Eliana Willis

More stories

  • 125 Shares119 Views

    in Television

    Netflix Series Stirs Debate About the Lives of Ultra-Orthodox Women

    The show, “My Unorthodox Life,” tracks the world of Julia Haart, who fled a religious community she found repressive. But some in the community she left say they feel misrepresented.MONSEY, N.Y. — Even at the most liberal flanks of the ultra-Orthodox community here there are daily moments where women live quite differently from men.At synagogue, they must pray in segregated balconies or curtained-off sections. They are prohibited from becoming rabbis and are cautioned against wearing pants, or singing solo or dancing in front of men, lest they distract the men from Torah values.But do they go to college, have careers, watch television, enjoy their lives?Yes, say women of the Yeshivish community in this suburban hamlet 30 miles north of Manhattan, some of whom are upset by how they are portrayed on Netflix’s popular reality series “My Unorthodox Life.”The nine-episode show tracks the world of Julia Haart, 50, who fled Monsey in 2012 and became a successful fashion and modeling executive. Haart paints a dismal picture of her old ultra-Orthodox life, portraying it as oppressive, suggesting women are deprived of decent educations and are basically allowed just one purpose — to be a “babymaking machine.”In the show, Julia Haart describes her former life in an ultra-Orthodox community as repressive, and rejoices in the freedom she feels now that she has left it behind.   Olivia Galli for The New York Times“The women in my community are second-class citizens,” she says in one episode. “We only exist in relation to a man.”It is an image that is rejected by women like Vivian Schneck-Last, a technology consultant who has an M.B.A. from Columbia University and worked as a managing director at Goldman Sachs. She feels Haart diminishes the intellectual and professional strides that women in the community have made.“People in Monsey are upset because she has misrepresented what Orthodox people and particularly Orthodox women are all about,” Schneck-Last said.Roselyn Feinsod, an actuary and partner in the giant accounting firm of Ernst & Young who was once friendly with Haart, said she and her daughter graduated from the same girls high school as Haart, Bais Yaakov of Spring Valley, and that most of its graduates now go on to college. Defying stereotypes of ultra-Orthodox women as unworldly, Feinsod said she has run seven marathons and biked 100 miles around Lake Tahoe.“Monsey is a beautiful community with educated people respectful of each other,” she said.Reactions to the show, both positive and negative, have spread beyond Monsey. The Jerusalem Post, The Times of Israel and lohud.com, which covers an area that includes Monsey, all featured articles about the debate. Critics and supporters of the show have posted videos on YouTube.Under the hashtag #myorthodoxlife, women have described their own successful careers and general satisfaction with the religious life.Roselyn Feinsod, who was once a friend of Julia Haart, said the show misrepresents the career opportunities available to ultra-Orthodox women like herself, a partner at a major accounting firm.Sara Naomi Lewkowicz for The New York Times“People were beyond upset, people were personally insulted,” said Allison Josephs, the founder of the Jew in the City website, who said people posted complaints on the site, which she created to change negative perceptions of religious Jews. “Pretty much every Jew I encountered was feeling, ‘Can you believe what they did to us again?’”Haart defends her depiction as accurate and says she has heard from many ultra-Orthodox and formerly ultra-Orthodox women who agree with her that the community represses women.“Everything about your story resonated so deeply with me,” one woman wrote in a message on Haart’s Instagram page. “I too left the Orthodox community and had to start over after struggling for so long with being unhappy.”Several people familiar with the ultra-Orthodox community wrote directly to The Times to express their support for Haart’s perspective, including Tzivya Green, a former member of the same Yeshivish community in Monsey.“Women are still told to keep quiet and, taught from a young age, that men hold all the power,” Green wrote. “We are taught to never go against a man’s word. Men are everything and women are nothing.”Haart describes the criticism as a personal attack that distracts from the sense of female empowerment she hopes to promote. Since leaving Monsey she has created her own shoe business and is now chief executive of the Elite World Group, among the world’s largest modeling agencies. Her show was just picked up for a second season.Haart agreed to address the debate over her show in an in-person interview if it could be filmed as part of her show. After The Times declined that arrangement, she and The Times were unable to agree on an alternative.Monsey is home to a variety of Orthodox Jews — some modern, some Hasidic and some of the ultra-Orthodox variation that Haart was part of, known as Yeshivish. Sara Naomi Lewkowicz for The New York TimesThough she did not respond to written questions from The Times, saying she had addressed them in prior interviews, she did provide her perspective by pointing out remarks she has made on social media and also by releasing a statement. It said in part: “My sole purpose in sharing my personal story is to raise awareness about an unquestionably repressive society where women are denied the same opportunities as men, which is why my upcoming book and season 2 of my show will continue to document my personal experience that I hope will allow other women to insist on the precious right to freedom.”There are communal pressures in Monsey against television-watching as a waste of time, as the show depicts. The role of women as mothers and homemakers is prized. Though some scholars argue it should not be interpreted as a slight, a prayer in which men thank God for not making them a woman is recited each morning.Still, several women interviewed in Monsey said the show’s perspective is often dated, sometimes exaggerated and conflates the multiple strains of Orthodox Judaism practiced in Monsey.The hamlet of Monsey derived its name from the Munsee branch of the Lenape Native Americans who populated the area before the arrival of Dutch and British colonists. Monsey has become a metonym for the Orthodox Jews of Rockland County, who represent more than a quarter of its population and gather at more than 200 synagogues and roughly half that many yeshivas. Their arrival converted Monsey, a one-stoplight town with a single yeshiva in 1950, into a place populated by a variety of Orthodox Jews — some modern, some Hasidic and some of the ultra-Orthodox variation that Haart was part of, known as Yeshivish or Litvish (Lithuanian), and within those groupings, several gradations or sects of each.That diversity, perhaps not as multicolored as Joseph’s coat, is nonetheless visible on the streets where thick-bearded men in black silk robes and cylindrical fur hats known as shtreimels mix with clean-shaven men in Polo shirts and chinos, recognizable as observant only by their skullcaps.Haart has spoken in interviews about the gradations of Judaism, but some critics of her show say it does not do enough to depict the variations of Orthodox Judaism.  Sara Naomi Lewkowicz for The New York TimesHaart has acknowledged in media appearances and other settings that there are “gradations of Judaism,” and that others from her community may not share her perspective. At its best, she acknowledged in a TV interview with Tamron Hall, her religion fosters an appreciation of charity, of kindness.But critics say those nuances are not captured on the show, where she uses terms like “brainwashed” and “deprogram” to describe ultra-Orthodox life in Monsey in ways that suggest it is more a cult than a personal choice. They say they worry the show describes strictures more typical of, say, the Brooklyn-based Satmar Hasidim, not the less stringent community of which she was part.For example, while the show accurately presents television as frowned upon in Yeshivish circles, they say it doesn’t make clear that many people, including Haart, owned one. (Haart acknowledged on “The Ellen DeGeneres Show” that she had a television in her later years in Monsey and said she lied about it to school officials who otherwise would not have admitted her children.)And yes, as Haart explains on the show, some in the community are not crazy about women riding bikes because the pedaling might expose their knees. But the critics said the show does not make clear that women, including Haart, still rode bikes, in modest attire. (Haart posted about her family bike rides on her Instagram account earlier this month.)Though Haart has said she feels she was deprived of an education by a subpar school system, several women said she was a brilliant, top-notch student who could have attended college without any problem, or stigma, had she decided to.“She was very popular, had every opportunity, a leader in the class, and now she’s turned it into some persecution situation,” said Andrea Jaffe, a certified public accountant and former American Express executive who said that for many years she lived across the street from Haart.Haart, left, reaching out to her daughter Batsheva. Haart has said providing her children with a less restricted way of life was one motivation for her decision to leave Monsey.  NetflixMuch of the Netflix show concerns Haart’s relationship with her four children, three of whom retain various ties to Orthodoxy. (Haart is divorced from their father, but has since remarried. Both men appear on the show.) In Monsey, where religious traditions prescribe the patterns of daily life, her candid discussions with the children about her own sexuality, and theirs, run counter to the norm.Feinsod, a mother of four, said she was offended by what she characterized as Haart’s effort in front of a national audience to draw her children away from an observant life.“It’s fine for her to make choices, but for her to try and force the children’s hand in front of an audience of millions of people is disappointing,” she said.Of course, freeing her children from what she describes as the stifling imprint of ultra-Orthodoxy is exactly what Haart embraces as her mission.“I lived in that world and it’s a very small and sad world, a place where women have one purpose in life and that is to have babies and get married,” she tells her 14-year-old son, Aron, in the second episode.She says that, for her, the low-cut tops she favors are not just gestures of style, but emblems of freedom, of a woman controlling her own body and how it is presented.Netflix declined to comment on reactions to its show, which is at least the third it has presented in recent years about Orthodox life. “Unorthodox,” a mini-series, focused on another woman’s flight from her Brooklyn Hasidic community.The Israeli family drama “Shtisel” has been applauded by many in the Orthodox world for its subtlety, rounded characters and humor.Several women who have lived in Monsey or spent considerable time there said that kind of nuance is missing from Haart’s show, which they said gives no sense that some women cannot only avoid misery, but thrive, while maintaining ultra-Orthodox values.“There’s no monolithic Monsey,” Josephs said.Additional reporting by Colin Moynihan. More

