The Invisible Hand. New York Theatre Workshop (see Off Broadway). By Ayad Akhtar. Directed by Ken Rus Schmoll. With Jameal Ali, Usman Ally, Dariush Kashani and Justin Kirk. Running time: 1hr 50mins. One intermission.
The Invisible Hand: In brief
Ayad Akhtar's Pulitzer-winning Disgraced has returned to New York for a Broadway run. Now the Pakistani-American playwright opens a second dramatic front with a thriller about an American investment banker (Weeds star Justin Kirk) kidnapped in Pakistan. The expert Ken Rus Schmoll directs the NYC premiere.
The Invisible Hand: Theater review by David Cote
I probably know as much as you do about Pakistani-American relations (thanks, Homeland!) and short-selling on the stock market (umm…Enron?), but my abysmal ignorance didn’t stop me from enjoying Ayad Akhtar’s whip-smart and twisty Wall Street-meets-the-Arab-street thriller, The Invisible Hand. Broadening his palate beyond the racially toxic dinner party (Disgraced, now on Broadway) and the assimilated Muslim family (The Who and the What), Akhtar offers a hostage tale that balances violence, humor and geopolitical critique, never losing its edge or letting us complacently root for one side. Of course we’d like to see abducted American banker Nick (Justin Kirk) go free, but we also can’t deny that British-born radical Bashir (Usman Ally) has a point about the nexus of colonialist oppression and unfettered capitalism.
Director Ken Rus Schmoll has assembled a splendid cast and design team to ratchet up the tension and keep us glued to the characters’ online financial dealings. Kirk has the hardest job, playing an everysuit who’s neither a douche nor a bleeding-heart, slowly gaining respect for his Pakistani captors, who use his stock-trading acumen to line their pockets. The lean and fiery Ally is equally good, pivoting from contempt for his American captive to fraternal affection. Dariush Kashani is chillingly good as a smooth-talking imam who explains that money, not religion, is the opiate of the masses.
For the second act, when Akhtar ramps up the drama (through a somewhat contrived reversal and climax), Schmoll expands Riccardo Hernandez’s concrete-bunker set: The previously low ceiling flies up and the back wall looms higher. The reconfiguration seems to acknowledge theatrical turns ahead, and also puts the audience in the room right there with Nick and Bashir, placing bets on uncertain futures.—Theater review by David Cote
THE BOTTOM LINE Money corrupts in a timely global drama.
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