A Knock on the Roof at Royal Court Jerwood Theatre Downstairs review: raw and confronting
The title of this confronting but surprisingly playful monologue about a young Palestinian woman in Gaza refers to the small bomb the Israeli Defence Force drops on buildings to warn residents that an annihilating missile will follow five minutes later. Compellingly performed by its writer Khawla Ibraheem, it’s a reminder of the complex humanity of the civilians killed in the current conflict that began with Hamas’s terror attack on October 7, and in previous wars in the region.
This is partly achieved through repetition and reinforcement, though, which ultimately dulls the edge of a drama that lasts just 75 minutes. That Oliver Butler’s production for piece by piece has found a home at the Royal Court after runs in Edinburgh and New York feels like a statement by the venue’s still-new artistic director David Byrne. The Court has faced accusations of antisemitism over plays including Jim Lee’s Perdition in 1987, Caryl Churchill’s Seven Jewish Children in 2009, and Al Smith’s Rare Earth Mettle (sic) in 2021.
This doesn’t feel antisemitic: rather, it’s an examination of how any of us might react to a five-minute warning of impending extinction. Ibraheem’s Mariam is a sharp, smart woman in jeans and a ponytail, stuck in a seventh-floor apartment in Gaza with her young son Nour and her widowed mother while bombardments encroach. She starts obsessively testing how far she can run carrying a pillowcase weighted to represent Nour and a bag of necessaries but comes up against endless complications.
What if Nur is asleep and slow to stir when the knock on the roof comes? What if Mariam is on the loo, or showering in her prayer-dress (which her mother insists she must wear, in case the building is bombed and her naked corpse offends those who discover it)? Ibraheem explores the spiraling obsession in a wry, confiding manner, often lobbing direct questions at audience members. If she removed the spare bras from her emergency bag, would that make her faster? Should she leave her expensive face cream behind? What would we choose to save from obliteration?
As a writer, Ibraheem challenges her audience’s likely assumptions. Mariam’s husband Omar is studying for a masters degree overseas, and his utterly predictable, thrice-daily calls contrast with the increasing absurdity of her life, as she sets up an alternate home in a bombed building. Later we learn that Mariam herself was a brilliant maths scholar and that her father was a Christian.
She is eloquently vulgar, and matter-of-fact about the dehumanising effect of an existence where water, electricity and life itself all feel provisional: “Here in Gaza, nothing is yours. You are absolutely looted.” It’s more dynamic than most monologues, Ibraheem jogging through strobing lights and shadows suggesting carnage.
At best, her script and performance feel starkly, refreshingly revelatory, and the ending is devastating. But the endless variations of Mariam’s run become tedious and a metatheatrical attempt to equate the roles she plays in life with the role Ibraheem is playing on stage doesn’t work. This is a front-line bulletin of a kind that the theatre world rarely attempts. Inevitably it’s raw and rough at the edges.
A Knock on the Roof at Royal Court Jerwood Theatre Downstairs, until 8 March, royalcourttheatre.com.
