Diverse City - The Brandeis Hoot - 09-12-08

V O L . I I I , N O. I I I

C E L E B R A T I N G T H E P R E C I O U S H U M A N TA P E S T R Y

12 SEPTEMBER, 2008

24-hour Musical sloppy yet lovable Brandeisians transform Monty Python show into enormous inside joke

BY MAXWELL PRICE Editor

I find that the old adage, “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” generally holds true for arts criticism.

Nevertheless, there are certain instances in which a cover-or in this case a playbill- provides a surprising degree of insight into a work’s actual content. If you attended the 24-hour Musical, Monty Python’s Spamalot directed by Cassie Seinuk '09, on Sunday night and spent a few minutes glancing at the playbill, you probably saw the little italicized tagline beneath the illustrated title that read, “A musical lovingly ripped off from the musical lovingly ripped off from the motion picture.” That little blurb probably describes the show better than any review I could possibly write.

First, you’ve got the adverb “lovingly.” That word exemplifies the spirit that pervaded the Shapiro Theater from the moment the effusive audience began packing

into the room until they raucously cheered their friends during the finale. I found myself absorbed in the whole carnival atmosphere and gathered conclusive evidence for the theory that the amount of fun an audience has at any artistic event is directly proportional to the amount of fun the performers have. And if I had to sum up the experience with one positive comment I’d say that the performers had more fun that night than I thought was legal in the state of Massachusetts.

Next, you’ve got the term “ripped off.” Throughout the performance I couldn’t help PHOTO BY Alan Tran/The Hoot but imagine the characters as pixelated versions of BRANDEIS INVADES CAMELOT: A cast of themselves traipsing around 60 students sings and dances in the 24-hour Musical. a youtube screen or frozen in a facebook photo album. the Broadway musical acts as a kind This bootlegged format only of theatrical apograph of Monty seemed proper given the fact that Python’s film, The Holy Grail, and

that the Brandeis version of the that only people who love to show proved a cheap imitation of laugh at themselves could pull the original stage version. off, and there’s no better recipe That’s not to say that cheap means for humiliation than putting on bad any more than a black and white an entire musical in 24 hours. The indie film is necessarily worse than cast seemed to get such a kick its blockbuster counterpart. The out of screwing up that it was only difference is that the blockbuster usually If I had to sum up the experience comes after the indie film, while Brandeis’s with one positive comment I’d say production seems to that the performers had more fun reverse that order.

Such a phenomenon that night than I thought was legal is usually reserved for in the state of Massachusetts. musical theater, and though I’ve seen student theatrical groups butcher everything from Phantom of the hard to hold it against them when Opera to Guys and Dolls, I’ve never they completely derailed a song seen anyone mangle a show as or devolved into chaos during a deliberately as the 24-hour Musical choreographed dance routine. folks ripped into this bad boy.

Each actor displayed his or her Luckily, they couldn’t have own charicatured persona front picked a better show to attempt and center, and the charisma of the in their limited time frame. Monty individuals trumped any chemistry Python routines tend to reveal from their interactions. Gavi an absurdist, self-referential edge See MUSICAL p. 11

Journey through no-man's land

The search for an indie rock album in suburban Massachusetts

BY MAXWELL PRICE Editor

Like many students at our fair university, I was transplanted to Brandeis from faraway climes without any real knowledge of the community in which our campus resides. Treading the well-worn paths from school to Moody Street, Cambridge, and Boston gave me a distorted mental picture of the neighborhood. So I don't think I'll do those legions of freshfaced first years a great injustice if I break the news to them before they have to learn it the hard way: suburban Massachusetts sucks.

Although I've attended Brandeis for over a year, I didn't realize this dismal truth until two days ago.

On Tuesday I embarked on a quest to purchase the new album, "The Stand Ins," by Austin indie folk rockers, Okkervil River. I was determined to buy the disc on the day it was released, and only a physical CD from a real store would satiate my urge. Since I refused to make the trek into Cambridge or Boston, I decided to take the 70 bus to the Arsenal Mall in Watertown.

