In this 1978 Iranian living room, friendship is a commotion — tender, vulgar, jubilant. One young woman is adjusting a bride’s hair; another, the wedding dress. Nearby, an aspiring doctor is giving a pedicure to her bespectacled chum. Talk, laughter, and horseplay explode and overlap, amid occasional seriousness. One pal elicits shrieks from the others when she gleefully licks her own foot.
In Sanaz Toossi’s Wish You Were Here at Studio Theatre, the deft opening scene is both exuberantly raucous and telling, capturing the personalities and restless energies of a circle of BFFs at a watershed historical moment. Even more to the credit of director Sivan Battat’s production and the terrific actors, the scene reverberates achingly long after it is over: As the story jumps forward in time, visiting moments through 1991, the characters surrender dreams and relationships to events like the Iranian Revolution and the Iran–Iraq War, which we hear about largely in passing. Change leaves the friends more thoughtful, fearful, and mature — a poignant contrast to their early giddiness.
That’s not to say this 2022 play loses its vim as it progresses. Toossi, who won the 2023 Pulitzer Prize for Drama for English (which Studio produced that year), introduces us in Wish You Were Here to women who are witty and self-aware, with a gift for shattering honesty, insightful heart-to-hearts, and clean and dirty banter. “I just want one day where I make other girls feel ugly,” deadpans the ditsy Zari (a funny and endearing Ellena Eshraghi) when bridal style is under discussion.
Adding tension to the roiling group dynamic are geopolitical realities, which particularly test the special connection between engineering student Nazanin (Ellen Nikbakht, all still-waters-run-deep expressiveness) and the volatile Rana (Ari Derambakhsh, splendidly flamboyant), who is Jewish. The country’s changing face affects others too. The temporary closure of the universities derails Zari’s plans. Would-be doctor Shideh (the dynamic Shadee Vossoughi) seeks a medical degree abroad.
And the piety of Salme (an aptly reserved Layan Elwazani) acquires new overtones. Salme perplexes her less religious pals by insisting on regular prayer time, even when it’s inconvenient. “I want a day without your prayers,” Nazanin snaps at Salme at one point, and the ensuing silence throbs with surprise and hurt.
The living rooms that are the gathering spots for the soulmates — eventually including a new friend (Ege Yalcinbas) — feel claustrophobic to varying degrees, with restrictions on Iranian women taking a toll. The Iran–Iraq war exacerbates the confinement: As missile-warning sirens wail, the characters attempt to play backgammon by candle and oil lamp light. (Kenny Neal designed the sound; Nic Vincent, the lighting.)
Contributing to an awareness of boundaries and bereavement are Doaa Ouf’s projections, which unspool between scenes: The fleeting home-movie style footage of the characters, usually captured in togetherness or celebration, by implication conveys harrowing loss.
The projections play out on Omid Akbari’s streamlined set, centered on a coffee table and white sofa, with a movable wall helping to suggest the different living rooms. The scenic visuals are spare enough that the tale’s occasional wedding outfits, with their veils and ballgown skirts, really pop. (Shahrzad Mazaheri designed the costumes.)
When the soon-to-be-wed Salme feels swallowed up by her snow-white frock, her chums aren’t too reassuring.
“You’re like a sexy avalanche victim,” Rana quips.
The fact that Iran is often in the news these days adds extra topicality to Wish You Were Here. But beyond that, it’s only too easy to identify with the characters’ frustration, helplessness, and sadness — and their need to carry on — amid seismic political and global developments. At their best, people grow older and wiser; the world, only older.
Running Time: Approximately one hour and 45 minutes with no intermission.
Wish You Were Here plays through November 1, 2026, in the Mead Theatre at Studio Theatre, 1501 14th Street NW, Washington, DC. For more information and to purchase tickets (starting at $55, with discounts available), call the Box Office at 202.332.3300, go online, or visit TodayTix.
The program is online here.
