St. Louis Eats and Drinks With Joe and Ann Pollack

Fair and Unbalanced

More than 50 years dropped off my back last night when the Second City touring company took the stage at the Touhill Center. Suddenly it was the mid-50s again, and a Chicago-based comic group called the Compass Players was under the lights at the Crystal Palace. Ted Flicker directed, and Del Close was there. And so were Mike Nichols and Elaine May and Will Holt and Dolly Jonah. . . .

In 1959, they became the Second City, and grew into one of the great comedy shows of all time. They're still in Chicago, and in Toronto, and have companies touring the world. Their humor is much the same, slightly less topical, slightly less biting. There were no Donald Trump references last night, only one to Sarah Palin and Rahm Emanuel. Francis Slay went unmentioned, too.

Still, it was a highly entertaining evening, and the almost-full house in the Lee Auditorium had a lot of fun. Many appeared to be old enough to have been in the Crystal Palace audience with me.

Second City closes its three-day St. Louis visit tonight (Saturday) at 8. The cast includes Barry Hite, Michael Kosinski, Rachel Miller, Eileen Montelione and Angel Sudik, with Alex Kliner as musical director and piano player. Kosinski, tall and thin, shows delightful Monty Python touches and a fine hand with physical comedy. Sudik, small and intense, displayed sparkling timing. The fact that she left her glasses in the dressing room in the second act did not affect that timing, of course. I was just curious.

The group has a large number of long-standing routines. There are frameworks that fit many of the responses drawn from the audience. For example, when a request for play titles drew "Road Rage," they went into a splendid routine about a cow that was killed in a highway accident. Very funny. Not about road rage. So what? Many good skits like that, reflecting the politician's favorite motto when facing a questioner, "Always answer the question you wanted to be asked, not the one you were asked."

Fine one-liners and complex word plays, too:

Actor in doctor's coat to woman, "Remember that lump in your breast that I found at your last visit?" Woman, after long pause, "But you're a dentist."

A wonderful skit about a kangaroo bringing in various marsupials, broad Australian accents, a great deal of funny nonsense.

Another involving a San Francisco detective, many jokes abut male sex organs, and a long, convoluted story that includes a search for a missing dog and ends up with a referenjce to "Sitting on the Dachshund of the Bay." Speak it slowly and carefully, remember your '60s music, and voila.

We sit in on some delightfully foolish and exasperating charades involving people waiting in line to buy tickets for a Cubs' game, and a reference to an Amtrak employee as "a trained engineer." Bada-bing.

All in all, a lot of fun and a lot of laughs. I just wish the performers would be as politically incisive as they used to be; they also should sharpen their scalpels and dig them more deeply.

"Fair and Unblanaced," by the Second City touring company, contnues on Saturday at 8 p.m. in the Lee Auditorium of the Blanche M. Touhill Center on the campus of the University of Missouri-St. Louis

Memphis

"Memphis," which won four Tony awards last spring, including Best Musical, will send its touring company to the Fox next May 1. But the movie version, or a sort-of movie version, is playing at three area theaters this weekend, and it's a terrific show, with fine music, superb dancing, outstanding singing and above-average singing.

It's delightful entertainment, but a movie, or even a sort-of movie, is different from a play on a stage. On stage, the entire play is out there, and audience members make their own decisions on what, or whom, to watch at any given moment; if you want to watch the lead dancer, fine, if you want to focus on the little blonde in the second row, that's okay, too. A person called a director makes those choices in a film, and what you watch is his or her decision. When it comes to turning a play into a movie, on many occasions cameras cover the stage and that's what the audience sees. "Memphis" is more like a real movie, in that it used numerous cameras, with the director making the choices from shot to shot.

Speaking of cameras, the version I saw last night at the Esquire was extremely dark. The play isn't as brightly lighted as, say, "Spamalot," but there was a problem either with the digital print or with the projector. I saw quite well, but it was dark enough to probably miss a few things.

Showings of "Memphis" are supposedly scheduled for tomorrow (Saturday) at 7:30 p.m. at St. Louis Mills, matinees Sunday and performances Tuesday night at the Gravois Bluffs, O'Fallon and St. Louis Mills. Given the less-than-adequate information distributed by the "Memphis" p.r. representatives, I'd check with the theater before making plans.

