Holocaust Remembering, and Yes, Jokes, too.
None of my relatives were killed in the holocaust. At least, no one that I knew. My grandparents came to this country in the late 1800’s and if I had ancestry over d’ere, they probably died in pogroms before Hitler had the idea to erase all Jewry.
Because my father ran a movie theater, I was exposed early on to the horrific news footage that was brought back by cameraman during WW2. The emaciated naked bodies of Europe’s Jews and Gypsies were an early image in my head. I watched lots of cartoons, too, but the films of the first cinematically archived genocide were my key to understanding that life can’t be understood.
I am not religious. I’ve appreciated certain laws of the Torah when explained, but those conversations are rare. I like the symbolism of the holidays, but I don’t keep them much anymore. The one thing, however, that always reminds me that I’m Jewish is first, humor and second, the Holocaust. I laugh at myself before others catch the joke and I have a deep identification with the six million who perished at the hands of the mad machine. I am a perfect combination in that I can even laugh at weird holocaust jokes that I’ve seen online, like “Why did Hitler kill himself” …”He got the gas bill”…awful, awful, but a release to laugh and cry every time I see The Diary of Anne you-know-who.
I’d hardly be the first to consider the importance of the Holocaust in reminding Jews that they are Jewish. Perhaps a younger generation feels the connection less strongly, but for my crowd, people who never ventured inside a synagogue except to attend a Bar Mitzvah or crash Joan Rivers’ funeral, the mere mention of Hitler and these pagans are suddenly reunited with their roots. Maybe a few generations after the Great Forty Day Schlep through the Sinai, people talked about the hardship and experienced their communal pain and rage at Moses as if it were yesterday. Disasters have a way of uniting people.
The Holocaust, many feel, justifies Israel’s right to exist, even when they may secretly abhor the violence that continues there with the Palestinians. Surviving an ordeal like the Holocaust is a terrible wound and if one would let it, could be one of the best excuses to do nothing. The Irony is that survivors rarely used excuses but continued to live life so fully that it takes one’s breath away. I remember once staying in the Catskills, at Grossingers Hotel, and my Father commenting on how much food the diners were consuming at the table next to us. Every time a waiter asked if more grub was required, they all yelled yes, and platters of food came marching out, like soldiers. When my Mother told us that she had overheard they had all been at one of the camps, all refugees, it occurred to me that they may have felt like they were still starving inside. And yet they showed up.
In honor of Holocaust Remembrance, I just finished A.N. Wilson’s bio on the little man, Adolf and saw the very good one man show, Wiesenthal, about Simon Wiesenthal, Nazi hunter. I may attend more events or I might just watch The Producers again. Either way, it’s a story that sticks in ribs and never lets me forget that I’m lucky, one, and two, a Jew.
Could this event have triggered the Charlie Hebdo massacre?
(c) The Art Newspaper 1/3/15
My first reaction to the tragedy in Paris was to post my own irreverent art as a symbol of solidarity (under lambstara on twitter). Then as I cooled off, not hard to do in this weather, I immersed myself in radio chat and Facebook reactions. Weeding through diverse responses, though mostly shock and sadness like my own, I was sent an email from an art website.
According to the The Art Newspaper (1/3/14), France was to hold a conference next week at The Institut du Monde in Paris. Its purpose was to attempt to bring closeness and understanding by “offering a more hopeful vision of the Arab world, than the well-known brutalities of the Islamic State and civil war in the Middle East.” Entitled “The Renewal of the Arab World”, it was to look at the areas in which it believes change is most needed–to develop an economically thriving, liberal, civil society, beginning with teaching methods. There would be talks on fostering entrepreneurship, renewable energy, the emergence of women (one of the speakers is Lama Al Sulaiman, the deputy chairwoman of the chamber of commerce and industry in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia) and how creativity and the art market are pushing the boundaries. This segment would be chaired by a woman, Anna Somers Cocks. Wow.
