Book by Arthur Laurents
Music by Jule Styne; Lyrics by Stephen Sondheim
Suggested by the memoirs of Gypsy Rose Lee
Directed by Sam Mendes; Choreography by Jerome
Robbins, additional choreography by Jerry Mitchell
Starring Bernadette Peters, with Tammy Blanchard and
John Dossett, and featuring Brooks Ashmanskas, Kate Buddeke,
David Burtka, MacIntyre Dixon, Julie Halston, Heather Lee,
Michael McCormick, Maureen Moore, William Parry, Kate Reinders,
Heather Tepe and Addison Timlin
At the Shubert Theatre, New York City
Just before seeing the current revival of Gypsy, I stopped
in at the big Virgin Megastore in Times Square, where the
original cast album section had all four versions of the show:
the 1959 original with Ethel Merman, as well as revivals starring
Angela Lansbury, Tyne Daly and now Bernadette Peters. It struck
me that three major revivals in 44 years puts Gypsy in the
same major league as musical theater heavyweights like My
Fair Lady and Oklahoma, as well as such sentimental family
faves as The Music Man and Peter Pan.
What is it that keeps attracting top theater talents (and
audiences) to this show? Musical theater fans immediately
start counting off: a rousing score by Jule Styne; resonant
lyrics by a young Stephen Sondheim; an effective, hard-working
book by Arthur Laurents; Jerome Robbins' evocative choreography
(reproduced in this revival with additions from Jerry Mitchell).
It's a backstage musical that really lets you see the hard
work, the dreaming and the sheer, crazy luck that goes into
the making of a star, yet it's also broadly funny, especially
when the action moves from vaudeville to burlesque in the
second act.
For the actresses tackling "Mama" Rose, no doubt
the attraction is the sheer scope and scale of the part. Rose
is an Everest originally designed for an undisputed star,
and a role that still demands a knock-'em-dead performance
for Gypsy to work. There was lots of excitement surrounding
Bernadette Peters' announcement that she, too, would climb
the mountain, but lots of snickering as well - the eternal
ingénue, possessed of a powerful voice but projecting
an often childlike demeanor, was going to play the ultimate
stage mother/monster? This wasn't a fantasy like Into the
Woods, where Peters' wonderful performance as a wicked witch
played on the contrast of coolly malevolent lines emanating
from a baby face.
Peters and director Sam Mendes (Cabaret on Broadway,
American Beauty on film) have solved the apparent miscasting
problem by creating a Rose who is scary but recognizably human
- and all the more compelling for being so. Peters' Rose is
restless, relentless, manipulative and needy. Think she's
just a creature of the stage, a campy icon? She's a soccer
mom screaming on the sidelines and then flirting with the
coach to get her kid more playing time. She's a frustrated
mom ferrying her kids to piano, dance and voice lessons, when
the kid would rather be vegging out in front of the TV or
just hanging with her friends. I've met Roses, or milder versions
of her. We all have.
At the performance I attended, Peters started out a bit uncertain,
with ragged breath control that made her ballads play better
than her belting, Mermanesque numbers. In compensation, she
brought a warm, welcome and very grown-up sensuality to Rose.
In the "Small World" duet with Herbie (John Dossett),
who will rapidly become both Rose's lover and an agent for
her daughters' cornball vaudeville act, Peters uses a strategically
crossed leg to seal the deal.
By show's end and "Rose's Turn," when Rose reveals
what we've known all along - that she wants the stardom she
claims to have been seeking for her daughters - Peters has
the audience - and the show - in the palm of her hand. This
is a woman who is really only alive at center stage, who only
exists between the stage door and the footlights. It takes
a stage veteran - and former child actress herself - like
Peters to find the human core of this Rose.
Human she may be, but is she a good mother? We're only watching
the show Gypsy because older daughter Louise eventually
becomes famous striptease artist Gypsy Rose Lee. It literally
happens before our eyes in this production, with Tammy Blanchard
growing from gawky, self-conscious teen into confident, sexy
star material. I realize that it would have been too downbeat
to create a show about someone who never became any kind of
a star, and yet if you look at Gypsy it's all about how
close the characters always are to failure.
And by today's standards, Rose's actions nearly qualify as
child abuse. Rose pushes both June and then Louise into the
spotlight, and the latter into stripping, despite the fact
that neither really wants to be there. The girls' "If
Momma Was Married" duet (with Kate Reinders' June joining
Blanchard's Louise) makes clear how much they hate their respective
roles (eternal cutesy-poo babyhood for June, unappreciated
second banana for Louise). "Did you ever feel like you
didn't have a sister?" June asks Louise. "Mama did
that." It's a heartbreaking line.
I wouldn't want to see a radical rewrite of Gypsy where
the child welfare authorities threaten to take Rose's kids
away from her, though it might be interesting. Let's see,
Rose would be played by drag queen Lypsinka, sampling from
all four cast albums; Herbie would be a hand puppet, and the
kids' vaudeville act would be done facing away from the audience,
to John Cage music. Nah.
This more traditional production is strong enough to encompass
all the tensions that drive the story forward. Mendes reveals
the humor in the show (bravos to the three strippers - Heather
Lee, Kate Buddeke and Julie Halston - who tutor Louise in
the basics of bump-and-grind in the surefire "You Gotta
Get a Gimmick" number). It also beautifully preserves
the happy-sad nature of Gypsy's ending. Louise, now
burlesque star Gypsy Rose Lee, has gained a new appreciation
of what drives her mother (and drives Louise crazy). Rose
borrows her daughter's fur and they leave the theater together
- but not arm in arm. Rose turns around to give the theater
- and the audience - a final look. She's still alone, but
all eyes are on her, and that's the way she likes it. That's
the way she needs it.
|