REVIEW. THE PERFORMANCE: In the Shadow of the Holocaust, Life is Just a Bowl of Peaches... or Something.

What if you could realize your heart's desire?

No limits. You'd have everything you ever wanted... but it'll cost you. 

The price?

Your identity,  your heritage,  your values. Your insides. Maybe even your life.

But you're an artist. 

And so you're impervious to risk, endangerment, even prejudice, because, after all, in this case, it's all about artistry, about the performance, yes?

Well, maybe. Maybe not.

Co-writer/director Shira Piven explores the sometimes obvious and clichéd Faustian notion of selling your soul to the devil with grace and subtlety in The Performance, a beautifully haunting tale involving the unlikely combination of tap dance, the Holocaust, and one enticing performance deal. Based on the short story by playwright Arthur Miller that was published in a 2005 edition of The New Yorker magazine, The Performance follows the journey of one Harold May (ne Markowitz, and played here by Shira's actor brother Jeremy Piven), an aging tap dancer who, in 1937, decides to travel to Europe to introduce a new audience to the art form he believes will transform the continent.

Despite his parents' discouragement (his father owns a lucrative fabric store in New York City which he insists provides an honest and sustainable living), Harold has more grandiose ambitions and takes off for a European tour with his ragtag dance troupe: former lover Carol (Maimie McCoy), wannabe lothario Benny (Adam Garcia), and shy, closeted Paul (Isaac Gyrn). After touring various Eastern European dive bars in places like Hungary and Romania, Harold is approached by a curious fan: Herr Damien Fugler (an eerily menacing Robert Carlyle), a German dandy and self-proclaimed artistic afficenando who offers to pay him handsomely for one single performance...

in Berlin.

At first reluctant, Harold sees possibility in Fugler's offer: the chance to validate his talent, to expose a new audience to the beauty of tap, and prove to his parents that his lifelong love of dance is no fluke. His one passion, even if seemingly frivolous, might just yield a financial windfall and make him a star. His heart's desire just might be within reach.

Minimizing warnings from his dance troupe, Harold bundles them all on a train to Berlin where, as they observe those assembled for their performance, it becomes clear who is in their audience: Hitler and his company of Nazi leaders. Appalled, Harold almost bails on the show but, instead, composes himself and proceeds to wow the crowd with a grand display of his dancing talent.

When the performance ends to thunderous applause, the Fuhrer approaches the stage and extends his hand to Harold. We see a single, lingering image of Hitler's hand, extended in gratitude and waiting for Harold's acknowledgment of his achievement. The camera lingers on the extended hand. Does Harold respond? Would you? If the hand of the one who would likely kill you if they knew your true identity was outstretched for your clasp, would you accept it?

We never know if Harold takes the Führer's hand, but subsequent scenes confirm he is willing to take even more money to create additional performances for the Third Reich.Director Piven showcases this initial, and what will be Harold's growing conflict of spirit, with increasingly vivid flashes of 1930s Germany, including the omnipresence of swastikas, to highlight Harold's heightened awareness of the moral dilemma in which he finds himself.

Harold's decision to continue working for Fugler, creating yet another, even more elaborate show, validate his raison d'etre in several ways, from his determination to protect Paul's homosexual relationships to his own secret: he is a Jewish American who has been able, as he boasts, to pass himself off as "gentile" his whole life: with blonde hair and a distinctively Aryan build, he has managed to ingratiate himself to audiences through his art, and so he believes that the sheer nature of his art will insulate him from political differences, despite Fugler's questions about his political, sexual and cultural allegiances: Is he communist? homosexual? Jewish?.

The audience knows the answers to two of these queries (Paul's homosexuality transgresses the third), which deepens the movie's exploration of Harold's behavior and, ultimately, to the title. The notion of "performance" resonates on several levels: Which performance is the performance? The first one in Berlin, the subsequent performance demanded after the first success, or the one after Harold finally admits he is Jewish? Which performance is Harold's legacy, his heart's desire?

