man torn between past and present and yet pragmatic enough to know that it is time to move on. Heather Raffo finds a hundred different ways -- including her posture and carriage and her blunt approach to each line -- to signal that Hayat comes from a very different world, where self-assurance is the norm.

Adding to the atmosphere is Andromache Chalfant's large-scale set, which depicts two rooms and part of the exterior of the family's white stone house. Gabriel Berry's costumes draw subtle distinctions between Hayat's wardrobe and the outfits belonging to Fadwa and Dalal. Japhy Weidman' lighting combines naturalistic time-of-day looks with more stylized approaches suitable for Fadwa's fantasies. Jane Shaw's sound design places the rattle of machine guns just outside the family's house, and also provides reinforcement for the original music by her, Amir ElSaffar, and George Ziadeh.

It all adds up to an evening that touches on current political realities without obviously taking sides. Food and Fadwa offers a snapshot of contemporary life in a country overrun by politics, filling in the details that don't make their way into the newspaper. Without announcing its intentions or advancing an agenda, it provides a much-needed counterpoint to a popular culture that typically portrays Middle Easterners as religious fanatics or human bombshells. Given the political climate surrounding the Middle East, the quotidian nature of its plot and characters may be the most radical thing about it. --David Barbour