Theatre in Review: Gypsy (Majestic Theatre)

	Audra McDonald, Joy Woods. Photo: Julieta Cervantes

Madam Rose once again seizes the stage, in what seems to be a once-every-decade-or-so ritual. The role has become an irresistible challenge for top musical-theatre leading ladies, even if the out-of-left-field choices (Angela Lansbury, Tyne Daly) have often succeeded where more plausible candidates (Bernadette Peters, Betty Buckley) did not. But who can resist Gypsy's mesmerizing antiheroine? A "pioneer woman without a frontier," the mother of all stage mothers, she chases an impossible dream of showbiz glory to the terminus of vaudeville's last days, driving away her daughters and the man she loves and culminating in a bitter reckoning, on an empty stage, that leaves her psychologically bare. That the role comes with some of the greatest show tunes ever written is the cherry on top.

That Audra McDonald should tackle the role was inevitable, even though, on the face of it, her gifts are not especially suited to the role. As an actress, she has never called up anything like Rose's vulgarity and unchecked drive, her snappy way with a one-liner. Also, Jule Styne's music sits oddly on her voice, which ranges between alto/soprano and mezzo/soprano; lustrous as her singing is, you're not going to get anything like a Merman (or a LuPone) belt.

But only a fool would bet against McDonald. Combining her formidable technique with sheer willpower, she commands her conception of Rose into hair-raising, gooseflesh-producing life. Even better, she offers an entirely original take on the character. Unable to tap into Rose's brassier, blowsier facets, the actress refashions her as a human whirlwind, imperturbably sunny, intently focused, and equipped with a mile-long to-do list. Determined to make June, her terrifying blonde baby girl, into a Broadway star by way of the Orpheum Circuit and dragging along her shy, talentless daughter Louise for the ride, Rose is frantic with activity yet surprisingly ladylike: Chasing after an irritating, balloon-bedecked child performer, hatpin in hand; snacking on dog food to save on the grocery bill; or helping herself to the cutlery in a Chinese restaurant, she remains (at least in her mind) a pillar of respectability. After all, she is fighting for her little girls, isn't she?

And if McDonald's handling of the score -- which requires constant switching between head and chest voices -- takes getting used to, she puts her stamp on number after number. She infuses fresh blood into "Some People," Rose's furious declaration of independence, ending with the theft of the only valuable object in her father's house. Turning siren, she woos the candy salesman Herbie in "Small World," luring him into an endless touring life he doesn't want. Fresh out of money and prospects, deserted by what remains of her tatty performing troupe, her "Everything's Coming Up Roses" is a clarion call to arms in the face of harsh reality. "Momma is gonna see to it," she sings, and who would disagree, even if no plausible way forward exists?

To be sure, McDonald is in good company. Danny Burstein is well-nigh perfect as Herbie, the agent, romantic companion, and all-around fixer, his dream of domesticity (and his stomach lining) eaten up by Rose's machinations. Exuding decency and a warm humor, he shares a palpable chemistry with McDonald that goes a long toward explaining why Herbie hangs on until almost the bitter end; when, at long last disgusted by Rose's insistence on pushing Louise onstage at a fleapit burlesque joint, their parting is shattering, a wound from which there is no recovery. Joy Woods achieves a remarkable transition from Louise, the perpetual wallflower, an also-ran in Rose's affections reduced to playing a cow in June's act, to Gypsy, the witty, willowy queen of the striptease. Fed up with Rose's interference ("Mother, we're still stuck with that wind machine you bought to blow my clothes off"), she is fully armed for the mother-daughter faceoff of the century, cueing the musical's explosive climax.

These stars shine especially brightly in George C. Wolfe's efficient but uninspired production, which is sometimes devoted to solving problems that don't exist. (The three best productions of Gypsy I've seen -- with Lansbury, Daly, and LuPone -- were all directed by Arthur Laurents, who, as the book's author, knew the show inside and out.) For example, the segue between the comically terrible act Baby June and Her Newsboys and its successor, Dainty June and Her Farmboys, which traditionally uses strobe lighting effects to make the passage of time, is replaced with a much clunkier solution. Also, someone has decided that Jordan Tyson should play June as equally affected offstage and on, which damages her one big scene with Louise and leaches some of the charm out of "If Momma Was Married," in which the girls, for very different reasons, envision their mother's wedded bliss.

