This gentle love story between two Muslim students in London is the last production programmed by the Kiln’s artistic director Indhu Rubasingham before she takes over the reins at the National Theatre. An unshowy swansong, it’s also possibly a statement of intent.
Peanut Butter and Blueberries is a promising debut from a new voice, writer and educator Suhaiymah Manzoor-Khan; it shines light onto aspects of UK life still rarely depicted on stage; and it courts an under-served audience. Performances start and end early enough for those who wish to pray the sunset prayer, and a temporary prayer space has been created on site. The theatre bar, however, remains open.
I’m not for a minute suggesting this represents more than a small potential aspect of Rubasingham’s plans for the National, but as a gesture of inclusivity in the capital it couldn’t be more timely.
The play begins with the meet-cute of Bradford-born Hafsah (Humera Syed) and Brummie Bilal (Usaamah Ibraheem Hussain) at the University of London’s SOAS, after he’s given a talk about a year spent in Kashmir. The title refers not only to the sandwich with which he woos her at one point, but to the differences between two equally devout twentysomethings.
She wears a hijab but challenges the patriarchy and is writing an Islamic sci-fi novella. He wears DMs and a quiff and answers to ‘Billy’ (he craves ‘white approval’, Hafsah sniffs); he’s also angered by stereotypes put on South Asian youths, partly due to terrible family role models. They never touch each other but their troubled emotional journey together is no less profound for that.
It’s staged with extreme simplicity by director Sameena Hussein, the revolving stage bringing a park bench, a library desk, or a set of beanbags for an Iftar supper from behind a curtain of silver strands. The actors invest their characters with quiet believability, he reacting to each obstacle in their relationship with an exasperated “flippin’ ‘eck!”
Half of the play consists of dialogue and the rest of direct address to the audience, a device very common among new playwrights. It’s far more moving to hear Bilal’s family problems emerge in a conversation with Hafsah, than it is for Hafsah to explain to us her alienation while on a writing scheme in Manhattan. There’s also some awkward sub-choreography, where the two repeatedly swoon away from and circle each other.
Still, the arc of the story is elegantly plotted, and Manzoor-Khan fights shy of an easy or sentimental resolution. Her play feels like a necessary, non-singing counterpoint to the dizzily romantic two-person musical Two Strangers (Carry a Cake Across New York), which transferred from the Kiln to the West End. An indication perhaps of the breadth of style, subject matter and storytelling that Rubasingham will bring to the South Bank.
Kiln Theatre, to Aug 31; kilntheatre.com