The movie, like the play, is not great, but it's very entertaining. Chad Kimball, as Huey Calhoun, a white Memphis ne'er-do-well who loved the music of the black honky-tonks, is a terrific talent, though I did not care for his accent and found him occasionally channeling Robin Williams. As a radio d.j., he played what then was called "race music," leading it to the top of Memphis charts with his hokey-folksy, ungrammatical approach to introducing records. He's a good dancer in Sergio Trujillo's exciting choreography, but there's far more talent in the dance chorus, which even includes a jump-rope routine. Kmball's strong suit is his endurance, since he is on stage all except 10-15 minutes of the two-hour production. And that part could be improved by eliminating the self-serving commentary that preceded the show like an out-of-tune overture.

Montego Glover, a splendid soprano, is Felicia, whose rendition of "Colored Woman" is a show-stopper. As the woman loved by big-ego Huey, who would rather have a hidden relationship in Memphis than an open one in New York, or elsewhere in the north, she carries a crippling burden. Relationships between mixed-race couples are exposed, as they are in "Dreamgirls" and "Hairspray," but not solved. "Everybody Wants to Be Black on Saturday Night," picks at that scab a little. So does Cass Morgan as Huey's mother, who sings and acts well, and doesn't seem the least embarrassed by the sudden change from racist to egalitarian, a move accomplished by the choir performances in just two visits to a black church.

There's excellent work from J. Bernard Calloway as Delray, Felicia's brother, and his duet with Huey, "She's My Sister," is strong stuff, reaching more of a point than much of David Bryan's Tony-winning score. James Monroe Iglehart, as Bobby, is a terrific dancer. The show has been on Broadway for some 18 months, and it looks good. Christopher Ashley directed smoothly and Joe Di Pietro's book is good enough, though it stumbles here and there.

Compared with other movies and plays around town this weekend, it's outstanding entertainment.

The filmed version of the Broadway musical "Memphis," is scheduled to be on several movie screens this weekend.

--Joe

Winter in Wartime

Many years ago, I knew a Dutch cinematographer who had been a boy in Amsterdam during World War II, and had suffered through the German occupation. He sometimes told stories of the war's final winter, 1944-45, and the horrors that visited the Dutch people. "Winter in Wartime," which opens today, recalls those days in the midst of a tense, solidly made coming-of-age story.

            Based on a 1972 novel by Jan Terlouw, with a screenplay by Paul Jan Nelissen and Martin Koolhoven, who directed, the story revolves around 13-year-old Michiel (Martijn Lakemeier), son of the town mayor. Of course, he is furious with his father, who works diligently to protect the townspeople from German tactics, but who is seen as a collaborator by the boy. Raymond Thirty is excellent in the role, hating every minute of his obeisance to the Germans, but realizing the necessity and knowing he is actually saving lives. His brother, Michiel's Uncle Ben, works in the Underground and, of course, is idolized by the boy.

            Michiel's dream comes true when a Royal Air Force plane is shot down and its pilot, Jack (Jamie Campbell Bower) is hidden in a cave near the town by a friend and the friend's older brother. Michiel gets involved delivering food to the pilot and in spiriting his sister, Erica (Melody Klaver) to the hideout so that she, a nurse, can help with his injuries.

            Edginess between townspeople and the Germans grows as the German troops begin to realize that the war is not going well. Reprisals are harsh.

            Michiel, his friend and his sister work on helping Jack escape across a nearby river to freedom as the Germans try to intercept them, and Koolhoven is first-rate at building tension as German trucks, jeeps and motorcycles patrol the country roads. They're not shown as being very bright, of course, but the Dutch have long memories. A well-paced, taut movie.

            Winter in Wartime opens today at the Plaza Frontenac.

--Joe

Heartbeat

One must be generous to the young, but there are exceptions.

           Take Xavier Dolan ("Take him please," as Henny Youngman might have said). He's 22 years old, directing "Heartbeats," his second movie. But directing is not enough for this would-be Canadian filmmaker. He also wrote it, was the editor, designed the costumes, served as the art director and co-stars as one of a triangle of grimly inadequate people, dreaming fitfully of a sexual relationship. Or two. Or maybe three.

            Dolan portrays Francis. Monia Chokri is Marie and Niels Schneider is Nicholas, thin and handsome, ablaze in blond curls and totally wrapped up in himself. Nicholas is used to being an object of desire by people of both genders, and both Marie and Francis spend time in imaginary amorous afternoons in his arms.

