Batsheva Dance Company celebrates 50th birthday

Los Angeles may be known as one of the world’s entertainment capitals, but when it comes to dance, the city has lagged behind the likes of New York, San Francisco, Paris, Moscow — and even Tel Aviv.

That’s slowly starting to change, thanks to Benjamin Millepied’s L.A. Dance Project, BodyTraffic and the USC Glorya Kaufman School of Dance, all founded within the last seven years. In the meantime, L.A. can only dream of having the vibrant dance culture that Israel does.

The Jewish state’s oldest dance company, Inbal Dance Theater, was founded in 1949, just one year after Israel gained its independence. The troupe blends ancient, biblical dance movements with more modern fare. 

The second-oldest is Batsheva Dance Company. It dates back to 1964, when it was started by American modern dancer and choreographer Martha Graham, and philanthropist and banking heiress, Baroness Batsheva de Rothschild.

Batsheva has become one of the world’s pre-eminent contemporary dance groups, and now, as it marks five decades of groundbreaking work, it will present its production of “Sadeh21” at UCLA’s Royce Hall on Nov. 1 and 2. The dance troupe’s weeklong visit to L.A. also includes workshops, classes and panel discussions that are open to the public.

What makes Batsheva unique, according to Kristy Edmunds, executive and artistic director at the Center for the Art of Performance at UCLA, is vision — “an abiding vision for not creating the art that people feel is familiar, but the art that is most necessary to contribute into the world.” 

“They train extensively. It’s mind-boggling how they move their bodies,” she said. “It’s very dynamic. It’s very sophisticated. It’s ebullient, yet it has a feeling of lament and heaviness as well. It’s like some of the greatest abstract painters of human history.”

It’s hard to overstate the importance of Batsheva to Israel’s dance scene. The group has stretched the boundaries of contemporary dance, not just for Israel but for the entire dance world. Founded primarily to perform American repertoire, it was revitalized with the arrival of choreographer Ohad Naharin, who became its artistic director in 1990. Since then, his fearless, independent spirit has brought the company into the international spotlight.

Watching the troupe’s technique for the first time is a bit shocking. Dancers leap and stumble, writhe and twist, employing every part of their bodies. The motions seem spastic at times, or just strange, with dancers crawling, jumping or running in circles. The formalized structures of ballet and other classical forms are discarded. 

“Batsheva, at this point, in the last 20-something years, is Ohad, and his ideas and what he believes in,” said Danielle Agami, a Batsheva alumna, adding that Naharin’s teaching has inspired a generation of young dancers and choreographers. 

Agami was a dancer and choreographer with Batsheva from 2002 to 2010. She’s now 29 and based here in L.A., where she runs her own company, Ate9. She also heads Gaga USA, which teaches the techniques Naharin developed and used at Batsheva to open up the possibilities for movement.

“It flipped my skin completely, and my mind, and it changed the angle of my brain,” Agami said of Gaga. “It connected me to pleasure and made me believe in my body, and to understand that my body is a tool to be proud of and enjoy, and not to criticize.”

In 2008, Naharin wrote about Gaga, “We learn to love our sweat, we discover our passion to move and connect it to effort, we discover both the animal in us and the power of our imagination.” 

Naharin covers the mirrors in the Batsheva dance studio, so dancers feel freer to express themselves.

“It taught me that movement is everywhere, and I can use it in any way I want,” Agami said. “It’s very easy for me to create movement, and it would probably not be like that if I didn’t practice Gaga for 11, 12 years now.”

There are no narrative threads evident in a Batsheva performance. The dancers eschew story in favor of emotion. There’s no video projection or stage design. There is atmospheric music and sometimes spoken word, but the focus is mainly on the dancers and their movements.

In many ways, Israel is an ideal laboratory for innovation in dance. As a country located at the crossroads of continents and made up of many immigrant groups, it’s influenced by a wide array of cultures. At the same time, its relative newness allows for a strong degree of freedom and emancipation.

“There’s an inventiveness and a chutzpah to it that’s a result of not having these oppressive dance histories, which train children from a very young age what is right and what is wrong,” said Barak Marshall, an L.A. native who was Batsheva’s first house choreographer, from 1999 to 2001. He’s currently the artistic director of Inbal Dance Theater, which is housed along with Batsheva in the Suzanne Dellal Centre for Dance and Theatre in Tel Aviv.

