A Knock on the Roof, Royal Court
Friday 28th February 2025
The war in Gaza has been going since 7 October 2023 — that’s about 15 months. But it’s strangely absent from British stages. Of course, it’s a divisive issue, a difficult issue, a painful issue — but isn’t that what contemporary theatre should be about? Instead, we prefer to stage bellicose horrors in plays by ancient Greek tragedians, or mention Palestine in Shakespeare plays, but really…
Now at last, after being staged in Edinburgh last year, Syrian-Palestinian theatre-maker Khawla Ibraheem’s A Knock on the Roof comes to London, to the Royal Court, having already been to the New York Theatre Workshop, Off-Broadway. A 75-minute one-woman play, performed by the writer, it is an account of everyday family life in Gaza under siege, about what it feels like to be a Palestinian family enduring massive bombardment by the Israeli military.
But how do you write about this kind of situation? After all, it’s been in the media for months, and its horrible realities are all too familiar. So the first choice must be what tone to use: you can write a grim documentary, a violent tragedy, a political tract, or a darkly humorous tale of endurance. Ibraheem chooses to adopt a mildly surreal approach, which begins with a lot of facts about her situation, then self-consciously plays with the audience — acknowledging her role as a performer — before finally throwing herself into an acceleration of intensity, blotting out horror with a torrent of words, which of course only serves to accentuate the horror.
The grimly comic surreality of the experience gives the show its title. Apparently, when the IDF drops bombs, the first ones are small warning “knocks” which alert the residents that they have five minutes (15 if they’re really lucky) before the large bombs hit. Ibraheem’s character Mariam knows this, and, as a response to the terrible anxieties of siege conditions, she begins to practice escape routes from the her apartment on the seventh floor of her building. At first she tries to see how far she can run in five minutes, then tries again while carrying a bag of basic clothing, then carrying her six-year-old son Nour — but what about her elderly mother? And why just pack basics — what about toiletries, perfume, books?
The clever thing about Ibraheem’s writing is that it mixes specific details of life in Gaza, such as the power cuts, the lure of the beach and the smell of baking bread, with much more universal themes. On one level, Mariam is an ordinary everywoman who has recognizable reactions to her nearest and dearest: she is angry that her husband Omar is away studying in Europe because she would have liked to do that too; she is glad he keeps in touch, but annoyed when he phones too often; she has a typically spiky relationship with her mother; and a tender and amused approach to Nour. She is unsentimental about her situation, emphasizing her ambiguous feelings about being married and having a child.
Although Mariam is well educated and the daughter of a Christian and a Muslim, the play avoids the more contentious issues about Gaza. Politics is not mentioned, Hamas is not mentioned, Israel’s war crimes are not mentioned. Apart from this one family, and a couple of references to Yasmin, a neighbour, the rest of society is absent from this account. The class differences within Palestinian society are not an issue here. This is the acceptable face of the conflict — human not politicised. Very middle-classless. Instead, the more general deprivations of life are specified: travel restrictions, terrible traffic, power cuts and lack of water. And the value of precious face creams.
A Knock on the Roof is a character study. Mariam is bright, efficient and self-questioning. At one point she can only express, or repress, her tensions by cleaning the apartment compulsively. Her repeated rehearsals of the five-minute dash, fleeing the bombing, are both humorous and a metaphor for rising levels of anxiety. And the wry comedy is delivered with a mixture of sarcasm and realism: at one point Mariam’s mother tells her to wear a robe while taking a shower because if the building is bombed she mustn’t be buried alive naked. That would be immodest. But by the end of the show, the psychological temperature has risen. Not so funny any more.
The play is a poignant examination of obsession: better than any documentary it shows us how the sheer intensity of waiting for violence, maybe for a violent death, can only really be expressed through light surreal comedy. Mariam and her family are, after all, suffering the trauma of war. At one point, she has a tense encounter with a gunman, who is suspicious of her pillowcase full of precious objects, as she stumbles around a bomb site (safe because unlikely to be bombed again). While the air raids begin during Ramadan (Nour regularly breaks his fast), Mariam finds herself waiting and waiting for the next wave of bombings. So her thoughts begin to escalate uncontrollably. Her situation drives her towards the edge. This life is unendurable, but must be endured.
Developed and directed by Oliver Butler, the show is designed by Frank J Oliva, and begins with the house lights on, and Ibraheem looking calm, checking out the audience. Soon she is developing a rapport with us, asking us various questions, looking for suggestions, and stretching out on the one piece of onstage furniture, a chair, as she relaxes. She is, she says, a “cool mum”. But then she begins her training, her pacing and her five-minute runs, and gradually starts to include Nour and her mother. As the nightmarish situation escalates, her body and voice get more and more tense, an effect helped by Hana S Kim’s fragmentary video and Rami Nakhleh’s music. Ibraheem delivers a terrifically energetic and emotionally draining performance, making this a powerful and poignant experience.
This review first appeared on The Arts Desk
- A Knock on the Roof is at the Royal Court until 8 March.
