Theatre Review: Anosh Irani’s Behind the Moon captures the dreams and disillusionment of immigrant life
A trio of strong actors make sure some of the most understated moments wind up being the most poignant in this Touchstone Theatre production
Zahf Paroo (left) and Praneet Akilla in Behind the Moon. Photo by Chelsey Stuyt
Touchstone Theatre presents Behind the Moon at the Vancity Culture Lab to April 6
ON THE SURFACE, THE three central characters of Anosh Irani’s Behind the Moon share much in common. They are immigrants who came to Toronto in search of opportunity, they are Muslim, and each, in his own way, is deeply devoted to family. As Qadir (the shrewd restaurateur portrayed by actor Dhirendra) proclaims in the play, “We are all in this together!”
Yet, as the story unfolds, three distinct immigrant experiences emerge, revealing the profound consequences that can stem from even the smallest turning points. Irani deftly crafts contrasting character studies that are shaped by unfinished business and second chances—at once grief-stricken and hopeful.
The play opens with Ayub (portrayed by Praneet Akilla), the all-in-one employee who works at Qadir’s modest restaurant in Toronto, called the Mughlai Moon. One evening, his nightly after-hours routine is interrupted by Jalal (Zahf Paroo), a disoriented cab driver in desperate need of Indian food. Unspoken tension immediately fills the air, leaving us to wonder what is at stake, and what is standing between these characters.
With a wintry backdrop, set designer Patrick Rizzotti avoids any frills and embellishments that would pierce the desolate monotony of Ayub’s daily life. It is a scene that would be familiar to many of us, except the story does not follow the customers out the door but stays on those we might only acknowledge in passing. Ayub’s repetitive cleaning and resetting of chairs punctuate the scenes, reminding us that he is always on the clock. Surrealist moments amplified by Jonathan Kim’s lighting design engulf the space in the second half of the play, further illustrating Ayub’s eventual breakdown.
Underneath the blinking fluorescent lights, director Lois Anderson creates a liminal space that pulls the audience into Ayub’s isolation, making both Toronto and Mumbai (where his family resides) feel impossibly out of reach. As a character that, in Irani’s words, has stayed with him across multiple works, Ayub holds a dream of reuniting with his family. This forms the heartbeat of the play, with every obstacle a tribute to the immigrant experience. His desires are deeply human, but so is his passivity. When his story becomes clear, the few items Ayub receives from the outside world—a carpet, a phone, a bag of clothes—take on new symbolic weight. Some of the most understated moments wind up being the most poignant, where the only reflection of truth lies in his muted anguish.
Despite portraying a man trapped on the hamster wheel, Akilla delivers a winsome, at times wisecracking performance that endears the audience even when the character pushes away. His leading-man charisma could have overshadowed Ayub’s meekness, but Akilla’s transformation is decidedly convincing. Meanwhile, Qadir’s smooth-talking presence becomes more and more sinister, lending Dhirendra’s family-man charm more complexity than we are initially led to believe. This is complemented by Paroo’s turn as the emotive and unrestrained Jalal, who delivers a monologue that is arguably the standout moment of the show. Nevertheless, with Akilla anchoring every scene, a dynamic range rests on his shoulders, from the humorous slice-of-life to the climactic descent.
Underpinning the performances is Irani’s quickfire dialogue and sardonic humour. The characters exude their cultural understanding with a sense of shared brotherhood, even when their differences are exposed. Through this constant juxtaposition of their immigrant class, we come to see who they are not just as men, but in their words, as fathers, sons, cousins, and brothers. Irani does not hold our hand through every exchange or Urdu dialogue, nor does he have to for us to understand what is at stake.
For anyone who thinks they might see themselves in his writing, it’s best to bring some tissues just in case.
While the story brims with complex themes around immigration, family devotion, and worker exploitation, Behind the Moon’s gradual crescendo is slightly disrupted by a key moment that takes place entirely off-stage. Although an understandable choice given the practicalities, audiences might be taken out of the moment briefly waiting for the action to return to the stage.
On a wider level, with only three speaking roles, one can’t help but wonder if they could be explored even further, whether in Ayub’s universe or somewhere beyond the Mughlai Moon. Jalal and Qadir, while compelling characters, exist primarily opposite Ayub and rarely cross paths. And thematically, Ayub’s dynamic with Qadir’s family is rich with implications for further exploration.
With little idle time and minimalist transitions, the production never strays far from the story’s rapidly unfolding action. Through bittersweet humour and tragic honesty, Irani salutes the immigrant working class with candour and grace. In the end, Behind the Moon captures both the enduring faith needed to start from the bottom, and the way life can change in the blink of an eye. 
Behind the Moon. Photo by Chelsey Stuyt
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