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Authors: Shohreh Aghdashloo
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direction.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” he said. We arrived at the beach after almost an hour. We looked at each other and got out of the cab. We had not expected to be taken to a beach.
“What is this? Why are we here?” Aydin said.
“Look, look,” said the cabdriver. “Brigitte Bardot, la maison .”
He had taken us to a posh area with grand villas to show off Brigitte Bardot’s house on the beach.
We could not help but burst into laughter and finally showed him the list of the sites that we had intended to see.
WHEN WE LEFT Algeria to go home, I was thinking of the future as a sure thing, feeling happy and content, in love and being loved, and doing what I always wanted to do: acting.
At home, though, an undercurrent of rebellion was brewing.
11
Fervor
B ecoming a regular at the workshop opened my eyes to the reality of life beyond my sheltered world. A few of my fellow actors, mostly in their twenties, had already dealt with the sort of poverty that I had visited in childhood with my grandmother, and a few had already been interrogated or harassed by SAVAK, which was tirelessly looking for traitors, mostly members of the underground Communist Party who were said to have connections to Russia. My family was not bothered by SAVAK, as we had not been involved with politics since Grandfather died.
Iran was thriving. The Shah had managed to maintain an excellent relationship with America and Europe, and also to earn a fairly good reputation in Iran as a progressive leader. But his opponents thought he was megalomaniacal and an American puppet planted to convert Iran to an anti-Communist state during the cold war. Nevertheless, the Americanization of Iran had begun, and my generation was witnessing, under the Shah, the country’s most glorious days. We experienced the Persian Spring, which meant Iran’s transformation from a tribal and religious society into a modern society. We walked freely through the so-called truce alleys, or as my generation used to call them, the love alleys, the narrow alleys that only fit two people walking through shoulder to shoulder, holding hands, celebrating Iran’s evolution. My generation was now an American generation. This was a time when love was not forbidden, and being young wasn’t considered a crime, as it is today.
THE WORKSHOP LIVED up to its reputation as the most avant-garde theater. Members tended to be educated young liberals who more or less believed in true democracy. Their young and inquisitive minds did not shy away from discussing politics in public, nor were they afraid of the ramifications—until they were visited by SAVAK.
One actor was taken away for further interviews during my time there. The interrogations took place at SAVAK secret offices in a room containing only a simple desk and two chairs. Those who had experienced these sessions said that the long hours waiting in those rooms were far more terrifying than the actual period of questioning.
Ashur would not be stopped by SAVAK’s threats. He had finished writing his first two plays, Chess and Dolls , by the time we returned from our vacation. Rehearsals started immediately. It was only the two of us in the plays. This time I did not have to share Ashur with other actors. I had him all to myself and learned more from him than ever before.
The themes of the plays revolved around men and women struggling to connect but ultimately unable to. Ashur and I portrayed six characters: a man and his wife, a lover and his beloved, and finally the role of parents. The conflict that Ashur was pointing out in every relationship seemed fundamental and almost impossible to resolve.
“The performances are great, but the play needs some work,” one critic wrote. Another claimed that Ashur might be a “brilliant director” but he is not necessarily a “brilliant playwright.”
Ashur was an intellectual and pretty fair-minded. He agreed with the critic and said, “Hear the critic out. If he is
“Your guess is as good as mine,” he said. We arrived at the beach after almost an hour. We looked at each other and got out of the cab. We had not expected to be taken to a beach.
“What is this? Why are we here?” Aydin said.
“Look, look,” said the cabdriver. “Brigitte Bardot, la maison .”
He had taken us to a posh area with grand villas to show off Brigitte Bardot’s house on the beach.
We could not help but burst into laughter and finally showed him the list of the sites that we had intended to see.
WHEN WE LEFT Algeria to go home, I was thinking of the future as a sure thing, feeling happy and content, in love and being loved, and doing what I always wanted to do: acting.
At home, though, an undercurrent of rebellion was brewing.
11
Fervor
B ecoming a regular at the workshop opened my eyes to the reality of life beyond my sheltered world. A few of my fellow actors, mostly in their twenties, had already dealt with the sort of poverty that I had visited in childhood with my grandmother, and a few had already been interrogated or harassed by SAVAK, which was tirelessly looking for traitors, mostly members of the underground Communist Party who were said to have connections to Russia. My family was not bothered by SAVAK, as we had not been involved with politics since Grandfather died.
Iran was thriving. The Shah had managed to maintain an excellent relationship with America and Europe, and also to earn a fairly good reputation in Iran as a progressive leader. But his opponents thought he was megalomaniacal and an American puppet planted to convert Iran to an anti-Communist state during the cold war. Nevertheless, the Americanization of Iran had begun, and my generation was witnessing, under the Shah, the country’s most glorious days. We experienced the Persian Spring, which meant Iran’s transformation from a tribal and religious society into a modern society. We walked freely through the so-called truce alleys, or as my generation used to call them, the love alleys, the narrow alleys that only fit two people walking through shoulder to shoulder, holding hands, celebrating Iran’s evolution. My generation was now an American generation. This was a time when love was not forbidden, and being young wasn’t considered a crime, as it is today.
THE WORKSHOP LIVED up to its reputation as the most avant-garde theater. Members tended to be educated young liberals who more or less believed in true democracy. Their young and inquisitive minds did not shy away from discussing politics in public, nor were they afraid of the ramifications—until they were visited by SAVAK.
One actor was taken away for further interviews during my time there. The interrogations took place at SAVAK secret offices in a room containing only a simple desk and two chairs. Those who had experienced these sessions said that the long hours waiting in those rooms were far more terrifying than the actual period of questioning.
Ashur would not be stopped by SAVAK’s threats. He had finished writing his first two plays, Chess and Dolls , by the time we returned from our vacation. Rehearsals started immediately. It was only the two of us in the plays. This time I did not have to share Ashur with other actors. I had him all to myself and learned more from him than ever before.
The themes of the plays revolved around men and women struggling to connect but ultimately unable to. Ashur and I portrayed six characters: a man and his wife, a lover and his beloved, and finally the role of parents. The conflict that Ashur was pointing out in every relationship seemed fundamental and almost impossible to resolve.
“The performances are great, but the play needs some work,” one critic wrote. Another claimed that Ashur might be a “brilliant director” but he is not necessarily a “brilliant playwright.”
Ashur was an intellectual and pretty fair-minded. He agreed with the critic and said, “Hear the critic out. If he is
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