  • 75 Shares149 Views

    in Television

    What Is Your Favorite Abba Memory?

    Next month the Swedish band will release its first new album in 40 years. We want to hear what its music means to you.When did you first hear a song by Abba?Since shimmying onto the international stage with “Waterloo” in 1974, the band has become a ubiquitous part of global pop culture.Before going on indefinite hiatus in 1982, Abba — named for its members, Agnetha Faltskog, Benny Andersson, Bjorn Ulvaeus and Anni-Frid Lyngstad — released eight studio albums and some of the catchiest pop songs of all time, which reached No. 1 across the world. Just hearing song names like “Dancing Queen,” “Take a Chance on Me” and “Mamma Mia” can be enough to have Abba’s upbeat choruses in your head for the rest of the day (you’re welcome!).In the decades since, the Abba phenomenon has continued: In 1999 the musical “Mamma Mia!” came to London’s West End, and then Broadway and stages around Europe. Two star-studded film versions followed.Now, for the first time in four decades, the group has released new music, and a 10-track album, “Voyage,” is coming on Nov. 5. And beginning next spring in a custom-built London venue, the group will present a new live show, performing as high-tech avatars intended to replicate how its members looked in 1979.So although Abba’s music has never been far away, Sweden’s best-selling band is definitively back. To commemorate this moment, we want to hear about what Abba means to you.Has it formed the soundtrack to your life? Do certain songs take you straight back to moments of joy, sadness or singalong? Have you visited the Abba museum in Stockholm? Has your relationship with different tracks changed over the years? We’d also love to see photos that show your fandom.Your submissions may be included in our future Abba coverage.What does Abba’s music mean to you?The Swedish quartet is releasing its first new album in four decades. We want to hear from its fans. More

