Performance Review: THE CAVE. By Sadieh Rifai

Sadieh Rifai's world premiere of The Cave at Chicago's A Red Orchid Theatre, immediately immerses us in the fraught existence of a half-Palestinian, half-American family navigating the complexities of identity during the Gulf War, 1990. A Red Orchid, celebrated for its intimate space and unflinching approach to storytelling, becomes the ideal incubator for this narrative that grapples with cultural dissonance, the immigrant experience, mental health, and the fierce protectiveness that binds a family. Rifai draws inspiration from her upbringing and crafts a story that seeks to transport us into the heart of this family, exploring their humor and their darkness. However, The Cave wrestles with an ambition that perhaps exceeds its reach, attempting to simultaneously function as a family drama, a mental health discourse, an immigrant saga, and a commentary on the political realities of the Palestinian diaspora, all while current realities in Gaza loom large. While offering moments of profound honesty and empathy, one is ultimately left questioning whether the play fully succeeds in untangling the intricate web of identity, trauma, and belonging it bravely sets out to explore for an American audience that are highly prone to cultural misinterpretation.

The play's opening act portrays the family's move from Las Vegas to Columbus, Ohio. Their move is an attempt to distance themselves from the murder of their cousin, but subtly hinting at a deeper quest for a sanctuary—a "Cave"—a motif that reverberates throughout the production. It is through this family tragedy that we are introduced to the daughters Dema (Aaliyah Montana) and Noor (Milla Liss), with the loss of their cousin Jay hanging heavy in the air. The seemingly idyllic suburban home in Columbus, Ohio, becomes a deliberate juxtaposition against the turmoil festering within the family and the larger world. This gated community, with its aggressively white American middle-class aesthetic, morphs into a microcosm of America itself, exposing the alienation experienced by immigrants – a space where promises of safety and security are subverted by the realities of prejudice, cultural disjuncture, and the ever-present specter of the Gulf War. We see such xenophobia manifest in the character of the "friendly" neighbor Gail, played with precision by Ashley Neal.

The walls of the family’s home, metaphorically a cave, are punctuated by projections of war, news, family life, and xenophobic content. This carefully curated mixture of content begins to bleed into each other, a chaotic crescendo mirroring the escalating tensions within the family and, perhaps, the worsening mental state of the father Jamil (H. Adoni Esho). The confined theatre space ensnares us within this family’s pain and joy, haunting the living space during scene transitions. Initially piled high in the first act but gradually diminishing throughout the play, the moving boxes further underscore the overarching themes of displacement, impermanence, and the family's desperate, yet ultimately futile, attempt to find a sense of belonging. The family does not just struggle to belong to the larger environment that inherently resists them, but also extends to within the household, as we witness the family constantly bickering with each other over the simplest things, such as their food choices.

At its core, The Cave meticulously examines the complex and often fractured relationships between the family members from different cultural backgrounds. Jamil, portrayed with both charisma and vulnerability by Esho, is a Palestinian father battling schizophrenia and PTSD; his paranoia is fueled by personal trauma and the rampant xenophobia that permeates America. Bonnie, played with nuanced strength by Kirsten Fitzgerald, embodies the challenges of assimilation, navigating the cultural chasm between her American identity and her husband's heritage. Dema and Noor, the daughters, played with purity and unflinching honesty by Montana and Liss, find themselves caught between these two worlds, as their struggles with identity mirror the broader challenges of belonging that plague many second-generation immigrants. Through this character depiction, Rifai is successful in following a vision of helping audiences of second-generation backgrounds see themselves in these characters.