Right after my last class ended at 4:30, I trotted over to the gas station on the corner of South and Main Streets. I felt confident when the 70 bus pulled up to the curb after a ten minute wait. Growing up in South Florida, I was conditioned to fear a phenomenon known as "rush hour," which occurred around 4:30-5:30 every weeknight

I don't think I'll do those legions of fresh-faced first years a great injustice if I break the news to them before they have to learn it the hard way: suburban Massachusetts sucks.

as workers migrated home and clogged the roads with ungodly traffic. I had seen some evidence that this existed in the Waltham area through limited experiences crossing South Street on my way to the gym, but I found myself dis-

IN THIS EDITION:

Conclusion of "The Museum's Survivor" Creative writing p. 10

concerted by the lack of congestion that Tuesday night as the bus made its easterly trek along Main Street.

Most of my bus companions were middle class individuals riding a short distance home from work.

Most seemed lost in thought or preoccupied with some mysterious burden. As the enigmatic Moody Street gave way to rows of chain restaurants, department stores and strip malls sliding past the windows like a poorly edited video loop, I couldn't help but think of a line from an early Okkervil River song, "The War Criminal Rises and Speaks." In that world weary piano ballad, front man Will Sheff croons, "The heart takes past Subway, past Stop and Shop, past Beal’s, and calls it 'coming home.'" I had grown up in the suburbs, but I couldn't help feel depressed by the landscape peppered with decaying corporate outposts and greenery manicured into submission.

The bus halted at nearly every street corner, and I couldn't help but wonder why the passengers seemed to fear walking. Thanks to this halting rhythm, it took about

thirty minutes to traverse the five miles between the gas station and the mall. When I arrived I felt more than a little underwhelmed by the structure, which looked like the architectural equivalent of the snooze button on my alarm clock.

I consulted the color-coded map inside, which guided me to FYE, the mall's token audio-visual store.

I didn't see my album on the shelf, and when I asked the clerk behind the counter whether they had the disc I only received a snarky, "Oh, no. They're on too small a label.

Try Newbury Comics in Boston.

That's the only place I can think of that might have it." Mind you, the band's last album debuted at 62 on the Billboard 200 and sold 10,000 copies. I didn't expect to find Okkervil River on the shelf next to Jessica Simpson (who released her new album the same day), but perhaps it was just as unreasonable to think that a corporate music chain would carry the album at all.

I headed to the food court to drown my sorrows in some greasy comestibles and settled for a couple slices of Sbarro's pizza, rejecting the only other options, Burger

King and Master Wok. If you value your gastrointestinal system you won't make the same mistake.

Nough said.

Next I tried the Best Buy across from the mall, but this proved an even less fruitful venture. The clerk's look of utter confusion at my inquiry made FYE's employee seem enlightening. After a lengthy computer database search revealed that the album did exist but would never see the fluorescent light of a Best Buy aisle, I decided to accept defeat.

Fate finally seemed to be conspiring in my favor when I left the store and picked up the 70 bus back toward Waltham. The journey back was relatively uneventful until I realized that the bus was about to turn onto the highway. I jumped up and asked the driver if he wasn't going to stop on South Street. He either feigned ignorance for his own amusement or honestly had no idea where he was driving.

After disembarking and praying for a few minutes that someone who knew where the hell they were See JOURNEY p. 9

DID YOU KNOW?

Fashion and politics collide Election style p. 9

Comedy Central's Daily Show with Jon Stewart saw a 23 percent rise in viewers from the Democratic National Convention and a 32 percent rise from the Republican National Convention

September 12, 2008

Diverse City

VOICES

Established 2006 "Celebrating the precious human tapestry" Maxwell Price Editor

FOUNDED By Esther Joo, Stephen Sukumaran and Rishun Fukazawa

Between the towers

Man on Wire explores daredevil stunt

BY JAMIE FLEISHMAN Editor

“Why?” Possibly the most common question asked in human history encapsulated in one simple world.

While watching Man on Wire it’s hard not to shake your head throughout the movie and continually ask the question “why,” marveling the stunning true story of Philippe Petit – the French tightrope artist who climbed and conquered the world by setting up high-wire routines on the world’s tallest structures.

