Blogs

• Martin Sherman’s BENT at the Provincetown Theater

  Posted: March 17th 2014 @9:02 AM

  Michael Steers’ production of Bent at the Provincetown Theater takes its audience—irrespective of sexual preferences—to places that no one wants to go, and does so with refinement, dignity, and—occasionally—humor. Bent targets everyone: it questions the meaning of self, it examines how one handles ethical dilemmas with life-and-death consequences, and it demands an understanding of responsibility.

  When the play was first produced, in 1979, very little knowledge about the experience of homosexuals under the Nazi régime was actually available; it is the play that in many ways spurred the research. The truth is, of course, that Jews were not the only victims systematically marked for eradication: gypsies, Jehovah’s Witnesses, the mentally handicapped, intellectuals, vagrants, prostitutes, Freemasons … and homosexuals, who were at the nadir of a list of victims, even in the rankings of fellow prisoners. Wearing a pink triangle—the public identification of gays—on one’s jacket meant to be despised by everyone.

  Sherman exposes that pecking order most clearly when one gay prisoner opts to wear the Star of David—even though he is not himself Jewish—rather than the pink triangle once he’s incarcerated at Dachau.

  The play’s protagonist is Max, an unattractive hedonist in a very liberal 1930s Berlin who openly pursues his desires, “making deals” and drinking/drugging his way through nights at a gay club owned by drag queen Greta, much to the disappointment of his boyfriend Rudy, a dancer at the club. We meet Max and Rudy at four pm on one of many “mornings-after,” which changes dramatically when the SS storm into the flat and kill the man Max brought home with him from the club. This is the start of the Night of the Long Knives, an internal shakeup in the Nazi power structure that changes Berlin forever.

  Max and Rudy flee, but are eventually caught and sent to Dachau; Max becomes even more unattractive to the audience when he is faced with the classical dilemma of the biblical Peter, and not only denies knowing Rudy but helps to kill him.

  The second half of the play takes place completely at Dachau, where Max and another inmate, Horst, develop a relationship. They spend their time moving stones from one area of the camp to another before moving them back again; Max says he thinks this is designed to drive them mad.

  Does Max recapture his lost humanity? What kind of relationship can develop when one cannot even talk to others, much less touch them? How does one come to terms with a limited future and a regretted past? The play poses more questions than it answers.

  Steers’ casting is inspired. Bretten Burger does well with the difficult job of showing a man change through a mere two hours onstage, without losing sight that growth doesn’t necessarily entail a complete change of character; by the end of the play, he remembers that he may have once loved a dancer, but cannot remember Rudy’s name. Robert Junker, Mark Weinress, Titus Ulrich all are excellent and believable.

  If I’m to single out anyone, though, it has to be Bragan Thomas, who seriously comes into his own as Rudy, making the dancer flamboyant without ever crossing into mockery.

  And of course (as always) Michael Steers’ set deign is pitch-perfect. The lighting suggests more than it reveals—I was convinced at one point that there was a frosting of snow on the piles of rocks at the concentration camp—and the minimalism works well in a world where everything beloved and secure is stripped away. Steers has some very large shoes to fill in the light of past productions, and he comes through.

  At a time when events in the 21st century seem to be copying those of the 20th, Bent remains an unfortunately relevant and important play. Go see it.

  ***

  Jeannette de Beauvoir is the host of Arts Week on WOMR, a contributing writer to Provincetown Magazine, and a novelist, editor, and marketing writer. More about her at linkedin.com/in/jeannettedebeauvoir 

   

   

   

   

• The Everyday Excellence Awards

  Posted: March 4th 2014 @11:44 PM

  Why do award shows mean so much to us?

  The Golden Globes, the Screen Actors Guild, the Grammys, the Oscars, it’s as if our world comes screeching to a halt once that red carpet rolls out. We sit awestruck, watching as the entertainment industry’s elite accept their many accolades.

  It’s easy to understand why folks in the music or entertainment biz get jazzed up. Their horse winning or even being in the running can mean beau coup dollars and loads of glory.

  But what about the rest of us? Millions and billions of the rest of us are not directly affected by these awards, so why do we get so excited?

  Why do we say things like, “I love Meryl Streep but for the love of God, don’t give her another award!”

