Disgraced

Ayad Akhtar

• Publisher: Methuen Drama
• Year: 2021
• Print ISBN: 9781350146488
• eBook ISBN: 9781350146501
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Drama
• Index: Literature

"A continuously engaging, vitally engaged play about thorny questions of identity and religion in the contemporary world, with an accent on the incendiary topic of how radical Islam and the terrorism it inspires have affected the public discourse." The New York Times New York. Today. Corporate lawyer Amir Kapoor is happy, in love, and about to land the biggest career promotion of his life. But beneath the veneer, success has come at a price. When Amir and his artist wife, Emily, host an intimate dinner party at their Upper East Side apartment, what starts out as a friendly conversation soon escalates into something far more damaging. Winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Drama, 2013, Disgraced premiered in Chicago before transferring to New York's Lincoln Center in 2012. This new Modern Classics edition features an introduction by J.T. Rogers.

Scene One

Lights come up.

High ceilings, parquet floors, crown moulding. The works.

Upstage – a dining table. Behind it, a swinging door leads off to a kitchen.

Upstage right – an open doorway leads to a hall that disappears from view.

Upstage left – a terrace and windows looking out over further buildings in the distance. Through which the season will show in each scene.

Downstage – a living room. A couch and chairs gathered together around a coffee table.

The stage left wall is covered with a large painting: a vibrant, two-panelled image in luscious whites and blues, with patterns reminiscent of an Islamic garden. The effect is lustrous and magnetic.

Below, a marble fireplace. And on the mantel, a statue of Siva.

To one side, a small table on which sit a half-dozen bottles of alcohol. Downstage right – a vestibule and the front door.

The furnishings are spare and tasteful. Perhaps with subtle flourishes of the Orient.

On stage: Emily – early thirties, white, lithe and lovely – sits at the end of the dining table. A large pad before her as well as a book open to a large reproduction of Velázquez’s Portrait of Juan de Pareja.

Emily assesses her model . . .

Amir – forty, of South Asian origin, in an Italian suit jacket, a crisp, collared shirt, but only boxers underneath. He speaks with a perfect American accent.

Posing for his wife.

She sketches him. Until . . .

Amir You sure you don’t want me to put pants on?

Emily (showing the Velázquez painting) I only need you from the waist up.

Amir I still don’t get it.

Emily You said it was fine.

Amir It is fine. It’s just . . .

Emily What?

Amir The more I think about it . . .

Emily Mmm-hmm.

Amir I think it’s a little weird. That you want to paint me after seeing a painting of a slave.

Emily He was Velázquez’s assistant, honey.

Amir His slave.

Emily Until Velázquez freed him.

Amir Okay.

Emily I mean, how many times have we stopped in front of that painting?

Amir It’s a good painting. No idea what it has to do with what happened last night. I mean the guy was a dick.

Emily He wasn’t just a dick. He was a dick to you. And I could tell why.

Amir Honey, it’s not the first time –

Emily A man, a waiter, looking at you.

Amir Looking at us.

Emily Not seeing you. Not seeing who you really are. Not until you started to deal with him. And the deftness with which you did that. You made him see that gap. Between what he was assuming about you, and what you really are.

Amir The guy’s a racist. So what?

Emily Sure. But I started to think about the Velázquez painting. And how people must have reacted when they first saw it. They think they’re looking at a picture of a Moor. An assistant.

Amir A slave.

Emily Fine. A slave.

But whose portrait – it turns out – has more nuance and complexity than his renditions of kings and queens. And God knows how many of those he painted.

Amir You know what I think? I think you should just call your black Spanish boyfriend and get him up here to sit for you. He’s still in New York, isn’t he?

Emily Honey, I have no idea.

Amir You don’t have to rub it in, babe. I know all men are not created equal –

Emily (gesturing) Could you do the thing?

Amir (adjusting his arm) Way to make a guy feel wanted –

If anything, I guess I should be grateful to Jose, right? Broke your dad in. I mean, at least I spoke English.

Emily Dad’s still traumatised. He brought up that Thanksgiving on the phone the other day? (Assessing her sketch.) Anyway – I don’t know what you’re so worried about. It’s not like anybody’s gonna see this.

Amir Baby. Jerry Saltz loved your last show.

Emily He liked it. He didn’t love it. It didn’t sell.

Amir Selling’s not everything.

Amir’s cell phone ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Halftitle
• Title
• Copyright
• Introduction
• Dedication
• Characters
• Scene One
• Afterword