Director Piven doesn't say, but actor Piven gives us layers of moral conflict to consider here. Harold's self-delusion about his art gives way to his deeper fear about being Jewish in a place intolerable of his heritage. Jeremy Piven gives an undeniably nuanced performance, worthy of Oscar consideration, for its simple, yet profound, examination of the human spirit. When does our sense of self compromise our understanding of the world? To what extent can we sublimate our psyche, our identity, to the whims of politics and cultural fashion?

Piven's Harold May has, for so long passed himself as gentile, that he has become oblivious (willfully and not) to the world changing around him. So convinced is he that his art will protect him, that - even in the face of his enemy - he believes that dance will save him... until he begins to question Fugler's motives: Is he a genuine friend or a sinister spy, looking to expose Harold May as Mankowitz? Little by little, we see Harold's confidence erode, bits of paranoia - or his ignored fears? - creep in (he's convinced one of Fugler's exotic birds called him a "Dirty Jew"), and his choices, including a night of nostalgic romance with Carol, become more desperate. Piven's face, especially his eyes - highlighted by round horned-rimmed frames, convey every emotion he is experiencing, from fleeting moments of joy to deeper, more somber thoughts of impending torture and death.

Director Piven showcases all this using carefully refined sepia tones, as well as shadows and fog to create an atmosphere congruent with the foreboding world of Eastern Europe in the days before World War II. In one scene depicting the building of Harold's elaborate new Art Deco stage set for his second performance in Berlin, we observe the various pieces of wood coming together, finally rising as a kind of an abstract obelisk that curiously reminded me of a crucifixion. Was Harold sacrificing himself or his art for a moment of glory?

Integrating narrative action with historical footage and using cinematic techniques common to 1930s-era films (panning an illustrated globe as Harold travels across Europe), she sets the atmosphere for the rest of the film, slowly building suspense as Harold's awareness about his situation begins to take hold.

The result is a beautiful, haunting story of self-exploration and discovery that examines 20th century anti-semitism against the contemporary backdrop of racism in America. I won't reveal the ending, but the final shot in the movie clearly establishes The Piven's timely message: that racism in America is alive and continue to challenge the very principles on which this country was founded.

I grew up in a diverse community just west of Cleveland, OH. My childhood classmates were black, Hispanic, Jewish, Catholic, you name it. One of my Jewish friend's mother had been in a concentration camp and always wore long sleeves to cover the tattoo that bore her number. I caught a glimpse of it once. It's an image that remains vivid in my memory. To this day, I have difficulty watching movies about the Holocaust, though I also find myself drawn to its story, its survivors, and the enduring legacy it leaves for future generations.

In an in-person Q&A after the matinee I attended in Chicago (see photo above), both Piven's recounted that their mother originally read Miller's short story in The New Yorker and suggested it might be a good collaborative effort. It took fifteen years to secure the financial backing to make The Performance, but its release now seems most appropriate given the current political climate and rise of anti-semitism. As a woman director, Shira Piven has masterfully contributed to the cinematic literature of the Holocaust. Not as big as Schindler's List nor as provocative or controversial asl Life is Beautiful or JoJo Rabbit, The Performance continues the important dialogue about self, place, and time in a world that doesn't always embrace differences.

What I found most compelling about The Performance is the gentle way it reminds us that we all play various roles in life, sometimes hiding our true identity for fear we will lose friends, become alienated from others, engender hatred for who we really are. Piven's portrayal of an American Jew buoyed by the American dream of prosperity, convinced his talent will be the impenetrable shield that protects him, but still plagued by the thought that he is forever an outsider lay a formidable foundation for the transformation that will take place within him.

After all, as Carol tells him, "You shouldn't worry until you stop breathing. Until then, life is just a bowl of peaches." And tap.

The Performance is scheduled for wider theater release December 27. See it, if you can. It is well worth the time and emotional investment, and much more historically accurate and authentic than Bonhoeffer (standard, factually manipulated biopic), also in theaters.