[Helen Kaye, a theater reviewer and cultural
reporter for the Jerusalem
Post, has been a contributor to Rick On
Theater for many years now; her last
contribution was posted on 26 March 2019.
I’ve published or republished many of her articles on theater and travel
(which have been posted under the byline Helen Eleseari), but all her reviews
have all been posted under the collective title “Dispatches from Israel,” of
which this is the 18th installment, always covering two or more notices of
productions from various theaters around the country.
[In this collection, Helen has included four reviews
dating from 13 August to 10 September; I’m posting them in reverse
chronological order because I want to spotlight the latest play for which Helen
sent me a review, Shahar Pinkas’s Next in Line. I won’t recap her review, but I want to point
out that Pinkas’s biblical tale of King David, the 11th-century BCE king of Israel,
is presented as a commentary on current Israeli society, politics, and
political personalities. In that sense,
it resembles William Shakespeare’s history plays.
[Several of the playwrights and directors of the
shows covered in “Dispatches 18” have appeared in previous installments of
Helen’s contributions: playwright Pinkas (1 past review), director Omri Nitzan
(4), and playwright-director Aya Kaplan (1); curious ROTters are
urged to use the search application above to look up these artists’ past work
as discussed on ROT by Helen Kaye.]
Next in Line
By
Shahar Pinkas
Directed
by Shir Goldberg
Beersheva
Theater; 10 September 2019
Via
the “TV” we are being earnestly addressed by King David (Natan Datner) regarding
the necessity of peace talks with the Philistines and the equal necessity of making
sure they fully understand the mailed fist in the armored glove, i.e. that real
peace is never on the table. During his address David wears his crown, an
uncomfortable looking iron circlet to which are attached sharp-pointed
triangles that look like spears, alternatively a crown of thorns. And up pops
another analogy “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown” ([Shakespeare’s] Henry IV, p. 2, Act III, sc.1)
And
the crown, right now, and incidentally he never removes it, sits insecurely on
David’s head. He’s old. He’s sick. He’s failing. All the more reason to hold
on, not to let go, to relinquish power to another. Holding onto power is the
focus of his thinking – does this strike a chord? All else is marginal which is
why, when Nehemia the Servant (Ron Bitterman) comes in to tell him at various
times throughout the play that a ‘representative of the people’ seeks an
audience, he’s rebuffed; and when that ‘representative’ dies, the chandelier,
oddly enough – or perhaps it signifies the obligations he is ignoring – a larger
version of David’s crown, collapses.
Not
that the vultures aren’t circling anyway. Chief among them is his eldest son,
Adoniyah whom Tom Avni meticulously and beautifully depicts as a traitorous,
treacherous weasel willing to suborn, plot, lie, anything to get him the
throne, anything to get his father’s withheld love. Not far behind is Yoav
(Jonathan Cherchi), his top general who views David’s increasing feebleness
with alarm – “If the king is weak, the nation is weak,” he pronounces as he
tempts Adonyah to treason, only to be betrayed in his turn.
Then
there are the women, Batsheba (Adva Edni), and Avishag (Inbar Dannon), both
opportunists, the former blatant, the latter not, each manipulating David for
their own ends.
Sitting
(more or less) above the fray is Nathan the prophet, a solid, watchful Muli
Shulman whose advice the king mostly ignores. And then there’s Solomon (Oren
Cohen), also watchful, the outsider, the one who gets the crown – and we all
know the story.
This
is a good-looking contemporary production, designed by Ula Shevstov and Natasha
Polyak, the only oddities being the belts worn by Yoav and Adoniyah, the belt
signifying an encompassing will to power.
And
as in other Pinkas/Goldberg productions, it’s the cast that move the few set
pieces that denote place and time.
It’s
a strong cast. For the rest, Datner’s David is a man beset, afraid, employing
bluff and bluster to hide his weaknesses from others and himself. As Bathsheba,
Edni never lets her guard down, displays an enviable single-mindedness and
leaves us in no doubt where her loyalties lie. Dannon’s Avishag maintains her
“sweet naivety” mask to good effect. Cherchi’s Yoav is stalwart, a man
convinced of his own rectitude. As Solomon, Cohen is not only watchful, but
careful and fully aware that all he has to do is let it happen.
Pinkas/Goldberg
have described their intense, enthralling drama as a biblical political
thriller, and it surely works in that context. As a parable for the politics
and machinations of our own time, it’s more inferred than demonstrated.
[Helen
makes only one passing comment referring to the parallels Pinkas depicts to
present-day Israel—but remember that she’s writing for an Israeli readership. Severely restricted in the length of her JP
reviews as she is, it’s reasonable for
Helen to assume that any Israeli theatergoer seeing Next in Line or reading her notice will immediately glean
Pinkas’s intentions. For us here in the
U.S. and elsewhere outside Israel, suffice it to say that David is meant to
evoke Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu; ROTters can look up or deduce the other characters’ contemporary
avatars. (The Beersheva production of Next
in Line was staged, and Helen’s review written
and published, before the parliamentary elections in Israel on Tuesday, 17
September 2019.)
