In Zahak, the Serpent King, brothers Aryo and Arash Khakpour use Persian myth to explore themes of power and oppression
Eerie performance from The Biting School melds dance, physical theatre, spoken word, and video projections
Zahak, the Serpent King. Photo by Luciana Freire D’Anunciação
New Works presents The Biting School’s Zahak, the Serpent King at the Annex at 8 pm from November 30 to December 2, with a post-show artist talkback on December 1
THE PERSIAN MYTH of Zahak, replete with themes of power and oppression, transcends centuries. As brothers and multidisciplinary artists Aryo and Arash Khakpour put it, the legend is as imperative to Iranian culture as the Genesis creation story of Adam and Eve is to Christians.
The tale focuses on prince Zahak, who is deceived by the devil into killing his own father to become king, granting his wish for power and riches. In return, the devil kisses Zahak on both shoulders, and an insatiable snake grows from each point of contact. The serpentine extensions, which simply regrow when cut off, inflict pain and fear upon Zahak. When it’s discovered that the only way to quell the snakes’ frenzy is to feed each of them a human brain daily, Zahak complies, thus being forced to maintain a reign of murder and brutality in order to fuel his innermost desires.
The myth is best chronicled in the Shahnameh (The Book of Kings), an epic 11th-century poem composed of over 50,000 rhyming couplets by Persian writer Abolqasem Ferdowsi. The book’s endurance as a central literary work of Iran means it has been reinterpreted often, with much to discern from its contents.
“That’s one of my favourite things about ancient stories: they actually stay strong through the test of time,” Aryo tells Stir over a Zoom call with Arash. “You can add symbolism and meaning to them, and have a conversation with them. Because [with] new stories, you hear them and you’re like, ‘Well, what does it mean?’ But [with] old stories, the same question has been asked for 3,000 years.”
Aryo Khakpour. Photo by Elika Mojtabaei
As co-artistic directors of their company The Biting School, the Khakpour brothers offer a new take on the age-old tale of Zahak with the world premiere of their innovative production Zahak, the Serpent King at the Annex. Starring performers Andy Kalirai, Mia Pelayo, and Audrey Sides, the show employs dance, physical theatre, and surrealist imagery to evoke mysterious energies of darkness, power, and freedom.
Though Aryo’s formal training lies in the realm of theatre, and Arash’s in dance, the pair of artists born in Tehran strive to increasingly meld and expand their areas of expertise. In a dynamic partnership of teaching and learning, they’ve crafted a performance language that blends movement and spoken word. The Khakpour brothers avoid defining themselves in a way that’s too black-and-white, or limiting their artistry with specifics. Instead, it’s up to viewers to interpret their productions however they wish.
“One of the things we work with is ambiguity, and moving from image, to image, to image,” explains Aryo. The piece is divided into two half-hour sections, one led by Aryo and the other by Arash. At times throughout the show, Kalirai is Zahak—but elsewhere, Pelayo or Sides might perform the role of the mogul. Likewise, there are moments when the artists embody just one aspect of a snake, maybe a hissing voice or slithering movement style, rather than full-on playing the role of a snake.
“They’re not one character at all, and it can feel confusing at times,” Arash says of the performers in his section. “But once you surrender to that, you realize, ‘Oh wait, no, they’re going through a passage of time.’ They’re shape-shifting through different beings—you could even say non-human characters. Because I mean, for me, it’s obvious life doesn’t revolve around humans. I think it’s been proven to us. And so I don’t feel like when I make something it’s just about humans, or just related to that.”
Rooting the story in myth provides a backbone for the abstraction at play. There’s an understandable storyline for the audience to fall back upon, which helps guide their imaginations in moments of questioning.
Arash Khakpour. Photo by Iman Emadian
There is a different style to each half of Zahak, the Serpent King that corresponds with the brothers’ respective approaches. Aryo’s section, for instance, plays often with theatrical spoken word and juxtaposing gestures with stillness, while Arash’s half leans into the physicality of moving fluidly between characters and qualities.
“I love the play between tension and release, and softness and muscularity, and not really staying in one or the other,” Arash says. “And I think that allows us to have range. So it’s kind of like inhale and exhale, or what I talk about with performance all the time, the new moon and the full moon—so this idea of letting it go, and then letting it fill you up, then letting go. And within that inhale and exhale, there’s lots of range for any kind of movement.”
Visual arts and music also play important roles in the piece. A semi-original score is featured by composer-musician Alex Mah, whose collaboration with the brothers dates back 10 years to The Righteous Floater, a story of sibling rivalry performed at 2013’s Dancing on the Edge Festival (the work was expanded into a full-length piece, Cain and Abel, at the Firehall Arts Centre in 2018). Mah’s multilayered sound expertly weaves intricate, detailed synth and string with moments of silence. Meanwhile, video projection designer Candelario Andrade Gutierrez plays with connections to folk storytelling, still imagery, and cheeky depictions of foreignness.
There are countless messages about power and oppression within the bounds of Zahak, the Serpent King. Based on stereotypes alone, says Aryo, Zahak is often labelled a tyrant or dictator comparable to the modern-day likes of a self-centred CEO or the misogynist head of a family. But there’s always more than what meets the eye, and it’s up to the audience to discern what they will.
“In a way, I see myself as the person with snakes on the shoulders,” Arash says. “And one symbol that I think about is Zahak’s failure to understand that he needs to sacrifice something, and he needs to die in some way to move forward because of the mistakes maybe he’s done. Because in order for him to not do what he’s doing, he has to sacrifice himself. And that could have been more liberating than continuing to kill, to find more brains for the snakes, in a way.
“And I think that’s something we do in our lives all the time. I do it in my life all the time, I choose something else, not sacrifice. And if I sacrifice, it might be painful in that moment—but then actually, I will get more, potentially, out of what’s next.”
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