“Batsheva is really reflective of the hunger to engage the world,” Marshall said. “It’s very Israeli to me in terms of its emotion, its insistence, and the voice is an Israeli voice.”

How L.A. audiences react to that voice could be interesting. At a recent performance of Ate9’s “Mouth to Mouth,” which Agami choreographed, a few people squirmed uncomfortably as a row of female dancers wagged their tongues and scrunched up their faces in distorted grimaces. For Agami, bringing her style of dance to L.A. is a gamble.

“Dance here is still looking for how to be honest,” she said. “In Israel, very often, you feel the honesty on stage. Whatever the person brings, it’s about him and the naked feeling of it. I don’t see it often here — yet.”

That’s part of the reason for bringing Batsheva to Los Angeles, UCLA’s Edmunds said. “Desire usually comes from repeated exposure. And more of that exposure breeds a certain interest and discovery. But if it’s so intermittent, you kind of barely remember the last time you saw live dance work, you know. It doesn’t build much literacy; it just builds disconnected experiences.”

Part of the problem is public funding, and Israel far surpasses the United States in terms of government support for the arts. Still, Marshall said, he has hope for the future of dance in Los Angeles. 

“An understanding of the importance and the beauty of dance is definitely growing at a really exponential rate,” he said.


Batsheva Dance Company performs on Nov. 1 at 8 p.m. and Nov. 2 at 4 p.m. at UCLA’s Royce Hall. For tickets and information about the dance company, visit

Unleashing dance, offstage

Choreographer Heidi Duckler isn’t content simply to make works for a stage. To her, the whole of Los Angeles, the whole of the world, even, is fit for dancing. Why leap across a theater floor when you can glide around the lobby of an office building? Why spin atop sprung wood when you can frolic in a laundromat?

Duckler, 60, has been bringing her unique dance-as-urban-exploration to the world for 28 years as director of the Heidi Duckler Dance Theatre. Staging productions in places as disparate as Los Angeles City Hall, the Van Nuys bus terminal and on an elevated glass bridge in Hong Kong, her works have challenged audiences to reconsider the spaces they inhabit daily.

“The vision, even though it’s expanded, hasn’t really changed,” Duckler said recently by phone, of her nearly three decades with her company. “It’s very adaptable and flexible. There’s always something fresh.”

Although Duckler’s earlier pieces were often what she described as “non-heroic works” that took place “in laundromats and gas stations,” she was always committed to the idea of using the outside world as art. And so, when she was approached by the Long Beach Arts Council to craft a piece in one of the open spaces in that city, she jumped at the chance. “They were looking for art to animate the land … to create a sense of hope,” Duckler recalled of the call that would lead to the birth of her “Expulsion” series.

Duckler, who enjoys working with locals when she creates a site-specific project, brought on the Khmer Arts Academy as her collaborator. Duckler’s previous project had been about Eve, and so she decided to weave the story of the expulsion of Adam and Eve from Eden with the Cambodian exodus story and create a whole new work about exile. It’s a theme that she has reinvented with Native Americans in Portland, Ore., and will rework again on March 16, with the Latino community in Boyle Heights.

“Expulsion” is performed on a large piece of scaffolding, a form that has remained a constant throughout all the incarnation. Much of the rest of the piece changes, however, depending upon the context. “I sort of see that scaffolding as the bones, the body, the framework,” said Duckler, who notes that the current version of the piece contains new twists. “The expulsion story from the Mexican-American community is really different. … It was an immigration story, but now it’s an emigration story — they’re being sent back.”

In “Expulsion,” dancers move around, over, through and on top of the large piece of scaffolding that is the central element of the piece. They interact with the metal, hanging off of it, spinning around it, at times almost like gymnasts upon an apparatus. For the March 16 performance, the scaffolding will be located at 101 S. Boyle Ave., in the heart of Boyle Heights.

Duckler’s dancers will be joined there by members of the Danza Floricanto/USA company, which practices traditional Mexican folk dance. And although Duckler’s dancers are familiar with “Expulsion,” the dancers from Danza Floricanto/USA will be invited to “develop their own gestures” and bring their own unique flair to the project.

“It takes a different kind of dancer. It takes a dancer that’s willing to take a risk, and willing to be malleable,” Duckler said. “You’re in somebody else’s environment, and you have to be respectful, and there has to be a level of trust.”