[By
the way, I contend that Next in Line, at least from Helen’s description above, sounds as if it could apply
a little to the current U.S. political scene and our political dramatis personae—perhaps not directly, but in the vein of the
way Macbeth was adapted by Barbara
Garson in 1967 as MacBird! Just a thought . . . .]
* *
* *
Pregnancy
By
Edna Mazya
Directed
by Omri Nitzan
Cameri
Theater, Tel Aviv; 8 September 2019
When
Efi (Maya Dagan) announces that she wants to have a baby, old flame and now
fertility expert Ido (Oded Leopold) cackles mirthfully. Efi? Baby? Oh come on!
Successful businesswoman Efi and famous physicist Yoni (Micha Selektar) have a
wonderful and deliberately childless marriage. In fact, at her 39th
birthday party (which starts the play), Efi lets loose a pretty vicious antikid
rant, so a kid? Yes, well, biology starts talking, Efi obtains Yoni’s unwilling
assent and they get going. Except that Efi doesn’t get pregnant, and doesn’t
get pregnant, and what started as a desire for a child has become an obsession
with seemingly disastrous results.
Efi
is a go-getter, successful in all that she sets her hand to. It’s therefore
inconceivable that she cannot accomplish the most mundane of biological
processes – that of reproduction – and it’s her growing obsession that drives
this intelligent, quick-witted, and meaty drama. Pregnancy is the vehicle. Par
for the Mazya course, it should be said.
Director
Nitzan has liberally ladled his considerable talent onto the production so that
it too is intelligent, quick-witted and meaty, engaging the eyes and the mind.
The cast is uniformly excellent, acting with rather than at, each other.
Maya
Dagan takes Efi from a committed, confident and energetic woman to a
self-demeaning, self-abdicating wraith that never changes out of her pajamas,
as she allows the character’s increasing desperation to infect her life – until
. . .
At
first Selektar’s Yoni never really leaves the safety of his professional world,
then is prized from it inch by slow inch until he achieves humanity, due to his
genuine love for Efi, and pushed, it must be said by Na’ama Shetrit, as his
passionate ‘I have to change the world’ sister Nati. Kinneret Limoni shines as
the exuberant yet grounded Rona, Leopld’s Ido is a tuned mix of torn emotions,
Dana Meinrath’s Sarai is out of place among these high flyers but her instincts
are sound and the compassion is real. Helena Yaralova cameos efficiently as
Efi’s hi-tech partner, Galia.
Adam
Keller’s all-white set of oblong boxes - suggesting sterility among the rest –
plus an upstage table, serves as the spaces where the events occur while the
table is the background for Yoav Cohen’s deft video art and graphics, so
essential to move the plot along.
The
play ends as it began, with a birthday party, but with a different dynamic this
time, because the protagonists have grown. Dare we say grown up?
* *
* *
Abdullah Schwarz
By
Rami Vered
Directed
by Roni Pinkovitch
Bet
Lessin, Tel Aviv; 22 August 2019
The
Schwarz Family lives in Savyonei Shomron, a West Bank settlement. Tziki Schwarz
(Avi Kushnir) is an accountant contemplating divorce from his wife of 30 years,
Tirtza (Anat Waxman). However . . .
It’s
Lali Schwarz’s (Efrat Baumwald) wedding day. She’s marrying Aviel Tzur (Shlomo
Tapiero), not the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but . . .
The reading of a seemingly innocuous verse
turns Papa Tziki Schwarz of Savyonei Shomron on the West Bank into Egyptian Abdallah
with no recollection of his true identity. Reading the verse again turns him
back to Tziki with no memory of his Arab identity, except that . . .
Oh
for heaven’s sake!
Roni
Pinkovitch has directed one of the funniest, smartest local comedies to come
along in ages. It gleefully slays every sacred cow in sight while keeping its
tongue firmly in its cheek. Events go south and back again as a superb cast
imperturbably juggles an incipient security situation, Mossad shenanigans [Mossad
is the Israeli national agency for intelligence collection, covert operations,
and counterterrorism], hatred of Arabs, co-existence, romance and what not,
with maximum brio and without ever dropping a ball (to mix metaphors).
It
all happens on Zeev Levy’s convincing indoor/outdoor set complete with outsize
Israeli flag, aided and abetted by good costuming (Aviah Bash), lighting (Adi
Shimrony), music (Elad Adar), movement (Sharon Gal), and not least by Rubi
Moskovich’s Arab/Egyption dialog coaching of Kushnir.
Kushnir
is phenomenal as Tziki/Abdullah – there’s no other word for his effortless
switching between somewhat hen-pecked, a mite gormless Tziki and the virile,
potent man-with-a-mission Abdullah. Anat Atzmon, a truly fine actress, has
(unhappily) been somewhat typecast these past few years as a Shrew. Yes, her
Tirtza is a shrew, but muted, her pretty pink clothing complementing the mood.
