A Conversation with Writer/Performer Sheila-Joon Azim, "Ophelia's Refrain", Hollywood Fringe, by James Scarborough

In "Ophelia's Refrain," Sheila-Joon Azim brings Shakespeare's Ophelia into the realm of contemporary identity politics. This solo performance follows a half-Iranian woman's journey from Seattle's streets to Amazonian ceremonies. Azim's work defies categorization, combining theatre, movement, song and punk rock to explore identity breakdown.

The production challenges modern ideas about belonging through classical references. Under Shyamala Moorty's direction, Azim turns personal confession into universal questions. The show asks, "What if Ophelia took acid?”, reframing psychological breakdown not as weakness but as the necessary destruction of imposed identity.

Azim confronts uncomfortable realities - sexual trauma, cultural shame, life away from her ancestral home - offering neither comfort nor tidy resolution. She explores the tension between her Iranian heritage and Western upbringing, showing how authentic identity emerges from contradiction. "Ophelia's Refrain" suggests that escaping others' expectations sometimes requires radical self-reinvention - a punk message wrapped in classical allusion.

Below follows an email conversation with Sheila-Joon Azim.

JS: Your show connects Shakespeare's Ophelia with your multicultural background. What made you choose this character as your vehicle for examining identity?

SJA: Ophelia surprised me as much as anyone with how she showed up! I credit my director/dramaturg Shyamala Moorty for seeing patterns in my personal narrative that I may have otherwise missed. Ophelia—besides having been my teenage street name, a nod to theater, and a tragic figure subject to the men around her—became a thrilling and undeniable thread we had to follow. I let go of many “darlings” to make room for her to have her way, as she should.

I think Ophelia, like most of Shakespeare’s characters, stands the test of time through her universality, regardless of culture. Iranian and Muslim culture, however, fit easily—especially in themes of love and shame. She and I share a devotion to family and culture, as well as a betrayal by it. Reconciling one’s love for the very people who say “get thee to a nunnery” (ya’ slut) while insisting their version of reality is reality— when ya know… it’s not? That’s a recipe for madness. I’m excited about the idea of owning that love and devotion while reclaiming the power of our own sexuality. It’s an adventure.

Heartbreak, confusion, and ultimately shame is what, in my opinion, drove Ophelia to take her own life. I could have easily had the same story—and almost did… but I don’t want to give too much away.

JS: You take us from Seattle to Amazonian rituals. How did these environments shape your approach to cultural displacement and theatrical language?

SJA: I was lucky to have been raised with multiple languages and have always been an avid seeker and traveler. Some experiences are so subtle, raw, or refined that only dance, movement, or song can express their essence.

Initially, I was tempted to just tell the story. But the deeper I got, the more I realized I had to go through it to truly transmute. “Telling it,” while fun and often entertaining, creates a safe distance. Re-experiencing it is more dangerous—and more thrilling. In Hamlet, we see Ophelia sing her way toward the river. Next thing we know, Gertrude tells Laertes she’s dead. But what happens in between?

In Ophelia’s Refrain, Ophelia becomes a vehicle for my life. She reemerges when I think she’s done, even encounters Hamlet—which surprised (and disturbed) me as much as anything. Funny how we think we’re free of patterns, then—boom.

As for Seattle to the Amazon, respectfully, I won’t claim a deep understanding of the Shipibo tribe in Peru, but through their connection to plant medicine, I accessed creative dimensions beyond linear language. That’s where the show first germinated. Did I mention the whole thing takes place within an Ayahuasca journey? This framework allows a non-linearity to explore dance, song and story in an immersive and immediate way.

JS: Your combination of movement, song, and punk rock creates something deliberately jarring. How do these artistic forms help you express what polite conversation about identity tends to avoid?

SJA: Ooh, I love disrupting polite conversation around identity—hopefully with enough grace and authenticity that it actually lands and invites people to reconsider fixed notions. To be radically honest about oneself is to invite others to be radically honest about themselves! This creates a much more intimate and rich dialogue.

There’s a lot of sex and humor in Ophelia’s Refrain, despite the darker themes. I think comedy and sexuality are ah-maze-ing vehicles.

I’m trying to get the editor—my Iranian dad—out of my head. As much as I adore and want to be adored by him, I’ll never be the “good Iranian girl” he wants me to be. That’s hard. I think most of us have someone we edit for. What if we didn’t?