  • 138 Shares199 Views

    in Theater

    Tour the Old Steel Town at the Center of ‘Lackawanna Blues’

    In his Broadway play, Ruben Santiago-Hudson revisits the Lackawanna, N.Y., of his youth. A lot has changed since the late 1950s and ’60s, reflected here in recent photographs of the area.Today, it’s Tifft Nature Preserve, a 264-acre refuge in Buffalo, just north of Lackawanna, N.Y. In the 1950s and ’60s, it was an industrial site of train tracks, grain elevators and a handful of small ponds. That area is where Ruben Santiago-Hudson — the writer, director and star of “Lackawanna Blues,” on Broadway through Nov. 12 — went fishing as a child. It is also one of the many places that he fondly reminisces about in his autobiographical show.Santiago-Hudson’s play takes place in and around a boardinghouse at 32 Wasson Avenue owned by a big-hearted landlady, Ms. Rachel Crosby (affectionately known as “Nanny”), who took him in and raised him. While the 90-minute autobiographical one-man show is an ode to Nanny, it includes at least 25 neighborhood figures (all artfully played by Santiago-Hudson in various postures, accents and cadences).An aerial view of Lackawanna, including the site of Bethlehem Steel.via Lackawanna Historical AssociationAmong the lost souls, petty hustlers and philosophers waxing poetic was Ol’ Po’ Carl, a would-be chef and former baseball player. At a rehearsal of the play in mid-August, Santiago-Hudson recounted a conversation the pair had about fishing. (Ol’ Po’ Carl called him “doc” because there was always a chance Santiago-Hudson would be a doctor someday.)“He’d say to me, ‘Hey, doc! You little curly-headed, raggedy-headed rascal. You going the fishing?’ I’d say, ‘Yeah, I might go the fishing.’ Not ‘going to fishing,’ ‘going the fishing.’“He’d say, ‘You’d better get on out there before they caught up all the fish.’ And I’d be like — I was 11 years old — I’m like, ‘He might be right, they caught all the fish!’ And I’m thinking, as I got older, I’m like, ‘How you going to catch all the fish?’”Recently, Malik Rainey, a photographer based in Buffalo, toured Lackawanna to capture the area during dusky evenings. Those images — along with archival photographs from the ’50s and ’60s that include photographs of Santiago-Hudson as a boy and Nanny with her husband, Bill — tell the story of a town’s rich past and present.Text excerpts from “Lackawanna Blues” 1956 Lackawanna, New York, like all Great Lakes cities, was thriving! Jobs everywhere, money everywhere. Steel plants, grain mills, railroads, the docks.Everybody had a new car and a conk. Restaurants, bars, stores, everybody made money.The smell of fried fish, chicken and pork chops floating in the air every weekend. In every bar the aroma of a newly tapped keg of Black Label, Iroquois, or Genesee beer, to complement that hot roast beef-on-weck with just a touch of horseradish.These snowbound cities that kissed the shores of the Great Lakes tried to live up to that privilege. And they were jumping; Cleveland, Buffalo, Chicago, Erie, Toledo, Detroit, Gary, Lackawanna!After-hour joints were jumping, sisters from Alabama frying pork rinds, brothers from Tennessee slopping sauce on freshly smoked slabs of ribs and shots of Black Velvet or Canadian Club whisky overrunning the shot glasses.You could get to town on a Monday and by Wednesday have more jobs than one man can take. These were fertile times.The 2020 census counted 19,949 people in Lackawanna. In the late ’50s and ’60s, when “Lackawanna Blues” is set, the town was thriving, courtesy of the Bethlehem Steel mill.In 1983, the steel mill closed its doors. Today, wind turbines spin where steel was once manufactured.The play, Santiago-Hudson said during an interview in August, allows him to revisit and remember where he came from.“People say things like, ‘Well, how did you escape? How did you get out?’ I didn’t want to escape,” he said. “I didn’t want to go nowhere. I’d have never left. If Nanny didn’t make me go to college, I’d have never left. It’s the honest to God truth. I’d rather take a job in the steel plant and stay in Lackawanna, and be with these people.”Bethlehem Steel closed in the early 1980s.Malik Rainey for The New York TimesSome of the current residents of Wasson Avenue.Malik Rainey for The New York TimesTifft Nature Preserve, and grain elevators in the distance.Malik Rainey for The New York TimesHouses as seen from Albright Court.Malik Rainey for The New York Times

    #scrolly-instance-1 p span {
    background-color: none;
    padding: 14px;
    display: block;
    color: white;
    font-size: 27px;
    line-height: 31px;
    font-style: italic;
    text-shadow: 0 1px 2px rgb(0 0 0 / 50%);
    text-align: center;
    } More

  • 75 Shares159 Views

    in Television

    Quel est votre meilleur souvenir d’Abba?

