For strictly observant women, being Orthodox can often mean putting a kibosh on artistic aspirations. Halachic prohibitions against singing and dancing in front of men means that many women who enjoy those art forms find they have little opportunity to perform.
Enter Margy Horowitz, a Los Angeles-based piano teacher from Chicago who'd heard about all-women's productions in her hometown from a friend. Intrigued, she started envisioning an all-women's production for Los Angeles with women not only just in the cast, but also in the audience.
When Israeli producers came to America to audition Jewish men to star in "Nice Jewish Boy," their upcoming Bachelor-type reality show, I decided to throw my hat in the ring. After all, who better than me -- a commitment-phobic, ardently secular, anxious, heavily medicated, pale glass of short Jewish water -- to represent the American way?
This could be a chance for me to make a real difference in Israeli-American relations. I began to fantasize about my very own harem of glistening Israeli chicks in sweaty army fatigues, and all that we could do to and for one another in the name of world diplomacy. I'd learn invaluable lessons that only these gorgeous Israelis could teach me: how to shoot an Uzi, how to chain smoke and how to have zero respect for someone's personal space. I, on the other hand, would pass on such valuable American skills as: driving a block away to Starbucks to spend $3 on a cup of coffee, how to say the words "excuse me" and, most importantly, how to apply underarm deodorant.
So, after my initial inquiry and some e-mail exchanges with the producer, I received a phone call from the show's production coordinator in Israel at 6 a.m. No. You heard that right. Six. In the morning.
Back in the day, Passover meant meat, matzah and potatoes for eight days of the Passover.
Guarding the entrance to Bodegas Barberis, a family-owned winery in western Argentina, is a small ceramic statue of the Virgin Mary, known locally as the Virgen de la Carrodilla.
Molina, and his fellow cast members hit all the notes well, and meet the demands of Jerome Robbins' original choreography. For the most part, that is enough. It is easy to be charmed by Joseph Stein's book, Sheldon Harnick's lyrics and Jerry Bock's music, and some 40 years later, charm they still do.
In Hollye Leven's new rock 'n' roll musical, "Funny Business," comedians vie for attention at a seedy nightclub.
Tevye, Tzeitel, Golde and all the other memorable characters of "Fiddler on the Roof" graced the big screen at the University of Judaism (UJ) on Sunday, April 25, but it was the audience who stole the show.
Movie studios release very few historical or period films each year, much less a film like "The Passion," which is in Aramaic and Latin with subtitles.
Compton company Anderson International Foods (AIF) is trying to carve out a portion of the kosher cheese market for itself.
Michael Prywes was 24 when he decided to make a film.
Iris Bahr is pretty, but you could watch her for the full span of her 54-minute one-woman production and still manage to miss that.Â
With the help of a masculine hairdo (she cut her hair for the show, and wears it slicked back) and some minimal wardrobe changes, Bahr morphs into no less than seven different characters, each with individual, and often hilarious, accents. The show is called "Planet America, or Are You Carrying Any Fruits of Vegetables?" and Bahr's characters bring differing perspectives to the themes of American isolationism, xenophobia and racism.
The issues are particularly timely, but for Bahr, who was recently nominated for an L.A. Weekly best solo performance award, they were also personal. She said she'd finished the first draft prior to the Sept. 11 terror attacks. Growing up in Riverdale, N.Y., and Herzliya, Israel, she said, "I have the advantage of having lived in two very different cultures." It made her conscious of issues like terrorism and immigration long ago.
If you like babbling brooks and floating waterlilies, City of Hope probably has your idea of an interesting and unusual Saturday afternoon.
If there are two blockbuster motion pictures that stand as the defining pop-cultural phenomena of the 1970s, they are, arguably, "Star Wars" and "Saturday Night Fever." And while "Star Wars -- the Broadway Musical" is probably not as far-off as we may think, "Saturday Night Fever -- The Broadway Musical" is already here. As in here ... in Los Angeles.
When USC freshman Cynthia Gross asked professional director Anthony Barnao to mentor her new L'Chaim Theatre Ensemble, he was blunt.
In the late 1940s and early 1950s, with front-runners such as T.S. Eliot, Christopher Fry and Archibald Macleish, there was a concerted effort to revive language in the American theater. The buzzword was "heightened speech" and, although all of these writers essentially wrote verse, producers tried to steer clear of the word "poetry." They sensed that American theatergoers would recoil from any attempts to have anything as exotic as that foisted upon them. Just as, at around the same period, when they were risking capital on shows like "The Most Happy Fella" and the early works of Gian Carlo Menotti, they avoided the word "opera." Music-drama seemed a safer rubric.