Then Tirtza meets Abdullah and all at once she’s bashful, giggly, sweetly
smitten and an utter joy to watch. An even greater joy is watching Atzmon and
Kushnir working seamlessly together.
Shahir
Kabaha is Fadi, an area Arab, or “Israel from Petah Tikva” and he is delicious
as Abdallah’s willy-nilly translator from Arabic to Hebrew. Father and son Tzur
– respectively Hai Maor and Tapiero – charge headlong and most believably into
their roles as security office/father of the groom and bridegroom. Baumwald’s
dippy Lali is beautifully anxious to please and Odel Hayon makes a sturdy,
eager Reli, Lali’s younger brother. Most ably rounding out this great cast is
Tal Charnovsky as big sister Sari, a card-carrying Leftie, who’s come up for
the wedding from planet Tel Aviv.
Abdullah
Schwarz
- 80 minutes of mischievous irreverence and not to be missed.
* *
* *
Homeward
Written
and directed by Aya Kaplan
Cameri
Theater, Tel Aviv; 13 August 2019
We
are told that “there is no correlation between the characters and events . . . in
real life” in this soggy soap opera whose ‘charismatic guru’ Avihu Tishbi
(Shmuel Vilojzny) bears a remarkable physical resemblance to real-life cult
‘guru’ Goel Ratzon [a self-proclaimed Messiah and faith healer from Tel Aviv,
b. 1951], currently serving 30 years for assorted cult-related felonies. Additionally its heroine’s story is based on that
of Yehudit Herman, a Ratzon cultist for 10 years, who bore him five children,
and now lectures on her ‘lost years’ throughout the country.
The
story: Ora (Neta Garti), as she initially demands to be called, also has five
children by Tishbi, but in her case,16
years have gone by since she, then called Noa, fled her kibbutz home and joined
the cult. Now, following Tishbi’s arrest, she must come to terms with her past
and with real life, unless she wants to join Tishbi in jail – those are the
alternatives that Inspector Turgeman (Ruth Asarsai) bluntly offers her. However,
it’s not until her eldest daughter, Shuvi (Carmel Bin) blurts out that Tishbi
has fed her the same line of guff – i.e that she is spiritually enlightened –
that he intends to make her his “wife”, that the scales finally fall from Ora’s
eyes. She briskly shops [that’s a British colloquialism for ‘rats out’] Tishbi,
and as Noa once again, she and the children make a New Beginning, (or so it
seems), at Rosh Hashana.
Cue
in the hosannas, heavenly choirs and cooing doves.
However,
there’s a problem with the play, and it’s that never, at any time, does it feel
genuine; that here are real people showing us what makes them tick. Never, at
any time, does it demonstrate the real danger that a cult represents.
A
cult has been broadly defined as a system of beliefs and rituals. There are
many different types of cult, but all have one ingredient in common, a blind,
uncritical, unconditional devotion to the leader whose supremacy in all
matters, sacred or profane, is absolute. We have only to think of Jim Jones and
the mass murder/suicide at Jonestown, Guyana in 1979 to understand how lethal a
cult can be.
As
Tishbi, all Vilojzny can manage is a kind of avuncular charm, a kind of cuddly
warmth that doesn’t even approach the charisma his character must radiate.
Within this stricture, Garty does her best. Her Ora/Noa is driven, blinkered,
but the emotions are manipulated and do not seem real even to the character she
plays, not even when the scales fall from her eyes. The same is true of the
other characters who also do the best with what they have, like Avi Termin as
Noa’s stubborn, vengeful father, Odeya Koren as her
always-willing-to-accommodate mother, and Asarsai as Turgeman.
The
play’s most disposable role, and Assaf Solomon makes a sturdy job of it, is that of Michael, Noa’s pre-Tishbi boy
friend, who’s carried a torch for her all these years. The most difficult role
is that of Gili, Noa’s younger sister, whom Maya Landesmann invests with a kind
of desperation, as though she doesn’t know what is her character’s purpose in
this play, and is playing it by ear. She is not helped by the ghastly costumes
Yehudit Aharon designed for her, though those the other characters wear are
apt.
Svetlana
Breger’s set veers shockingly between a Kafka-inspired police station and the patently
picture-postcard, gemütlichkeit environs of the parents’ home in the
kibbutz.
Bottom
line? Homeward is cult lite. On that level, it works fine.
[The German word Gemütlichkeit (which, like other nouns,
would be capitalized in German) is an untranslatable word that means, among
other things: ‘comfortableness,’ ‘coziness,’ ‘pleasantness,’ ‘friendliness,’ ‘geniality,’
‘cheerfulness,’ ‘collegiality,’ ‘comradery,’ or ‘cordiality.’ (I believe Helen should have used gemütlich, the adjective, rather than the noun.) ~Rick]
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