The Off-Broadway Theatre Review: NYTW’s A Knock on the Roof
By Ross
“How far can you run in five minutes?” That is the profound and blistering question asked, quite engagingly, by the captivating artist, Khawla Ibraheem, who is credited with both writing and performing the hypnotizingly A Knock on the Roof. This piecebypiece production, now playing at the New York Theatre Workshop (NYTW) as part of the Under the Radar Festival, is a powerfully created psychological unwrapping of war-time tragedy and trauma through the wide-open eyes of Miriam, that starts out suddenly, shattering the space with the forceful simple opening statement of “Most days…“. It’s a matter-of-fact immediate connection, delivered precisely by the young woman who sits simply and silently, looking around at the three-sided audience members who have gathered together to hear this raw and riveting unraveling, unapologetically unpacked before us on a bare stage, designed by Frank J. Oliva (Ars Nova’s Hound Dog), with strong lighting by Oona Curley (NYTW’s I Love You So Much I Could Die) and sound by Rami Nakhleh (“Migrant Birds“).
There’s only the chair, her husband’s, that weighs down the space, as Ibraheem takes us through her hot summer days under siege in Gaza, waiting for the electricity to turn back on so a shower can be taken, or to plug in the phone to recharge. All simple acts taken so casually in this deeply affecting story of a mother training herself in the best, most timely way to protect her family from the imminent danger of having their home turned into a demolition site by a bomb dropped down from the sky. She tries to act naturally, with help from a man two rows up, but the idea behind the name of this one-person show is heartbreakingly intense and disturbing, with highly emotional ramifications that radiate far beyond the obvious.
In this thoroughly captivating 85-minute show, directed and developed by Oliver Butler (NYTW/Broadway’s What the Constitution Means to Me), Ibraheem’s Miriam tells us about a bomb, that first ‘knocks’ on the roof as a warning, giving everyone who hears it five minutes to flee their home for some sort of safety out on the streets. Five minutes is the framing, so she rehearses and rehearses, thinking about all the ‘what ifs’ and the weight distributions of both carrying her strong personalitied, 6-year-old son and a packed preparation bag in her arms while running down the stairs of her building. Dressed simply, costumed by Jeffrey Wallach (NYTW’s costume shop manager for the past 18 years), Miriam sets up timers to test herself, noting that the elevator will not be of service, most likely, so it will be the stairs she takes to seek safety. She will have to run hard and fast, stepping over all sorts of obstacles, like toy trucks and loose tiles, past her know-it-all neighbor Yasmeen, on the third floor, and out into the streets. She hates that Yasmeen might be right, most of the time, but her main question remains. How far will she get? To the grocery store? Or to the already bombed-out shell of a building close by? They won’t bomb that place twice, under the logic of lightning striking, so this becomes her go-to storage shelter, where, with the assistance of those audience members around her, she sets up the possible, almost certain scenario of want and need, and waits.
Waiting for the warning knock on the roof, while training hard to run fast and as far as possible, the play packs the strongest of punches, delivered with engaging casual force by the impressive Ibraheem. It’s tense and quite genius in its straightforward approach, as we sit alongside her doing time in occupied Gaza. Trapped in a meta-metaphorical reality because of a siege that feeds itself on “fire and blood“, the shadow-projected run, courtesy of projection designer Hana S. Kim (Broadway’s The Outsiders), centers its soul on a mother in Gaza living her life while trying to protect her family. It finds its strength and power in the small details of the everyday: in the fear and irritation of the moment and her familial formulations, and the joy of a precocious 6-year-old who doesn’t really listen until it becomes increasingly important that he does. There are no sides that are asked to be taken within A Knock on the Roof, just empathy, care, and connection to another human being trying to run as fast as she can in a repeated practice for safety, while acting like everything is normal. When it most definitely is not. This is not to be missed, is the only answer I have, so run hard and fast to the New York Theatre Workshop, before the alarm bell rings and you’ve missed your chance.