Not surprisingly, locals often wander by during performances and have at times been puzzled, or even worried, by some of Duckler’s work. Some have even been concerned about the safety of the dancers. “Oh my God, they could fall off that roof,” Duckler said, miming the reactions of some bystanders, “but they never do. It’s very carefully planned, and safety is a key issue.”

Duckler recalled that the dance company was commissioned to do a piece in a downtown hotel right after 9/11. At first, hotel security staff members were very jumpy, but later they settled in and learned to appreciate the dancers. “We make friends as we go,” Duckler said. “One of the challenges for us is always to maintain those connections.”

Though Duckler has gained increasing access to sites where she’s wanted to choreograph — usually by being invited by cities or various arts groups that arrange for the use of sites — there’s still one white whale that eludes her: “As a lover of L.A. and a longtime resident, I would love to choreograph a piece that was seen via the freeway,” she said, laughing. “My most favorite site is near the Silver Lake exit off the 101,” she said. Despite the obvious hurdles of staging a performance where it might snarl traffic or cause accidents among rubbernecking motorists, a choreographer can always dream.

After the Boyle Heights performance, Duckler said she would love to hit the road. The company recently bought an old Oasis trailer, “a canned ham,” as Duckler describes it, and it plans to take it on tour. “The trailer is sort of like a tool box, or a treasure chest, that can be explored by other people,” Duckler said. She’s already working on choreographing a piece that takes place in and around the trailer.

“We’re taking it for a test drive,” said Duckler, who’s set her sights on the horizon, never content to choreograph in one location for too long. “We can travel California and see where it leads!”

Choreographer debuts morality tale on dangers of jealousy

Barak Marshall didn’t want to be a dancer. A lawyer, a singer, a scholar — anything but a dancer. “It was what she did,” Marshall says of his Yemenite mother, Margalit Oved, the one-time prima ballerina of the Inbal dance company, a giant of the dance world. And so he resisted. He sang in a choir; he went to Harvard and studied social theory and philosophy. But like most stories in which a man tries to flee his destiny, the world had other plans.

In 1994, Marshall moved to Israel where his mother had been offered the leadership of the Inbal, and tragedy struck. His beloved aunt died, leaving Marshall in a deep funk. He found himself working out his frustration in an empty dance studio. A friend saw him and suggested that he “build a piece” in honor of his aunt. And so “Aunt Leah” was born.

“Aunt Leah” won the newly minted artist acclaim and first prize at the Suzanne Dellal Centre’s Shades of Dance Choreography competition in 1995. And from there on out, Marshall began choreographing and performing his own work in earnest, garnering even more acclaim and recognition in Israel and Europe. Pretty soon some big names were knocking at his door. “Ohad Naharin from the Batsheva Dance Company invited me to be the house choreographer.”

By 2000, Marshall was on top of the world — young, successful, a great career ahead of him, and a prestigious job with one the world’s top dance companies. And then it all fell apart. In an instant, with one snap, Marshall’s career crumbled faster than the weight of his body upon his broken leg.

“I couldn’t work in my field, I couldn’t make any money,” said Marshall, now 43, of the dark days after his accident. The break was serious, the recovery took two years, and he couldn’t dance. His livelihood taken away, Marshall returned to his hometown of Los Angeles and humbly began waiting tables and offering academic tutoring to make a living.

After his leg healed, Marshall tried to make a comeback. “I was knocking on doors, pounding on doors, trying to get back into dance,” Marshall said, but no one would have him. “Once you’re off the map … it’s very hard [to get back].”

It was a tough transition but Marshall began to prepare himself for a life after dance. He turned to singing. He worked with Yuval Ron Ensemble and even went on tour with Yo-Yo Ma’s Silk Road Ensemble. He said he was “at peace.” For the second time, the man who never wanted to dance had gotten his wish, but once again, the world conspired against him.

In 2007, The Jewish Federation of Greater Los Angeles asked Marshall if he’d be willing to choreograph a dance for its exchange program with Tel Aviv. Marshall developed a piece called “Monger,” and suddenly the dance world rediscovered Barak Marshall. (His troupe performed the work at UCLA’s Royce Theatre in 2010.) Calls came in, as well as commissions, and pretty soon, Marshall was a choreographer again.

