The Black Eyed: Unanswered Questions, Unquestioned Answers

One person's terrorist is another person's martyr in Betty Shamieh's The Black Eyed, a skillfully written play about "unanswered questions" and "unquestioned answers" that is deceptively cute, funny and entertaining without ever undercutting the seriousness of its issues of violence, heroism and gender.

Four women of Palestinian decent meet in an afterlife at the entrance to a mysterious room where martyrs are kept.  (Set designer Paul Steinberg provides plain wood panels for walls, stairs and a roof that covers the audience, lit a soft powder pink by lighting designer Jane Cox)  The young, tough Aiesha (Aysan Celik), who died as a suicide bomber, guards the door.  Although she says the others are free to enter if they wish, her tone implies that it's not a good idea.

The three others are all looking for men who might be described as martyrs by some and murderers by others.  There's the biblical Delilah (Emily Swallow), who seduced Samson as part of a plan to stop the invincible Hebrew warrior from killing her people, and then was branded a whore by those she helped save.  Taman (Lemeece Issaq) was raped during the Crusades by soldiers who forced her brother to watch.  A 21^st Century woman referred to only as "the architect" suffered a violent death while being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Although the author never condones violence, she recognizes the sense of desperation under oppression that could drive one to extreme acts.  She also has a sense of humor about it.  The title refers to an interpretation of The Koran that inspires many Muslim martyrs to believe their actions will be rewarded with an abundance of black eyed virgins whose purity is continually renewed.  When Aiesha blew herself up, her interpretation was that she would be rewarded with a hundred chaste men of every hue eternally renewing their chastity.  The idea of a hundred inexperienced men doesn't quite appeal to the others, who wonder, "How many times can a woman scream 'That's not it.  That's not near it.  That's so far away you might as well be rubbing the soles of my shoes without them even being on my feet!'"

The play's language bounces between formal, poetic and contemporary slang with many lines spoken in unison chorus and lots of sassy sex jokes.  (Aiesha remarks to Delilah, "All I know is that you like kosher dick, bitch.")  Director Sam Gold keeps the play at a lively, rhythmic pace and draws attention-grabbing performances from his tight ensemble.  Swallow is a knowing temptress ("Men can never tell the difference between a beautiful woman and a person dressed like one."), Lameece is effectively formal and reserve while Celik is a pressure cooker of resentment and anger.  Serralles plays a character who doesn't easily express herself, but when the time comes for her to tell the story of her death she does so with a quirky, offbeat charm.

Speaking of which, there's an abundance of quirky, off-beat charm in The Black Eyed, which makes its effectiveness as a serious exploration of humanity's use of violence as a means of obtaining justice all the more striking.

Photos by Joan Marcus:  Top:  Emily Swallow, Aysan Celik, Jeanine Serralles and Lameece Issaq Bottom:  Jeanine Serralles, Lameece Issaq, Emily Swallow and Aysan Celik