One of the true constants in musical theater is that there will always be another Gypsy. Ever since the groundbreaking musical debuted, in 1959, with powerhouse Ethel Merman Tony-nominated as the self-serving mom of witty stripper Gypsy Rose Lee, the role has been a guaranteed star vehicle, full of brass, humor, and rivetingly lurid bio-drama. With an irresistible score by Jule Styne (music) and Stephen Sondheim (lyrics) and a scintillating book by Arthur Laurents suggested by the 1957 autobiography Gypsy, A Memoir, the show has always provided the diva of the moment a chance to sing out and grab acclaim via darkly complex histrionics as the most rivetingly mouthy stage mother of all time. It’s pretty much the female Hamlet. In fact, Tony awards went to Angela Lansbury, Tyne Daly, and Patti LuPone in revivals, plus there was a nomination for Bernadette Peters in another one. You basically mount Gypsy and Mama heads for the podium.
Well, it’s back. Again. And, as directed by George C. Wolfe and choreographed by Camille A. Brown, it’s done with a professional sheen, fierce energy, and a brilliant star turn by six-time Tony winner Audra McDonald. The (supposedly) true-to-life plot is known to every gay male in America: In the early 1920s, Mama Rose (McDonald) pushes singing/dancing daughter Baby June (a manically adorable Marley Lianne Gomes on the night I went) toward vaudeville stardom, but as the kid gets a little older, she grows sick of ego-laden Mama always screwing up opportunities and runs for the hills. The older daughter, misfit Louise (Joy Woods), is now the star, because Mama won’t let go of her dreams, so Louise by necessity becomes the fulcrum of them. The act ends up booked in low-level burlesque by mistake — as vaudeville died, that’s where a lot of the talent crash-landed — and Mama makes Louise go through with a strip act, with nipples covered and head held high. (“You be a lady! Grand, elegant with a classy, ladylike walk!”) The girl becomes an unlikely star — renamed Gypsy Rose Lee — by wisecracking in between dropping her drawers, but she soon becomes too big for her remaining britches and suddenly has no use for her frustrated Mama. The simmering Mommie Dearest explodes with “Rose’s Turn,” a kaleidoscopic musical nervous breakdown primarily consisting of snippets of other Gypsy songs with bitter new lyrics (“I had a dream … And if it wasn’t for me / Then where would you be / Miss Gypsy Rose Lee?”).
Along the way, Mama’s romance with a manager turned candy salesman named Herbie (Tony winner Danny Burstein), who ends up getting back into managing in order to help the act, soars and then fizzles, because Mama is more in love with her show biz fantasies than with any one person, and that will never change.
Three strippers bring the house down with “You Gotta Get a Gimmick,” a number prompted by one of them saying, “To be a stripper, all you need to have is no talent.”
And what’s different this time? The casting of a Black Mama Rose and Gypsy, which makes Mama’s hunger for her daughter to achieve stardom even more urgent, seeing how hard it was to turn a Black girl into a household name a century ago. As with the mostly Black recasting of Death of a Salesman, in 2022, other truths emerge from the text, which are as potent as they are unintended by the original authors. In this case, Mama Rose — who’s been married to three different men — initially fixates on the light-skinned Baby June more than on the darker daughter, Louise; June has a far better chance to make it. Later, when Mama Rose is asked why she dresses Louise in a platinum blond wig for a “Hollywood Blonds” show, she replies, “It makes her look more like — It makes her look more like a star.” I half expected her to say, “It makes her look whiter.” Oh, and when Louise makes it big, her stripteases are almost as reminiscent of those of flamboyant banana dancer Josephine Baker as of Gypsy Rose Lee.