Furthermore, Wolfe has allowed choreographer Camille A. Brown to overthink many numbers. "All I Need is the Girl," in which Tulsa, one of the Farmboys, rehearses a solo act, should be a suave Fred Astaire knockoff; here, it is a hard-sell proposition filled with too many eccentric, busy-busy steps. Instead of focusing solely on Louise's rise to stardom (and her increasing confidence in front of an audience), "Let Me Entertainment You" climaxes in a kicky, show-offy Garden-of-Eden production number, the sort of thing seen at no Minsky's venue ever. The point -- that Louise succeeds by coasting on looks and style, not talent -- is blurred; with moves like that, why isn't she on Broadway? And, until we get to the Act II burlesque-house scenes, the production doesn't have a solid grip on the raucous, wisecracking comedy of Laurents' endlessly quotable book. ("Honey, don't you know there's a depression on?" Of course, I know! I read Variety.")

But once Rose's latest and most dismal act, Rose Louise and Her Hollywood Blondes, is accidentally booked into a Wichita strip joint, laughter is guaranteed, thanks to its backstage inhabitants, especially a trio of faded flowers led by Lesli Margherita's incomparable Tessie Tura. ("I used to be a ballerina," she says, sitting, slumped, her legs spread, like a longshoreman in a waterfront bar.) Mylinda Hull's Electra is an aging, mentally vacant temptress, vainly trying to keep tabs on the electric lights sown into her costume's bosom and pelvis. As the horn-toting amazon Mazeppa ("Revolution in Dance"), Lili Thomas leads all three in "You Gotta Get a Gimmick" in a voice like scouring powder. (If "Gimmick," a masterpiece of tawdry hilarity, had been Stephen Sondheim's only contribution to the musical theatre, his place in history would have been assured.) These ladies shake the theatre to its foundations with laughter, leaving McDonald with the daunting assignment of topping them.

Do you doubt she does so? Following her latest and most furious dustup with Louise, who no longer needs her, Rose -- infuriated and cut loose -- launches into "Rose's Turn," the showstopper she has yearned for all her life, delivered to an audience that was never there. Most actresses lean into the character's rage; McDonald closely parses the number's middle passages, when Rose's angry assertions ("Momma's talkin' loud/Momma's doin' fine/Momma's getting' hot") break down into a series of muttered "Mommas," which she punctuates with a daringly long pause and look of sheer terror. This is the payoff, when everything clicks into place: Rose's insistent planning, her militant insistence that success is just around the corner, is exposed as a defense against her primal fear of abandonment. In my experience, this is the first Rose to unravel in mid-number, leaving her shockingly vulnerable; after the song's final dissonant chord, she is a broken woman, blowing kisses into the darkness. A great (or even a good) version of "Rose's Turn" is electrifying. McDonald's version is all of that and heartbreaking to boot.

The production design reflects a vaudeville world fading away in the shadow of the Depression. Santo Loquasto's sets typically consist of wagons, most of them looking a little lost in a larger space suggesting an empty theatre; more than once, the upstage wall features tattered advertising from a more prosperous era. Nevertheless, he delivers some finely detailed locations, especially a producer's office decorated in stained glass and Louise/Gypsy's dressing room, with its chandelier, pseudo-Empire furniture, and painted portrait of the star. (He also cleverly works the name of each location's city into each set piece.) Toni-Leslie James' costumes are typically first-rate; she has fun with details like the set of coats that Rose has Louise make out of Indian blankets, and her stripper outfits are amusingly spot-on. She also works with wig and hair designer Mia Neal and makeup designer Michael Clifton to definitively free Louise from her drab cocoon. The lighting, by Jules Fisher and Peggy Eisenhauer, confidently draws a line between moody Edward Hopper-style reality and the pastel tones of the onstage scenes. Scott Lehrer's sound design is impeccable throughout.

And, from time to time, one must simply sit back and marvel at what an astonishing creation Gypsy is. In Laurents' stunningly well-structured book, wiseacre comedy sits side-by-side with the tragedy of a woman who can't help pushing away everyone she loves. In a less-impressive work, these impulses might cancel each other out. Here, amazingly, they prove mutually nourishing. (Only the most daring of playwrights would allow a comic triumph like "You Gotta Get a Gimmick" just before the turn of events that leads to "Rose's Turn.") Each choice is dazzlingly on-target: Styne and Sondheim provide exactly the right emotional notes, softening Rose in numbers like "Small World" and "You'll Never Get Away from Me" and recycling "Let Me Entertain You" through several incarnations, first as June's signature tune, then as the launchpad for Louise's reinvention as Gypsy. Everything has been carefully weighed for its contribution to the story, leading to the towering moment of "Rose's Turn," and the quiet, yet devastating, wrap-up that follows it. No matter how often Gypsy turns up, it's worth seeing: with McDonald and her co-stars, it's unmissable. --David Barbour