Zaki Nusseibeh, a senior figure in the Emirati political world, and Antonia Carver of the Art Dubai art fair, and four Emirati museum women were on the slate as well as business people and intellectuals from all over the Arab world. And dinner at the Quai d’Orsay. Magnifique. With Jack Lang, The Institut’s president since 2013, it would be a great affair; after all, he was the radical minister of culture (1981-86 and 1988-92) under President François Mitterrand and has been the force behind the revival.
What will he do now?
It occurred to me that this act of terrorism could have been a way to destabilize the efforts of Monsieur Lang and the Institut. It may have been cooked up to destroy an event that had the potential to shift ideological positions. For certainly art and culture can do that. Art is dangerous, especially for groups that want war and thrive on hatred. Art has the power to open up the heart and help change the mind, two things that extremists seemingly cannot tolerate.
I hope it is not cancelled.
Viva la liberte de expression you bastards!!
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Union Square Wednesday January 7
In support of the writers and artists who met their end at the hands of fear manipulating brigands, I offer up my own humorous slant, playing with religious images as a demonstration of the freedom we still enjoy in this country and one which all people should have. In this case, it’s Jesus and Mary, tomorrow Jeremiah and Moses, maybe even the Buddah.
“Jesus IS a Feminist”
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“The dingo did not get my baby.”
Killing Two Birds…and I don’t mean North Korean Leaders
In LA during the hooplah lala over the film The Interview, so of course, it made sense to try and catch a screening to boost sales and the American Way of self-expression. Not a particularly huge fan of the previews I had seen, but when I read that there was a 10:30 show at The Crest Theatre in Westwood, I made a beeline.
The Crest has been restored and seems to be run by a sister/brother team of Weezie and DJ.With deep New Orleans roots, DJ is so hospitable, that when my Uber ride dropped me off almost forty minutes early, he let me come in and salivate over the Art Deco inner world. As my father had a theatre, I’m a huge fan of the one -screen houses and The Crest is certainly that, even keeping its projecter to show real film instead of only digital like most theatres these days.
The etched glass, the sunburst reliefs, the navy blue ceiling with tiny stars —it all makes for a completely romantic environment. When DJ suggested i take a sofa seat, I curled up on one of the six or so sofas with my $2.50 bag of real popcorn, ready to face whatever indignities Seth Rogan could throw my way.
I didn’t find anything particularly funny despite being a Rogan fan. I like crude. Just last nite I saw National Lampoon’s Dirty Movie and shamedly found myself howling. But Interview’s script didn’t hit any of my bones. I didn’t laugh until Rogan makes a comment about second hand smoke on a train in China. HIs willingness to be hypocritical and weak give him an odd strength which is fun to watch.
The political and media hype for the film release might have been the real star of The Interview if actor Randall Park as Kim Jong Un hadn’t been so good. His fem/masculine portrayal is fun and brave, especially with the real Un still alive and probably fuming. Park plays it full out, balancing sweet and diabolical in quite arresting ways. Sorry I couldn’t say the same for Franco whose dancing mouth, much like Timothy Spall’s pig snorting in Turner, needed to take a rest.
But then there’s The Crest. With its wonderful marquee and magic vibes of yesteryear, I felt privilieged to be a guest.
Must See for Kids and Your Inner Child: Swamp Juice, 3 D shadow puppet show
I always figure if I ever go to prison I can still make theater with dancing my hand against the cell wall. But that would imply a room with a view so that light could shine in— I guess I better not get busted till I tire of the magic of shadow puppetry.
Jeff Achtem is the creator and star of “Swamp Juice”, an interactive, immersive shadow puppet show that is having its North American premiere at the Barrow Street Theatre. His swamp is inhabited by a biological community of crossovers from Dr. Seuss and South Park, all over lorded by his imperial weirdness, Mr. Achtem. A virtual whirligig of motion, crazed sound effects and otherworldly dialogue, Achtem stirs up his delicious brew right before our eyes, in front of a bare light bulb 
.
Theoriginal score is composed by David Henry, Nick Carver and Tristan Kelley.
His puppets are created from bits of rubbish and standard household items. Very green. Nothing wasted. The audience is encouraged to get involved and once the first kid yells out ‘Wedding!’, anything goes for the ‘adults.