    Le mois prochain, le groupe suédois sort son premier album depuis 40 ans. Comment leur musique a-t-elle compté pour vous? Envoyez-nous vos témoignages.De gauche à droite: Benny Andersson, Anni-Frid Lyngstad, Agnetha Faltskog et Bjorn Ulvaeus, les membres du groupe Abba.Tt News Agency/ReutersQuel est votre premier souvenir d’Abba ?Depuis “Waterloo” et son irruption spectaculaire sur la scène internationale en 1974, le groupe occupe une place incontournable dans la pop mondiale.Jusqu’à 1982 et sa mise en retrait pour une durée indéterminée, Abba — nommé d’après ses membres Agnetha Faltskog, Benny Andersson, Bjorn Ulvaeus et Anni-Frid Lyngstad — a produit huit albums studio et quelques-uns des tubes les plus accrocheurs de l’histoire, numéros 1 des classements mondiaux. “Dancing Queen”, “Take a Chance on Me”, “Mamma Mia”: l’évocation de leurs noms suffit à vous mettre d’humeur joyeuse une bonne partie de la journée (il n’y a pas de quoi!).Le succès du phénomène Abba ne s’est jamais tari : En 1999, la comédie musicale “Mamma Mia!” conquiert d’abord le West End à Londres, puis Broadway avant de se propager aux théâtres d’Europe. Et son adaptation au cinéma affiche deux grandes stars de Hollywood.Après 40 ans de silence, le groupe a sorti de nouveaux morceaux et, le 5 novembre, lancera un album de 10 titres, “Voyage”. À partir du printemps prochain, dans un théâtre conçu sur-mesure à Londres, le groupe se produira en ‘live’ sous forme d’avatars high-tech de leur apparence en 1979.Si la musique d’Abba n’a jamais disparu, c’est un véritable retour que fait le groupe le plus vendeur de Suède. Pour célébrer l’événement, nous aimerions savoir ce qu’Abba signifie pour vous.Leurs tubes ont-ils été la bande-son de votre vie ? À quels moments de joie, de tristesse ou de tubes chantés à tue-tête vous ramènent-ils ? Avez-vous visité le musée Abba à Stockholm ? Comment votre ressenti des différents titres a-t-il évolué au fil du temps ? Nous aimerions aussi voir, si vous en avez, vos photos de fan d’Abba.Certaines de vos contributions seront incluses dans nos reportages à venir sur Abba.Que représente pour vous la musique d’Abba? Le quatuor suédois sort son premier album depuis 40 ans. Nous aimerions savoir ce qu’en pensent ses fans. More

  • 75 Shares169 Views

    in Television

    Jimmy Kimmel Misses the Old Facebook

    Kimmel reminisced about the days when the social media app was “just a safe place to lose your house in a pyramid scheme.”Welcome to Best of Late Night, a rundown of the previous night’s highlights that lets you sleep — and lets us get paid to watch comedy. Here are the 50 best movies on Netflix right now.Angry Face EmojiOn Tuesday night, Jimmy Kimmel noted that Facebook hasn’t been getting a lot of likes lately, citing damning reports from inside the social media company.“I miss when Facebook was just a safe place to lose your house in a pyramid scheme,” Jimmy Kimmel joked on Tuesday.“This week is so bad for Facebook that Mark Zuckerberg was, like, ‘Facebook? No, that’s not me. That was started by the Winklevii.’” — TREVOR NOAH“I mentioned last night a trove of confidential internal documents were leaked to the press. The gist of them is that Facebook knew its technology was amplifying hate speech and misinformation. There was an internal memo written in 2019 that says, ‘We also have compelling evidence that our core product mechanics, such as vitality, recommendations, and optimizing for engagement, are a significant part of why these types of speech flourish on the platform.’ Their core product mechanics. That means hate and lies are baked directly into Facebook, like the cheese in a stuffed crust pizza from Pizza Hut.” — JIMMY KIMMEL“And another interesting detail is that Facebook engineers — they will prioritize the posts that get a lot of emoji reactions, including the anger emoji by 5-1 over just the regular like. The hate and the lies on Facebook — it’s like the nicotine in a cigarette: It’s not what you come for, but it’s why you stick around.” — JIMMY KIMMEL“Yeah, that’s right, Facebook knew it was rewarding [expletive] posts as long as they generated an emotional response. And I’ll be honest, when I first heard about this, I was shocked because I couldn’t believe that Mark Zuckerberg knows what emotions are.” — TREVOR NOAH“Although it does make sense because in regular life, we all put more value on things that produce an emotional response in us. You know, it’s why Donald Trump became president and Jeb Bush works at a Quiznos now.” — TREVOR NOAH“Of course, everyone’s been talking about Facebook lately, and Mark Zuckerberg just announced that he’s ‘retooling’ the social media platform toward young adults and away from older users. Honestly, just make it a little harder to sign in, and you will never see an old person on Facebook.” — JIMMY FALLONThe Punchiest Punchlines (Six Flags Edition)“I heard about a guy who bought a Six Flags annual pass. How about this deal: You get the Six Flags annual pass, right? That allows you to get unlimited food for $150. He’s eaten nearly all of his meals at Six Flags ever since. Of course, all the money he saved is now going to doctors to get his cholesterol down from 1,000.” — JIMMY FALLON“Yeah, that dude fed himself for 50 cents a day. Genius! We should get him to fix all the world’s economies before he dies from gout.” — TREVOR NOAH“Right now the Democrats are struggling to figure out how to pay for health care. This guy — this guy would solve it. He’d probably just come in and be like, ‘All you have to do is go to the first-aid tent at Six Flags and tell them the roller coaster gave you lupus. Boom! Free health care.’” — TREVOR NOAH“And by the way, how are amusement parks both the cheapest and most expensive places on earth? Like, eat for a year: $150. A mouse pad with a picture of you on a roller coaster: $3,000. No in between!” — TREVOR NOAH“But I will say, man, props to this guy for gaming the system. This is the kind of [expletive] you can only get away with at Six Flags, you know, because they’re a chilled amusement park. If you tried this at Disney, oh man, Mickey wouldn’t mess around. He’d have you hanging by your thumbs in the castle dungeon.” — TREVOR NOAHThe Bits Worth WatchingOn Tuesday’s “Late Show,” Katie Couric shared the story of meeting her idol, Jane Pauley, for the first time.What We’re Excited About on Wednesday NightDan Levy will promote the book “Best Wishes, Warmest Regards: The Story of Schitt’s Creek” — which he co-wrote with his father, Eugene — on Wednesday’s “Jimmy Kimmel Live.”Understand the Facebook PapersCard 1 of 6A tech giant in trouble. More