            Dolan shows may have talent as a director, but he is simply all over the place in this movie. It's obvious that taking on all these tasks is too much, and the sloppy, overwrought result takes self-aggrandizement to new levels.

            Heartbeat opens today at the Plaza Frontenac

--Joe

Terrace View

Citygarden is like a beautiful dimple on the face of St. Louis. Nearly surrounded by tall buldings that act like a platinum setting for this downtown diamond, it brings style and grace to the city, smiles to visitors. It's the finest addition since the Arch and City Museum. If only it had welcomed and embraced the Serra sculpture, it would have created a true miracle on that stretch of Market Street. Alas. . . .

And the city's downtown oasis, a patch of understated elegance that appeals to all the senses, also has a restaurant that fits its format, equals it in style and provides excellent, imaginative meals involving lunch, dinners on weekends and Sunday brunch in the glass box that owner Jim Fiala describes as the downtown branch of Maplewood's Acero. We were there on a recent Saturday night, joined by a number of rain-spattered, disgruntled Cardinal fans. We felt a little like Snoopy preparing to peck out Edward Bulwer-Lytton's classic phrase, "It was a dark and stormy night. . . ."
Given the rain, the wet streets and the various reflections of street lights and auto lights, the view was slightly disconcerting at times, a bit like riding through a fun house. Watching summer twilight fade to dark is delightful. The restaurant provides meals that match, but its philosophy seems to have wavered throughout its brief existence. The current incarnation offers a dinner menu titled "Acero on the Terrace," and it follows Jim Fiala's Maplewood branch in terms of informality. The kitchen follows, too, with pastas and pizzettas along with more traditional entrees. There are enough options to easily assemble a meal without a formal main course, though those main courses do not feel Italian. Noise can be a problem.

However, dinner was outstanding, as was service.

The first pitch of the meal was one of the pizzettas, shiitake mushrooms with blue cheese and caramelized onions. About eight inches across, the thin, handmade crust was tender rather than crisp, and the toppings worked well together, and with the Barbera we were drinking. Caesar salad had a fine, savory dressing and wore several white anchovies, an excellent rendition.

The nightly special appetizer was a grilled sardine, “with the head, and not boned,” calmly explained our server. Fresh sardines taste not unlike mackerel or bluefish; they're “fishy” fish, full of those omega-3 oils tasting good and good for you. The bones are long, almost hair-thin, a little tricky, but the flesh is worth it. The sardine sat on a few leaves of sauteed spinach, and was garnished with pieces of pink grapefruit, a nod to the English tradition of very tart fruit sauces with fish like these.

On to pastas, which are available in first-course- or main-course-sized portions. Stracci are basically mini-lasagna noodles about an inch wide. A tangle of them, in a sauce full of big tomato flavor and a good note of basil, gave cause for smiles. Some disagreement at our table as to whether it was as good as the tagliatelle with shiitakes in a light coat of a creamy sauce, with truffle oil lending a hand. Really fine pasta, both dishes, and very much in the tradition of Acero.

A thick, juicy pork chop danced in the dish, some braised fennel alongside. The potato gratin, though, seemed disinterested, adding little to the festivities. This is, however, a kitchen that really seems to understand fish. The river trout was perfectly grilled, the skin crisp but the flesh not overcooked. A special of sea bass, twice as thick, was just as expertly cooked, arriving on a bed of spinach (substituting for broccoli) and shiitake mushrooms, sauced with a charming yellow pepper coulis. A simple filet of beef was so flavorful, we thought it might have been grass-fed, although it was more tender than grass-fed can sometimes be. A potato puree alongside was creamy but lost significance next to that beef. And, oh, yes, there were some sauteed mushrooms; they and their juices were poured gently over the potatoes.

The wine list has a large selection by the glass. The wines are Italian, and Barbera we chose was a good companion to both the meat and the fish, a wine that filled our long-time thought that if we are served an excellent meal and an excellent wine, we'll make them go together.

In the dessert department, Terrace View's lemon semifreddo looks like a round mini-cheesecake,  and the partially frozen (that's the texture a semifreddo should have) delicacy was so creamy that on one level it felt like one in the mouth. But it was so, so lemony that it was far beyond any cheesecake we've tasted. Served with a wide streak of raspberry puree, it sang. The individual chocolate cake was offered with olive oil and sea salt, or with salted caramel ice cream. One of our dining party chose the latter, and was rewarded with a warm cake and rich ice cream. But it wasn't caramel. It was butterscotch. They're similar, but they are not the same thing, and this isn't the first time we've seen the misuse of the word caramel. It was good, but it was butterscotch.