  Why do have lengthy conversations about how brilliant Matthew McConaughey was in “Dallas Buyers Club,” but add, “The man doesn’t have a modest bone in his body!”

  OK, yes, I was projecting. I get sucked in, too!

  I got sucked into the Grammys, when Queen Latifah performed 33 straight and gay weddings after we were serenaded by Macklemore, Ryan Lewis and Mary Lambert.

  But you totally lost me when the two men (Are they men? They are not DEVO.) dressed as robots raked it in. Yes, Kiss wore make-up, but this Daft Punk helmet thing is, well, daft.

  In this new world of entertainment ,where reality shows about fighting over storage units or rednecks (some with really big mouths) hunting ducks get as much play as shows with actors, why not go a step further?

  Why not have an awards show that celebrates everyday people excelling in everyday jobs, the Everyday Excellence Awards?

  Categories can include Mom of the Year, Dad of the Year, Most-Inspired Plumber, Doctor who Saved the Most Lives, Most Beloved Nurse, Manicurist with the Biggest Following, Most Creative Travel Agent, and Fastest Short-Order Cook.

  I’m talking about some real reality television!

  Our host? No celeb glory here. The nominees for Most Amazing Motivational Speaker will co-host. Presenters can include nominees for Most Charming Maître D’ and Funniest Taxi Driver.

  The trophy can be a golden vacuum cleaner that really works, cause you know everyday folks probably have to clean their own house.

  I’d like to kick things off right now and nominate Sarah and Di of Poor Richard’s Landing for being the best hostesses, Matty for being the most awesome dreadlock white dude radio producer, Tony for being the most talented lounge lizard restaurant owner chef….I mean hello the food at Terra Luna rocks…

  Whom would you nominate?

   

• Review: The Monuments Men

  Posted: February 15th 2014 @10:29 AM

  I will admit it: I’m a little obsessed with World War Two. I have some good reasons for it (I grew up in France and all of my father’s side of the family was affected by the war, some in dramatic ways) and some not-as-good reasons (it makes for great historical fiction, one of the genres in which I write). But in any case, as soon as I heard about this movie being made, I couldn’t wait to see it. I hadn’t seen its predecessor, The Train, so didn’t have a basis for comparison (as David Denby does in a not-very-flattering way in The New Yorker); and I was stoked.

  My friend Michelle shook her head. “It can’t possibly live up to your expectations,” she said. And yet it did.

  The Monuments Men is taken from Robert Edsel’s The Monuments Men: Allied Heroes, Nazi Thieves and the Greatest Treasure Hunt in History and tells the story of a small group of soldier-scholars tasked toward the end of the war to recover public and private art—cultural treasures—stolen by the German Army and the SS, to return art to its owners whenever possible, and to restore damaged artwork. This program did exist (it was officially called the Monuments, Fine Arts and Archives Group), and you can learn more about it by visiting the Monuments Men Foundation.

  It seemed to be an impossible mission: with the art trapped behind enemy lines, and with the German army under orders to destroy everything as the Reich fell, how could these men—seven museum directors, curators, and art historians—hope to save any of it? The miracle is that they did. And their work lives on through the Foundation which continues to recover still-missing objects.

  Does the movie have flaws? Many, if you were to believe a lot of the reviews out there; but for sheer entertainment, an easy-to-swallow history lesson, and an inspiring story, I don’t think that you can beat it. The cast is impressive, featuring Matt Damon as an art restorer, Bill Murray as a Chicago architect, John Goodman as a sculptor, Jean Dujardin as a French painting instructor, Hugh Bonneville (Lord Grantham, anyone?) as a British museum head, and Bob Balaban as a theatre impresario… an unlikely group of people to become heroes. Cate Blanchett joins the cast to play a Parisian “collaborator” and assistant curator from the Jeu de Paume national gallery who knows where much of the stolen artwork is but won’t tell the Allies because she fears that they won’t return it to France.

  Two of the crew will die in their attempt to save the world’s priceless cultural heritage, thus bringing into play the central question of the film: is priceless indeed the right word for these treasures? Is art—no matter how great—worth the loss of human life? The movie purports to find the answer, leaving it up to the viewer to see if they agree.

  Oh, and a final note: don’t get too upset about the Germans looting Europe’s oldest and most valuable treasures: there is nothing new under the sun, and Americans watching the movie would do well to remember the far more recent looting of Baghdad’s own priceless cultural art treasures—by U.S. troops.