Director James Marsh had a hefty task in front of him in creating a documentary that fully captured the spirit of Petit and his companions’ mission to help Petit live his dream of tight roping between the World Trade Center twin towers.

Marsh lives up to this task by intermingling heist-style dramatization that feels straight out of an Ocean’s Eleven movie with traditional documentary-style interviews with Petit and his closest friends and cohorts.

Much of the dramatization focuses on the strings Petit and his accomplices pulled in pulling together the knowledge, photos, and

they wear, and most importantly, how they go through security. He also produced counterfeit documents to fake himself as a French journalist and interviewed workers on the top of the twin towers to observe and take pictures.

Marsh lives up to this task by intermingling heiststyle dramatization that feels straight out of an Ocean's Eleven movie with traditional documentarystyle interviews.

The intriguing story of Petit’s vision to walk between the two towers would be enough the capture any audience but it’s the work of Marsh and composer Michael Nyman that help make Man on Wire a true work of art.

The interviews with all the characters capture the emotion that everyone involved felt in preparing for “the coup.” It is not Petit who sheds tears of joy and pain during the interviews, but his friends who became just as wrapped up as Petit in his dream. Marsh captures this emotion by changing the camera angles on the The intriguing story of Petit’s vision interviewees as they to walk between the two towers would change their emobe enough the capture any audience but tions in a way to draw the audience into all it’s the work of Marsh and composer the interviews.

Michael Nyman that help make Man on Petit makes for a intriguing interviewWire a true work of art. er as he possesses a charisma that can paperwork needed to get up 1,350 only belong to someone who has feet to the 110th floor of the twin (literally) gone to greater heights towers with a 450-pound cable than almost any human being. and a 26-foot long, 55-pound balMichael Nyman’s score also ads ancing pole. a magical element to Petit’s acPetit’s dream formed in 1968 complishments. The music present when he saw an advertisement for during the most dramatic shots of the World Trade Center in a maga- Petit walking across his wire does zine at his dentist office. Upon not feel like Hollywood score with seeing a picture of what the twin overly majestic brass and horns, towers would look like, Petit drew but Nyman uses more strings to the first of many subsequent draw- pull at the heart of the audience ings of the two buildings with a that holds its collective breath line hanging between the roofs of throughout the movie. the twin towers.

By the end of Man on Wire there It would be six years, and three is no more asking “why?” trips to New York, before Petit When the credits roll, you can would attempt “le coup,” as he understand Petit when he answered called it. Petit camped inside the that question to a reporter and said, lobby of the WTC for weeks to “Why? There is no why.” observe how the people walk, what The opinions, columns, cartoons and advertisements printed in Diverse City do not necessarily represent the opinions of the editorial staff.

We are open to considering sub-

missions from members of the Brandeis community relating to cultural events.

Telephone: (781) 736-4755.

E-mail: DC.90907@Gmail.com

9

The thin line between fashion and politics

BY SRI KUEHNLENZ Editor

Some may be surprised by the Election theme of the MercedesBenz Fashion Week website. The page is scattered with buttons and signs typical of political campaigns, except rather than promote a political candidate, they tout fashion empowerment, with slogans such as “Fashion = Change” and “Accessorize for Democracy.” With a landmark election in U.S. history fast approaching, the more politically minded among us might find it a bit offensive to see a political race compared to the latest trend strutting down the runway.

Further, is the website’s political theme really only a marketing ploy or does it suggest a deeper connection between fashion and politics?

After all, New York Fashion Week was not the first to draw the connection between fashion and politics. It seems that no figure in the current political race has escaped fashion scrutiny. Hillary was condemned for her penchant for pantsuits and criticized again when she explored plunging neckline territory. Michelle Obama has been lauded as “the next Jackie O.” for her wardrobe that is both classic and trendy.

Even the gossip and scandal involving GOP VP nominee Sarah Palin’s children has not allowed her to escape from under the unsympathetic glare of discerning fashionistas. Every fashion choice she made during the Republication National Convention, from the open toe red patent shoes she wore when McCain announced his VP selection to the lowcut satin jacket she donned for McCain’s speech, was noted and thoroughly analyzed.

