Chronicles of Irania

This one-woman show is harrowing from the outset, as a bloodcurdling intake of breath introduces a monologue from an Iranian mother attacked with acid by a jealous husband. It’s a disorienting shift in atmosphere, then, when the black-shrouded Maryam Hamidi—having narrated the opening tale lying glassy-eyed on the floor—leaps up to reveal a brightly-coloured traditional costume and proceeds to treat her audience to a masterclass in Iranian hospitality, complete with sweets and cardamom tea.

Much is made by Iran-watchers of the contrast between the country’s rich culture and the frequent brutality of the incumbent regime – a clash well evoked by Hamidi’s confident, wonderfully expressive performance. The sheer exuberance of her attempts to recount the “history of Irania” captivates the audience, as she romps through engaging traditional legends purportedly explaining the subordination of women.

Yet the chuckles die away as a sudden change of lighting heralds another chilling account of inhumanity. The stark juxtaposition of this brutal oppression with the endearingly primitive reasoning behind it lays bare its sheer absurdity – notably where a magical fable warning against homosexuality is set against the anguish of a mother watching the execution of her gay son.

Perhaps the play’s most poignant element is the struggle of Hamidi’s storyteller to maintain her chirpy composure between the horrific interludes, her smile agonisingly fading as the play progresses. At last, she gives up all pretence of contentment, tearing down the suspended ornaments and crashing to the ground in a frenzied, powerfully cathartic close to this haunting study of lost innocence.