It’s worth pointing out Anderson’s previous brushes with religion in his past projects. In There Will Be Blood, Paul Dano played a preacher who sparred with Daniel Day-Lewis’ oil magnate and sought to cure him of his wickedness through honest faith. The charismatic Lancaster Dodd, played by Philip Seymour Hoffman, is the leader of a Scientology-like religion in The Master, which centers on the devotion of a disillusioned veteran, portrayed by Joaquin Phoenix. And coincidence and chance are the masters of fate in what may be Anderson’s best film, Magnolia, which includes many unexplained occurrences that must be linked in some way to a form of higher power.

In Licorice Pizza, Alana is Jewish, born to Israeli parents just like the real Alana. In fact, Alana’s older sisters, Este and Danielle, play her sisters, and her parents, Moti and Donna, also portray themselves. Alana’s Jewishness comes up at multiple points throughout the film, including in a memorable scene where Harriet Sansom Harris’ agent repeatedly makes mention of her Jewish nose. That’s not necessarily meant as a detractor, but instead just one of her features which is, at the very least, distinctive. Such stereotypes have not historically been considered positive, but Alana has accepted the nature of her face and the fact that it’s just part of her charm.

It’s important to note the impact of this scene in comparison to another moment that has attracted negative attention. Japanese restaurant owner Jerry Frick (John Michael Higgins), when meeting first with a newspaper representative and then young entrepreneur Gary, puts on a cringe-worthy Japanese accent to ask his wife a question. That he’s asking in English and that she answers in Japanese with no subtitles is just puzzling and obviously meant for comedy, and in the second scene it’s an entirely different actress playing a new wife, who fulfills the same purpose of being nothing more than a punchline. Asian-American groups have rightfully taken issue with these scenes, which, like a recent Holocaust joke on And Just Like That, play no greater role in the film and could have easily been left out.

It’s as hard to grapple with the presence of that clear racism as it is with the age difference between the two leads, who do explore a romantic relationship. When Alana first meets Gary, who instantly expresses interest in her, she notes that any union would be illegal because she is 25 and he is 15. Yet they spend almost all their time together, and a connection develops. There is a beauty to it, and this film doesn’t judge them for being at different points in their lives, instead highlighting how the discrepancies in their maturity levels and the way that they spend their time makes it difficult to imagine that they could really last.

Forgiving those two questionable elements of Licorice Pizza may make it challenging to get through and to adore for some viewers. But there is truly something that feels magical about its storyline, which is at times larger-than-life and allows a fifteen-year-old actor to accomplish incredible things. Haim and Cooper are both extraordinary talents, and while they are better known for their music and famous parents, respectively, they should absolutely return to future roles since they are inherently skilled. Anderson also knows how to work with actors, something he has proven over and over again, leading his past performers to nine Oscar nominations (Haim and Cooper have received other accolades for their work this past year).

What should make Licorice Pizza particularly poignant for Jewish audiences, however, is a scene that has far more depth and isn’t meant to be merely for a quick laugh. When Alana brings Gary’s friend Lance, played by Jewish actor Skyler Gisondo, over to meet her family, they sit down to a Shabbat dinner. Alana’s father Moti asks Lance to lead the most basic of Jewish rituals, the motzi over the challah. Rather than feign ignorance or reveal that he isn’t Jewish – a typical plot point in situations like this – Lance raises a pointed objection, declaring that he is an atheist and has made a vow not to participate in any prayers. That show of principle is more offensive to Moti than anything else, underlining that tradition has a deep place in any family, something Lance’s refusal to honor deeply wounds. There is so much packed into the two hours and thirteen minutes that Licorice Pizza runs that everyone will be able to find something different. Cameos from Bradley Cooper, Sean Penn, and others enhance a story that is most about two people who share a deep connection, one whose physical nature may disgust some and whose ethical acceptance the film doesn’t dwell much on, just as it does nothing to excuse its Asian racism. There is a transporting nature to the way this film feels, and it’s even more rewarding for fans of Anderson’s who may have liked his previous work but have never experienced anything quite like this before.

The post A Jewish Bite of ‘Licorice Pizza’ appeared first on Jewcy.

In ongoing “2017 isn’t as bad as it could possibly be, but let’s spit everywhere to not tempt the Evil Eye about it” news, Andrew Garfield is nominated for an Academy Award for the very first time!

The Jewish actor is nominated for playing a religious Seventh-day Adventist pacifist turned WWII hero in Hacksaw Ridge (the kid has played a lot of Christians this year). Unfortunately, also nominated for an Academy Award is the film’s director, Mel Gibson. But remember, Andrew Garfield says working with a notorious anti-Semite as a Jew was totally fine.