Sunday brunch started this week, with a la carte menu service rather than a buffet. A pleasant morning on the outside tables could be a fine thing, especially with a server as sunny as ours.

Very good, but not a mini-Acero, despite the great pastas.

 

The Terrace View

808 Chestnut St.

314-436-8855

www..fialafood.com/Jim_Fialas_Restaurants/THE_TERRACE_VIEW.html

Lunch Mon.-Sat.

Dinner Fri.-Sat

Brunch Sun.

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Good

Smoking: No

Entrees: $18-$30

Black Pearl

There's a hard note of cynicism running through Frank Higgins' strong, interesting play, "Black Pearl Sings," which opened Friday night at the Grandel Theatre as a St. Louis Black Repertory Company production. The author's point seems to be that whether the goal is as crass as money, fame and power, or as noble as motherhood and equality, someone out there will lie, cheat and steal to reach it first.

            Higgins' two-person drama covers a couple of major flaws with bright, intelligent performances from Denise Thimes as the title character, Alberta (Pearl) Johnson, and Shanara Gabrielle as Susannah Mulally, the scholar and musicologist who discovers her in a Texas prison.  It has been playing the regional theater circuit for almost two seasons, with stops in Washington, D.C.; Sarasota, Fla.; Kansas City, St. Paul and San Jose, Calif., among others. Higgins lives in Kansas City and is on the faculty of the University of Missouri-Kansas City.

            The play, with its characters' genders reversed, is admittedly based on the story of the great Texas singer and songwriter, Huddie Ledbetter, known as Lead Belly. He was discovered by John Lomax, who traveled the nation in the 1930s, finding folk singers and recording their songs. A 1976 movie, "Leadbelly," written by Gordon Parks, with Roger Mosley in the title role, covers similar ground.

            This version, set in 1935, offers Thimes as Johnson, serving time on a Texas prison chain gang (even in Texas, women did not serve on chain gangs) for performing what can be called Lorena Bobbit surgery on her husband-lover-friend. Being a victim of abusive behavior may be sufficient reason but I got the impression that the man also was a sexual threat to Johnson's daughter. And the daughter has recently gone missing, leaving Mom distraught.

            Gabrielle, as Susannah Mulally, is an excellent contrast to Thimes, both physically and as a character. She's from a wealthy family, though the relationship is splintered, and she has similar problems with men, though hers are more professional than personal. But in 1935, when Harvard had no women students and almost no women faculty, it seems odd that she's involved with a university research project, and that she could get a grant from the Library of Congress to travel to south Texas.

            We can put them in the file labeled "willing suspension of disbelief," however.

            After a rocky and suspicious start, certainly understandable on the part of Johnson, they begin to see the mutual benefits of working together. Thimes' rolling, sumptuous voice, under perfect control by sound designer Robin Weatherall, is a great St. Louis treasure, and the slender, sometimes-perky Gabrielle, driven by ambition, is a fine balance. By the way, this is her third local production in four months, following the title role in Upstream's "Cooking With Elisa," and an appearance as a Witch in the Rep's "Macbeth."

            As trust grows, and Johnson begins to see advantages like money, contacts, help in seeking her daughter, she expands her singing, offering--mostly bits and pieces--a range of song selections including "This Little Light of Mine," "Hard Times in Old Virginia," "Don't You Feel My Leg" and "Do Lord Remember Me." A duet on "Little Sally Walker," with demonstrations of some classic bumps and grinds, is fun.

            Mulally helps arrange a parole and takes Johnson to New York, just as Lomax did with Leadbelly, where they stay in a gorgeous Greenwich Village apartment, part of Christopher Pickart's scenic design. It's an interesting play, nicely performed under calm, excellent direction by Andrea Frye, but the warning remains--how true is altruism?

            Black Pearl Sings, a production of the St. Louis Black Repertory Company, is at the Grandel Theatre through May 15

--Joe

Awake and Sing

Think back a moment. Think of the last couple of years, and how much less money you have today than you did in 2008. Remember collapsing home values. Foreclosures in your neighborhood. People begging on the streets, maybe in your neighborhood.

Think about it being 10 times worse.