The Cave attempts to show Jamil grappling with a mental illness, which remains undiagnosed within the narrative. As Jamil’s condition worsens throughout the play, the audience is only left further confused about the type of mental illness and the negligence of it by other characters in the play. Bonnie (Jamil’s wife) is the only one genuinely concerned, but she is too afraid to intervene or embrace his culture as a path towards understanding his condition. Instead, Jamil's character devolves from a charismatic and caring husband and father to a paranoid patriarch desperate to overprotect his daughters, and alienating his wife Bonnie by weaponizing his cultural identity against her. On the other hand, Bonnie makes no real attempt on her end within the dramatic narrative to resolve any of this beyond showing concern around being divorced. He leans further into his Arabic and Muslim heritage, seemingly validating long-held stereotypes among Westerners. Given that Jamil is the central brown Muslim character in the play, and very few Muslim characters grace Chicago stages annually, it raises the critical question: will the predominantly white American audiences ever be offered portrayals of Muslims, Arabs, and Palestinians that transcend the harmful tropes of "threat" or "traumatized subject who becomes a threat"? Even with the sincerest intentions from the playwright, can an American audience, raised on a steady diet of prejudice against brown male bodies, truly separate a character's individual struggles from ingrained societal biases against Islam? It is this tension that defines the challenge of ethical representation, of creating characters that are both authentic and free from the weight of harmful stereotypes.

This is not a critique of the playwright or the autobiographical truth behind this story that she intended to mention in the talkback. Rather, it is a question of intention versus impact on non-immigrant, non-Muslim, and non-Arab audiences. A particularly unsettling scene unfolds when Jamil, in the throes of his escalating mental health crisis, proposes that his 13-year-old daughter, Dema, that she should consider marrying Omar (Omer Abbas Salem), his younger friend from the mosque in 7-8 years’ time when she’s around 18-20 years old. Jamil emphasizes this as an opportunity for his daughter to have a husband to support her higher education and pay the bills so she can reach her potential. This moment might have been intended to illustrate the character's fractured state of mind and perhaps explore themes of cultural tradition. But instead, it stumbles into dangerous territory. While the play may not explicitly depict an arranged or forced marriage, the suggestion, particularly involving a minor, evokes historical and contemporary anxieties surrounding cultural practices, specifically within Muslim communities. Coerced child marriage is a human rights violation that exists, and although this moment is much more complex, it still feeds such anxieties, given that Dema is 13 and is being asked about marriage. Such scenes risk reinforcing the "us" versus "them" dichotomy, where the culture of the "other" is portrayed as inherently deficient.

By associating Jamil's mental illness with this suggestion, the play flirts with the harmful stereotype of the "violent Muslim man", subtly reinforcing the association of mental illness with dangerous behavior. It also risks perpetuating the dehumanization of Palestinian men by Western media. At times, Rifai attempts to justify that moment by connecting it to other inappropriate moments earlier – for instance, the white Grandma marrying at 16 years old, and Dema’s aunts/uncles marrying at a young age. However, is it enough to clear a whole generation of Americans born and bred on images and stories of Muslim men being awful to women, including their own daughters? The question becomes, at what cost does one attempt to represent the complexities of mental illness when it reinforces pre-existing societal biases and stereotypes? Even if unintended, the impact of such portrayals can be far-reaching, further stigmatizing mental illness within marginalized communities and perpetuating harmful stereotypes about Muslim and Arab men.

The issue is not that these things do not happen; in fact, Rifai shows us multiple flawed family members, including Uncle Neil (Guy Van Swearingen), a troubled Vietnam veteran who gives a gun to Jamil, smokes near children, and takes Dema on a motorcycle with no helmet. The issue rather stems from the flawed perceptions of Westerners and their colonial gaze that feeds the idea of Western cultural exceptionalism -- a culture that chuckles at a racist, unhinged Grandma who sexualizes the body of her 13-year-old granddaughter in an earlier scene. The two scenes are set in very different contexts, but such cultural exceptionalism that finds sexualizing a 13-year-old palatable in one context, but asking her about a future marriage horrifying in another cultural context, is quite revealing of the hypocrisy in the American cultural consciousness. The character of Omar, who is not given any proper introduction beyond “Jamil’s friend from the mosque,” is portrayed as complicit in this troubling behavior. Omar also appears as a voice, a projection, and appears physically on stage to haunt Jamil’s mind with negative thoughts towards America and his family, which can dangerously conflate Islam as a religion that radicalizes and contributes to Jamil’s worsening condition.