  • 138 Shares139 Views

    in Theater

    Review: ‘The Mother’ Rises Up Again in the Name of Revolution

    The Wooster Group’s production will prompt discussions about the company’s vision for Brecht’s “learning play.”There’s a bit of an echo when the actors in the Wooster Group’s production of “The Mother” speak. At first I assumed that their voices were being digitally filtered. This would have been par for the course for the company, whose longstanding affinity for technological wizardry is well known. And it would have been an ingenious idea for a Bertolt Brecht play, reinforcing the alienation effect the playwright sought by subtly reminding us we were watching a show.Soon, though, I realized it was wizardry of another kind: For much of the time the actors were miming their own recorded lines. Unlike Deirdre O’Connell’s performance in “Dana H.” on Broadway, where lip-syncing never gets in the way of a devastating emotional realism, the Woosters go for an arch theatricality in the service of the story’s agitprop roots. Since they mostly sing the show’s brief numbers live, I found myself looking out for the transitions between what was recorded and what was not.In Brecht’s “The Mother” — not to be confused with his own “Mother Courage and Her Children,” which it predates by seven years — an apolitical woman named Pelagea Vlasov (Kate Valk, magnetic as ever) is pulled into communist activism after her son (Gareth Hobbs) is jailed for fighting on behalf of factory workers.The show, first produced in Germany in 1932, was inspired by a 1906 Russian novel by Maxim Gorky and Brecht conceived it as a “learning play.” A narrator (Jim Fletcher) helpfully fills us in on the historical and literary background in a prologue, and pops up again at regular intervals to essentially provide footnotes. It’s as if we are watching a play and reading its CliffsNotes at the same time, extending the learning process to the directing style.The Wooster Group, now in its 46th year, has acquired a reputation for cerebral, often opaque productions, and it’s true that the company’s shows can be puzzling. This one, directed, like most of them, by Elizabeth LeCompte, is no exception. (It premiered in June at the Vienna Festival.)But the process often has a degree of transparency because the company is not shy about listing its sources and regularly uploads to its website a variety of informative videos, including excerpts from rehearsals, that help contextualize what audience members end up seeing. In one of the videos for “The Mother,” for example, Valk says that the company was attracted to the story of a woman who becomes radicalized in her 60s. It is hard not to think of LeCompte, 77, and Valk, 65, who continue to explore theater with an energy and inquisitiveness people a third of their age might envy.It might be fair to say (warn?) that some of the Wooster Group shows, like its head-scratching “Hamlet,” in which they repurposed Richard Burton’s performance from 1964, can be less involving to experience than to discuss with your friends in a doomed attempt to figure out what the company was trying to do.And so it goes with “The Mother.” The production both hews to the original text and honors the theatrical traditions that birthed it, and then it tweaks them. Hanns Eisler’s original score is sometimes juxtaposed with a new one by Amir ElSaffar, for example, and in some scenes ElSaffar’s jazzy music combines with the actors’ staccato delivery to create something akin to a 1930s Warner Bros. noir about the workers’ struggle. Why the Woosters went for that effect — well, we could meet over a drink and talk about it for a few hours.The MotherThrough Nov. 6 at the Performing Garage, Manhattan; thewoostergroup.org. Running time: 1 hour 20 minutes. More