At the show’s remarkable finale, retro 3-D glasses allow audience members to virtually leap into the world. Survival of the fittest was never this much fun before and Mr. Acthem, who also sells kits to take home, really understands the point of 3-D. You want to duck your head before the flying whatchamacallit takes off your toupee or else it just ain’t 3d.
This adorable show gives new meaning to multi-tasking and left me with the thrill of having won 10,000 points on a pinball machine.
“Swamp Juice” plays 32 performances at The Barrow Street Theatre, 27 Barrow Street, from November 28 to January 4, with an Off-Broadway opening on Tuesday December 2 at 7:30pm
Thanks, for No More Violence Against Women
Photo credit:(http://www.ticotimes.net/2014/11/19/making-the-invisible-visible-in-nicaragua-women-journalists-call-for-equality)
As the latest news of rapes on college campuses and <strong>Bill Cosby’s </strong>’audition’ tactics hit the airwaves, I am thankful that there is indeed an International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women. This global issue needs as much attention as possible to give victims a public forum to tell their stories in safety and to eradicate the crimes which have become a way of life for so many women and often their children.
Last week women from ten chapters of <strong>IAWRT</strong>. (International Association of Women in Radio and Television) met in Granada, Nicaragua for a regional conference. This was held in collaboration with <strong>Puntos de Encuentro</strong>, a Managua-based NGO that uses multimedia and communication for social change. Under the strategic banner of South to South Cooperation, we shared experiences, skills and strategies to respond to and end violence against women around the globe.
I was surrounded by media makers from Uganda to Honduras. The IAWRT board members have about two hundred years of media experience amongst them, from documentaries, to radio and television, and print. The opportunity to hear from seasoned journalists about one, their experiences of violence in their home countries, and two, issues of safety when trying to report the news, was hugely important for the young women from Central America who living under the veil of machismo, need the support to grapple with their problems.
In a world where Virgin Galactic customers are planning recreational trips to galaxies beyond, it is completely unfathomable that our earthlings still permit men to hurt women. From brides being punished or killed for inadequate dowries in India to genital mutilation in Tanzania to rapes in Honduras to long-earned maternity- leave rights being reduced in Norway, no country is free from the endemic quality of gender violence.
At this conference in still recovering yet hospitable Nicaragua, we learned how to protect ourselves while gathering a story, how to shoot a film on an iPhone and shared various styles of storytelling for their effectiveness. <strong>CEDAW</strong> (Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women) was explained to the attendees. This national conference will take place in many cities throughout the US next year with a goal to get municipalities to adopt CEDAW as a city ordinance as part of Beijing Plus 20. (http://www.un.org/womenwatch/daw/cedaw/)
There is a lot of power behind the push to wake up and tell the stories, but there are institutions that try to stand in the way. Policemen in Honduras systematically rape women and ignore their complaints, instilling fear of retaliation as a punishment for telling the truth. When I asked a woman from Guatemala if the church was helpful, she called it ‘the oppressor”. In private she told me of women beaten by their husbands are told that “they must take it, as that is marriage”, or even worse, “only God can change their husbands.”
Often if women progress in the work field and the men in their lives don’t move forward, the men take out their frustration on the easiest target. And when the 99 percent struggle to hold on under UC (Unfettered Capitalism), it is the women and children and Mother Nature who take the biggest hit.
When the IAWRT organized a parade around the Granada, I wasn’t sure if it made sense. But I needn’t have worried. The act of making the signs for the demonstration was incredibly bonding and when everyone dressed up in their native costumes stepped onto the square, it was a powerful demonstration with just a touch of Fellini. I carried a Citizen of Woodstock Nation sign so that Abbie Hoffman could make an appearance. The crowd was sparse because of the rain, but when seeing the little school children look out their classroom windows, it all made sense. They got the message right away: that courageous mothers and sisters were standing up for their rights.
Because stories then create a desire for facts, here are a few from the UN:
• 35% of women and girls globally experience some form of physical and or sexual violence in their lifetime with up to seven in ten women facing this abuse in some countries.
