“We Live in Cairo” at New York Theatre Workshop” (Photo: Joan Marcus)
The dramatic events of the Arab spring that unfolded in Egypt starting in the winter of 2011 are given a personal, musical spin in We Live In Cairo at New York Theatre Workshop. The real life events were compelling and remain so when staged with music. The interpersonal dramas that dominate the musical, not so much.
The story concerns Layla (Nadina Hassan), a young Muslim woman dating a young Christian man, Amir (Ali Louis Bourzgui), during what feels like the eternal rule of Egypt’s Hosni Mubarak, but will turn out to be his last year in power. Apolitical Layla is uncomfortable around Amir’s revolutionary-inclined artist friends, especially Fadwa (Rotana Tarabzouni), who has just been released from solitary confinement for political activity.
Layla’s slow politicization is fast-tracked by the cruelty of the police state. Layla, Amir, and Fadwa, along with Amir’s brother and songwriting partner Hany (Michael Khalid Karadsheh), the group’s graffiti artiste Karim (John El-Jor), and Karim’s new friend, apprentice, and possible love-interest, Hassan (Drew Elhamalawy), head to Tahrir Square, with a million others, to protest.
Eventually, the protests are successful (spoiler alert!), bringing down Mubarak. But that’s where the hard part begins: the characters and all of Egypt attempt to navigate the post-revolution landscape, balancing change and familiarity, ideals and practicalities, freedom and security. Political differences and distrust drive the characters apart and the revolution fails.
If a musical about bohemian artist characters with revolutionary ideals who believe their art will bring about change sounds familiar, it might be because New York Theatre Workshop’s 1996 smash Rent plays with the same themes. But unlike the La bohème-inspired artists of Jonathan Larson’s magnum opus, the college-age Egyptians here have something tangible to rebel against. And that is both downfall and saving grace of this meandering, frustrating, messy, and sometimes great musical.
When the drama is dealing with the very dramatic events that led to Mubarak’s ousting, the action gallops apace and the story is alive. In one scene, the cast sees the photograph of Khaled Said, the 28-year-old beaten to death by police for hashish possession. Their horror is palpable; it deepens the audience’s understanding of life under Mubarak and why the Arab Spring happened. And the fascinating, acute political analysis of post-uprising Egypt demonstrates the difficulties of the revolution; the friends were united against the police state, but once the government falls they lose trust and the social compact disintegrates. It is a truly remarkable glimpse into a complicated recent history.
But when the show strays from the documentary-like real-life events it loses its way. Like Rent, the musical format does not lend itself to in-depth analysis. Karim and Hassan discuss graffiti, but other than a mutual admiration of Karim’s artistry, there isn’t much substance to the conversation. When Fadwa looks at Layla’s photographs, she compliments the composition, signaling to us that Layla is a real artist, but Layla’s photographic skills are not important to the plot (unlike the men’s artistry, which feels essential to the revolution).
Similarly, there is little space for character development; relationships are declared rather than dramatized. We are told Amir and Layla are together, yet there is absolutely no hint of that in Taibi Magar’s direction. The lack of chemistry is distracting; when things fall apart there is no sense of loss. Ditto the dislike between Layla and Amir’s brother Hany – he dislikes her (because she’s Muslim?) and it never moves beyond that. Characters assume roles because it advances a narrative, not because of any internal logic. And yet, Magar’s exploration of Hassan and Karim’s complex relationship is thoughtful and thorough.
The musical component is uneven. The on-stage musicians are great, the voices find marvelous harmonies throughout, and Ann Yee’s choreography is creative and fun. Some numbers, like “The Benevolent Regime of King Farouk III” or “Tahrir is Now” communicate the joy of youth and the hope of revolution. Many, though, are flat and don’t really advance the narrative. The lyrics are occasionally clever but never thought-provoking or challenging.
The show’s unevenness is due in part to the performances. Nadina Hassan as Layla communicates her character’s highs and lows and sings beautifully, and El-Jor plays and sings Farouk with a Dionysian spirit, while Elhamalawy’s Hassan has all the feelings playing across his face. The other actors aren’t as strong or as engaging. Tarabzouni does fine when she is not singing, but a lack of enunciation and clarity in the lyrics makes her songs confusing and long.
The design elements are noticeable. Sometimes David Bengali’s creative projections add to the stage picture, sometimes they are too distracting and get in between the audience and the actors. The lighting by Bradley King is striking, but the abundance of follow spots seem to highlight too many things, giving the impression that everything is important. Tilly Grimes’s set and Dina El-Aziz’s costumes give the actors enough to work with, while Justin Stasiw’s sound adds depth to the action.
Pablo Picasso once said, “Every act of creation is first an act of destruction.” Egypt’s Arab Spring managed to destroy a horrible regime but has so far failed to replace it with something better. In contrast, We Live in Cairo can afford to destroy more musical conventions and be more creative in how it dramatizes a very dramatic period in our history.