  • 138 Shares99 Views

    in Theater

    Martha Henry, a Leading Stage Actress in Canada, Dies at 83

    For decades her performances at the Stratford Festival drew acclaim. She gave her last performance just days before her death.For the last role of her long career, Martha Henry, one of Canada’s finest stage actors, played the character in Edward Albee’s “Three Tall Women” known simply as A. Mr. Albee’s character description reads in part, “a very old woman; thin, autocratic, proud, as together as the ravages of time will allow.”As Ms. Henry took to the stage at the Stratford Festival in Ontario in August to begin the play’s two-month run, the cancer she had been dealing with for more than a year was well along. She used a walker in the first shows. In September she performed the role from a wheelchair, soldiering on in the demanding part through the final performance, on Oct. 9.She died of the disease on Thursday at her home in Stratford, the festival announced. She was 83.The effort Ms. Henry put into her final role — A is a dying woman, mean and prone to bursts of both laughing and crying — was, by all accounts, something to see. The performance “shows the veteran actor at her monstrous best,” J. Kelly Nestruck, the chief theater critic for The Globe and Mail of Toronto, wrote in August.“It’s unforgettable — which I mean both as praise and as a warning,” he added. “You might not want the woman she plays stuck in your head.”Ms. Henry had been known for memorable performances at Stratford for decades. She first appeared there in 1962 in a production of “The Tempest,” and her association with the festival continued, with a few gaps, to the present. She acted in more than 70 productions and directed 14 others.“Her sense of responsibility to the theater was so profound that it enabled her to endure pain and face down her terminal disease to complete an astoundingly truthful performance as a dying woman in ‘Three Tall Women,’” Antoni Cimolino, Stratford’s artistic director, said in a statement. “Her life became art.”Ms. Henry with Brian Bedford in “Much Ado About Nothing,” a Stratford Festival production staged at New York City Center in 1998. She acted in more than 70 Stratford productions and directed 14 others.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesMartha Kathleen Buhs was born on Feb. 17, 1938, in Detroit. Her parents, Lloyd and Kathleen (Hatch) Buhs, divorced when she was 5. Her mother was a pianist who played cocktail lounges and was often working at night, so Martha was raised by her grandparents until she was 14. She was interested in acting at a young age.“I joined a Brownie troop because they were doing a play,” she told The Pittsburgh Press in 1968.As a teenager she rejoined her mother, who had become part of a traveling entertainment troupe. She would often go on the road with her, enjoying the company of the other performers.“On the same bill there’d be a comic — my mother would fill in as the straight woman — a ventriloquist, a snake charmer, a tap dancer,” Ms. Henry told The Edmonton Journal of Alberta in 1996, when she was playing the same role in “Three Tall Women” in an Edmonton production. “I grew up with show people. They were so good to me.”She enrolled at what is now the Carnegie Mellon University School of Drama in Pittsburgh, choosing it over several other colleges because, as she told The Press, “it was the only one that held auditions, to see what you could really do.”The drama department did four Shakespeare plays while she was there, she said, but this future star of numerous Shakespeare productions didn’t get into any of them. After graduating in 1959, she did summer stock in Ontario and worked with the Crest Theater in Toronto. Then she enrolled in the National Theater School in Montreal when it was established in 1960, and went on to become its first acting graduate: Halfway through the three-year course, as she told The Press, the directors told her that she was ready for a professional career.Six weeks later she was a member of the Stratford troupe; her debut there was as Miranda in “The Tempest.” One critic called her “the find of the season.”She had married a fellow student at the theater school, Donnelly Rhodes Henry. The marriage didn’t stick, but the last name did (though not for him — he performed professionally as Donnelly Rhodes). A later marriage, to the actor Douglas Rain in 1968, ended in divorce in 1988. In 1989 she married the actor Rod Beattie, who survives her, along with a daughter from her second marriage, Emma Rain.At Stratford, Ms. Henry’s Isabella in “Measure for Measure” in 1975, her Beatrice in “Much Ado About Nothing” in 1998 and her Mary in Eugene O’Neill’s “Long Day’s Journey Into Night” in 1994 were among her most acclaimed performances. She was also artistic director of the Grand Theater in London, Ontario, from 1988 to 1994.Ms. Henry made the occasional film or television appearance and performed on many stages beyond Stratford, including some in New York. But she said she was never tempted, as a young actress, to try to make it in Manhattan.“I knew exactly what would happen there,” she told The Journal. “I wasn’t exactly shy, but I wasn’t pushy. I was no great beauty. I could see myself getting an apartment and just staying in it.”Canada offered what she wanted, she said.“I just wanted to work, and I felt that any country that could produce a Stratford had to be the most wonderful place. And I was right.” More

