Blind Runner, the latest play by Amir Reza Koohestani, was performed from January 4 to 24, 2025, at St. Ann’s Warehouse in New York. A 60-minute production by Mehr Theatre Group, may seem simple at first glance, yet it unfolds into intricate layers of narrative and form. Koohestani, known for his experimental works and minimalist staging such as The Story of Unfinished and The Fourth Wall, here adopts a new approach to employ and integrate cinematic techniques into a subtle and stripped-down theatrical language.
The story follows a woman, played by Ainaz Azarhoush, imprisoned for her political activism, and her husband, portrayed by Mohammad Reza Hosseinizadeh, in Iran. To cope with their separation, and in the intervals between their brief cabin visits, they each run: she in the prison yard and hallways, and he outside. Their lives take a new turn with the entrance of a blind girl who lost both eyes during protests in Iran. The girl’s mother, like the imprisoned woman, is also in jail. When the mother discovers her cellmate and her husband are runners, she asks them to guide her blind daughter in an upcoming running competition. Initially, the husband refuses the request, but after his wife insists, he agrees to run alongside the blind girl. This decision shapes the direction of the play, especially when the blind girl proposes to the man that they run through the 38 kilometers Channel Tunnel to protest a new anti-refugee law in the UK; a route that, if not completed in time, will see a train pass over them.
In this post-dramatic performance, presented in Persian with English surtitles, the minimalist staging -limited to two straight lines- is complemented by a background screen projecting live video of the performers from multiple angles. This mixed-media approach, combining real-time video and immersive audiovisual design, explores themes of prison, protest, love, and moral choice, while delving into deeper questions of human connection and resistance.
I observe this performance through three distinct lenses, which I will elaborate on below.
Perspective One: A Runner Who Sees and Doesn’t See
From a runner’s perspective, Blind Runner is both a deeply personal and universally resonant exploration of what running truly means. With firsthand experience in long-distance running, marathons, and the disorienting solitude of extended paths, I saw Koohestani’s play as a powerful tribute to the transformative nature of running. Here, running is not merely a physical act, but a form of liberation, sometimes meditation, and, at times, protest, and resistance. Koohestani skillfully weaves moments of relief with emotional tension between the characters; tension born from prison visits, mutual misunderstandings, and the labored breaths that accompany each run.
Running in this play serves a dual function: on the one hand, as a tool for mental freedom and relief and on the other, as a metaphor for emotional erosion and unresolved tensions between the characters. In long-distance runs, there’s a moment mid-way, different for every runner, maybe at mile 10, 15, or 21, where the body feels condensed into the legs, the surrounding sounds fade into silence, and only the echo of one’s steps reverberates in the mind. Koohestani connects this pivotal moment with the inner monologues of the characters, where conversations gradually shift into second-person, a point where one no longer addresses themselves as “I” but as “you,” as if looking at themselves from above, like in a deep meditation.
Running in this play serves a dual function: on the one hand, as a tool for mental freedom and relief and on the other, as a metaphor for emotional erosion and unresolved tensions between the characters. Photo By Benjamin Krieg.
In the play, running also becomes a movement between two opposing states: the emotional strain of their relationship and the attempt to escape it. After each prison visit, as the imprisoned woman sinks into frustration and anger while the man fails to comprehend the emotional distance, running returns as a form of escape, catharsis, or perhaps purification. This is a smart directorial choice. The constant back-and-forth between running and conflict creates an undulating rhythm that makes the complexity of their relationship more palpable.
There are two particularly powerful moments centered around running in this play. The first is when the man and woman run hand in hand in a flashback to their first Istanbul marathon, where their relationship was forged amidst intense competition. It also symbolizes their initial romantic bond: the man, passionate and impulsive, tries to engage in conversation while running; the woman, focused and aware of the seriousness of the race and the need to conserve energy, finds the chatter irritating. This contrast reveals not only their running styles but the core of their relationship: a focused and frustrated woman who views the struggle as a long marathon, and a man seemingly unprepared for the run. Ultimately, in both the Istanbul marathon and the broader struggle of life, it is the man who fails to reach the finish line.
The second standout moment is a visual scene where footage of the man and woman running is projected together on the screen. This merging of images, though seemingly simple in editing, is a deeply poetic reminder of the invisible ties between people and their dreams. Ties that, even across distances, move in the same rhythm. This scene reminded me of Niloofar Hamedi – an Iranian imprisoned journalist- and her husband, who, inside and outside prison, ran together and sometimes their synchronized footsteps could be felt through her husband’s Instagram posts. From a cinematic standpoint, this combination adds a new layer to the play both emotionally and conceptually. Bringing together elements of acting with the audiovisual features requires precise coordination between the performers and the live video team, Yasi Moradi and Benjamin Krieg, to maintain pace, rhythm, and body posture while handling the real-time image cuts.
The merging image of the man and woman running is projected together on the screen. Photo By Benjamin Krieg.
