Review - Gypsy: Mama's Talkin' Soft(er)

Mere seconds before the first act curtain goes down on the new Encores! production of Gypsy, certainly the most breathtaking, emotionally packed evening of damn near perfect musical theatre in town, Patti LuPone makes a simple cross from upstage to downstage center as she sings the final lines of "Everything's Coming Up Roses," that extraordinary Jule Styne/Stephen Sondheim theatre song that seems a joyous celebration out of context but is in actuality a terrifying proclamation. Up to this point, her beautifully balanced performance as Rose Hovick, the single mother who, like so many parents of her time, pushed her children into a vaudeville career with dreams of stardom and wealth, was filled with humor, pathos, flirtatiousness and a touch of goofiness that gave a multi-dimensional texture to the character's blind determination to see her daughter June become a star at any cost. But in those final moments of Act I, after Rose discovers that June has had it with momma's crazy dreams and has run off to get married, LuPone summons up the uglier demons within Rose that most decent people keep buried underneath. Her fists clutched in front of her chest and her wide gait staggering as though physically beaten, she bitterly forces out, "Everything's coming up roses for me...," as her would-be suitor Herbie (Boyd Gaines) clutches her trembling "untalented" daughter Louise (Laura Benanti) in a protective hug. They can't see the horrific expression on her face, like a dazed and bloodied over-matched boxer who refuses to go down, and the audience barely has a chance to take in the raw emotion before the curtain quickly falls.

That's what I wrote nine months ago when Patti LuPone gave one of the most frightfully emotion-packed performances I've seen in my thirty-two years of theatergoing. Of her performance of "Rose's Turn," I wrote, "the gaping wound of her loneliness is exposed with such vicious honesty that it would be impossible to watch in real life."

Scratch that.

Oh sure, it's still the most breathtaking, emotionally packed evening of damn near perfect musical theatre in town (No, make that of theatre in town.) and Ms. LuPone's Rose is now an even more complex and finely detailed portrayal, but while she hasn't exactly turned demure on us for Gypsy's transfer to Broadway, she has seriously toned it down. The resulting Rose Hovick that she and bookwriter/director Arthur Laurents have sent to the St. James wouldn't stand for such raw emotional displays. Instead we see the gradually transformation of a pushy stage mother into a delusional madwoman who, in her musical climax, gleefully mocks the vaudeville performances of the daughter she called Dainty June and then, while the real-life audience cheers their approval, milks their applause in a vicious parody of the daughter who became the world's most famous stripper. Horrifying grief and determination is traded in for spit-in-your-eye moxie as LuPone turns something great into something better.

Even set designer James Youmans is in on the act, although it isn't apparent until a minute before the final curtain that the crumbling false proscenium of his sparse design represents the fading dreams of fame that Rose clings to. When she finally realizes the connection between how she's treated her daughters and how her own mother treated her, we get a simple but telling visual ensuring us that her dream delusions have flown away. In the musical's final moment, when LuPone's Rose desperately grasps for the only thing in life that gave her strength and security, we see confirmation that her old dreams are gone for good.

Though the majestic Jule Styne/Stephen Sondheim score takes a back seat to no other, especially when played by a full on-stage orchestra, this production might be nicknamed "Arthur's Turn" for the way the book scenes electrify with outstanding acting displayed throughout the company.

Boyd Gaines' dark-edged Herbie is a memorable portrayal, hinting at violent tendencies the man may be trying to suppress. While clearly being with Rose has restored a sense of warmth and joy to his lonely life as a traveling candy salesman, his self-defacing comments about what a real man would do in his situation land as grim warnings. He's a doormat, but you get the feeling he chooses to be one because he's afraid of the alternative.

As the introverted Louise who would eventually become world famous as strip-tease artist Gypsy Rose Lee, Laura Benanti is first noticed with a genuinely touching rendering of "Little Lamb," ending with a tragic and tearful expression of the song's final lines. As circumstances force Louise into the spotlight, we gradually sense that she has developed her mother's sense of humor and forceful nature, combined with a sexual intelligence that makes her rise to burlesque stardom an instantly comfortable fit.

Leigh Ann Larkin's very effective performance as Dainty June off-sets the awful cuteness of her on-stage persona by making her a resentful icicle when the curtain goes down, speaking in an unschooled interpretation of highbrow, actorly tones - at one point seeming to take a Brechtian approach to a simple conversation with her sister.

Two of the summer's trio of gimmicky strippers - Alison Fraser as the arty Tessie Tura and Marilyn Caskey as the deadpan Electra - are joined by Lenora Nemetz, who not only belts up a storm as trumpeter Mazeppa but whips up unexpected laughter in Act I with her droll take on secretary Miss Cratchitt. Tony Yazbeck brings a smooth, understated charm to his song and dance, "All I Need Is The Girl." Bonnie Walker reproduces Jerome Robbins' historic original choreography.

A great musical has a great production with a great star. This is the kind of stuff they call legendary.

Photos by Paul Kolnik: Top: Patti LuPone; Bottom: Laura Benanti, Patti LuPone, and Boyd Gaines