  • 113 Shares109 Views

    in Theater

    A Playwright Has a Message: Anti-Asian Hate Isn’t New

    Lionelle Hamanaka wrote “Covid Crime” to bring the conversation surrounding such attacks to her neighbors in Manhattan.On Sunday afternoon, a pigeon flew through a performance of “Covid Crime,” a one-act play taking place at a Manhattan intersection, where yellow taxis whizzed by against the backdrop of a halal food cart.The show, written by Lionelle Hamanaka and directed by Howard Pflanzer, was unfolding in Richard Tucker Park, a tiny cobblestone triangle on the Upper West Side. It was more of a reading than a staging — its seven actors sat in metal folding chairs, as did the audience of about 50 people.“I saw this TV coverage of a woman being assaulted on a bus with an umbrella. She was an older woman, an older Asian American,” Hamanaka said last week, before the play. “I thought it would be interesting to see how the community’s affected by it. Because we see the outside story, but we don’t necessarily see every case.”At the start of the pandemic, the coalition Stop AAPI Hate — AAPI stands for Asian American Pacific Islander — formed and began its own tally of such attacks. From March 19, 2020 to June 30, 2021, the group received 9,081 reports of hate crimes against Asian Americans across the United States. That number was not just a mere statistic to Hamanaka, who is Japanese American.“My parents were in the concentration camps, and of course that caused a great deal of hardship for our family,” she said, referring to the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II. “My grandparents both had businesses, and they had to sell them in one week. They had to pack up all their things and leave. And that leaves a scar in your mind.”The playwright Lionelle Hamanaka spoke to the crowd ahead of her show, “Covid Crime.”An Rong Xu for The New York TimesSo Hamanaka, a playwright and onetime jazz singer who describes herself as a senior, funneled her frustration into art. She’s written a series of plays about Covid-19, including “Covid 10,366,” about the April 2020 spike in Covid-19 deaths, and “The Spitter,” about a supermarket dispute over mask wearing. But this is the first time she has addressed the recent rise in anti-Asian American hate crimes in her work.Hamanaka noticed that much of the organizing surrounding the #StopAsianHate movement in New York was taking place in Manhattan’s Chinatown, where about 33 percent of the population identified as Asian in 2019, according to the N.Y.U. Furman Center, which studies housing and urban policy.She wanted to bring the movement to her neighborhood, the Upper West Side, where about 10 percent of the population identified as Asian. “Then the people who are there have to look around and look at Asian Americans in a slightly different way,” Hamanaka said. “‘Like, ‘Have I excluded them? Do I treat them as a foreigner?’”“Covid Crime” was presented by Crossways Theater, a group formed in 2018 by Hamanaka and Pflanzer. It aims to develop playwrights that reflect the diversity of their neighborhood.“The idea is to bring the audience closer to these issues,” said Pflanzer, 77. “Get them to engage and participate in understanding and being aware of this very important issue of anti-Asian hate in our communities.”In the play, the character Dr. Leo Chan (John Bernos) arrives home from a shift at Bellevue Hospital. He lives with his mother, Chunhua (Hamanaka), who is asleep on the couch in the living room.“It’s just me, Ma,” Leo says. Chunhua grunts, and he notices a bandage on her head.“What’s that?” he asks. “What happened?”“Woman hit me with umbrella,” Chunhua says.“Where?” Leo asks.“On a bus,” Chunhua replies. “She say I bring Chinese virus to New York. Now everybody dying.”Bernos, a Filipino American actor from Ann Arbor, Mich., drove nine hours to New York for “Covid Crime.” After the performance, an audience member asked him about the hardest part of the role.About 50 people attended the performance, which was followed by a community forum.An Rong Xu for The New York Times“I’ve had my share of having a person tell me to go back to China,” Bernos said. “It wasn’t cool. So I think the hardest part is having to dig back into that memory and face that again. It’s always tough.”Though the play revolves around Chunhua’s assault, it also features Dylan Omori McCombs as Corky Lee, the only character in the play based explicitly on a real person. Lee was a Chinese American photographer, journalist and activist from Queens. (He died in January at age 73 after Covid-19 complications.).css-1xzcza9{list-style-type:disc;padding-inline-start:1em;}.css-3btd0c{font-family:nyt-franklin,helvetica,arial,sans-serif;font-size:1rem;line-height:1.375rem;color:#333;margin-bottom:0.78125rem;}@media (min-width:740px){.css-3btd0c{font-size:1.0625rem;line-height:1.5rem;margin-bottom:0.9375rem;}}.css-3btd0c strong{font-weight:600;}.css-3btd0c em{font-style:italic;}.css-w739ur{margin:0 auto 5px;font-family:nyt-franklin,helvetica,arial,sans-serif;font-weight:700;font-size:1.125rem;line-height:1.3125rem;color:#121212;}#NYT_BELOW_MAIN_CONTENT_REGION .css-w739ur{font-family:nyt-cheltenham,georgia,’times new roman’,times,serif;font-weight:700;font-size:1.375rem;line-height:1.625rem;}@media (min-width:740px){#NYT_BELOW_MAIN_CONTENT_REGION .css-w739ur{font-size:1.6875rem;line-height:1.875rem;}}@media (min-width:740px){.css-w739ur{font-size:1.25rem;line-height:1.4375rem;}}.css-9s9ecg{margin-bottom:15px;}.css-16ed7iq{width:100%;display:-webkit-box;display:-webkit-flex;display:-ms-flexbox;display:flex;-webkit-align-items:center;-webkit-box-align:center;-ms-flex-align:center;align-items:center;-webkit-box-pack:center;-webkit-justify-content:center;-ms-flex-pack:center;justify-content:center;padding:10px 0;background-color:white;}.css-pmm6ed{display:-webkit-box;display:-webkit-flex;display:-ms-flexbox;display:flex;-webkit-align-items:center;-webkit-box-align:center;-ms-flex-align:center;align-items:center;}.css-pmm6ed > :not(:first-child){margin-left:5px;}.css-5gimkt{font-family:nyt-franklin,helvetica,arial,sans-serif;font-size:0.8125rem;font-weight:700;-webkit-letter-spacing:0.03em;-moz-letter-spacing:0.03em;-ms-letter-spacing:0.03em;letter-spacing:0.03em;text-transform:uppercase;color:#333;}.css-5gimkt:after{content:’Collapse’;}.css-rdoyk0{-webkit-transition:all 0.5s ease;transition:all 0.5s ease;-webkit-transform:rotate(180deg);-ms-transform:rotate(180deg);transform:rotate(180deg);}.css-eb027h{max-height:5000px;-webkit-transition:max-height 0.5s ease;transition:max-height 0.5s ease;}.css-6mllg9{-webkit-transition:all 0.5s ease;transition:all 0.5s ease;position:relative;opacity:0;}.css-6mllg9:before{content:”;background-image:linear-gradient(180deg,transparent,#ffffff);background-image:-webkit-linear-gradient(270deg,rgba(255,255,255,0),#ffffff);height:80px;width:100%;position:absolute;bottom:0px;pointer-events:none;}.css-1jiwgt1{display:-webkit-box;display:-webkit-flex;display:-ms-flexbox;display:flex;-webkit-box-pack:justify;-webkit-justify-content:space-between;-ms-flex-pack:justify;justify-content:space-between;margin-bottom:1.25rem;}.css-8o2i8v{display:-webkit-box;display:-webkit-flex;display:-ms-flexbox;display:flex;-webkit-flex-direction:column;-ms-flex-direction:column;flex-direction:column;-webkit-align-self:flex-end;-ms-flex-item-align:end;align-self:flex-end;}.css-8o2i8v p{margin-bottom:0;}.css-12vbvwq{background-color:white;border:1px solid #e2e2e2;width:calc(100% – 40px);max-width:600px;margin:1.5rem auto 1.9rem;padding:15px;box-sizing:border-box;}@media (min-width:740px){.css-12vbvwq{padding:20px;width:100%;}}.css-12vbvwq:focus{outline:1px solid #e2e2e2;}#NYT_BELOW_MAIN_CONTENT_REGION .css-12vbvwq{border:none;padding:10px 0 0;border-top:2px solid #121212;}.css-12vbvwq[data-truncated] .css-rdoyk0{-webkit-transform:rotate(0deg);-ms-transform:rotate(0deg);transform:rotate(0deg);}.css-12vbvwq[data-truncated] .css-eb027h{max-height:300px;overflow:hidden;-webkit-transition:none;transition:none;}.css-12vbvwq[data-truncated] .css-5gimkt:after{content:’See more’;}.css-12vbvwq[data-truncated] .css-6mllg9{opacity:1;}.css-1rh1sk1{margin:0 auto;overflow:hidden;}.css-1rh1sk1 strong{font-weight:700;}.css-1rh1sk1 em{font-style:italic;}.css-1rh1sk1 a{color:#326891;-webkit-text-decoration:underline;text-decoration:underline;text-underline-offset:1px;-webkit-text-decoration-thickness:1px;text-decoration-thickness:1px;-webkit-text-decoration-color:#ccd9e3;text-decoration-color:#ccd9e3;}.css-1rh1sk1 a:visited{color:#333;-webkit-text-decoration-color:#ccc;text-decoration-color:#ccc;}.css-1rh1sk1 a:hover{-webkit-text-decoration:none;text-decoration:none;}“The sad part is that, the more I researched him as much as I could, the more I really wished that he was someone that I had learned about in my history textbooks,” said McCombs, wearing a hoodie that read “Not Your Model Minority.” “He obviously is of the caliber of someone that would be very much worthy of that.”“Covid Crime” ends on a rally set in Chinatown’s Columbus Park.“We’re here today because of the attacks against Asian Americans,” Lee says. “That’s been news in the pandemic, and the news is my business. My photos are proof that we exist — that we do a lot of things.”The performance was followed by a community forum. Shirley Ng, a community organizer at the Asian American Legal Defense and Education Fund, and Jacqueline Wang, the head of marketing and communications at Welcome to Chinatown, both spoke to the small crowd.“Just like the play, many seniors will come home and not know what to do,” Ng said. “They could’ve gone to the police precinct or called 911, but there’s always this fear that they may get turned away, because they don’t have someone who speaks their language, or there’s just this fear of stepping in and not knowing — what is the process?”“Covid Crime” was presented by Crossways Theater, which aims to develop playwrights that reflect the diversity of the Upper West Side.An Rong Xu for The New York TimesThe fund, a 47-year-old national organization based in New York, works to protect and promote the civil rights of Asian Americans — including encouraging seniors to report any hate crimes that may occur. Welcome to Chinatown, founded last year, is a grass roots initiative that supports Chinatown’s businesses and amplifies its voices.“Another thing covered by this play is that, when you don’t know someone — you don’t look like them, you don’t speak their language, you don’t know their culture, you don’t eat the same things — it’s really easy to just label them as ‘other,’” Wang said. “That’s something not new to the pandemic, but something that was exacerbated and highlighted.”In the last act of “Covid Crime,” Dr. Leo Chan speaks a common Chinese phrase. “We have a saying, ‘Swallow bitterness.’ Leave that behind. Won’t work these days!” More