Back when he still was an aspiring comic, Alaudin Ullah figured that by allowing the removal of one letter from his first name (guess which one?) and doubling another, he could make things easier on others and open up a whole new world for himself.
In many ways, that early concession to what the young Ullah saw as the rules of mainstream American entertainment is at the core of the issues raised by “Dishwasher Dreams,” a moving new autobiographical show, as written and performed at Writers Theatre by the son of Muslim immigrants from Bangladesh, a man who grew up in the projects of Spanish Harlem.
Ullah, who is now 53 years old, an age when you come to terms with the compromises required of life, was one of the first South Asian American comics to get what you might call national recognition, at least in terms of exposure on cable networks and national comedy tours. As he grew older, Ullah moved away from the stand-up grind and more into playwriting, even signing up for a graduate program at Columbia University in New York. He has been workshopping “Dishwasher Dreams,” a collaboration with the director Chay Yew, for some time; his aim, presumably, is to move on to Hartford Stage (a co-presenter with Writers Theatre of Glencoe) and then snag a berth back in his hometown of New York City.
Ullah has a remarkable story. His piece needs more work.
But you sure could see this show off-Broadway, just blocks from where Ullah’s dad once washed dishes and rose to run an eatery on Restaurant Row in midtown. That restaurant was just down the street from where his son would later tell jokes at the club Don’t Tell Mamas, having tired of trying to get one of the few available spots on the “ethnic” nights of mainstream 1990s clubs. I’ve hung out in that fine establishment a fair bit over the years; I recall its comedy nights.
In essence Ullah and Yew have developed a two-person performance. Ullah tells his life story for some 90 minutes, accompanied by the vibrant percussionist Avirodh Sharma, who drums at the rear of the stage.
It’s a very interesting narrative, probing such issues as how to fight anti-Muslim sentiment with comedy, the pain of disappointing hardworking parents who sacrificed so much for you, and the complex relationship many immigrants, and the children of immigrants, come to have with American iconography such as, in this case, the New York Yankees. Anyone who grew up somewhere else will recognize the complexity of Ullah’s feelings about being half-Bangladeshi and half-American, belonging fully to neither world.
In my view, Ullah should try and further dramatize the piece, putting far more in the present tense and removing some of the more passive narrative sections. He could play more of the characters he evokes (Ruben Santiago-Hudson’s “Lackawanna Blues” would be a helpful model) and, in particular, he could chart more of his professional rise and struggle in the present tense, taking us with him to some of his most important performances of his career. He still has to make a bolder case that we must watch him perform this in the here and now, as distinct from reading his after-the-facts thoughts.
Already, Sharma adds to that nascent theatricality and you certainly feel Ullah’s warm personality on a cold January night; empathetic figures like this are well positioned to make their cases for change and improvement in the entertainment fields. Only a fool would not admire all of his achievements and understand just how much the odds were against them. And, for the record, his love and admiration for his parents shines through his work, which surely rewards attendance.
One last thought. Ullah presents himself as a comedian, a man striving to work in a field that (in his era, at least) could both be transformative in terms of opportunity and painfully regressive. That’s a fascinating nexus that he is perhaps uniquely qualified to explore.
What is the right relationship between dreams and gags, lies and truths, expedient acquiescence and lines drawn with determination? What can and should be funny? Can you subvert a stereotype without falling into one? Was it a good thing for a talented young Muslim comic to change his name to “Aladdin” Ullah?
These are all questions that matter right now. Ullah could lead us through many of them, once he has somewhere clearly dramatic to go.
Chris Jones is a Tribune critic.
Review: “Dishwasher Dreams”
When: Through Jan. 16
Where: Writers Theatre, 325 Tudor Court, Glencoe
Running time: 1 hour, 30 minutes
Tickets: $35-$90 at 847-242-6000 or www.writerstheatre.org
COVID protocol: Audience members must provide proof of COVID-19 vaccination. Masks are required in the theater.