Garfield’s odds of winning are rather low (his competitors include Denzel Washington and Casey Affleck, the latter of whom took home the Golden Globe for Best Actor this year). But still, Mazel Tov to Andrew! It’s no small achievement, and at 33, he’s got plenty of career ahead of him (*insert more superstitious spitting here*).

Coincidentally, Garfield’s ex-girlfriend Emma Stone is nominated for Best Actress this year, but the two are on good terms, so it probably isn’t weird. Up against Stone is Natalie Portman, nominated for Jackie, but she already has an Oscar, so whatever.

Finally, while it’s going to be a shame to see Lin-Manuel possibly miss the final letter of his EGOT this year, if he loses, it will almost certainly be to a songwriting team that includes Benj Pasek, a Member of the Tribe.

Good luck to all the Jewish (and not Jewish) nominees! The Oscars air on Sunday, February 26.

Image: Andrew Garfield in Hacksaw Ridge. Via IM GLOBAL.

The post Andrew Garfield is Nominated for an Oscar! appeared first on Jewcy.

THE OSCARS. So many memorable/cringeworthy/hilarious/morally fraught moments! Let’s recap, shall we?

The big question in the lead-up to the ceremony was whether Cate Blanchett would thank Woody Allen if she won Best Actress for her performance in Blue Jasmine—as PR expert Howard Bragman pointed out in Slate, Blanchett was going to be “playing for history,” whether she liked it or not.

And play she did, in a speech equal parts sincere and savvy: first she praised her fellow nominees, then she graciously thanked Allen for casting her (cue brief applause), and then she segued into a rousing cry in support of films with female protagonists: “Audiences want to see them, and in fact, they earn money. The world is round, people!”

How could anyone take umbrage with Blanchett’s brief Woody Allen shout-out when she was using the most public platform in the world to advance the visibility of women? Exactly. It was the lean-in to end all lean-ins, and it succeeded brilliantly because it was was strategic, heartfelt, and true.

John Travolta famously fluffed his introduction of Broadway star Idina Menzel, and in half a second the internet was all over it like rash, with a parody account set up for “Adele Dazeem”:

THANK YOU, JORN TROMOLTO!

— Adela Dazeem (@AdelaDazeem) March 3, 2014

Menzel’s performance of “Let It Go” was still amazing, because as Shakespeare presciently noted, a Broadway star by any other name is still as sweet. (Side note: Travolta claims Scientology helped cure his dyslexia. Science!)

Bette Midler, looking stunning in Alaïa, performed “Wind Beneath My Wings” as part of the Academy’s tribute to members who died in the past year. (We don’t have video of the performance, but for old times’ sake, here’s the montage from Beaches.)

And in one of the best gags of the night, host Ellen DeGeneres ordered pizzas for everybody and hit up Harvey Weinstein for the bill: “No pressure, only a billion people watching. Whatever you feel is right,” she deadpanned. She took up a $300 collection in Pharrell’s hat, but no-one knows if the delivery guy actually got the tip. (TMZ is on it, though.)

What else?

Best documentary short went to The Lady in Number 6, which tells the remarkable story of the late Alice Herz-Sommer, a Holocaust survivor and virtuoso pianist.

Lupito Nyong’o was gorgeous and delightful and utterly unaffected and now everyone wants to be her best friend. (Watch out, Jennifer Lawrence?)

There was The Selfie That Broke The Internet.

Bill Murray improvised a lovely tribute to Harold Ramis.

Matthew McConaughey delivered one of the most narcissistic and entertaining acceptance speeches of all time, thanking God, and—in a you-can’t-make-this-stuff-up moment—himself, ten years into the future, for being his hero. (Time is an accordion, amirite or amirite, Detective Cohle?!) But in the paper-scissors-rock hierarchy of Hollywood, Weinstein still trumps the Almighty, so HALLELUJAH for that.

Until the next awards season: just keep living, everybody. Amen.

The post Alright, alright, alright: 2014 Oscars Round-Up! appeared first on Jewcy.

As a child growing up in suburban Connecticut, I was never a fan of any particular holiday. A notoriously picky eater, I was horrified by Thanksgiving, with its table full of mushy delicacies comprised of indistinguishable ingredients. Halloween always incited an existential struggle—I remember one year I wanted to be a geisha, but when I saw my fat face slathered in garish white paint, I realized with an unnerving clarity that I could never escape myself.