  ***

  Jeannette de Beauvoir is the host of Arts Week on WOMR, a contributing writer to Provincetown Magazine, and a novelist, editor, and marketing writer. More about her at linkedin.com/in/jeannettedebeauvoir 

   

• Gregory Lenz, Provincetown Photographer

  Posted: February 13th 2014 @5:09 PM

  I knew that I was in love with Gregory Lenz’s work from the first moment I saw it on Facebook. Other artists in Provincetown talk about the light; Gregory captures it. His photographs call to a dreamland where light is engulfing and hope is possible. So I was delighted when he accepted my invitation to be on the show.

  I was even more taken with him once I read his artist’s statement: “Well said by Pablo Picasso: ‘The meaning of life is to find your gift, as the purpose of life is to give it away.’ I take no credit for my gift of artistic talent, as I believe it comes from a higher source of the Universe. Artists are merely the bodies chosen as tools to fulfill the world’s need of art and to help others see life from a different perspective. The direction of which I find most pleasing is that of peace and gentleness. If, through my writing and photography, I can help someone see the ‘soul’ of the earth, the soul of an animal or of another human being in a more peaceful manner, than I have fulfilled my expected duties as an artist.”

  But even after all that, I was unprepared for the gentle unassuming soul who was lurking politely in the corridor waiting to be ushered in to the studio. Gregory is everything that his work and his statement led me to expect, and more. He seems unaware of his own talent. He confessed to nervousness and then interviewed like a veteran. He spoke of joys and disappointments, the dark side of his being as an artist and the ways that he’s been able to be true to his calling. If you can, take the time to seek out and listen to the podcast of the interview. It’s well worth a few minutes of your time.

  More than anything else, spend some time here and at G. Lenz Photography on Facebook and see if you don’t agree!

  Bio: At age 52, local artistic photographer Gregory Lenz made Provincetown his permanent home nearly two years ago. Hailing from Baltimore and growing up along Maryland’s Eastern Shore, Gregory has spent his past 18 years as an executive chef for several well established restaurants in Maryland. A long ago student at MICA (Maryland Institute College of Art) where he studied graphic design, Gregory has also worked as a resident scenic designer for several dinner theatres in Baltimore. However photography has always been his number one passion since childhood. Giving up the hectic and stressful routine of restaurant life was what brought Greg to this area in hopes of fulfilling a lifelong dream of writing and photography. The natural and historic enchantment of Provincetown was exactly what his soul was yearning for. 

  ***

  Jeannette de Beauvoir is the host of Arts Week on WOMR, a contributing writer to Provincetown Magazine, and a novelist, editor, and marketing writer. More about her at linkedin.com/in/jeannettedebeauvoir 

   

   

• Peter Hutchinson

  Posted: February 4th 2014 @8:12 PM

  I was thrilled to have Peter Hutchinson on my show last Thursday! We have been friends for several years, and I’ve always admired many things about him—his vast knowledge of arcane subject matter, his writing, his reading, his music, and of course his visual art. So it was very exciting indeed to welcome him to Arts Week.

  

  One of the first things one notices about Peter Hutchinson’s art is the color: could anyone look at any of his pieces and not find one’s heart and spirit lifted? I rather think not.

  

  The Artist Statement: “My work, while quite varied, is about  nature, ecology, beauty and is often self-referential in regards to my life and experience, which I often use in the written attachments under the photo-collages.  These collages while mostly photo, often contain some drawing and water-color or oil stick.  My most recent show was last March with Freight and Volume Gallery, NYC run by Nick Lawrence who used to have the DNA gallery in Provincetown and with whom I have worked for at least twenty years.  Other galleries who show my work are Bugdahn und Kaimer in Dusseldorf and Blancpain Gallery in Geneva.”

  A little about him: Peter Hutchinson (American/British, b. 1930) is a conceptual artist, and one of the pioneers of Land Art. Hutchinson was born in London and grew up in the English countryside. In 1953, he moved to the United States, graduating in 1962 with a BFA from the University of Illinois. After his time at university, he moved to the East Coast, first to New York, where he lived until 1981 and created various Land Art installations.

