Risky revival of Afghan theater puts women center stage

Afghanistan has a long tradition of rustic theater - storytellers enacting religious myths and legends, or vaudeville-type entertainers performing at weddings.

But modern Afghan theater was born less than a century ago, at the initiative of King Amanullah. The first production, about 1920, was of a patriotic play, "Mother of the Nation," performed in the royal garden retreat of Paghman, near Kabul.

With Afghans' love for music and melodrama, theater flourished in the cities. In the early 1960s, a state-of-the-art, German-designed National Theatre opened in Kabul, with a revolving stage, an orchestra pit, and seating for 700.

The art form did not fade with the rise of the Communists in the 1970s: During the Soviet occupation, Kabul's police and firemen even had their own theater groups. But the mujahedin militias who drove out the Communists in 1991 also dimmed the lights of theater. The bombed-out hulk of Kabul's National Theatre stands as stark testimony to the assault on Afghan culture during the mujahideen civil war, and by the short, brutal reign of the Taliban.

"Theater was suppressed all over the country under the Taliban, but curiously, not in Kabul University," says Mohammed Azeem Hussainzada, head of the university's theater department. "That's because the university head, though from the Taliban, loved theater. So we continued to produce plays, but for a restricted audience - the university boss and his friends. He allowed women to appear on stage, but controlled the content of the plays. So we could do a play, for instance, showing photographers harassing people and making money [the Taliban considered photography "un-Islamic"], but we had to steer clear of romantic or religious themes."

The current revival is taking place in a climate of creative freedom. Many plays at the national festival have themes that are daring in Afghanistan - star-crossed lovers, hypocritical mullahs, corrupt provincial governors, smugglers of ancient cultural artifacts, and drug lords. But Afghans have not forgotten how to laugh - several plays take digs at doctors, policemen, and busybodies.

"The aim is to establish theater as a common cultural domain that not only provides entertainment but also reflects the country's problems," says Julia Afifi, an Afghan-German director who has returned to her homeland to produce plays, teach at Kabul University, and help establish a national theater research center.

She is also introducing Afghans to Western plays and modern theater techniques. Among her current productions are short adaptations in the Dari language of Chekov's "Three Sisters" and British playwright Sarah Kane's controversial "Blasted," a searing portrayal of violence.

"Afghans tend to adopt a declamatory style of acting, so I try to help actors liberate their emotions and bodies," she says. "I even show them [Quentin] Tarantino's films ["Pulp Fiction," "Kill Bill"] to demonstrate how violence can flow from normal, relaxed situations."

For advocates, theater is a medium that can help Afghans not only to emerge from a dark period, but also to examine and understand it. As Naseeba put it, "Theater can help us find better ways to exist in the future."

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