Tina Berkett, co-founder of BodyTraffic, a Los Angeles-based dance company, recalls meeting Marshall in an odd way, through the husband of her co-founder, Lillian Barbeito. “We know Barak, because Lillian’s husband met him at the locker room at their gym.”

“Los Angeles has such a gem in Barak,” Berkett said. “He has a movement vocabulary that’s so distinctive and so different. His works are so obviously Barak Marshall.”

And so, in early 2011, BodyTraffic and Marshall hooked up for a performance at REDCAT’s “The A.W.A.R.D. Show” and ended up winning a $10,000 prize to create new piece together. Their luck got even better when the Joyce Theater in New York, impressed with their work, gave them an additional $25,000 toward the partnership.

Berkett couldn’t have been more thrilled. “The reason that we love Barak and love working with him and are so interested in performing his work is that his work appeals to audiences. There are theatrical elements, and the music is always so fabulous that even non-dance lovers find his work entertaining and enjoy watching it.”

The result of those prizes is a work that will preview at American Jewish University (AJU) on May 31, in advance of its premiere at the Joyce. The title remains in flux but will undoubtedly be a mouthful if the original title, “And as the Rooster Crowed the Green Bride Floated Through the Village Square,” is any indication. The piece draws heavily upon his mother’s Yemenite roots.

“It’s a morality tale about these nine children whose parents had so much jealousy of others, and so much envy and greed that they cursed their children to a life of rage and loneliness and unhappiness. They passed that down to them, and these once very beautiful, beautiful children became increasingly, as the years went by, uglier and uglier. And it’s really a story about the danger of jealousy.”

The story is actually based on his mother’s real neighbors in Aden. The people on the street used to call the neighbors’ home “The Burning House,” because screaming would emanate from it at all hours as the family members fought with one another. “Most of my pieces are set in some nostalgic past,” Marshall explained. “This piece is about 10 broken and hopeless people trying to find hope.”

The piece also draws from “Yiddish, Ladino and Yemenite Jewish texts and songs,” Marshall said.

Berkett and Barbeito set out to find some companion pieces for Marshall’s composition. “We knew that Barak’s work would be highly gestural, a lot of theater, a bit of comedy, very fast-paced,” Berkett said. To create a contrast, Berkett chose to stage a piece with a much different tone by Stijn Celis, a Belgian choreographer. “Stijn’s work is very beautiful, has balletic qualities; it’s a bit more ethereal.”

To complete the program, Berkett and Barbeito commissioned a new work by choreographer Richard Siegal. “We wanted a third work that would maybe show a lighter side of BodyTraffic,” Berkett said. Siegal’s work is heavily jazz influenced, lighter and more technical.

The three pieces will have their official premiere at the Joyce Theater in NYC on June 6 and 7, as part of the Gotham Dance Festival, but they’ll be previewed together at AJU on May 31.

“I just can’t think of a better place to do it than the AJU,” said Berkett, whose husband sits on the school’s board. The AJU has shown itself to be an inventive patron of dance over the last couple of years with its “Dancing with the Rabbis show,” and its association with Glorya Kaufman, one of the dance world’s greatest philanthropists. “I feel like … we’re opening up the world to the ability of the Jewish people to produce and create art,” Berkett said. “These men are among the finest choreographers in the world, and they happen to be Jewish.”

For his part, Marshall said he is excited to see his new work performed.

Asked why he’s used the word “rooster” in the titles of multiple pieces, Marshall became reflective. “I think I have a sense of affinity with the rooster,” he said. “Like the rooster, a man is very, very proud, and has this very seemingly strong and beautiful exterior, but can be killed just like that … gone just like that.”

Barak Marshall and Bodytraffic will preview their new work at American Jewish University on May 31 in advance of its New York premiere at the Joyce Theatre. For ticket information,

In This Corner — the Choreographer

Choreographer Keith Glassman always wanted to learn more about his grandfathers and why they both pursued boxing careers in their youth.

“There are a lot of unanswered questions in my family,” he says. “My grandparents and their generation were very reticent when it came to talking about their personal histories.”

Known for dances that blend natural, athletic movement with sociological commentary, Glassman decided to make a piece that would allow him to explore whether other Jewish men in his grandfathers’ generation also boxed “to make money. I was surprised to find out that there were a lot of Jewish boxers,” he says. “It was an immigrant’s way of trying to make it in America.”

