“Amm(i)gone” Finds The Language Between Words

Curtis Brown Photos.

Some things cannot be translated with words alone. Adil Mansoor, creator of Amm(i)gone gives his audience an example of this phenomenon with a particular piece of text from the Quran. While the direct translation into English misses the meaning, Mansoor guides those gathered into a theatrical moment that captures the heart of the text. 

The characters are projected onto the back wall of the theater, but they soon melt into a huge eclipsed sun. A song, written by a friend, rings out, inspired by the meaning of the previously untranslatable words. The set glows and the lights above the audience brighten, bringing everyone into the space together. The result is an audience of different mother tongues that reaches a shared meaning.

This is just one of the ways that Adil Mansoor’s Amm(i)gone finds language not only through, but also between, words. Written and performed by Mansoor and produced by Long Wharf Theatre, the one-person show runs at Yale’s Theatre and Performance Studies Black Box at 53 Wall St. through June 23. Several panels and Pride Month events are taking place alongside the play; tickets and more information are available here.  

Set in the present, Amm(i)gone tells the story of Mansoor’s journey to translate Sophocles’ Antigone alongside his mother—his “Ammi,” in Urdu. Despite what may read as an academic premise, the play feels personal, dynamic, and relatable. 

Curtis Brown Photos.

That begins with the stage itself designed by Xotchil Musser. The set is carved with geometric patterns in traditional Islamic design. Ornate carpets are layered on the ground and a delightfully large projector reveals intimate details over the course of the evening. 

Against that backdrop, Mansoor folds his passion for craft and storytelling into every aspect of this performance. He speaks directly to members of the audience as if they are old friends, and his delight is infectious. He giggles and guides the audience through the story of Antigone. He explains how he saw it as a manuscript for a renewed connection with his mother, a nod to the title of the show.

The Greek tragedy, he explains, is about family, betrayal, rites, and rituals. After a brutal war, where Antigone’s brothers fought on opposing sides, her uncle (and the new king) Creon declares that the victorious brother may be buried with all funeral rites and the other should be left out to rot. Antigone disobeys Creon, burying her brother and facing mortal consequences. 

The emotional resonance of this ancient text echoes  in a recorded conversation, translated and phonetically transcribed from Urdu, between Mansoor and his mother. Mansoor plays these recordings from his own laptop on stage, and listens along with the audience. 

The audience never sees Mansoor’s mother, but her presence is palpable in the theater. His mother now wears a hijab, so when Mansoor shares pictures from his childhood, he covers her image in respect. Her voice on the recordings is clear and rich. She is witty, deeply intelligent, and a scholar of the Quran. Even a stone would cry when she says “my Adil.”

Curtis Brown Photos.

“Ammi” is the Urdu word for mother. But there are no mothers in Antigone. Only single minded determination, and a ferocious dedication to a loved one's eternal spirit. Amm(i)gone invites a mother into the story. 

It's clear that Mansoor and Co-director Lyam B. Gabel want their audience to feel included and grounded in this play from 441 BC. The production deftly uses theatrical tools to bring the audience in on Antigone’s relevance. There is an onstage projector used to magnify the details of scarves, script pages, and photographs. It brings the audience into Mansoor’s life, particularly when he reveals sweet and telling childhood photos.

Intermittently Mansoor shares clips of productions of Antigone from around the world. When he and his mother discuss a scene in which Antigone’s sister, Isemene, begs her not to disobey the king, their recorded conversation is intercut with a recording of the same scene from the Brooklyn Academy of Music’s (BAM) 2015 production. This allows the audience to think through the language on many levels; performance, translation, and intention. 

Mansoor and his mother’s translation work is also projected on the stage. The script draft is laid on the projector peppered with little red penned scribbles in English and Urdu. We see Ismene and Antigone’s words in English and Urdu that have previously been translated from ancient Greek to English by Anne Carson. 

They discuss Ismene's line: “Although you go without your mind / you go as one beloved.”  In the play, Ismene does not agree with Antigone—she does not understand why she chooses to bury her brothers—but loves her anyway. 

Mansoor asks his mother about Ismene’s performance in the BAM production versus how she originally thought of the line. In his mother’s exploration of the language, it becomes clear there is another layer to the discussion that cannot be spoken aloud. She does not have a simple relationship to theater, wrapped up with complex feelings about her son’s queerness. 

Amm(i)gone is a story about queerness as much as it is about language and the stage. Mansoor speaks to the chasm that exists when one is not accepted because of their sexuality. It ultimately feels like the driving force towards this project of translation. 

By making something together, Mansoor also creates a space to talk to his mom. By looking for meaning in the liminality between languages they are having conversations about grief, death, faith, love, family, and dedication. They are writing their own unique language of love that has space for both of them in their fullness. 

Amm(i)gone is presented by Long Wharf Theatre, Wooly Mammoth, Kelley Strayhorn Theatre, Playco and in partnership with TheaterWorks Hartford.