Have you ever thought to yourself, “hmm … I wonder if having eaten skittles or having lesbianic-pre-marital intercourse is haraam?”
If you’re anything like me, and the answer is a resounding “what the heck is haraam and why is it interfering with me tasting the rainbow?” then this show very well may be halaal for you.
Zehra Fazal commands the stage and our focus as the sardonically irreverent Zed Headscarf, who, we find out, has just embarked on her first tri-county tour with marching orders from her mosque’s imam to head up a brand, spanking new Islam outreach program. Zed, however, proves to be a bit too candid and liberal in her endeavor, regaling the audience with anecdotes about her first visit to a gynecologist (who may or may have not blessed her birthing canal), and her various sexual exploits with men (and women) whom her Muslim parents disapprove of more and more.
An ambiguously shaped stick puppet of Muhammed makes a memorable cameo appearance, along with a plastic alarm clock shaped like a Mosque that sporadically and terrifyingly caterwauls throughout the show.
The show’s highlights, however, are its songs. Oh yes, what satire would be complete without tongue-in-cheek parodies played on an acoustic guitar in a Flight of the Concords-esque style? Musical highlights from the show include, but in no way are limited to, “The Only Thing I’d Do Five Times a Day Is You” and a Michael Jackson Smooth Criminal parody that had half the audience hyperventilating.
This one woman show is sharp, entertaining, and polished. Once Fazal’s clarion voice bursts out from behind her hijab, you cannot take your eyes off her – she’s charismatic and possesses a spastic, almost frantic energy that is endearing and painfully hilarious all at the same time. At a time when political correctness is cropping up in epidemic proportions, Headscarf and the Angry Bitch is a delightful reminder that sometimes there’s no haraam in laughter.
Headscarf and the Angry Bitch
At Warehouse Next Door
Written and Performed by Zehra Fazal
Reviewed by Anna Brungardt