Under The Stars at Almeida Theatre Review
Image: Marc Brenner
Written by Ziwen for Theatre and Tonic
Disclaimer: Gifted tickets in exchange for an honest review. All views are our own
Tehran, 1988. As the Iran–Iraq War nears its end, the city is under constant bombardment. Shideh, once a medical student, has been barred from continuing her studies due to her political involvement during the Iranian Revolution. After her husband is conscripted into military service, she remains in the city alone with her seven-year-old daughter, Dorsa, while missile attacks grow increasingly frequent. As the war intensifies, rumours begin to spread among the neighbours that a missile strike is imminent. One day, Dorsa tells her mother that Mehdi, the mute boy next door, has secretly warned her that a Djinn is coming as well. At first, Shideh dismisses the story as a child's fantasy. But after a missile strikes their apartment building and a series of unsettling incidents follow, she begins to wonder whether something else may have entered their home. This is the premise of Under the Shadow, adapted by Carmen Nasr from Babak Anvari’s acclaimed film of the same name and directed by Nadia Latif. The production is currently running at the Almeida Theatre for a limited engagement.
Unlike the film, the stage adaptation unfolds entirely within Shideh’s apartment. Ben Stones’ set is enclosed by walls painted a vivid mustard yellow. Sunlight filters through sheer curtains, casting delicate patterns across the floor and walls. Through the archway leading to the open-plan kitchen, shelves filled with books and porcelain can be seen. The patterned green sofa, rugs, wooden chairs and cabinets all evoke a sense of traditional elegance. A small television sits unobtrusively in one corner of the living room. Whenever Shideh prepares to watch a videotape, she carefully draws the heavy crimson curtains behind the sheers, making sure no one can see inside. At first glance, the apartment appears calm and orderly. Yet there is something unnervingly rigid about the space, as though an unnatural stillness hangs over the household. After the missile crashes through the roof, leaving a gaping hole above, dust and fragments of concrete continue to drift down intermittently. The damage becomes a constant reminder—to both Shideh and the audience—that something is profoundly wrong, impossible to ignore.
James Farncombe’s lighting design heightens the production’s already potent atmosphere of dread. In one particularly effective moment, the lights abruptly cut out as Shideh tapes crosses onto the windows to prevent shattered glass from flying inward during an explosion. She fumbles through the darkness before lighting two candles, while the freshly applied X-shaped strips loom behind her like ominous warnings. Later, when Shideh and her neighbours shelter together during an air raid, only fragments of their bodies are visible. Looking upward into the darkness, listening anxiously to the sounds above ground, they appear isolated and utterly vulnerable. The ending of the first act is no doubt very memorable. As Shideh sweeps her torchlight across the room, attempting to make sense of the darkness around her, a sudden shock provokes a collective scream from much of the audience. Moments later, when the lights return, nervous laughter ripples through the theatre. It is a rare and delightful reminder of the uniquely communal nature of live horror.
The performances throughout are naturalistic and convincing, grounding the story firmly in reality. Leila Farzad’s Shideh is resourceful and determined, retaining a core of resilience even in moments of exhaustion and fear. In this performance, Dorsa is played by Esma Akar, who captures both the character’s sweetness and stubbornness in the early scenes before shifting dramatically once the Djinn’s influence begins to take hold. Nadia Albina delivers one of the evening’s most affecting performances. Her portrayal of a daughter grieving the loss of her father is so emotionally raw that it becomes difficult not to feel almost physically overwhelmed by her sorrow.
Alongside these moments of emotional intensity, many of the production’s quieter domestic scenes are equally compelling. Early on, Shideh scolds her husband Iraj (Nicholas Karimi) for forgetting to buy lemons. Yet her irritation immediately evaporates when she notices that he has managed to find a banana—a rarity under wartime shortages. The two sit together, sharing it slowly and affectionately. Not long afterwards, however, they find themselves arguing across the dinner table, divided by their differing beliefs and priorities. The speed and plausibility of these emotional shifts feel deeply authentic.
I was also draw by the production’s willingness to embrace silence. Shideh is frequently left alone onstage, exercising to an aerobics tape or methodically applying tape to the windows. These wordless moments never feel empty. Instead, they allow the audience to observe the rhythms of her daily life and the quiet pressures accumulating beneath the surface.
Although Under the Shadow presents itself as a supernatural horror story, its true concerns are firmly rooted in reality. According to the neighbour, a Djinn steals objects that hold deep personal significance, creating an unbreakable connection with its victims. First it takes Dorsa’s doll. Later it destroys Shideh’s videotape and removes her books. Combined with its recurring visual association with a vast black cloth, the symbolism becomes difficult to miss. Each time Shideh returns to the university to petition for the right to resume her studies, her headscarf is worn more strictly than before. By the end, she herself appears almost entirely enveloped in black fabric. What emerges is not simply a tale of supernatural terror, but a portrait of the fear and anxiety experienced by women in the wake of profound religious and political transformation. Women are denied freedom, entertainment is restricted, independent thought is monitored, and young girls are deprived of the futures they might otherwise have imagined. Even the home—supposedly a place of refuge—is repeatedly invaded by war, politics and supernatural dread. In Tehran, there is no longer any truly safe space.
While the production’s thematic intentions are clear, its horror remains somewhat externalised. A deeper exploration of the characters’ psychological deterioration might have made the work even more compelling. If the audience were able to perceive more clearly that the Djinn functions as an outward manifestation of the characters’ inner anxieties, the production could achieve even greater emotional and intellectual depth. In the final moments, Shideh holds her daughter as explosions continue to sound in the distance. She imagines escape—running far away from this place, beyond the reach of war and fear. As her vision unfolds, the light gradually fades until mother and daughter disappear into darkness, leaving behind only the faintest suggestion of hope. At present, the production remains closer to a traditional ghost story than to a fully realised psychological horror. Even so, it is a thoughtful, engaging and worthwhile piece of theatre, one that uses the language of horror to illuminate the very real fears lurking beneath it.
Under the Shadow runs at the Almeida Theatre until 4th July 2026.
★★★★
