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‘Waiting for Lefty’: Odets’s outrage still timely

 
 
 

Those politicians who are quick to declaim “class warfare” whenever a legislator wonders why people making a lot of money can’t pay higher taxes to help bring down the deficit or fund services for the poor have no idea what class resentment sounds like. We’ve come so far from real animosity between the rich and the poor that the mildest expression of concern about growing income inequality brings forth a torrent of rebuke from people who see themselves as the defenders of capitalism. If you want to hear someone urging real class war, go to the Portmanteau Theatre’s production of Clifford Odets’s agitprop play, “Waiting for Lefty,” at Hartley House, 413 West 46th St., in Manhattan. Written in 1935, “Waiting for Lefty” is set in a union hall on the eve of a taxi strike. Its denunciation of the balabotim, or the bosses, is clarion strong. Odets doesn’t mince words; the bosses are bloodsuckers whose only desire is to drive working men into the ground. “Something wants us to crawl in the dark,” one of the characters says, and it’s not hard to figure out what that something is. It’s capitalism.

Review

In 1935, the situation in the United States was so grim that many sensible people felt that American capitalism was doomed. The system had led the country into an economic ditch, but what was even more galling was that the suffering wasn’t shared. “This world is supposed to be for all of us,” a character states, but that’s not what Odets saw around him. “Lefty” was his first play to be produced, and it was staged by the famous Group Theater, which had been founded specifically to present plays about social issues.

Hartley House was built in the 1880s as a settlement house, and it’s a perfect setting for this production. Actors sit among the audience in the hall, calling out to the speakers at the front. The men are waiting for their leader, Lefty Costello, and in the meantime listen to their union’s equivocating leader, Harry Fatt, try to convince them that striking is counterproductive. The play is constructed as a series of short vignettes with different characters, skipping from one of the cabbies and his desperate wife to an industrialist who tries to convince a young chemist to spy on another scientist to a young woman who can’t marry her beau because he doesn’t make enough money to support them. The characters are sketched in the broadest strokes, since characterization isn’t the point. Odets uses the vignettes to expound on a variety of social ills — the war machine, the way the struggle for survival debases ordinary people, anti-Semitism (one of the vignettes concerns a brilliant young doctor who loses his job because he’s Jewish), and the need for workers to support each other. This isn’t a subtle argument about economic forces impacting people’s lives. On the contrary, Odets had a specific political position and he had no doubt about its merit.

The whole play takes less than an hour, and Odets crammed a huge amount of material into that time. Director Ilana Becker uses the space in the hall and an upstairs balcony effectively and things zip along. A young cast does what it can to give the speeches some individuality, and Ron Scott is especially stirring as Agate, a man who urges the workers to strike.

From this vantage point, after the colossal failure of communism in the Soviet Union and China, Odets’s arguments for the solidarity of the working class can seem naïve. But his outrage at the injustice that unfettered capitalism invariably brings along with profit is just as timely now as it was then. Sometimes, it does a body good to be outraged.

 
 
 
 
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‘Eavesdropping on Dreams’

You’re better off going to see a movie (‘The Flat’)

We have seen the Shoah treated as somber tragedy, as adventure story, as cartoon, and as farce. Now, in the new play “Eavesdropping on Dreams” by Rivka Bekerman-Greenberg, we have the Shoah as soap opera. The production by the Barefoot Theatre Company directed by Ronald Cohen at the Cherry Lane Theatre unfortunately mistakes histrionics for emotion, and manages to present a two-hour play about arguably the greatest tragedy experienced by a people without a moment of believable feeling in it.

“Eavesdropping on Dreams” focuses on the relationship between three women: Rosa or Raizel (Lynn Cohen) who survived four years in the Lodz ghetto, working as a hatmaker; her neonatalogist daughter Renee (Stephanie Roth Haberle) who devotes herself to saving babies and playing sex games; and Renee’s daughter Shaina (Aidan Koehler), a young woman who dropped out of medical school, broke up with her boyfriend, went on March of the Living to Lodz, and has just returned home transformed. Rosa is also visited periodically by the ghosts of her brother Yakov and Mordechai Chaim Rumkowski, the “king of the Jews,” who turned the ghetto into a workshop in order to convince the Nazis that the residents were too valuable to kill, at least right away.

 

The Wedding Singer’ auditions in Bayonne

 

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‘Eavesdropping on Dreams’

You’re better off going to see a movie (‘The Flat’)

We have seen the Shoah treated as somber tragedy, as adventure story, as cartoon, and as farce. Now, in the new play “Eavesdropping on Dreams” by Rivka Bekerman-Greenberg, we have the Shoah as soap opera. The production by the Barefoot Theatre Company directed by Ronald Cohen at the Cherry Lane Theatre unfortunately mistakes histrionics for emotion, and manages to present a two-hour play about arguably the greatest tragedy experienced by a people without a moment of believable feeling in it.

“Eavesdropping on Dreams” focuses on the relationship between three women: Rosa or Raizel (Lynn Cohen) who survived four years in the Lodz ghetto, working as a hatmaker; her neonatalogist daughter Renee (Stephanie Roth Haberle) who devotes herself to saving babies and playing sex games; and Renee’s daughter Shaina (Aidan Koehler), a young woman who dropped out of medical school, broke up with her boyfriend, went on March of the Living to Lodz, and has just returned home transformed. Rosa is also visited periodically by the ghosts of her brother Yakov and Mordechai Chaim Rumkowski, the “king of the Jews,” who turned the ghetto into a workshop in order to convince the Nazis that the residents were too valuable to kill, at least right away.

 

The Wedding Singer’ auditions in Bayonne

 

The Soap Myth

Reworked play ‘nails it’ in portraying survivor archetypes

It was the early 1970s. I was a volunteer at the Center for Holocaust Studies in Brooklyn — really just an office at that Yeshiva of Flatbush that Yaffa Eliach, my teacher, had commandeered from the principal (her husband, David). It served almost as a drop-in center for the hundreds of Shoah survivors who lived in the immediate neighborhood, and was one of the building blocks of the Museum of Jewish Heritage in downtown Manhattan.

I do not quite remember how it happened. There was a free-standing glass case in the office, and one day I looked down at my right hand and realized I was holding a grayish cake of soap, about the size of one of those complimentary hotel bars left on the bathroom sink for guests. The soap in my hand made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck and, like in every bad horror movie, I could feel the chills up and down my spine. This cake of soap had three letters on it. To me they looked like RJF, although I have heard others say the middle letter is an I. Either way, it basically meant Pure Jew Fat. I looked at Ray Kaner and Stella Wieselthier and said, “Am I holding my aunt? My uncle? My brother?”

 
 
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