Where There Is No Time — written, produced by and starring Mohammedally Hashemi — is an ambitious, intermittently arresting debut that wrestles with fashion, faith, and the fight between artistic integrity and commercial popularity.
It opens with Yusuf quietly sketching into a notebook on the naturalistic set design of his atelier as a low drone hums beneath—a promisingly introspective beginning that the play partly fulfills. From there, we learn Yusuf is preparing a new collection for his next show. He’s torn between the advice offered by an old friend, model and muse, Nina, and financial backer and new business partner, Suzann. Does he stick true to his Yemeni-Iranian roots? Or dilute to grow a bigger market?
At its strongest, the play thrives in its character work. Suzann (Milly Zero) is delightfully horrid — a masterclass in false empathy and corporate schmoozing, punctuated by a nervous stroke of the ponytail or tug of the Prada jumper. Opposite her, Nina’s (Kerena Jagpal) integrity and emotional clarity provide a compelling counterweight. The tension between the two women — both operating within the same fashion world but with radically different values — is genuinely palpable and sometimes electric. Yussuf (Mohammedally Hashemi) is most convincing when depicting intense internal struggle, caught between the two women and all they represent.
Thematically, the play promises much. It probes fashion as both art and commodity. Moments of writerly flair from Hashemi really come to the fore as he dreamily reflects upon his mixed heritage, seeing Yemen as his mother and Iran as his father, and Zanzibar, the “spice island”. Suzann, all sleek, empty commercialism, flattens these beautiful memories into a “Zanzibar aesthetic”, with pithy one-liners such as “Keep it spicy… but tasty”. This bites to the core of a topical issue, as the arts today are increasingly drained of all revolutionary and political power through creeping corporatisation that makes everything “accessible” at the expense of soul. This cultural comment culminates in the symbolic Dress of Faith, a stunning navy and gold garment, supposedly hand-stitched and lovingly made by his mother. The cultural and emotional history of this dress could certainly have been expanded upon, however.
Some sequences from director Hamza Ali are evocative. Drums underscore Yusuf’s restless movement and signify time passing as he ponders the Dress of Faith. In contrast, a later moment — set to delicate strings — achieves real emotional resonance as Yusuf lifts the dress sleeves as if dancing with his mother, then wraps himself in them and weeps. It’s the play’s most affecting image, capturing the competing pulls between loss and remembrance, style and substance. When the production dips its toe into stylisation, however, it is not always successful. Abrupt scene changes flare up with techno music as characters strut on like catwalk models, only to resume dialogue after jarringly small time-jumps.
The increasing time pressure before the debut show also never quite lands, and character relationships feel over-expositioned yet underdeveloped. The climactic confrontation between Nina and Suzann the night before the show veers into melodrama, and a sudden aggressive outburst from Yusuf jars just as much as it shocks.
Still, its central debate — between cultural authenticity and commercial viability, art and money — is an urgent one, as yet underexplored on stage. Where There Is No Time is not without its flaws, but undeniably thought-provoking.