  
  Hutchinson was inspired by early landscape painting and garden art, due, in part, to his English roots. Hutchinson’s Land Art tries to intervene through less intrusive interventions in nature, attempting to integrate itself into its surroundings. Hutchinson examines processes and changes, as well as decline and decay in nature, and always integrates part of the existing landscape into his art.

  
  During his travels around the world, Hutchinson collects found objects, which he then incorporates into his artistic assemblages. In addition, the artist deals with photo collages. He arranges selected objects from his travels, as well as elements from his own garden, creating new, colorful, ideal landscapes. In some of these compositions, he includes oil pastels, gouache, and colored pencils.

  All of his art works contain a handwritten note from the artist.

  Learn more about this fabulous Provincetown artist and Renaissance man at www.peterhutchinsonartist.com. His works are represented in collections such as the Museum of Contemporary Art in Basel, the Centre Georges Pompidou in Paris, and The Museum of Modern Art in New York.

  ***

  Jeannette de Beauvoir is the host of Arts Week on WOMR, a contributing writer to Provincetown Magazine, and a novelist, editor, and marketing writer. More about her at linkedin.com/in/jeannettedebeauvoir 

   

• Women Roar, Even When They Cook

  Posted: January 29th 2014 @11:30 PM

   

   

  When I was 7, I thought I could rule the world. My mother, Harriet, had told me that we were from the tribe of Judah. How she knew this, thousands of years later, I don’t know; it’s amazing we even knew we were Jewish! But she said the tribe of Judah was the warrior tribe, and this I liked.

   

  I scoured the Bible looking for female role models. Ruth … pish-posh, she was loyal, so what! It seemed like women only made it into key roles in the Bible by seducing a king or giving birth to a prophet. Forgetaboutit! I wanted more.

   

  I chose the young David, not the old one who got a bit sexist for my taste, but the young boy slaying Goliath. Yes! Yes! I could slay the monster, too. I practiced throwing stones. I could be a hero! I could be a champion!

   

  But then I turned 8, and despite my best efforts to the contrary, started to look like a girl! With the threat of puberty just around the corner, my parents pushed me into a harsher double standard. I was sent to a private school that made me give up jeans and put on – YECH – maxi skirts!

   

  I had to stop digging in the dirt with the Christian boys down the street and learn to play with dolls like my sister. The only way I was able to get my folks to buy me G.I. Joe action figures was by telling them my sister’s Barbie dolls needed a date!

   

  I rallied against the double standard as best as I could, but growing up in an Orthodox Jewish family? Not so easy. My favorite form of rebellion was to lock myself in my room and write. That is, until I discovered pink hair dye.

   

  As I grew, I found my own way. I joined with artists and writers and actors who didn’t give a hoot about gender, so long as you liked The B52’s.

   

  I came to New York City to become Andy Warhol with a vagina. But there was something about living on $600 a month that wasn’t working for me.

   

  Luckily, I discovered that the part of my brain that danced when I finished a great painting also did quite a nice boogie when I made a killer sauce. I became a chef.

   

  Honey, I thought being a punk rocker on the Jersey Shore in the 1980s was hard! Being a woman in a pro kitchen back then? Oy vey!

   

  All men wanted to do was come home to their mother’s or their wife’s home cooking, so why the hell was it so hard for them to accept us as chefs? I had to jump through a lot of hoops to prove I was as good as a man. It was not easy, especially because I was actually trying to prove I was better.

   

  But I had two gifts that triumphed over those old-school misogynist chefs: I had great taste buds and a filthy mouth. Oh yeah, honey! Bring it!

   

  There were pioneers way braver than I who paved the way. Gloria Steinem comes to mind and Hillary Clinton, of course, but I’m talking about the cooking world and darling Julia Child, who was so cute and cuddly that nobody bothered to notice she was knocking down some very sexist culinary doors or Alice Waters who taught us that goat cheese was just as happy on top of a salad as it was on a cheese board.

   

   

  Forty years ago, I was an angry, frightened little girl about to enter the hardest battle of her life. It’s a battle that still rages to prove that I can slay Goliath. (Now you know where “Raging Skillet” came from.)

   

  So thank you, thank you, to the great pioneering babes who came before me for handing me the slingshot!