While Rifai’s intentions are far from such a simplified worldview, and those of us who are immigrants understand very well the complexities of cultural differences, it begs the question: is the American stage ready for such raw, emotional, and culturally complex stories, and when overall representation is lacking?  Additionally, xenophobic ideas populate Westerners’ minds about Muslim men plotting to marry underage girls, making the impact of this moment potentially dangerous in what it could further perpetuate. Although we witness Jamil struggle and hear a tragic monologue about his traumatized childhood in Palestine, and hear that his father had mental health struggles, are those moments sufficient to absolve him in the eyes of the average American? A Muslim woman in the audience cried and empathized with him because she had the cultural understanding, but what about the rest of the audience members? Act 2 is full of moments that expose troubling cultural discrepancies. For instance, when Jamil tries to teach Dema how to physically hurt any kids bullying her at school, a moment that culturally makes sense if you grow up under occupation and must defend yourself, but will it come across to those who do not know what that’s like and don’t possess the cultural sensitivity?

While Esho does a phenomenal job with his strong stage presence and deeply felt emotions as Jamil, there did not seem to be ample time given to cultural consultancy and authenticity in the production process. For instance, the Muslim prayer was questionably done, the accent did not sound Palestinian, and the Arabic words were often incorrectly pronounced, including the word for divorce in the climactic moment “talaq” repeated three times, which legally in Islam means the marriage is irredeemable. Saying “talaq” in Arabic just means divorce, without a proper address with a signifier “inti” followed by the word “taleq” not “talak” directed at the subject (Bonnie) so it will be “inti taleq” said three times.  Although this may seem a little detail but given that this is the climax of the play it is important that the intensity of it for Arabic speakers does not get diffused by simple linguistic errors. This is no fault of an actor who is neither from a Palestinian nor Muslim background, but rather stems from the confines and difficulties of producing theatre authentically in such challenging times economically, where it is often difficult to provide sufficient time and resources. Immigrant stories deserve ample support, and the Palestinian diaspora in Chicago (one of the largest Palestinian communities in the country) needs to grace the stage more often. The fact that this is Rifai’s first ever play and was produced at a reputable small sized theatre in Chicago is something to be commended and appreciated.

The Cave shares a story about a traumatic childhood expressed through an ensemble of brilliant actors. The stage is a cultural battleground that shatters the family through Jamil’s paranoia, which makes him turn off light bulbs, transforming the house into a dark cave. The play demonstrates how those unprotected in an alienating and xenophobic culture cannot become real protectors for their families. Even though this play is set prior to 9/11, the racism in America is very present in the text, from the crazy extremist Christian neighbor Gail to the bullying Dema faces at school to Bonnie’s family members spewing ignorant microaggressions. The play ends with Jamil divorcing Bonnie, leaving his family in despair with a burden of raising two daughters who are dealing with the grief of their killed cousin Jay and the divorce. In a beautiful final gesture the daughters exit by descending into the home's basement, which becomes their own private cave or sanctuary, with the shadow of Jay and/or Jamil looming over the house (depending on how you interpret it).

But do these artistic and creative moments clear the potential impact that this story could have on Western minds in 2025? The danger is that this ending quickly shifts focus away from the Palestinian man Jamil at a time when we need the utmost empathy, considering the genocide happening in Gaza. It is impossible to know what each American audience member interprets, but Jamil could be easily vilified and seen as yet another brown Muslim man who broke a happy American family as he leaned further into his religion and cultural identity. An unfortunate and unintended impact, but a plausible one in a country that lacks diverse representation and that primarily focuses on negative stereotypes, such as those dramatized in the play Disgraced. The Cave asks whether America is ready to embrace Arab trauma without reducing Arabs and Arab Americans to cultural threats to steer away from.  Or, perhaps more accurately, how do we guard against the trap of exceptionalism, ensuring that our attempts do not simply reinforce a sense of Western superiority? The answer, it seems, lies not in avoiding difficult stories but in approaching them with humility, a critical eye, and an unwavering commitment to empathy and understanding that this production is working towards.