Easter and 4th of July were benign days spent at the country club nibbling on cold salmon or watching fireworks, respectively, and while it was always great to approach one’s bounty on Christmas morning, the rest of the day felt sad and empty after the presents were unwrapped. One year in particular, my brothers and I voraciously tore through our gifts like rabid baby animals, only to find that we had managed to complete Christmas in 20 minutes. The aftermath was the child’s version of a hangover: exhaustion, confusion, and shame at the human lust you revealed.

But there was always one holy day I lived for, one glorious evening in February when the most special people in the universe came out to shine their light on the rest of us: Oscar Night. Even before I was old enough to see the movies nominated for Best Picture, I anxiously settled in front of the television and watched with glee as the stars sauntered down the red carpet outside the Kodak Theater.

I envied them their long, flowing gowns, public acclaim, and the easy camaraderie with which they interacted with other chosen folk. I began taking theater classes at eight years old, and started spending Oscar night commercial breaks practicing my Best Actress acceptance speech while staring at myself in the bathroom mirror. (I’d deal with the distaste for costumes later.) When Anna Paquin, just a year my elder, won Best Supporting Actress in 1994, I was filled with hot envy as she panted nervously through her acceptance speech.

Though I’ve long abandoned the dream of ever receiving an Oscar nod, I’ve maintained my yearly ritual of watching the ceremony. Every year, I hole up at a girlfriend’s house, and we drink red wine and eat pizza and declare outfits horrible or amazing, rarely in between. We place bets on who will win what, and decry the Academy’s gross oversights when our favorites don’t nab the gold statue. To miss even a moment—including less exciting categories like “sound mixing” or “visual effects”—would be unthinkable.

So imagine my chagrin when I realized that this year, the Oscars will air on the 24th of February, also known the 14th day of the month of Adar, when Jews celebrate Purim. As the holiday approached, I received invitations to three events: the first a Megillah reading on Saturday night, the second a full-scale circus on Sunday afternoon (plus Megillah, round two), and the final one, a concert-cum-schmooze-fest starting at 8:30 p.m. on Sunday evening, which cuts seriously into Oscar-viewing time.

You might wonder, based on my references to the Christian celebrations of my youth, why that would be an issue at all, or why I wouldn’t just say “no” to one event and be satisfied with a single Megillah reading and a hamantaschen or two. Couldn’t I easily fit in at least the red carpet? But fact is that I have been steeped in Jewish learning for more than a year now, and I find myself feeling like this is a larger choice than it seems on the surface—one not of scheduling but of spiritual allegiance. Which is more important to me: old traditions or new?

My process started quietly—first it was a fascination with the Hasidim who walk the city streets alongside me, then an interest in the rich and varied literature, and finally a desire to kiss the mezuzah and say the Shema. I began writing about Jewish issues and events in New York City basically as an excuse to insert myself into Jewish environments, and every bit of learning I did, from Hebrew classes to memorizing prayers, I passed off as educational endeavors that would help advance my career.

It was a while before I could admit to myself, let alone anyone else, that all this study was about something deep in my heart, not a general exercise in cultural anthropology, and that what I wanted wasn’t just to observe and comment on Jewish life, but to live it. I wanted to convert to Judaism. Even today, I fear the reaction when I admit this pursuit of mine. Will people make assumptions about me, and why I’m choosing to make this change? Will they scoff in disbelief that I can do the difficult work that conversion entails?

But we know that on Purim, we commemorate that Esther—whose name is derived from the Hebrew satar, which means hidden—revealed her Jewish identity to her husband, the king, and saved the Jewish people from certain slaughter. If she can be brave in the face of death, then certainly I can be too in far less dire circumstances.

This Sunday, I emerge from the want-to-convert closet and declare proudly that my priorities are Jewish ones and my soul a neshama. It’s a small exchange I’m making—a secular costume party for a religious one, a feast of glamour for a feast of tradition, but for me, it feels defining. Instead of critiquing diamond accessories and filling out ballots, I will throw my lot in with the people I love.

Now if I could only decide what to wear…

(Image via Featureflash / Shutterstock.com)

***

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The post Trading in My Academy Awards Tradition For a New One: Purim appeared first on Jewcy.

• Jerry Seinfeld’s wife Jessica apparently hates his white tennis sneakers. “I think a man of your dignified age and elegance could maybe go with a dark grey or black. Or the New Balance.” [The Cut]

• Jewcy contributor Alex Aciman matches famous musicians with their iconic style items. [Time]

• It’s officially Oscar season! Rachel Weisz and Christoph Waltz reflect on winning their first Oscars. [NYT]

• There’s a new crowd-sourced Jewish-English lexicon online, and it looks pretty awesome. [Tablet]

• More magic from Comedy Central’s upcoming series, The Kroll Show, featuring real-life Network Jew Nick Kroll. [Vulture]

The post Daily Jewce: Jerry Seinfeld’s Ugly Sneakers, Rachel Weisz’s First Oscar appeared first on Jewcy.