Though much less intense, Barack Obama has received mostly praise for his style prowess and the occasional flak when he falls short of critics’ expectations.

Barack Obama was criticized

PHOTO COURTESY OF Harper's Bazaar

TYRA OBAMA: Even supermodel Tyra Banks is entering the world of politics.

when the public snuck a peek of his casual wear wardrobe and were disappointed when it consisted of ill-fitting jeans and a tucked-in polo shirt. Perhaps the lack of any discussion about John McCain’s choice of clothes offers an explanation for why this same debate over fashion did not exist in the 2004 Presidential Election. After

It seems that no figure in the current political race has escaped fashion scrutiny.

Hillary was condemned for her pantsuits and criticized again when she explored plunging neckline territory.

all, John McCain, George W. Bush and John Kerry do not represent the youth and overabundant vitality that seem to drive fashion.

However, these political figures have impacted fashion as much as they’ve been influenced by it. Italian Vogue editor Franca Sozzani said that the newsworthy July issue, which dedicated 100

pages of photographs to only black models, was inspired by her interest in the American presidential race and specifically in Barack Obama. Even Versace’s Spring/ Summer 2009 menswear collection was inspired by “the type of man, Barack Obama represents.”

The September issue of Harper’s Bazaar, the first fashion magazine established in America, features a photo spread of Tyra Banks, roleplaying Michelle Obama in First Lady scenarios.

The strong female presence in the presidential race is likely responsible for the increased visibility of style and fashion trends in political news. However, the fact that even Obama’s tailored suit and tie combinations came under inspection shows that fashion is no longer limited to movie stars and models. Rather, what one wears has come to be taken seriously as an indicator of a person’s personality and ideology.

As Coco Chanel once said “Fashion is not something that exists in dresses only. Fashion is in the sky, in the street, fashion has to do with ideas, the way we live, what is happening.”

Revelation on the 70 bus

community. Or perhaps it tells us more about the relative imporgoing would whisk me back to my tance of those decaying corporate Waltham comfort zone, I managed outposts. to grab another Westbound bus.

As I slunk back to my dorm room Our conversation went someI envisioned exactly what was thing like this: coming next. I would open up "Hey, are you going to Main But I'd like to think that a my laptop, open up the iTunes and South Street?" bus driver whose route lies music store, find the digital ver"Um, I don't know. Where you sion of the album, download it less than a mile away from for $9.99 and listen to it on retrying to go?"

"Well I'm trying to get back our school yet who barely ac- peat while nursing my Sbarro'sto Brandeis University but I can wracked stomach. I also knew walk if you're going to South knowledges its existence can that I would never again make Street." tell us a great deal about the the same mistake. Sorry, Robert "I don't know anything about relative importance of our Frost, next time I'm hopping Brandeis. I've never been by on the Crystal Shuttle taking university in the community. the road most traveled from there. South Street, you say?"

"Yeah."

Brandeis straight to Boston.

"Hmm...Is that near the Walgreens?"

by Walgreens locations can tell us Perhaps anecdotal evidence like a great deal about the relative imthe above incident proves noth- portance of our university in the ing. Perhaps my frustration leads

JOURNEY (from p. 8)

me to exaggerate. But I'd like to think that a bus driver whose route lies less than a mile away from our school yet who barely acknowledges its existence and navigates

10

Diverse City

CHORUS

September 12, 2008

FICTION

POETRY

The Museum's Survivor

FOR JENNIFER

BY AVRAM MLOTEK Staff

BY JON SUSSMAN Contributor

For Jennifer Time sleeps in a test tube, coils silently under the noses of the sleep-deprived and weightless.

Sophocles heard it skirting the boundaries of his doorways, closed his eyes, prayed for sight, and clicked his heels three times.

Time holds a lot of rain, like a long-distance telephone call.

Take care not to pick up, but the ring will find a way to poke its narrow beak through the crack of your window.