• It is estimated that up to 30 million girls under the age of 15 remain at risk from FGM/C, and more than 130 million girls and women have undergone the procedure worldwide.
• Worldwide, more than 700 million women alive today were married as children, 250 million of whom were married before the age of 15. Girls who marry before the age of 18 are less likely to complete their education and more likely to experience domestic violence and complications in childbirth
It is the duty and privilege for women in the media to report on these stories and to do it with impunity. In the wonderful documentary Gulabi Gang, (www.gulabigang.in),an intrepid village activist in Bundelkhand, India valiantly purses cases of violence against women, forming her own vigilante group, hitting men with a stick and taking the cases are far as she can in the legal system. Pink Power.
The more women have the opportunity to talk and share stories, the more chance they have to challenge their situations, create better lives, and improve the world for all us.
I say Thank You on this holiday week to my new sisters in strength: Racheal, Valerie, Liz, Rose, Gerd, Samina, Sue Ann, Sheila, Khedija, Martha, Adriana, Debbie Ann, Ananya, Violet, Leticia, Amy, Patricia, Eunice, Vanessa, Maria, Roscio, and all the other wonderful women who shared this important time with me. And to Howard for his help and Cesar our driver with his own daughters… you are pretty cool, too.
Inspecting Romeo & Juliet
Raymond Chandler does Romeo and Juliet. Not quite, but there is a lively sense of street to this Onomatopoeia Production at the Gene Frankel Theater, directed by Thomas R. Gordon. From Tybalt as played by a redheaded, switchblade rat catcher, (Paige Kresge) to Mercutio’s (Sean Fitzharris) constant stream of phallic jokes, this small company brings something fresh to the Montagu/Capulet clan. Though performers went up on their lines a bit in the beginning, when Juliet (Kate Gunther), appears, magic hits the stage. She is lithe, with a blonde short do that gives her a perky sultriness mixed with the real yearnings of a teen. This all shifts when she meets swarthy Romeo (Matt Bloch) and her hormones grow up in front of us. Her nurse (Lauriel Friedman), though a young actress, gives a salty performance as she lives vicariously through her young ward. This is a couple who look forward to a marriage, but you know they’re really thinking of sex.
We are asked before the start of the play which direction we‘d like to see different characters play, i.e., should Romeo be aggressive or really peace-loving. The audience voted for aggressive and indeed, his attempts at making peace with his enemy seemed untrue…as if he really didn’t want to, no matter that he was in love. That’s what I realized about the play for the first time… it didn’t’ really seem to be a play about romantic love anymore, but a play about the lack of love. Sure, the famous couple are stung by a hyped up cupid … but who knows how long it would have lasted if they had been allowed to live happily ever after? Today, I saw the story much more in terms of the families who thrive on resentments and rage. Old wounds become new wounds. How so like our entire planet today…from macro to micro. The energy of hate fuels so many of the lives and gives purpose as it does to Shakespeare’s characters. What kind of sacrifice will it take to stop our global feuds?
All the players of this Verona do a good job and will get better when they are more relaxed with the text. In keeping with the Chandler-type mood, jazzy musical l interlude work very well as does Brian Henderson’s lighting. www.theotheatrecompany.com
Ebola Shmola—think brighter with Matisse and Zimmerman
With darkness falling on almost every aspect of our news’ lives these days, it’s not irreverant to experience some joyful moments to reset the imbalance.
Matisse: The Cut-Outs at MOMA is a glorious and uplifting demonstration of the power of color and genius. In trying to satisfy the problem of line and color which had haunted Matisse his whole life, he devised the cut-outs with painted paper and scissors. The technique provides a whole new view of shape and form, moving from small compositions to room sized pieces like The Swimming Pool. This piece which hung in his house in France has been meticulously transported to MOMA’s walls and is an ethereal demonstration of the great man’s imaginative skills.
The war was raging when he created much of this work and there is a dark underpinning to the bright colors, like in the piece with the elephant performing clown-like, who dreams of his real home in the jungle. Light and dark, travelling side by side.
The show was a sell out at the TATE in London and will lift spirits here until February 8, 2015. Congratulations to Jodi Hauptman, Senior Curator and Karl Buchber, Senior Conservator for this very special show.