The summer after my sophomore year of high school, I was assigned two books that I ended up reading during our annual family trip to Israel. One was Benjamin Franklin’s autobiography. The other was Alan Dershowitz’s The Case for Israel. The contrast between them, and the fact that this stint in Israel was, for reasons I can’t exactly remember, particularly unpleasant, was painful. Franklin’s existence seemed so quaint, his America so effortlessly unencumbered by history. I don’t remember much about the book, but I do remember Franklin outlining his preferred daily routine (early rising was recommended) and detailing the establishment of the lending library. The Case for Israel, on the other hand, I recall as a sad, shrill, unapologetically aggressive defense of the country’s right to exist. It struck me that summer that most Americans got to read the Franklin book and not know about the other, and that they had the luxury of patriotism to a single, simple place, which counted among its founding fathers a rather chummy gentleman who invented bifocals.

Watching The Gatekeepers, Israeli filmmaker Dror Moreh’s spare but devastating documentary about six former heads of Israel’s intelligence bureau, the Shin Bet, I felt again that same sinking, reflexive loyalty to the Jewish state. Moreh’s film features a series of fairly candid conversations (they appear as monologues, but Moreh’s often heated interjections remind us that he is guiding their reflections,) with roughly 20 years’ worth of intelligence leaders. Each faces the camera openly and, nearly immediately, begins to tell of the moral ambiguity that characterized his time in the service. They all talk about their doubts, their regrets, and, perhaps most potently, their fears for the future. Their Israel lines up well with Dershowitz’s—a country in which triumphs are never unequivocally good, and tragedies foreshadow a darker tomorrow.

There’s one scene in particular that brought me back to the Dershowitz/Franklin summer. One of the leaders, in recounting the Shin Bet’s early investigations into Jewish right-wing extremist factions, mentioned that the bureau was shocked to find that they didn’t have any files started on the fanatic groups. That is, they didn’t have any files on Jews, at all. Which is, at worst, arrogant and short-sighted and possibly xenophobic, and, at best, naïve and short-sighted and tragically idealistic.

It is this idealism that makes it so hard for me give up on the State of Israel. Yuval Diskin talks about growing up on a kibbutz, describing a charming period when the state was young enough to be hopeful, and when the idyllic society that Israel was designed to be was seemingly fulfilling Herzl’s dictum. It becomes increasingly clear throughout the course of the film that their fight was not just for land and not just for safety, but for the protection of this wild, incredibly reckless dream that had somehow become a reality. And what all these powerful men seemed afraid to say was that this faulty experiment in a truly utopian state has been horribly, violently failing.

But perhaps I judge too quickly. Unlike the United States and most other countries, Israel does not have the luxury of time. Those of us who call America our home need to reach back to 1776 in order to find the passion that fueled our genesis, Israelis need look only as far as 1948. And the losses we recall by nation-wide sales and barbecues they honor with a nation-wide moment of silence, because war—ubiquitous, home-based war—is not a distant memory. The Israel/Palestine region is in rapid development, housing one people so alienated from their historical ties to the land that they seem to be rushing in leaps and bounds to make up for lost time, and one people who, because of the intersections of politics and tragedy and fate history doles out so carelessly, is limping along beside them. Generally, discussion surrounding the ramifications of Israeli historical roots refer to three points in time—when God promised the Jews a land in Canaan, when the British swept aside the Palestinian people and established a Jewish state, and when, nearly 20 years later, the lines between the Jews and Palestinians got redrawn. But history existed before and beyond these moments: The histories of colonization and oppression and injustice that are too far removed, and too common, to mean anything today. But maybe they should.

The Gatekeepers, while certainly not optimistic, is also not a hopeless film. The men, who approach their histories with surprising frankness, seem to be thirsting for peace. It’s easy to see them as mouthpieces for the majority of the region’s people—sick of war, sick of needless death, sick of struggling with their conscience at every turn. They seem about ready to reject the complexities of their past for a simple future, one unencumbered by history. They might not believe that it will happen, but they want it to, and we are left feeling that, maybe, it’s the only way to start.

The post How I Felt Watching the Israeli Documentary ‘The Gatekeepers’ appeared first on Jewcy.