Using archival photos and films of Jewish boxers dating from the 1920s for inspiration, the 50-year-old Glassman created “Goldman.” Premiering at Highways, a performance space in Santa Monica on June 15 and billed as “Yiddish-speaking postmodern dance,” “Goldman” includes one male dancer (the “boxer”) and three fluent male Yiddish speakers, ranging in age from mid-50s to 70s. While the dancer performs a sequence of movements ranging from slow, isolated gestures to faster, more full-bodied motion, the three Yiddish speakers, all nondancers, form a separate group and “haunt the boxer.”

“I’m trying to create a relationship between the past and the present,” says Glassman, who notes that many of the immigrant Jewish boxers barely spoke English yet managed “to make their way in the world. I see their situation as similar to immigrants today, doing whatever they can to make a living, while trying to retain their cultural identity.”

Glassman had to do “a lot of networking” to find the right Yiddish-speaking men for the project and wound up attending various Yiddish conversation classes. “Women in their 70s kept asking me how old I was and if I was married,” he says. “But seriously, I admired how these people have such a strong connection to the language.”

“Goldman” marks the second time that Glassman has explored his Jewish roots as a choreographer. When he lived in New York, he created a “more autobiographical” dance about growing up in Philadelphia. “This is a much bigger project,” he says of “Goldman,” which will become part of a larger work on how different immigrant cultures assimilate while remaining connected to their roots. “I figured I’d start with the Jewish experience first. It’s a part of who I am, and it will always be with me.”

Glassman has always been fascinated with subcultures and incorporating performers who lack formal dance training. One of his best-known works, “Mavericks,” explored the passion and devotion of surfers and involved performances by both dancers and surfers. An early dance, “Backfield,” examined the appeal of sports among both fans and players, while “Audacious,” performed at Highways last year, involved interviews with scholars and clergy on the subject of hope in a conflict-ridden world.

“The world is filled with movement and the vocabulary we’re taught in dance programs is not always relatable to people,” says Glassman. “I’ve never been moved by someone who can do six pirouettes. I’m much more interested in movement that’s pedestrian and recognizable in the everyday world.”

Raised in Philadelphia, Glassman used to attend musicals with his parents and afterwards, teach the dances he saw onstage to the kids on his block.

“We also had ‘showtime’ in my family after dinner, where the kids would perform,” he recalls.

Mostly, Glassman played basketball and didn’t think of studying dance until he graduated from Brown with a degree in sociology. “But as a basketball player I was always more interested in form than in scoring,” he says. “And when I worked as a lifeguard after college, I found myself very inspired by divers.”

After moving back home and trying a dance class at Temple University, Glassman opted to pursue formal training at San Diego State University and subsequently moved to New York for 12 years. He performed in several modern dance companies before forming Keith Glassman & Dancers in 1989. Though his company performed regularly and received a number of grants and awards, Glassman could not make a living as a choreographer and decided to apply to graduate school.

“I didn’t want to see myself 10 years from now waiting tables,” he says.

After receiving his MFA from UC Irvine in 1996, Glassman re-established his company in Los Angeles. Currently, he works as a Pilates and dance teacher while continuing to choreograph.

“While I wouldn’t say I’m ‘called’ to do this, I know I love dance more than anything else,” he says.

And while Glassman still has many unanswered questions about his grandfathers, “Goldman” has allowed him to feel closer to his family’s past. “I’ll never know everything,” he says. “But I do feel that I’ve created my own history from these two-dimensional images.”

Keith Glassman presents “Goldman” as part of “4 Headed Dance,” featuring work by three other choreographers, June 15-18, Highways, 1651 18th St., Santa Monica. 8:30 p.m. (Thurs.-Sat.), 2:30 p.m. (Sun.). $15. Call (310) 315-1459 for reservations.



When they first started dancing together, Noam Gagnon and Dana Gingras used to lock themselves in a studio for somewhere between five and seven hours a day. Together, they tried to make their bodies react in “authentic ways,” irrespective of how high they could jump, how fast they could turn or any other techniques their dance training had already taught them.

“Right from the start, there was a lot of play, a large element of risk and pushing of boundaries,” Gagnon recalls. “We’ve always supported that in each other.”

