Review: "Syrian Soap" Clowns in the Face of Crisis

Syrian Soap

Written and performed by E. Zaalan

Directed by Tallie Medel

Original direction and co-devising, dramaturgy by Natasha Mercado

Presented by National Queer Theater and HERE Arts Center at HERE Arts Center

145 6th Ave, Manhattan, NYC

June 24-27, 2026

Not a lot of shows tell the audience that they can stick around and hang out in the pool afterward, but then, the current production of E. Zaalan's Syrian Soap gets the interactivity started even before the performance begins, with spectators given bubble wands and offered tea during that pre-show period. The pool in question, inflatable and filled with clear bubble wrap and beach ball "water," represents part of the Intergalactic Bathhouse, the form taken by the afterlife in this marvelous solo show. In the fabulously funny Syrian Soap, Zaalan, a stand-up, clown, and conflict mediator, plays both a long-deceased ancestor and (a version of) themself in a masterful piece of clowning that is also an articulation of (ultimately inseparable) national, political, and personal struggles. The current run of Syrian Soap is part of the 2026 installment of the Criminal Queerness Festival, which showcases "refugee, asylee, and immigrant queer voices" with "groundbreaking new works written by artists from countries where queerness is criminalized or censored."

The Ancestor–who is already behind a folding wooden privacy screen as the audience comes in, swaying to music and occasionally applying a bath brush to an outstuck limb–advocates self-care, takes phone calls from descendants (allowing for some NYC- and Pride-centric jokes, as well as some hilariously unerring imitations of a certain, very recognizable type of young New Yorker), and betrays an anachronistic fondness for the late 1990s hit "She's So High." In the early going, the Ancestor delivers both comedic compliments and life advice to audience members, who are positioned as other ancestors in the afterlife. The latter led to some moments of genuine sharing, one demonstration of Zaalan's deft facility at creating the bond and buy-in that makes audience participation work. The question of whether comedy is an appropriate response to a time of political crisis provides a metatheatrical segue into Zaalan's taking on the role of the descendant writer/performer of the show that we are watching. This stretch of the play includes a dash of stand up and some parody of inscrutably self-serious performance art, while the late-stage return of the Ancestor brings us a glorious burlesque-adjacent dance segment set to "The Time of My Life." The dance sequence acts as a sort of climactic capstone for the show's continually inventive visual comedy, an aspect in which mustaches figure prominently, with one moment involving a hydrating facemask an uproarious standout.

Amidst all the fun, Syrian Soap effectively incorporates some bubbles of seriousness: a recorded voiceover that brings the choice for the Descendant between ostracization and living openly as oneself into stark relief, a recitation of a meaningful poem, a pivot from making fun of pretentious "metaphors" to its own deliberately silly-looking but cogent extended metaphor for political oppression in Syria, the Syrian Revolution, and its aftermath. That aftermath includes effects that connect directly back to the aforementioned difficult individual choices that the Descendant must make and complicates their relationship with their native nation. The Ancestor also eventually reveals that his death was, like the Descendant's sacrifices to live and speak openly, related to social control, and one of the play's final questions is what the Ancestor would think of the Descendant. Syrian Soap's earlier question of the pursuit of comedy during times of crisis also, because of the performance context, suggests the question of joy during Pride while queerness is once again under elevated levels of attack in the United States, and in both cases, this joy of a show is its own answer.

-John R. Ziegler and Leah Richards