   

   

   

   

• Book Review: The World Wreckers (Marion Zimmer Bradley)

  Posted: January 28th 2014 @5:12 PM

  My friend Dianne Kopser is an avid reader—a woman truly after my own heart! So I invited her to do a guest post here and talk about one of the few genres I don’t read—science fiction:

  “Darkover, a cold planet with a bloody red sun is located at the junction of two spiral arms of the galaxy, a stopover point for interspace travel and commerce. It hosts at least three non-human intelligent races, and a small human population. They’re agricultural, feudal, and they wish for nothing more. That is, until  World Wreckers attempt to destroy the planet’s ecology and economy. Like the Lower Cape and its rejection of chain stores, Darkover treasures its own special beauty, and rejects the technology of the Terran Empire. The reason Darkovans can afford to do so is that they host a special caste of telepaths who serve and direct the human population in many ways.

  “At Darkover’s minimal spaceport town of Thendara, scientists embark on an experiment to harness or at least begin to understand the powers of telepaths, both Darkovan and off-worlder. They send out a request for telepaths to gather and share insights. When they do, mayhem ensues among the wildly uncontrolled talents. Within a mix of sexual dysfunction, gambling, tortured souls and wizened crones, our scientists attempt to quantify and explain what’s going on.

  “From the hills, a creature out of legend appears and volunteers to join the study group. Keral is one of only a handful of the mythic Chieri, godlike ancestors of the telepathic Comyn caste on Darkover. Contributing greatly to the scientists’ study, Keral’s vanishing people have virtually lost hope for a solution to their dwindling numbers.

  “Some of the talents brought in from faraway planets find community and solace, while others cannot handle the intense scrutiny of their peers after a lifetime among non-telepaths. But Regis Hastur, leader of the Comyn needs all the telepaths he can find to stop the insidious World Wreckers from destroying his planet. From castle and tower, farm and forest, anyone with a scrap of talent is recruited. They gather in their hundreds, to create something infinitely stronger than the sum of their parts, but their very togetherness makes them uniquely vulnerable.

  “As a result of a particularly Darkovan tradition-dancing beneath the four moons- Darkover’s  telepaths find several solutions to their common problems, and end a tale well worth reading.”

  So… check out Darkover and the World Wreckers, and stay tuned for more book reviews here at Arts Week!

   

   

• Book Review: Trans-Siberian Express

  Posted: January 12th 2014 @12:20 PM

  I’m a sucker for trains, so I was attracted to the Trans-Siberian Express by its title alone. But Adler—best known for his examination of the inner working of human nature—shows here that not only can he handle thrillers, he’s able to combine the genre with his insights into people for a great read that goes deeper than many other similar stories.

  It’s the cold war again, and the protagonist holds a secret that could change the geopolitical balance of the world—and cost millions of people their lives. And the protagonist is being watched by—you guessed it—a beautiful and seductive KGB agent, with whom he—yeah, you guessed it again—falls in love. So the story itself is predictable, but the twists and turns the narrator takes to get you there will make you forget the plot predictability.

  And the train itself is a major character: I finished reading and immediately looked it up to see whether it is still running (it is) and whether it’s affordable (it’s not). Any author who can give you that kind of atmosphere is doing something very right indeed.

  Trans-Siberian Express, by Warren Adler

   

   

• Merry Kitschmas to ALL

  Posted: December 23rd 2013 @10:18 AM

  I like to think of being Jewish as a marathon sport. I can dole out a soul-crushing guilt complex, shot-put-style, successfully match-make without meeting the intendeds and turn dinner for two into a fridge full of leftovers.

  I am Jewish Woman; hear me roarrrrrr.

  And sure, it comes with some issues, but I’m proud of each and every one of them. They were bequeathed to me by David. Yes, right after he slew Goliath, he said, “And now I shall pass down to all the future Jewish generations a strong dislike for plain butter on white bread. An olive, a pimento, maybe a smidgen of herring would be nice, but just butter?” (This is why Jews do not spend a huge amount of time in Connecticut.)

  I love being Jewish! Not that you cared or noticed or even sent a card or some flowers, but no matter … I’ll live.

  Eleven months out of the year, I celebrate, but then what I think of as goyim revenge creeps in. … It starts in November … the loneliest time of years for members of the tribes … the time we are reminded, yet again, that we are, in fact, different … the Christmas season. When Noel rolls around, I feel like the only one locked out of a sample sale.

  “Let me in! I’ve got credit!”