Then go to the New Jewish Theatre for its new production of "Awake and Sing," which opened last night at the Jewish Community Center. Clifford Odets' paean to pain, his 1936 drama about a Bronx family cracking at the seams after five years of the Great Depression. It's strong stuff. Really strong stuff, with the Rep's Steve Woolf directing and a fine cast, led by Bobby Miller in one of his best-ever performances. It isn't fun, but it's thought-provoking.

Miller, almost unrecognizable under white hair, an unkempt beard and posture that makes him appear 30 years older than he is, is Jacob, a toppling patriarch who listens to Enrico Caruso records and waits for Karl Marx and a revolution to save him. But he does nothing and, late in the action, when his grandson asks him why, he pauses a moment, seems to almost fall into a reverie, then says, "I had golden opportunities," pauses, then adds, "But I drank a glass tea."

We're 75 years later, but the tea remains in front of us.

The Bronx apartment, designed by Scott C. Neale as if he had peeked over my childish shoulder to look at my grandmother's apartment in Brooklyn, is overcrowded by the Bergers, some of whom make almost $20 a week. Jacob's daughter, Bessie (Elizabeth Ann Townsend) and her husband, Myron (Gary Wayne Barker); their son, Ralph (Aaron Orion Baker) and their daughter, Hennie (Julie Layton). Bessie's brother, Morty (Jerry Vogel) comes to call and to share a scheme or two, and a World War I vet, Moe (Jason Cannon) hangs out there to play pinochle with Jacob and flirt almost angrily with Hennie. Terry Meddows appeared briefly, but brightly, as Schlosser, the building's "super," and Jordan Reinwald is gentle and effective in a small but important role.

This play is a great example of classic American writing, American Realism at its best. Odets prose is strong, his dialog as ringing as a hammer forging an iron bar. He was the angry voice of class struggle, and a Communist during the time that the US and the USSR were allies in the battle against Nazi Germany. "Waiting for Lefty," his first play, was a siren song to political action, but "Awake and Sing" is a stronger, more polished drama.

I had trouble in the early going, primarily with Barker, one of the best St. Louis actors, and Townsend, whom I've never seen on a stage before. Both seemed ill at ease in their roles, with strange accents. Barker's body language was not convincing, and Townsend looked too fresh and sprightly for someone who was fiercely angry, in addition to feeling badly abused, at least in her own head.

However, things got into a proper rhythm and both were offering far more impressive performances as the evening progressed. Barker slowed his speech and his action, changed his timing a little and began to show a greater impact. Townsend, a key figure throughout, took the spotlight more slowly, became part of the group, let her speeches, and not some sudden gestures, show how important she was. Of course, she's responsible for what may be the play's most horrible moment, but she's off stage for that one.

Baker, buffeted by frustration and the fact that he's never had a life, can't find a girl and never even had a birthday party shows his pain very well. Layton, who plays fragile in exceptional style, obviously has made poor judgments and bad decisions, but allows herself to be trapped by a mother who stops at nothing to make things work the way she wants. Vogel excels as a sleazy businessman, generous to his family but quick to join the chase for a buck through any territory. Cannon is another winner, his underplaying and his attitude stand out in a cast that occasionally goes over the top. It's a fine, balanced performance.

Woolf really got his teeth into this play; it had the appearance of something he's wanted to do for a long while, and it shows power from start to finish; its balance slipped here and there, but as the run progresses, it should be a great production.

For those interested in theatrical genealogy and history, the original 1936 play, directed by Harold Clurman, had John Garfield (then named Jules) as Ralph, Morris Carnovsky as Jacob, Stella Adler as Bessie, her brother Luther as Moe Axelrod and Sanford Meisner as Sam. The title is from Isiah 26:19, "Awake and Sing, ye that dwell in the dust."

Awake and Sing, a production of the New Jewish Theatre, will run at the Jewish Community Centers through May 8

--Joe

Potiche

"Potiche" means "trophy wife" in French. Catherine Deneuve, beautiful and glamorous as ever, describes herself as "a trophy housewife," which is more accurate. Either way, she and Gerard Depardieu have a great time in this rather dated French comedy and they are good enough to draw the audience into their fun.

These veteran actors are a delight. Deneuve, in a collection of clothing that just adds to her appeal, and Depardieu, rugged and homely as ever, are both well past 60 years old, but they bring a spirit and a joie de vivre to the screen that warmly embraces the audience. Depardieu has gained some weight and, as A. O. Scott wrote in the New York Times, "has now attained a physical size to match his monumental cultural stature."