The cast shines throughout. The excellent Danny Burstein exudes decency, and while his Herbie is always trying to land a thumbs-up from Mama Rose for his devotion, he eventually becomes fed up with her manipulations and the fact that she’ll never be his idea of a wife. Joy Woods is less morose than most Gypsies have been, and — while no one can touch Natalie Wood in the 1962 movie and Laura Benanti in the Patti LuPone revival — she reveals interesting fire blended with charm. (“Together,” a rebonding trio with Woods, McDonald, and Burstein, is pure fun, as they camp through the ditty, Herbie and Louise trying to ignore what they know about Mama Rose’s crazed determination.)
Kevin Csolak delivers a showstopper as the chorus boy Tulsa, who’s looking for a dancing partner, prompting the awestruck Louise to join in his rehearsal, only to have him run off with her sister. In between herky-jerky tap movements, Csolak gets to sing one of Sondheim’s most head-spinning lyrics, the kind you can’t get in a thesaurus: “Once, my clothes were shabby / Tailors called me cabby / So I took a vow / Said this bum’ll / Be Beau Brummel.”
With less erudite wit, three strippers bring the house down with “You Gotta Get a Gimmick,” a number prompted by one of them saying, “To be a stripper, all you need to have is no talent.” “You’ll pardon me,” chimes in another disrober, “but to have no talent is not enough. What you need to have is an idea that makes your strip special.” That is, a shtick! And what shticks they have! Lesli Margherita is a particular scream as the vulgar ex-ballerina Tessie Tura, who “grinds it with refinement,” bumping her crotch at the end of each plié. Margherita manages to get a laugh out of every line and every swivel. Rounding out the number are Mylinda Hull, as the plugged-in Electra, and gravel-voiced Lili Thomas, as Mazeppa, who bumps it with a trumpet. The unselfconsciously delighted way these lovable lowlifes impart their wisdoms makes for a dizzying highlight.
But all roads lead to Audra, and she delivers like a ton of gold-plated bricks. Her Mama Rose is a woman who does care for her children — she even eats dog food to save on the expenses, so the kids can do their thing — but it becomes apparent that it’s her own thing that motivates her the most. Feeling that she was “born too soon and started too late” for her own success, Mama buries her performing ambitions and lives them through the kids, hoping to get some residual notice in the process. Instead, her steamroller personality leads to people heading for the exit, one by one. Herbie is not the only one who gets cramps every time Rose makes him upset, prompting her to finally realize that everyone has stomach problems except her. She develops a keen awareness of her toxic effect on loved ones, but seems tragically unable to change her ways, refusing to stop the perennial parade of heartbreak in her path.
Audra’s precise acting makes it clear that Mama can be mean, not caring a jot about anyone else’s feelings, but also wildly protective of those she loves, trying to convince them she’s after their own good, after all. When June runs away and Mama barrels into “Everything’s Coming Up Roses” — assuring Louise that she can now become the star and everything’s fine (“You’ll be swell, you’ll be great.…”) — Audra erupts with a ferociousness that’s terrifying. At this point, we know full well that by “Rose’s Turn,” Audra will burn the house down. And she does, almost to the point of going too far, which adds to the delicious terror. (Will Audra make the first misstep of her career? Fear not. Her cries of “Everything’s coming up Rose! This time for me!” send chills.)
Nitpickers on the Broadway boards are claiming that the part doesn’t suit Audra vocally, offering elaborate descriptions of her “chest voice” versus her “head voice,” and how the jumps between the two aren’t perfect. A true Gypsy — and Audra — lover like myself didn’t notice, and doesn’t care. She is magnificent, giving a tingly performance that will be as hard to shake off as a tightened tassel.
Another winning feature is Santo Loquasto’s efficient set design. While so many revivals have been going for flashy projections and enormous video screens, this production bravely goes for just … sets and props. And speaking of furniture: By the end of the three-hour extravaganza, it’s not hard to sense that Audra McDonald has a great chance of visiting that podium again. ❖
Gypsy
Majestic Theatre
245 West 44th Street
Michael Musto has written for the Voice since 1984, best known for his outspoken column “La Dolce Musto.” He has penned four books and is streaming in docs on Netflix, Hulu, Vice, and Showtime.