"Hands to Guards"
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| Stars range from 5-1. |
In GUARDS AT THE TAJ, Rajiv Joseph, whose BENGAL TIGER
AT THE BAGHDAD ZOO was nominated for the Pulitzer in 2010, has come up with a fascinating
subject—the relationship of two Mughal guards to the completion of the Taj
Mahal in the Indian city of Agra in 1648. It’s rare enough these days, when plays
set in contemporary living rooms and kitchens dominate the mainstream stage, to
see a play set in the distant past, much less one treating historical events in
a non-Western country.
Mr. Joseph’s 80-minute, intermissionless play, while recounting
events in the exotic world of ancient India does so using up-to-date American vernacular,
including enough f-bombs to qualify for an R-rating. This choice makes the play’s
two characters seem like modern guys we might actually know, increasing our
sympathy for their dilemma although diminishing our acceptance of the plot’s
veracity. Despite the excellence of its performances by Omar Metwally and Arian
Moayed, and the sensitive staging by award-winning Steppenwolf actress Amy
Morton, the play, for all its promise, eventually loses credibility (it’s all a
myth anyway), stumbles into verbosity, and totters under the weight of its pretensions.
The Taj Mahal (“Crown of Palaces”), of course, is
India’s most famous and, to many, most beautiful work of Muslim architecture.
This huge, white marble mausoleum, said to have been designed by Persian architect
Ustad Isa, was built between 1632 and 1648 at the command of the grief-stricken
Mughal king Shah Jahan for the entombment of his most beloved wife (there were
three), Mumtaz Mahal. As many as 20,000 workers were employed during the Taj’s sixteen
years of construction. There are various undocumented legends, or myths,
surrounding the bloody fate of these workers and others, one of which Mr.
Joseph uses as the fulcrum of his play, whose tone shifts radically from
lighthearted wrangling (although the laughs are too few and far between) to
painfully violent activity.
GUARDS AT THE TAJ introduces its eponymous heroes,
Humayun (Mr. Metwally) and Babur (Mr. Moayed), by placing them before a stone
wall occupying the full width of the Linda Gross Theater’s stage, where, as
imperial guards, they keep watch, dressed in the traditional coats and turbans
you see in Mughal art of the period. Actually, we first see Humayun take his
position around 15 minutes before the play begins, standing at attention,
unsheathed sword pointed upward and leaning against his right shoulder, as the
chattering audience, barely attending to his presence, files in.
Babur, late for duty on the dawn patrol, arrives and
takes his position. Babur is unconventional and childlike, unable to stop prattling
despite the strict rules demanding silence, while his childhood friend and
current comrade, Humayun, son of the highest ranking guard, is straitlaced and
conventional, knowing that even the tiniest infraction could lead to serious punishment.
But Babur’s unthinking, authority-challenging effervescence overcomes his fearful
friend’s resistance and conversation ensues.
We discover that Shah Jahan is ruthless; that the
randy Babur dreams of guarding the imperial harem; that the penalty for blasphemy
is much less severe than that for sedition; and that Babur, whose thoughts
aspire toward man’s technological improvement, is preoccupied with birds and
the stars, even imagining a prototype of the airplane. (Talk of inventions fantasized
by the characters practically constitutes a subplot.)
No one outside its protective walls, including this
pair, has thus far seen the soon-to-revealed Taj, leading them to speculate about
it and to decide whether to take a chance and view it for themselves. Most
importantly, Humayun reveals that the architect so angered the emperor by
asking him to allow the 20,000 workers the privilege of examining their
handiwork that he issued a decree so draconian that it would guarantee that
nothing ever again would rival the Taj Mahal in beauty.
Until now, the play, which simply shows two men
standing at attention with barely any movement (physically or plot-wise) as they
provide lively exposition seasoned with amusing commentary, begins sliding into
improbability, even for a play that injects a 21st-century American sensibility
into 17th-century circumstances. At the end of the scene, Humayun tells Babur that
they’re to be the ones responsible for carrying out the horrendous royal decree
of chopping off all the workers’ hands (as if that would once and for all stop
anyone from ever again creating beauty). Since he’s known this all along,
keeping it a secret from Babur for so long stretches plausibility.
The scene ends with a beautiful epiphany as the
first light breaks and the men dare stare at the Taj Mahal; the wall then rises to
expose a dungeon-like, underground room (which seems out of place inside so
exquisite an architectural gem), its floor drenched in blood, as are Humayun
and Babur, who slosh about in the gore (some of which nearly splashes first-rowers).
Babur has chopped off 40,000 hands, Humayun has cauterized the stumps. The
psyches of both are scarred, especially Babur’s.
Unfortunately, as they clean up the mess, time-killing
chatter fills the air—some of it not unlike a humorless Abbott and Costello
routine—about both mundane and philosophical matters. An inane argument erupts, central to the final
half of the play, in which the men bicker over which of them is more
responsible for having killed "beauty," which they believe their actions will make
extinct, and which borders on the pretentious. After several plot twists, one
very brutal, the play comes to a bittersweet, touchingly poetic conclusion but it never
really regains its traction.
All the production elements are first-rate, including
Timothy R. Mackabee’s solid-looking set, Bobby Frederick Tilley II’s authentic-looking
period costumes, David Weiner’s exquisite lighting, the original music and
sound design of Rob Milburn and Michael Bodeen, and the fighting staged by J.
David Brimmer. The actors are excellent at making their characters seem real,
but the play itself fights them at too many turns.
Other Viewpoints:
Linda Gross Theatre/Atlantic Theatre Company
336 West 20th Street, NYC
Through June 28
