Monday, July 14, 2008

A Theatre Review





I sent my ace reviewer out to see a wonderful play that was close to Shakes-
pearean. He reports:



There are many real and compelling characters in Max Leavitt's new play, MALA, that premiered on Hollywood's Theatre row recently. It portrays the story of an athletic and striking young woman, Mala Zimmetbaum, the only woman to escape from Auschwitz, the Nazi's notorious WWII concentration camp (and later returned when her lover was recaptured). The drama and humanity cannot be more compelling; the renewed call to conscience for the audiences who bear witness to this story revive the great role and importance of theatre itself.

The play takes scenes from Mala Zimmetbaum's life, recorded in part by survivors she had helped. Because of her facility with many languages--her family was Polish, but had moved to Belgium--she was given an office job at Auschwitz, which position she used to protect as many as she could from the harder outdoor labors that would kill them, even when standing up for others caused punishment for her.

It is the kind of leading role that many an actress would kill for. The lovely Cooper Harris brings the right combination of intelligence and spunk to Mala. She does not play the martyr for a moment, which is an excellent choice, as it makes the facts of Mala's life even more genuinely moving. We see her first in 1936 as a young and daring equestrienne, competing for a medal that she wins, then gives to an injured rider. Next, the voice of Winston Churchill, in 1939 announces (from an actual radio broadcast) the Nazi invasion of Poland, and Mala is packing the prized knife that belongs to her father, a decorated officer of the Polish Army. The scene is crucial to understanding Mala's character. The knife is passed down to the next generation, and Mala becomes a de facto soldier.

It makes perfect sense, then, that when she is captured by the Gestapo and sent to Auschwitz, she would fall in love with Edek Galinski (ably played by the poetic Nicholas Vitulli), a Polish soldier who had been captured in battle and managed to survive a few years already. At first, she is put off by him, as his job at the Camp involves relieving incoming Jews of their valuables, including gold fillings.

But Edek is part of the Resistance, and asks her to take some of the Nazi's written office records of its prisoners so these can be smuggled to the outside world, without great hope that it will care, but at least that it will know.

The logistics of romance at a Death Camp provide some tour de force moments for a fellow Polish inmate played by Nicholas Tucci, who is simply brilliant in this and each of the small roles he plays.

This is helpful, as the love scenes are not fully realized--obviously, they were not witnessed, and they serve more to move the action forward than to create deeper appreciation of the miracle that has occurred. However, if the play continues to larger venues, as it should (even with the absolutely ingenious staging in the current small space), the play can grow and have more precise shaping. The drama of the second act relies on the actual events and the actors' skills (not inconsiderable, more on those in a moment), but it still needs to follow classic structure if it wishes to reach the largest possible audience, which it must do.

Especially good, even in thankless roles, were Heather Kirkland Howe as the sadistic female Nazi commandante, and Max Leavitt (the writer and director) as Elias Lindzin, a soldier whose life force suffuses the entire production.

In a town where one-man or one-woman plays proliferate to showcase individual talents, it is heartening to see this challenging ensemble work produced, which, given the historic scope of complexity of the story, is in many ways more suited to cinema. There cannot be too much praise for the entire cast and production team, and I challenge anyone to find a story more moving than MALA.

It is proof yet again, that the triumph of the human spirit shall always be the lesson in remembering The Holocaust, and that its remembrance, in the stories of each unique victim, shall continue to amaze.

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