Beirut’s City Theater is currently hosting “Three Verses of Solitude,” a new production by the Zaqqaq theatre troupe exploring themes of isolation and connection–resonating especially deeply given recent global and local events in Lebanon. Running January 20-23,the hour-long performance utilizes dance,music,and theatre to reflect on the shared experiences of the past five years,including the COVID-19 pandemic,economic instability,and the aftermath of the 2020 Beirut port explosion. The production uniquely blends Arabic and english dialog, and features performances from Maya Zbib, Jneid Sirri Eddine, Lamia Abi Azar, and Australian dancer Lee Serle.
A haunting exploration of isolation and connection is currently unfolding on stage at Beirut’s City Theatre, courtesy of the Zaqqaq theatre troupe’s new production, “Three Verses of Solitude.” The performance, running from January 20-23, delves into the layered experiences of detachment and the human need for both withdrawal and shared space – a theme resonating deeply with audiences in a world still grappling with recent global events.
The work powerfully reflects on the last five years in Lebanon and beyond: the pandemic, forced isolation, conflict, a loss of security, and an increased reliance on screens for information and connection. Yet, the production also presents solitude as a quiet act of resistance, and a possibility for existing together, even while apart.
From the opening moments, the stage evokes a spiritual atmosphere inspired by the Rothko Chapel, a space known for its profound silence. Here, isolation transforms into three verses, three sighs, or three slow breaths that repeat as a rhythm, drawing the audience inward and opening a door to an immersive experience that replaces dialogue with attentive listening.
For the first ten minutes of the hour-long performance, the sound of heavy rain fills the theatre, washing over the audience’s memory. It conjures shared experiences of recent years: sirens, news of strikes, distant explosions, and the constant glow of mobile phones. Amidst this sonic upheaval, Maya Zbib, the play’s writer, director, and performer, stands firm center stage, while Jneid Sirri Eddine moves forward slowly, Lamia Abi Azar navigates the space with cautious tension, and Australian dancer Lee Serle slides across the floor with creeping movements, as if forging a path through an unseen layer of mud. Serle is identified as coming from a different background, but the production emphasizes the unifying power of shared experience, posing the question: who endures, who advances, who collapses, and who crawls to cling to life?
The work weaves a common language between theatre, music, and dance.
Midway through the performance, Maya pauses to recount, in a hesitant voice, her experience as a mother during wartime, the day she lost her phone and became cut off from the world. She uses the pronoun “she” to create distance between herself and her experience, creating a broader space for confession. She explains that pain and vulnerability become easier to express when spoken in a language that isn’t one’s native tongue, and seamlessly transitions between Arabic and English, while a band of light above the stage functions as a “keyboard,” translating her words into the other language. This shift isn’t merely technical; it transforms the theatre into a space where language wrestles with itself, between expression and concealment, between confession and hiding, between a voice seeking protection and a voice striving for exposure.
The visual landscape continues with a translucent screen projecting the shadows of three performers seated far apart. The body appears in the foreground, the shadow in the background, as if what we see and what we think move on different planes. This division mirrors the experience of solitude: our bodies may be still, but our minds operate in troubled shadows unseen by others. The neutral lighting heightens this distance, seeming to extract the audience from the external event and immerse them in its internal repercussions.
Then, a cold blue light floods the stage, a color more reminiscent of the ocean depths than the night. Jneid sits in his chair, captivated by the light of his phone, while Lee Serle writhes beneath him in fragmented movements. This is a clear depiction of modern isolation: one person seeking refuge in a screen as a sole window to the world, the other trapped within their internal reverberations, unable to break free.
Maya Zbib evokes the image of the Black Devil fish, recently sighted on the ocean’s surface. This creature typically lives five thousand meters below the water, far from humans, untouched by anyone, yet a faint light still reaches it, enough to sustain its existence. The fish becomes a symbol for the entire play: how do we continue in the darkness? And how does light find its way to the most isolated places?
Weaving together dance, music, and theatre, the production creates a shared performative language. Lee Serle’s contribution to the choreography adds a strict, flowing dimension, using the body as a tool for thought, not merely expression, while the performances of Lamia and Jneid form a fundamental strength of the production – a genuine, intense presence capable of translating human turmoil through movement and breath. The performance highlights the growing influence of experimental theatre in the region.
Throughout the hour, Zbib reminds us that art is what slows down the world in an age of accelerating speed. It’s what reorders our internal rhythm, calms, awakens, and restores our ability to see beauty. With each moment of silence, the play seems to invite the audience to discover the other side of solitude.