Time took you when you were young and left a single pubic hair as a reminder, a reality which wakes you up every morning in the form of a colorless television set in the bathroom.

Time digs a hole into the skull, scooping out soft sweet brain-tissue on the way to the hollow cavern of heartstrings.

Time stops at the frontiers of your fingertips.

untitled

BY JON SUSSMAN Contributor

some guys with good news came by – somethin’ ‘bout some overstretched hebe hellfire and an insurance scheme

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Editor's Note: The first installment of this story appeared in the September 5 issue of Diverse City, in which Mr. Ivri strolled through The United States Holocaust Museum terrorizing the guests.

Mr. Ivri walked through a hallway, which had dozens, maybe hundreds, of names of victims of the Holocaust written on the windows. Most people walked through this hallway fairy quickly to continue touring the permanent exhibit. Not Mr. Ivri. He waited till the hallway was empty and then spoke.

“Yankl didn’t wash his pants so Mashe came and helped him out.

Reyzl had the darkest eyes but Shloyme knew her secret.” He would run to the window as he said each name and would hammer his finger against each word. But as he added a name and then another his fingers formed fists, and Paterfield was there before Ivri even noticed.

“Keep moving, Ivri,” the security guard said dryly, not even looking at Mr. Ivri but at the visitors who were about to enter this hallway of names.

“Hi, hi, Mr. Paterfield. Did you see the Germans today?”

“Germans here everyday, Ivri.”

“These ones were special; if you saw them you’d known.” Since his friend didn’t answer immediately, Ivri quickly continued. “I recognized the girls’ face- her grandmother worked in the camps and I saw her throw a live baby-“ “Alright, Ivri. You ready to go on or are we going to have to do this again?”

“No problems here, Mr. Paterfield.”

“Drop the accent, Ivri.”

“A wonderful day to you, Mr. Paterfield. Thank you for your help in the ze museum.” The security guard was already out of sight and Ivri thought he heard the man say “uh huh” but couldn’t be sure.

The next section was an Ivri favorite. It had pictures of a shtetl.

Family life, friends playing, children and elderly, all kinds of activities- all real photo portraits of an Eastern European community.

The hallway was full of forgotten vibrancy but its black and white and gray images made the room austere and cold. It was here that Ivri let out a big laugh.

“Ah, ha, ha, ha!” he roared. “Yes, zat one’s quite nice! Ah, ha, ha, ha!”

He received the usual nasty looks.

“But do you see?” he asked one girl passing him. “They are carrying her and about to throw her into for a swim! Ah, ha, ha!”

“I don’t see it,” the girl said.

He looked at her harshly and stopped laughing quickly. He stared at the young girl; it seemed like he was angry with her for ending his mood so abruptly.

“But there,” he said slowly, grabbing her hand and pointing it to a picture hanging a few feet above their heads.

The young girl quickly pulled can show them this amusement away from Ivri and ran off. He park you’ve created here, self-servpanted slightly and didn’t smile. ing, pig!”

“Idiot girl! She just didn’t see the Ivri stormed off and Paterfield fun they all were having.” stood there, prepared for the inThe people in the hallway just sult. Perhaps he provoked Mr. Ivri stared. They looked at him for a so to spare a visitor or guest of the few moments and he shrugged, museum. Ivri continued pacing continuing with his tour slowly, and Paterfield caught up with him enjoying each image, soaking up and handed him his handkerchief. these people’s faces. He spotted a Ivri stopped panting for a momuseum guest, an older woman in ment, looked at Paterfield’s hand a wheelchair, a woman with dark with the handkerchief and back big eyes. at Paterfield’s face, sizing up this “Bubby,” said her teenaged man he knew so well. He took the granddaughter, “can you see or temporary gift out of Paterfield’s should I push hand, grateful you closer?” to wipe off his You want them to feel Aus- sweat.

The older woman didn’t chwitz? Get rid of all this “A l r i g h t junk,... and leak the gas pipe then?” Pateranswer.

