A considered look into the plight of asylum seekers, and an enlightening portrayal of recently arrived, first-generation Kurdish immigrants in neoliberal England.
By Hamza Jahanzeb, 24 September 2024
Photo credits: Jack Bush
If you were to ask me, I’d confidently tell you that I am not an expert on Kurdistan or Kurdish people, the ethnic group native to the mountainous region of Kurdistan in Western Asia – which spans southeastern Turkey, northwestern Iran, northern Iraq, and northern Syria.
‘How can you disappear if you were never
really there?’
– From Ostan (2024) by Arzhang Luke Pezhman
The World Premiere of Ostan by Arzhang Pezhman explores the lives of those stuck in the UK immigration system in the studio Park90 situated within the Park Theatre, a stone’s throw from Finsbury Park station.
Whenever I head to a Turkish Barbershop the chances are, fifty per-cent of the time, that the people working with whom I have a chat inform me they are proudly Kurdish. I sit and nod, as I am aware it is a place not formally recognised across most of the work (bar a section of Iraq called Iraqi Kurdistan) but nowhere in the region is willing to allow the people, from the Turkish to Syrians and also Iranians. The history of such people dates back to the early twentieth century, and of an historical promised land that never did become a state to accommodate the Kurdish people.
In this story, we meet the sparky Rebin who has himself been stuck in the UK immigration system for almost a decade. Working at a local hand carwash, he plays online video games with his customer Noah – a Black Briton – and on a war path to have himself granted settled status in a country that has left him in limbo for nearly a decade.
There is most certainly an evident hierarchy in the car wash workplace, with Destan running (himself being an Iranian-Kurd) it for the wealthy businessman flounderer Shapur (who we note is from Iranian). When Görkem, a Turkish-Kurd newly arrived immigrant, joins the car wash – with big claims to be the grandson of a Kurdish ‘freedom fighter’ Apo Ocalan, Rebin isn’t impressed.
The drama unfolds as Shapur proposes to use this car wash for a front of a deceptive human trafficking ring, when Rebin’s life is throw into a spiralling downfall as he comes to terms with the realities of his underhand work.
Initially, I have to remark the wondrous book for this: Arzhang Pezhman’s research into the lives of the communities (a patriarchal brotherhood) is a gift to the audience. The writing flows, with rhythm and a beat that feels authentic. The representations of Muslim characters, especially Destan praying salah at the start of the piece is very well researched and authentic in its depiction of how Shi’a Muslims pray. I don’t often see Muslim characters on stage – and when I do, it’s a common trope or stereotype. So this was a welcome and accurate description which many theatre makers simply lack or make inauthentic (I’m looking at you Come From Away).
Therefore, to have Ostan bring a humanised story of a people’s struggle were what made it an effective piece of theatre. Its audience is in the people who are gravely concerned by the dangers that asylum seekers face when embarking on the perilous journey to reach a safe space (which in this case is the UK).
Hats off to the casting director for aligning the accurate portrayals. Each character in this production felt like they had been cast with authenticity. There’s also extra kudos to the translators listed for the following languages: Kurmanji, Sorani and Farsi. Again, when the dialogue of the language is spoken, Pezhman’s script engages with the non-native speakers. Further, there is an astutely realistic portrayal of masculinity of the diaspora community. The play never shies away from the realities that they face, and presents the want for a better life. It also depicts a clear line between how successful one can be, but also the naivety of an immigrant newly arrived in Britain.
Where is sometimes falls is the rushed build up to a fight scene, which I think could have had a smoother build up. Other than that one scene, it’s a rather witty, sharp and grit-filled script that blends one scene into the next. Though the ending is moving and powerful, isn’t entirely surprising.
On the directing front, Gaby Dellal does an all-in-all satisfactory job. I did notice one key issue with the staging in this small studio space is that I believe that there’s not a lot of room to navigate when having audiences sat on each side. The viewpoint of those towards the ends of rows felt obstructed, and a good director would consider these for all seated (and paying) members of the audience.
I personally felt like the action could have better presented itself on a proscenium stage (there was too little room for actors to navigate around at times, which appeared clumsy). The intimacy of the Park90 studio space meant that the scene changes felt at times laboured and lengthier than they need to have been. There’s scenes with projections, which looked OK but didn’t necessarily add a great deal. Additionally, it was a unique touch have rails depicts transport (via a motor vehicle), but ultimately there tight-knit space led to a few mishaps with the set positioned on wheels when moved around. A further minor grumble also meant that I’d also have preferred actual water come out of the hose pipes in the opening scenes. However, having the car wash barrels being somewhat filled with water did extend the naturalism of the piece when a cloth is thrown at Görkem.
The set (Liz Cooke), sound (Oğuz Kaplangi) and lighting (William Reynolds) must be commended for this production. Firstly, the puddles on the floors are painted with shades of blue, and a white faux leather chair with splashes of blue (which matched the shoes of the workers) felt like a lot of time and effort had been spent on achieving the right atmosphere. In fact, the sound Kaplangi evokes was truly brilliant shifting the scenes in all manners of excitement. To have Rebin walk on the opening song ‘Zigidi‘ by Biji set the scene very well and immediately immersed me into the lively action on stage.
Discussions of anti-Black racism faced by the character of Noah (played by El Anthony) raises the intra-POC community discussions on how we perceive one another in a Global North setting. Görkem’s character is written with nuance (we even get a POC version of ‘But, where are you really from?) and Arzhang Pezhman never fails to bring laughter as well as a moving drama where it necessitate in this piece.
The team of creatives do all provide nuanced insight into to how newly arrived immigrants constantly feel they need to prove their existence, even if it means having to lie about your personal connections. Serkan Avlik’s portrayal of Görkem brings a lot to Ostan, his energy being consistent and the study of Alvin’s character shines with his intentions being aligned with the writer’s ability to write comedy and vulnerability simultaneously.
Overall, this is a striking piece at the failures of the British government and the devastating impact it has on those waiting for years on end. Coupled with a strong cast (particularly – Ojan Genc’s characterisation of Rebin and also Dana Haqjoo as the convincing Shapur) make this a show that is quietly pertinent to the hostile anti-asylum times which we are unfortunately living through today.
This piece, in my opinion, has the power to change perspective on those who have no choice but to flee their homes, and we should bring them closer to our herts instead of humiliating them even further as our nation seemingly does so.
Until October 12 at Park Theatre’s Park90 space: https://purchase.parktheatre.co.uk/EventAvailability?WebEventId=ostan
** N.B. This is an honest review, in exchange for a gifted / complimentary ticket. The reviewer has written this with their editorial control, with no external influence on how to frame the show. #AdvertisementFeature #PRInvite #Gifted #ad **