Director Francois Ozon, who wrote the screenplay based on a 1970s light comedy by the playwriting team of Pierre Barillet and Jean-Pierre Gredy, gets off to a slow start as he introduces the Robert Pujol family, father and factory owner Fabrice Luchini; mother Suzanne (Deneuve), whose family built the umbrella factory; and adult children Laurent (Jeremie Renier) and Joelle (Judith Godreche). And don't forget Nadege (Karin Viard), long-time secretary to and mistress of Robert.

And then the umbrella factory workers go on strike. The French, always more hands-on than Americans in labor disputes, promptly kidnap Robert and hold him hostage. Depardieu, as M. Babin, a bureaucrat with Communist ideals, gets into the negotiations. so does Mme. Pujol, calling on her legacy as the daughter of the kindly, paternalistic founder. There are moments of French farce, nicely handed by Ozon, and though the plot is sometimes creaky, as a 30-year-old play would offer, all is rescued by the stars.

It's a joy to watch Deneuve and Depardieu work together. Acting is second nature to them, with no need for preening, or scenery-chewing. They turn an ordinary script into a joy.

Potiche opens today at the Plaza Frontenac

--Joe

Sound It Out

When it comes to investments, no one ever will mistake a record store for an oil giant, but hardly anyone enters a local gas station with the joy that people show as they walk into Sound It Out Records in Stockton-on-Tees, the last record shop in a decaying town in northern England. "Sound It Out ," a documentary about the shop by Jeanie Finlay, opens tonight and runs through the weekend as part of the Webster University Film Series.

Finlay, who apparently also served as writer, cinematographer and occasional interviewer on the project, will attend tonight and tomorrow, and will speak and answer questions.

Owner Tom, a music fan whose heart, soul and bank account live in the small store with the huge inventory, knows (or claims to know, and probably does) the location of everything in the shop. He understands his customers, never questions their taste or preferences, has an even-handed attitude toward all. Finlay, obviously a fan of Tom and some of the others who frequent Sound It Out, offers a lovely, low-key approach in her questions and her attitude, and obviously has made a fan in a middle-aged regular customer who also is a fan of Meat Loaf.

Sound It Out plays tonight through Sunday as part of the Webster University Film series at the Winifred Moore Auditorium on campus.

--Joe

The Human Resources Manager

"Human Resources Manager" is a handy management euphemism for a low-level bureaucrat who used to be called a personnel director. He/She is in charge of not hiring people during hiring freezes which thaw whenever a real executive wants to hire needs a job for a relative. The movie of the same name, an Israeli offering, shows just how much travail accompanies the job.

Mark Ivanir is the title character in this slice-of-life tale whose characters don't have names. Titles or descriptives will do. He's emotionally battered by a teetering marriage, browbeaten by his boss (Gila Almagor as the Widow), overworked and visibly exhausted, but basically kind-hearted and of a forgiving nature. He works at a large and successful bakery.

One bright morning in Jerusalem in 2002, a suicide bomber attacks a bus. One of the victims, a Romanian, has a bakery paycheck in her purse, but she is unidentified, her body is unclaimed and still at the morgue, and a local newspaper reporter (Guli Alfi as the Weasel) accuses the company of a variety of sins. The Widow sends our hero off to solve everything and restore the bakery's good named.

Of course, nothing is simple. The girl's immediate boss says he fired her, but then confesses he loved the girl and was having an affair until his wife found out. A guilty conscience kept her on the payroll after she was fired.

The Widow now decides that something must be done to keep the bread literally in the ovens and figuratively on her table. The H.R. manager is therefore told to take the body back to Romania for a proper burial. And that's where the fun starts, with Ivanir forced to deal with the victim's surly, foul-mouthed teenage son, her aged mother, her bad-tempered ex-husband, a preening consular official and the incompetent Romanian police and soldiers.

It's absurdist comedy, an attack on bureaucrats and political red tape and probably funnier if one did not have to depend on sub-titles, but it's still a rather funny movie, nicely directed by Evan Riklis, from a novel, "A Woman in Jerusalem," by A. B. Yehoshua. A moral? Well, a death in a family causes all sorts of problems. When you're not part of the family, it can be very funny.
The Human Resources Manager opens today at the Plaza Frontenac Cinema

--Joe