A dead woman stares at us, as she lies flat on her back in the middle of a babbling brook. Opening credits play over her as she sings a jaunty, but melancholy tune about life.  We don’t know who she is or how she got there, but it’s not a far leap to assume she’s the titular “Lizzie Lazarus.”  It’s a compelling way to start a film, but writer director Aviv Rubinstein isn’t making a musical.  What follows, however, is surprisingly theatrical.