Ivri made his just a little, and when they field asked. way up to her, start to wheeze and faint..., Ivri barely thinking she nodded, and then maybe you can let them the was pretty. He security said flatly, “They out. guard contincome to look at ued walking. death here and The old man they find it, of course, but this noticed a group of high school hallway’s not for that. There’s too girls and boys surrounded by the much life here. The passion and tiny pillar. “Why Wasn’t Auschwitz fire, see those youngsters on the Bombed?” They read it aloud, boat dock? About for a swim? Like and Ivri stood in the back of their me and my friends before that win- group, anxious to see how they ter. You’d remember it, wouldn’t handled this news. you. It’s always like this nowadays “It says they knew about the with the people visiting in and out. chambers since the middle of the I know you can tell. You can even war,” one girl said to her friend. smell her hair like me, can’t you?

“Couldn’t risk the-“ Or see this one? The woman with “Roosevelt and Churchill and the black curls and dark eyes, she the world knew what was happenhas the most round eyes, don’t you ing in Birkenau and Auschwitz, and think?” the camps weren’t bombed. That The older woman didn’t answer. is a permanent scar on the history She seemed to be aware of Ivri’s of the so-called home of the free, presence but didn’t look at him or the haven for immigrants,” intersay anything. Her eyes watered. rupted an angry young man from “I knew it. It’s alright. I won’t tell the class. them.” Ivri kept walking.

Ivri looked at him sharply.

His pace sped up, and his mood “Keep your voice down,” the changed for the worse when he girls said to their friend, but the walked through the Auschwitz sec- friend walked off. The group tion of the museum. He thought slowly moved away from the Austhe cattle car was unrealistic, hated chwitz section with Mr. Ivri folthe recordings the museum played lowing them. of survivors’ testimonies and “Keep your voice up,” he whisthought the general photographs pered to the young boy and then and video images used weren’t slowed down his pace. The boy graphic enough. A museum se- didn’t notice the older man. curity guard always stood by this When the group arrived at a part of the exhibit, seeing as it was room full of shoes, some students fairly close to an exit. walked quickly through it and othPaterfield spotted Ivri pacing ers took their time. Ivri waited till back and forth by the miniature no one was there and walked up to model of the gas chamber pro- a wall that had Moses Schulstein’s cess. He came up fairly close to famous poem written on it in YidIvri, knowing that the old man was dish and English. Ivri read the on nerve’s edge but didn’t say any- poem slowly. “We are the shoes, thing. Finally, Ivri saw the security we are the last witnesses. . .” And guard standing right in front him then Mr. Ivri looked over the banand was startled for a moment ister. but quickly composed himself. He “Shmerke’s and Yosl’s and Maraised his finger into Paterfield’s nia’s- no, her’s were red. Bella’s chest and spoke angrily. and Rueven’s and Nikolai’s- no, “You want them to feel Aus- his were fine leather. Shimen’s and chwitz? Get rid of all this junk, all Yissoscher’s and Eliyohu’s and these pictures and videos and lock Reyzele’s and Mina’s and Toyve’s them into that small bathroom and Frume’s and Libe’s and you have there for wheelchair ac- Sholem’s andcessibility and leak the gas pipe “What are you doing, mister?” just a little, and when they start to asked a woman suddenly. wheeze and faint and pant a little “LEAVE ME WITH THE and some start pulling their hair SHOES!” and he pushed the out and maybe scratching their woman back. She quickly ran off. children’s’ faces, then maybe you Ivri collected himself. It was only a can let them out. Then maybe you See MLOTEK p. 11

September 12, 2008

The Hoot

11

END-NOTE thespians tackle The Museum's Survivor

Brandeis Broadway in 24 hours

from its running time, which extended beyond the limit of good Young '09, for example, played the sense considering that half the Lady of the Lake-an egomaniacal audience (including yours truly) was diva in Monty Python’s universesitting on their asses in the front with such reckless bravado that I due to a seating shortage. Next feared she might actually smack time, I recommend cutting down some poor actor off the stage. Yet the length of the show and finding I couldn’t take my eyes off her, a venue that can accomodate a so her diva techniques must have larger crowd. An inside joke can worked. only go on for so long, even if it is Adam Barish '09 managed to inspired by Monty Python. make an extremely British deadpan It's easy to frame the 24-hour as Galahad seem like his own musical project as an original interpretation elaborate scheme to gain a rather than John Cleese’s.

