Review of ‘Love Omar’: “Arabian night is hardly a stroke of genius”

I didn’t love him. Or like him. Just like I didn’t love or like this play either. It’s not a bad concept. But it’s a clumsy execution. Very clumsy. To the extent that, if it hadn’t been for the final 20 minutes, I wouldn’t know what the point of this piece is. Nor what it is about. It might have resurrected an old film star, but there’s nothing in it that shines. And definitely the sky isn’t its limit.

Omar Sharif has returned to the stage. Both fictionally and literally. As he enters his dressing room, he roams flamboyantly in a manner only an utmost Hollywood diva could — clichéd and unrealistic, which is exactly how this piece could be described in a nutshell.

You’ve got everything you would expect in a plot infused with platitude: clunky dialogue that leads nowhere, weird musical numbers that add absolutely nothing to the recount, over-the-top meltdowns performed with little credibility and zero dimensionality, and an oversaturation of melodramatic elements whose only contribution is making the narrative even less digestible than it already is.

The story centres around Omar and his Assistant Director, Mag, as a seemingly harmless rehearsal leads to a heated conversation about their Arabic cultural heritage. It’s such a stimulating premise that the reasons for its poor treatment are a total mystery. Eventually, there is some food for thought, but their debate is so brief and cluttered with unnecessary gibberish that its resonance plummets.

Although both characters may have their own voice, their journeys are hardly defined. There is no real transformation, except for a very forced remark at the end that comes off as a patch to wrap things up rather than a wish for elaborateness. As a result, both personages feel exceedingly archetypal, as the shades and motivations that would have made them compelling and, above all, human are erased by the play’s absence of rhythm and structure.

The performances do not help either. Al Nedjari is excruciatingly flat as Omar Sharif. There is no nuance, no subtext, and on the whole, no believability whatsoever. Lara Sawalha delivers a more decent portrayal as Mag, but the bits of truthfulness she conveys are nonetheless clouded by the character’s lack of flow and arc.

It would have been interesting to engage in a deep, perhaps mind-changing discussion about cultural heritage — and the pride or shame that some individuals carry depending on their personal circumstances. Although Love Omar shows that intent, the opportunity is completely wasted by a shallow script suffering from basic dramaturgical errors. In some manner, it could have been the Arabic version of Giant. Instead, what they’re offering is rather small.

All pictures credit to Ellie Kurtz.

Love Omar plays at London’s Theatro Technis until 6 June. Tickets are available on the following link.

By Guillermo Nazara