Thirteen years after founding their Vancouver-based company, The Holy Body Tattoo, Gagnon, now 42, and Gingras, 39, have developed what they call their most ambitious work to date. An ode to urban angst and survival, “Monumental” will receive its American premiere at Royce Hall in April and has a good chance of resonating with big-city dwellers, be they from Los Angeles, New York or Tel Aviv.

Hailed as a vibrant force in the Canadian contemporary dance scene, The Holy Body Tattoo has been internationally acclaimed for multimedia performances that draw upon intense physicality. Reviews of the company’s works invariably use words like “explosive,” “relentless” and “raw” and the choreographers agree they tend to create dances “where you’ll be provoked, you’ll either be in or out,” Gagnon says. “You’re not just going to sit there and be entertained.”

Some interesting similarities exist between The Holy Body Tattoo and the Israeli dance company Vertigo. Both companies have been lauded for their use of visual props and other multimedia devices, in addition to physically demanding movement, as a means of excavating the depths of human relationships. Both have been com-

pared to the renowned German boundary-stretching

choreographer Pina Bausch, and both were founded by male-female duos intent on developing their own personal kinetic language.

Gagnon, in fact, has been mistaken for an Israeli on numerous occasions, largely because he chooses to use only the last part of his full name: Joseph Daniel Marcel Noam.

“I also have a lot of friends who are Israeli,” he says. “Maybe there’s some sort of affinity. But I’m definitely French Canadian.”

Created for nine dancers, “Monumental” mines the physical and emotional anxieties inherent in urban culture. Inspired by the 1980 “Men in the Cities” series of lithographs by artist Robert Longo, in which young people in cocktail dress are shown flinging their bodies, as if caught in the midst of writhing motion, Gagnon and Gingras’ dance ultimately reflects the pair’s signature style of extreme, arduous movement.

“There’s a great level of noise and stimulation in our urban environment, which places a great stress on our nervous system,” Gingras says. “We were also interested in the pressure to conform and how certain individuals fall through the cracks.”

Featuring text by artist Jenny Holzer, video montages by L.A.-based cinematographer William Morrison and electronic music by Roger Tellier-Craig, the dance begins as a series of tableaus, where the nine performers stand on individual blocks, each one isolated. Gradually, the dancers start mingling and a variety of interactions ensue, ranging from protective to overtly hostile.

“We have ideas about society that we put on pedestals and we make monuments about these ideals,” Gingras observes. “But to be human is to be flawed, and down we come, our arrogance and our hubris being our doom.”

Gagnon and Gingras involved the dancers in the choreographic process by assigning them “tasks,” Gingras explains. “We sent them out into the city where they had to observe people’s tics and obsessive gestures in addition to just watching people do basic, larger actions like walking down the street. We want to show that moving through a city is monumental, but so is the accumulation of the minutest of gestures.”

In addition to her role as co-choreographer, Gingras also collaborated with Morrison on the visual backdrops, which include scenes from the L.A. freeways.

“When I’m on the 110 freeway, and I pass that maze of interchanges, I always find it beautiful and horrifying,” she says. “All these bodies disconnected from each other, commuting back and forth.

“I’m excited about ‘Monumental’ being performed in L.A.,” she adds, “because to me, the isolation you feel in L.A. is special … the city is so vast and can make you feel like an ant.”

Raised in Argentina and Scotland, Gingras received a scholarship in 1987 to study with a Vancouver-based dance company called Edam. There, she met Gagnon, who grew up in Montreal and received a visual arts degree before pursuing his dance studies.

“Where I grew up, you didn’t dance if you were a guy,” he says. “But I always loved to dance.”

At Edam, Gingras and Gagnon formed “an instant clique. We were known as the terrible twins,” Gingras recalls. “We shared the same sense of humor and mischief. We also share a certain manic drive, which of course is reflected in our work.”

When asked about his attraction to extreme, “hyper-speedy” movement, Gagnon likens himself to a boxer.

“Why does a boxer box? Because he has a desire,” he says. “I don’t want to look at what drives me too closely. That would be a waste of time. All I know is that I wanted to create a physical language for how I felt, and that as hard as it’s been sometimes physically and mentally, the rewards for this work are incredible … it’s like you survived a crash.”

“Monumental” will be performed April 21-22, 8 p.m. at Royce Hall, UCLA. Tickets range from $15 to $42. For Information, call (310) 825-2101 or visit