As Sir Robin, Nathan If the song "You Won't Succeed on few laughs at the expense of overtired actors. Yet Hakimi '11 put on his best Broadway," whose punchline revolves I like to think that the cowardly lion face, making around the ubiquity of Jews on the production succeeded the Round Table’s token because it remained a labor fraidy cat surprisingly Great White Way weren’t enough, the of love.

The unbridled endearing. The only slight giant illuminated Star of David that zany energy of the entire disappointment among the major characters was appeared behind the actors drove the ensemble lifted the show up beyond the level of Bryan Prywes '11, who point home. vaudevillian schtick. portrayed King Arthur as Still, it’s hard not to give an anal lieutenant without credit where credit is due any redeeming qualities. when the energy level in a He seemed to remain static the ubiquity of Jews on the Great show stays consistently high despite and boring while everything else White Way weren’t enough, the a cast with less hours of sleep than spun out of control around him. giant illuminated Star of David the show’s running time.

Judge the Actors who tackled the bizarre that appeared behind the actors show by its flimsy black and white secondary characters-including drove the point home. playbill at your own risk.

Amanda Hoffman '11 as a FrenchUnfortunately, the show suffered stereotyping snobbish guard and See 24-HOUR MUSICAL p. 8

Mike Martin '09 as a musicalloving gay prince-added to the show’s anarchy while flaunting their unique comedic talents.

The performance was sponsored by the Hillel Theater Group and Tympanium Euphorium, and the former’s influence remained evident despite the superficial Christian themes of a show about the quest for the Holy Grail. If the song “You Won’t Succeed on Broadway,” whose punchline revolves around

A D V E RT I S E M E N T

MLOTEK (from p. 10)

matter of time until he’d be asked to leave now.

He hurried up the remainder of his visit, passing the section on righteous gentiles, passing America’s involvement in the war, Denmark’s saving of its Jews. He stopped at the section commemorating the Partisans of Warsaw, Vilna, Paris, all over Europe. He tucked in his white shirt and took out the comb from his shirt pocket to quickly comb his hair. He fixed his belt, tied his shoelace, took a deep breath and put his hands behind his back.

He stood calm as he looked at their pistols and stared at their martyred portraits. He leaned in closely to their still faces, sometimes whispering things into their mouths, sometimes offering a gentle kiss. He took another deep breath and began to ask questions to them as Paterfield showed up with a younger guard.

The men gently but forcefully put their hands around Ivri’s arms and escorted him through the final exit.

“You taking care of him, Gary?” the younger guard asked Paterfield once they finally reached the exit of the permanent exhibition.

Paterfield nodded, and the younger guard went back into the lobby of the museum, shaking his head in what Ivri thought was dis-

gust.

“He’s an antisemite, that younger man,” Ivri told Paterfield.

“Follow me,” Paterfield said as he left the gray, air-conditioned, dark building, holding the door open. Mr. Ivri followed as Mr. Paterfield led them both onto the Washington, D.C. streets.

“They can handle the verbal abuses, the stares, your general strangeness, they can handle thatwe can handle that. But if you get physical with another guest, Mr. Ivri, the museum’s not gonna let you back here.”

“You’re so kind to me for a nonJewish older obese man,” Ivri said quietly.

“Cut it, Mr. Ivri. Pushing that woman by the shoes-” Mr. Ivri raised his arms to stop Paterfield from continuing, having gotten the point. He was thinking of explaining the situation in the room with the shoes but was distracted by a breeze and so turned his back to the museum’s security guard.

“We alright then, Mr. Ivri?” the security guard asked his guest.

“Same time tomorrow, Mr. Paterfield. Always relying on you,” and with that Mr. Ivri continued walking until he was out of Paterfield’s sight, until he found a bench that had a few birds picking up crumbs off of its edges, and there he sat, alone and in peace.