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If that quality keeps Shesh Yak watchable across its 80-minute running time, this play, directed here by Bruce McCarty, otherwise spends so much time being even-handed that it becomes more educational than enlightening (to say nothing of entertaining). That's understandable to some degree, as central to its plot are matters of Syrian history and politics that may not be common knowledge to many theatregoers, but it's not by itself sufficient to satisfactorily fill out even a brief evening such as this one. The two sides of the question are represented by Jameel (Zarif Kabier), a 35-year-old man who came to the U.S. from Syria as a teen, and the 50-year-old Haytham (Nakli himself), who won a green card lottery later in life. After recently meeting in Washington, D.C., the two reunite in New York when Haytham arrives to stay at Jameel's apartment to prepare for a rally and a televised panel discussion in which he's participating. But as their getting-to-know-you chat proceeds, it takes a dark turn that lets you know, in no certain terms, that neither man is exactly who he claims to be. To reveal much more would be to spoil the plot, but let's just say that one acts on the information he receives from the discussion and things quickly devolve into brutality that intentionally echoes treatment Americans have received at terrorists' hands in the Middle East. As a playwright, Nakli cleverly explores just how far learned and inborn attitudes (primarily hate) can stretch, and he devises a few genuinely harrowing moments that can't help but strike a real nerve: Can these actions truly be justified, you may wonder one moment, only to understand a few minutes later that perhaps they must be. That's not without value, and Nakli deserves credit for his sincere attempts at democratization. Nakli fills his action with violent acts and even more blood-curdling stories depicting the horrors of the Syria in the early 1980s and the slightly more recent past (the play is set in early 2011), but the back-and-forth between the two men feels dusty and focus-grouped, determined to make as many of its points as possible without offending anyone. This makes their discussion oddly staid and uninvolving, even when the parts of it that border on (or cross the border of) torture are front and center. (McCarty has staged these as juicily as he can, but there's not much he can do.) Jameel and Haytham seem to suffer more because Nakli wants them to than because the story dictates they have to. Likewise, they approach their reconciliation at the only convenient time—as soon as they've both had their say—rather than because either has been convinced of anything world-changing. The reasoning is slightly more complex than "he's just like me," but not much; there's no question that the sun will figuratively rise on the beginning of a new day for disagreeing Syrians, just what it will take to get these two to realize it. So after the opening scene, the only time when there's still mystery, Kabier and Nakli don't have much to play that's dramatically vivid. Kabier does noticeably better at showing us both sides of Jameel's soul: the fiery Syrian boy who's never forgotten the times he's been wronged, and the calm-and-cool American adult who knows too well how to deal with his betrayals, and the friction between those two personalities is the most interesting conflict onstage. Nakli needs more of that; you don't quite believe Haytham is as tormented by his past as he really needs to be, and that makes his eventual evolution harder to accept. At the end, then, we're left with not much more understanding of the men or the internecine Syrian conflict than we had at the beginning. Shesh Yak's title, drawn from references to the dice in backgammon, becomes especially apt: one die showing a six, the other showing a one, with too many options and too little strategy on hand. There's likely a good game and clarion insights to be found among the scattered pieces, but most of the time you'd prefer if someone just shook up the board.
Shesh Yak
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