Even as artists, we often self-censor—editing for our next gig, manager, review, casting director—controlling how we’re seen for future ambitions. This show is a kiss to performance art but also a rebellious confrontation with the industry—via some screamy punk rock. Here’s where I do try to jar. I think a lot of actors will appreciate and relate to this aspect—and if I can roast a few industry folks while staying friends, I’ll call that a success.

Mostly, I’m excited to take care of the audience through humor, sensuality, and relentless honesty, in something I hope is beautiful and entertaining. There will be some seats designated for the “immersive” experience with blanket consent. I’m excited to explore boundaries here…

Sexuality? Movement best expresses that visceral experience (as you might imagine). And trauma? Sometimes a well-placed morbid joke reframes the whole thing.

JS: Working with director Shyamala Moorty, how did you push each other's boundaries to create this "psychedelic solo show"?

SJA: If you saw The Anti-Yogi by Mayuri Bhandari—last year’s Best Physical Theater piece at HFF 2024, directed by Shyamala—you know she brings a colorful, sensual, playful, and precise creative lens.

Shyamala and I think very differently and bring diverse experiences, which has been a huge asset. There’s a lot of trust. So when one of us pushes for something we feel strongly about, the other gives it a shot. It works. She keeps me honest, and I’m happy to check my ego—even when reluctant. Also, I have a lot to say (as you may have noticed), and she helps me distill.

Shyamala is, in my opinion, a masterful artist with an eye for detail and a talent for seeing patterns I’d otherwise miss. That pushes my boundaries in the best way. At the same time, there were interpretations of the text that didn’t always land on the page for her, but when performed, made total sense—giving my creativity, uniqueness, nerve, and talent (thanks, RuPaul) space to shine. Speaking of which—something we always agreed on was a nod to RuPaul as a Mother Figure.

JS: Your show explores "becoming no one—so she can become herself." How does this process reflect the difficulties of identity formation for those caught between cultures?

SJA: Whether it’s culture, sexuality, profession—identity is always a negotiation with societal expectations. We seek comfort in identifiers, but they can also confine us. We’re so much more than our race, job, sexuality—or even our traumas.

Being caught between cultures is uniquely lonely, and not often explored—yet so many of us experience it. It can feel taboo to complain about not being included in Middle Eastern culture when I have the privileges of a blue-eyed blonde woman. And yet I’m exhausted by strangers saying I “don’t seem Iranian,” when it informs so much of who I am. Speaking Farsi is a party trick. I thought I was going to have this whole thing about not being included as Iranian, but in the simple and sincere telling of my story, and just being myself- any question of whether or not “I am” Iranian is redundant and ridiculous, we don’t need to point it out.

The question of identity is infinite whether it’s a name, an event, a trauma, a special skill, or even our own particular humor. What happens when we let go of everything? Who are we then? Even everything we love the most? What are we left with? That question excites me and makes me feel very, very free. I hope that freedom finds its way to the audience.

JS: As both a performer and yoga practitioner, you work in seemingly contradictory worlds. How does the tension between explosive performance and controlled practice influence your storytelling?

SJA: Performance and yoga both demand total presence—they’re two sides of the same coin. Commitment makes or breaks a joke (or a scene), and it’s also the key to meditation or holding an asana. Whether it’s improv, drama, a close-up, music, or dance, we listen and learn with full presence—then ideally, we let go. We completely surrender to the moment and the next line or joke just… magically happens and we’re in “the flow state”. That’s the best, isn’t it? Like jazz—we “get in to get out.”

Yoga is the same. With complete surrender to a pose or practice, we drop in. And some forms of yoga can be intense—explosive even—stirring memories and emotions.

Also, don’t get me started on philosophical meanderings about identity and how it relates to playing different characters and yoga philosophy about the “self” versus the “Self”. Did I mention I found The Anti-Yogi piece because I’m starting my Master’s in Yoga Studies at LMU this fall? I can’t get enough of it.

Performances are Saturday, June 7th at 3:30 PM; Friday, June 13th at 8:30 PM; Thursday, June 19th at 10:00 PM; Monday, June 23rd at 7:00 PM; and Sunday, June 29th at 12:00 PM. Tickets are available starting May 1st. The Other Space Theater is located at 916 North Formosa Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90046. For more information, click here.