I never saw Claudia Shearer’s one woman Blown Sideways through Life but feel lucky to have caught Brad Zimmerman’s excursion into his career in My Son The Waiter: A Jewish Tragedy. This very funny man has endured nagging parents; nagging customers at the restaurant work that supported him, and own nagging consciousness that he might never be good enough to hang up his waiter’s vest. Well, Mr. Zimmerman, you are! In the intimate setting of the Triad theatre, Brad lets us into the glories of his childhood, fabulous compared to most of his adult life’s struggles, with jokes and stories that are fresh, and very real.
For anyone who’s ever worked menial jobs to support their real dream, Mr. Zimmerman is your voice. Also, if you’ve been a customer wondering why the hell your server knows nothing about wine, you’ll love this, too. Having only recently been freed from a job at Chat and Chew, Brad wears his slave scars with a mixture of mirth and resignation. After all, he’s performing for a live audience now, but tomorrow, who knows? Back serving fries.
Years of real training can only explain his terrific Scottish accent and his honed his comedic craft. He’s so good, that even George Carlin was impressed. . I could recall some of his jokes, but I hate to be a spoiler. Let’s just say if you find eating habits, parental guilt, dating, baldness, airline pilots, kabbalah, furniture sales and dreams, potentially funny, you’ll laugh your tookas off at this show.
Written and directed by Zimmerman, produced by Dana Matthow and Philip Roger Roy’s Playhouse Productions, Inc., “My Son the Waiter” takes up residence at Stage 72 – Triad Theatre, 158 West 72nd Street, for a limited 12-week run through Wednesday December 31.
Side Effects of The Troubles: The McGowan Trilogy
The Cell theatre on West 23rd is truly an invention. What the production teams do with this sliver of a building is always a surprise, moving chairs to suit the staging, having actors exit on what was part of the original staircase, and creating top notch video projections to enlarge the vision. With Founding Artistic Director Nancy Manocherian and Director Kira Simring, everything is well thought out, and usually accompanies work that is something of a political investigation.
When Act One of McGowan Trilogy began, I realized I had seen it before. A few years back it was produced along with a play by Larry Kirwan. I remember believing that production better than the present Act One of this show. Perhaps the shock value of the situation was lost for me having seen it before. We find ourselves in a private IRA drinking club, when an obnoxious interloper demands to be let in through the locked gate. Madman killer Victor McGowan, a young genius of an IRA hit man, seemed more authentic in the original show. Paul Nugent as the psychopathic thug, though highly competent, seemed to be directed to be hopped up on cocaine, more fitting for a Tarantino movie than as a member of the revolution. He was such a campy hothead, that I wondered why he was permitted to have so much power in the group. Surely, someone would have put the reins on him before the moment that’s presented. And Pendar, the elder statesmen, loses his superiority in the situation much too quickly. He’s referred to as being over the hill, but as played by Philip Callen, looked young enough to give back as good as he got. Matt Golden as the traitor was so quietly true that the other acting styles seemed at odds with his.
Still, the truth that violence leads to more violence is well illustrated. This club with its paranoia could be ISIS or Boko Haram. No matter how committed to the cause, players eventually lose trust in it and each other.
The playwright Seamus Scanlon does his best to temper the violence with dark humor that sometimes hits home, like the Titanic joke, but some re-thinking might help with others not as funny. In Act Two, our same thug now has to off an ex-sweetie. At first it’s unclear whether he’s liberating her in the forest but we soon discover that he considers her a traitor. McGowan is so less peppered in this scene that I imagined he had been getting therapy in the intermittent months. I didn’t fully buy their history of missed loved, but Anna Nugent‘s fear of not being discovered in The Long Wet Grass is one of the most poetic parts of the play.
Act three deals with McGowan’s face off with his mom nicely played by Cindy Boyle. The video projections and sound design are terrific.
This being the month of peace vigils across the globe, like so much of The Cell’s excellent work, The McGowan Trilogy has timeliness on its side as well as a call for redemption.
The play runs through to October 5th.
notjustaboutsex 