  Suuuuuure. We’ve got Chanukah, eight days of it. Eight days trapped in the living room while your parents discuss the time you were constipated for a week from too much egg salad. (Hey, eating 35 eggs in three days would block up the Hudson River.)

  Eight days when your gifts are doled out agonizingly, one per day to keep you coming back for more. It’s menorah blackmail! Speaking of presents … can I just interject here to say that SOCKS, SHAMPOO, SOAP, UNDERWEAR AND TOOTHPASTE SHOULD NEVER BE GIVEN AS A CHANUKAH PRESENT! These are, um, what parents are supposed to give their kids all year long. It’s just wrong to gift-wrap these things!

  It’s also wrong, by the way, to give your kid a Barbie doll missing one arm from the Grant’s Going Out of Business Sale. No wonder I have issues!

  Christmas always seemed much more merciful. You have a huge Christmas Eve dinner among your loved ones, eat massively, pass out, wake up, open gifts, eat some more and leave. Heaven.

  Sheesh, even when you try to ignore Christmas, it’s just impossible! If you decide to watch television, every single program has some spliced-in Santa element. The closest I’ve come to a Chanukah program on the holidays is a “Twilight Zone” marathon.

  So what’s a Jew to do on Christmas? Yeah, I know, we go to the movies. Last time I did that, I wound up watching “Titanic,” and honey, that didn’t exactly lift the downtrodden mood. I mean basically it was a movie about a whole bunch of rich Jews drowning in a big boat, and worse yet, nobody sued.

  Some Jews get into the spirit, by adopting a sort of morph of both cultures, the old Cranukah spiel, but this year, Chanukah crashed into Thanksgiving and left us bupkis for Christmas!!

  There was something depressing about the Chanukah bush anyway. A Christmas tree adorned with dreidels, Moses statuettes and pictures of Barbra Streisand was never gonna cut it!

  No. To really beat the left-outta-Christmas blues, one must think bigger than Barbra, and I don’t mean Bette … ’cause let’s face it: Bette rocks, but Barbra is still the Streisand.

  No you have to think bigger then even Barbra … I know … the Lord’s name in vain … but I’m on a roll … on December 24th of this year, I will be instituting the first annual Kitschmas Eve.

  On this festive holiday, Jews in leisure wear will feast on a wide array of exotic dishes like kishka, schnitzel, kreplach, latkes and kugel and sip sparkling Manischewitz punch. Dessert will be babka, halvah, strudel, rugelach, hamantashen, a tall glass of seltzer and three Tums per customer.

  Then it’s off to caroling!

  On the first night of Kitschmas, my true love gave to meeeeeeeeeeeee …
  Intestinal gas from eating too much cheese.

  On the second night of Kitschmas, my true love gave to meeeeeeeeeeeee …
  Two Prilosecs, one tab of Advil, three ginger ales and Adam Sandler singing Chanukah songs.

  Well … anyway, you get the point dears. Make up your own Kitschmas carol; my kishkas are killing me.

  So what do we do on Kitschmas morning?

  Eat a pastrami omelet, followed by lox (Nova, only) on an everything bagel with a shmear, give everyone a gift certificate for online shopping because life is short, and spend the afternoon digesting. Heaven.

   

• ‘Tis (Almost) The Night Before Christmas

  Posted: November 29th 2013 @5:07 PM

  Want to get into the spirit of the season? It’s easy to do at the Harwich Junior Theater, where, starting December 5th, you can see a wonderful dramatic version of ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas, playing through January 6th.

  It’s four days before Christmas, and the New York Evening Post needs a holiday feature story—but writer Clement Moore has writer’s block. Besides that, he must work at home amongst his five children who are, needless to say, very anxious for St. Nicholas to arrive.

  Clement’s frustration mounts—but then, unexpectedly, the magic begins. The sounds of bells, moving toys, and visions of Sugar Plum Fairies all conspire to help Clement as the events from the classic poem come to life.

  All this is interwoven with carolers, a song to St. Nicholas, dancing fairies and much more, including, of course, a visit from the old elf himself. The musical concludes with the complete original poem set to exquisite music. This fresh telling of the most popular Christmas poem ever told will delight audiences of all ages.

  Call the box office at 508-432-2002 or get your tickets online at hjtcapecod.org.