Perspective Two: The Intersection of Two Struggles or A Fragile Link Between Woman, Life, Freedom and Anti-Colonial Resistance
From the perspective of an Iranian audience, what immediately caught my attention in the playbill was the clear duality in the director’s narrative. The first part of the play focuses on the despair resulting from the failure of the Green Movement and the suffering of prisoners following the “Woman, Life, Freedom” uprising; a struggle to stand up, to continue, and to find meaning amid repression. But in the final segment, the play suddenly shifts its focus to another issue: anti-colonialism and anger toward Western countries’ hypocrisy, which have both created destabilization and enforced restrictive laws for the very refugees their policies have produced.
This topic is a familiar concern for Koohestani, but its combination with the prior narrative feels strained and distant. In Blind Runner, the imprisoned woman, once an active protester against the regime, now finds herself face to face with a mother who has lost her daughter’s eyes to these very protests. This confrontation, and the mother’s request that the woman’s husband become a “running guide” for her daughter, sets the stage for the story to expand, from domestic struggles within Iran to a broader fight against anti-refugee laws in the West. Yet this transition is not without questions. While the play tries to link the “Woman, Life, Freedom” protests with colonialism and refugee issues, the connection, in my view, feels fragile and distant. Iranian opposition to the West during domestic uprisings is more often a plea for international support for local protesters, not a global statement encompassing all refugee struggles. So, the question is, do these two lines of thought truly overlap? Can the “Woman, Life, Freedom” movement be placed alongside resistance to Western colonial policies? Here, the play faces a challenge: instead of offering an answer, it leaves the audience with fresh questions. While it tries to build solidarity between movements and struggles, it also opens a dialogue about the complexity and perhaps incompatibility of some of these links.
Perspective Three: A Theatre Beyond Dialogue
From the point of view of a theatre enthusiast, Blind Runner shines above all in its form and direction. Despite its simple dialogues, sometimes lacking rhythm and depth, it manages from the very beginning to convey a sense of anxiety and entanglement to the audience. Through the use of silence, pauses, and a deliberate lack of physical expression, the emotional distances between characters in the prison setting become palpable.
One of the most remarkable scenes occurs when the visitation booth’s shutter symbolically comes down just as the female prisoner is about to whisper something secretly. There is no physical shutter, but through lighting and sound, designed by Eric Soyer, Phillip Hohenwarter and Matthias Peyker, the illusion is powerful to convey the presence and authority. As the shutter lowers, the projection screen and the stage go dark, and the audience must choose between watching the live stage or the screen. If they watch the stage, the two characters are still standing face to face, and only after a few seconds does the light fade. But in the video, everything has already gone black. When the screen turns dark, a murmur of disappointment rises from the audience but those paying attention still have a few seconds to witness the live moment. This juxtaposition is one of the best uses of mixed media in the play. It subtly suggests that real life and being alive can, for a fleeting moment, outlast image and illusion. It is a beautiful metaphor for human decision-making: which version of the truth do you choose to see? Which perspective brings you closer to reality?
One of the most remarkable scenes occurs when the visitation booth’s shutter symbolically comes down just as the female prisoner is about to whisper something secretly.
In the second half of the play, the arrival of the blind girl Parisa also brings a dramatic shift. Played impressively by Ainaz Azarhoush, who also portrays the imprisoned woman, Parisa blurs the boundaries of identity through close-ups and visual techniques reminiscent of Bergman’s Persona. This transformation also shifts the man’s path. Initially reluctant to run with Parisa, he now chooses death with her over life with his wife. Though this decision may seem unpleasant to the imprisoned woman, it reflects the complexity of human relationships, where protest, love, and survival become entangled. In the end, we witness an unexpected conversation: the man tells his wife that he’s going to take a dangerous journey with the blind woman, who may have become his new lover. His justification: “You never thought about our separation while pursuing your fight, so why should I think about it now?”
From the start, the script introduces a female prisoner who fears this marathon of separation will never end. On the other hand, we see a man who, despite insisting on resilience, views everything as already lost, and instead of choosing life with his imprisoned wife, he opts for death alongside another woman. Though this choice is not directly labeled as betrayal, it ultimately distances him from the prisoner as he enters an uncertain path with Parisa. Choosing death with a new lover over enduring a painful life delivers an even deeper blow to the imprisoned woman. To me, even though the rest of the story follows a seemingly simple line of a broken relationship, this final twist feels like the voice of a woman behind bars, saying: “Do you see now what I was afraid of? Do you see what failure and helplessness do to us? Do you see what prison really means?”
The husband and Parisa running through the Channel Tunnel, Photo by Benjamin Krieg.
Last word: Between Borders and Distances
Blind Runner is a play that leaves its audience suspended at the edge of borders between running and standing still, between love and separation, between protest and silence. Koohestani, through form, narrative, and the integration of both, succeeds in constructing a world that, while familiar, feels alien. This is not a play with a linear plot. It is an experience. An experience that invites you to run, a run through the mind, through history and reality, and through the twists and turns of human relationships.
This post was written by the author in their personal capacity.The opinions expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not reflect the view of The Theatre Times, their staff or collaborators.
