efforts are focused on The View.
Although she is thrilled with the show's ratings, she
recently said, on the air, that she doesn't expect the
show to win an Emmy this year. But if by some
chance the presenters open the envelope and
announce The View, Walters will be the one to accept.
"That's because Barbara came up with this show,
and she is the reason we are all here," says Vieira.
Behind The Scenes
Sitting in the audience of a talk show gives a glimpse
into what goes on behind the scenes. Recently, the
Detroit Jewish News visited The View and Live with
Regis and Kelly.
On the set of The View, the audience is seated just
15 minutes before airtime. An energetic woman
warms up the audience by selecting people to dance
in the aisles.
At 11 a.m., the cameras start rolling.
The hosts of The View walk out smiling and take
their seats around the desk. First on the agenda is
"hot topics."
In talking about the current sex-abuse scandal sur-
rounding the Catholic Church, Meredith Vieira,
brought up Catholic but alluding to her marriage to
a Jew, says: "I was raised a Catholic, but I don't
know what I am anymore — I'm just a shiksa, I
guess!"
During commercials, Star Jones asks audience
members if they have any questions, and whatever is
asked, the hosts graciously answer. Barbara Walters
appears guarded, while a small team fixes her hair
and make-up. The rest of the women, too, are fussed
over, but not quite as much as Walters.
At noon the show is over and the hosts disappear
behind the set while the audience is escorted out.
At Live with Regis and Kelly, executive producer
Michael Gelman warms up the audience. "Let's test
your applause," he says, demonstrating when and
how to clap at appropriate times.
"Four, three, two, one," the director yells. It's 9
a.m. and Regis and Kelly greet the viewing audience
and assume their seats at the desk for the host chat.
Bill Gates Sr. is sitting in the audience, and Regis
directs the conversation to him: "Tell your son all I
want is an on/off button," laughs Regis, who claims
to be computer illiterate.
During commercial breaks, hair and makeup staff
primps the hosts. Regis and Kelly make a point of
walking out into the audience, where they answer
questions, sign autographs and even pose for an
occasional photo.
When the show is over, Regis, Kelly and Gelman
don't run away. Instead, they stay for a little while to
mingle with the crowd.
But it's Gelman who sticks around the longest and
is clearly in demand for photo-ops. He has become a
celebrity, thanks to Regis' on-air bantering.
"Regis has made me a character on the show,"
Gelman has said. And Emmy Award or not, he
seems to be enjoying it. El
The "29th Annual Daytime Emmy Awards"
airs 9-11 p.m. Friday, May 17, on CBS.
Don't Touch That Dial!
Israelis tune out the terror, turn on the soaps.
LARRY DERFNER
Special to the Jewish News
T
he sultry brunette
with the fire-engine-
red lipstick and the
provocative hips has a
history. And if she's after your
man, you'd better move aside.
She goes by the name of
Smadar, and she's fired up the
Israeli imagination like a burning
ember. First she married Doron,
scion of the Kedmi family (yes, as
in Kedmi Winery, those fabu-
lously wealthy Kedmis) after
pushing Doron's first wife to her
death and making it look like
suicide.
Now she's having an affair with
Doron's brother Yonatan, and
she's gone and spied on Yonatan's
wife, who burned herself with a
hot screwdriver and told the
police Yonatan did it, all because
she wanted to get back at him
after she found out he was sleep-
ing with Smadar.
The 78th episode of the ridicu-
lously popular Israeli soap opera
A Toast to Love is being taped at
Golan-Globus Studios in Neve
Ilan, a 15-minute drive from
Jerusalem, the terror capital of
the world.
Next to the dressing rooms are
plates of Israeli food, but the gay
hairdresser with the bare midriff
could have been flown in from
Hollywood.
The show is watched by
approximately 20 percent of all
Israelis (more than a million
viewers) five nights a week. It's
about money, lust, betrayal,
ambition, evil — and a sprin-
kling of dumb goodness for con-
trast.
"As far as content goes, it's no
different from The Young and the
Restless, The Bold and the
Beautiful, the Argentine telenove-
las or any of them," says
scriptwriter Gal Friedman.
Friedman doesn't like the term
"soap opera" or "telenovela";
instead he calls his show a weekly
drama.
A Toast to Love has the claustro-
On the set of 'A Toast to Love," Sharon HaCohen, left, and Yael Hadar
rehearse a scene. 'After so many years of fighting, Israelis can't handle it
anymore. They want escapism," says Hadar.
phobia and insulation from reali-
ty of any American soap — vir-
tually all the scenes are interiors,
with occasional exterior shots of
the Kedmi homes, which look
like they could be in any plush
North Tel Aviv neighborhood.
In Front Of The Camera
"I miss Gidi so much,
Grandmother," says actress
Daniela Verter, sitting on the
edge of her bed. She plays Maya
Kedmi, the sensitive, yearning,
confused teenage daughter of
Doron and Smadar.
"Don't you think you should
call him?" counsels actress Esti
Kosovitzki, who plays Shlomit,
wife of wine baron Alex Kedmi,
who is cheating on her with his
young secretary, Varda. (Shlomit
endures Alex's infidelities for the
sake of the family and because,
yes, despite it all, she still loves
him.)
In the green room on the set,
veteran actress Kosovitzki, wear-
ing a short, sensible hairdo and
an authoritative pinstriped suit,
says her character strikes a chord
with Israeli matrons. "Though
I'm betrayed by my husband, I
hold the family together. I'm the
wisest and the strongest, and
women identify with me," she
says.
(Says Irit, a 23-year-old fan of
the show from the city of
Modi'in, "Shlomit is, you know,
the family sucker.")
Kosovitzki, who has played lots
of Berthold Brecht, some Samuel
Beckett, and some hard-hitting,
controversial Israeli political plays
in her 30 years on the stage, says
the show's popular reception is
nothing like what she's used to as
a theatrical artist.
"I was doing a theater piece at
a high school recently, and when
I went on stage the kids started
screaming, chanting, `Shlomit,
Shlomit,' and singing the theme
song to the show. I felt like
Elvis," she says.
And at a bris recently, guests
came up to thank her for what
the cast of A Toast To Love is
doing for them.
"One woman said the show
allows her to breathe," Kosovitzki
says. "They watch it every night
DIAL on page 78
5/17
2002
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