Nikhil Parmar is the author of Invisible, a play about the personal and professional struggles of a British Indian actor in London.
Nikhil Parmar’s relentlessly kinetic solo show Invisible is an impressive hourlong workout for the actor. The words tumble out, the situations are plentiful, and he breaks the fourth wall time and again. If he had not written the piece for himself, one might regard the movement as a mistake by a novice, but Parmar intends to show what he can do, vocally and physically, and with a vengeance.
Parmar faces family strife and personal demons in Invisible. Photographs by Henri T.
The piece draws on his life as an actor, particularly a brown-skinned man in the British theater, where, until the 1990s—with the breakthrough of Adrian Lester, Josette Simon, and Paterson Joseph, among others—actors of color were rarely cast in traditionally white roles. Invisible reflects the identical frustrations from a South Asian point of view, as Parmar embodies an actor named Zayan Prakash whose nugatory fame comes from doing a “chicken dance” in a commercial.
The play opens with Zayan starting to tell his story, then Parmar stepping out of character, excusing himself, then stepping in again and starting over. And again. This disjointedness becomes a hallmark of the entire evening.
Zayan’s narrative encompasses not only his estrangement from his girlfriend Ella and their daughter but the typical actor’s struggles to make ends meet. Personally he also carries anger from the death of his sister Sashi at age 11, and he’s upset to learn that Ella’s new boyfriend Terrence is someone he detests from their classes at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts (RADA). Terrence has managed to get work on a BBC series, which Zayan deliberately misidentifies. At a party he interacts with Terrence, inhabiting three personae in four lines:
Ella’s pulled away to mingle so I’m left to endure Evil Step-Wanker Number 1 alone.
[As Zayan] How’s the Sky thing going then?
[As Terrence] You mean BBC?
[As Zayan] Yeah.
It’s a drawback for American audiences that the BBC and Sky Media references carry little to no cultural resonance in the exchange, though the context provides some sense of it—i.e., Sky is inferior to the BBC, so Zayan’s mention of it is intended to tweak the haughty Terrence.
There are other relationships in Zayan’s life in this plot-heavy piece: he has a cousin, Nicky, who is a disabled dope peddler. Zayan takes his wheelchair and loses it in what, one suspects, is meant to be a darkly comic moment, but one that comes across as simply grim. The lost wheelchair is part of Zayan’s parenting misadventures with his daughter, Sienna. Although the narration includes periodic commentary, the interactions often come with Zayan’s asides as well. Answering his doorbell to find Ella, he relates:
The playwright-actor gives an intensely physical performance in his work.
Hello. Why do you look weird? she said. She is Ella. I was gonna do her bit in a really high-pitched voice but (a) it sounded pretty offensive and (b) she actually has a properly deep voice, so ...
Under the direction of Georgia Green, Parmar jumps into and out of character. The running commentary is helped somewhat by Parmar’s physicality. He has a knack of swaying at an angle, then swiveling his torso into a perpendicular position when he’s going into or coming out of a character or scene. He circles the stage; he moves up and down constantly.
Ultimately, though, Zayan’s continual popping in and out of multiple other characters, and his asides to the audience during conversations with others, becomes wearisome. Moreover, he’s quite an unsympathetic hero—all credit to Parmar for that.
In an early scene Zayan approaches two narcotics peddlers, Manny and Timur, to ask, “Can I please deal drugs for you again?”
[MANNY] Yo, what’s going on, fam? Why’s my baby niece in a wheelchair?
[TIMUR] Yo, whaddup, Zayan? Yeah, why the fuck Sienna in a wheelchair?
I never claimed I could do the accents well, so—shut up. Sienna was in a wheelchair, to be fair. My housemate Nick’s wheelchair that he sometimes used on account of his cerebral palsy. It’s a ... long story, I told them. … Anyway, I told Manny and Tim about Ella having a new boyfriend, that he was a successful actor, and tried to make them feel sorry for me so they’d let me sell weed for them again
[MANNY] Terrence Lee? He’s fit as fuck. What you gonna do, bruv—it’s a white man’s world.
[ZAYAN] Well Terrence is Korean, so that doesn’t apply.
Parmar is a good actor and has stage presence, but as a showcase for his talents, Invisible feels overweighted and unfocused, and ultimately a calling card that may not have the effect he hopes for.
Nikhil Parmar’s Invisible plays through July 2 at 59E59 Theaters (59 E. 59th St.) Evening performances are at 7:30 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday; matinees are at 2:30 p.m. Saturday and Sunday. For tickets and more information, visit 59e59.org.
Playwright: Nikhil Parmar
Direction: Georgia Green
Set and Costume Design: Georgia Wilmot
Lighting Design: Laura Howard
Sound Design: Bella Kear
