Gypsy
By emily
GRADE: B+
Judging from how many times B and I have pledged allegiance to our favorite Gold Dust Woman, you are probably thinking that this is a review of the Fleetwood Mac song that's so popular on Adult Contemporary Lite format radio. You know, the one where it seems that Stevie is singing “Didja ruh… I dinna nahh…” most of the time and the only comprehensible part is the chorus: “YOU SEE YOUR GYPSY . . . WILL REMAIN. AHHHHHHH!!!!” Well, just for the record, A++++ on that front. But actually, this is a review of Gypsy the classic Broadway musical.
I try really hard to pretend that I don’t like Broadway musicals, but actually I am a huge dork of them. If this makes me a mom from New Jersey, then so be it. Don’t get me wrong, I am not a cape person (if you need me to explain this term, please post a comment). I am very, very cool, as you would be able to tell immediately if B would just put up the About the Editors page already. I generally have excellent taste. But there’s something about watching someone famous standing 20 feet away from you and belting clever Sondheim lyrics such as:
“Have a dish
Have a fork
Have a fish
Have a pork!” that just gets me every time. Sometimes it even makes me cry!
Well, not the ‘Have an egg roll, Mr. Goldstone’ song. The sad songs. They say so much!
Also I have this weird disease where I remember the lyrics to every song I have ever heard in my entire life. This is good for trivia games, karaoke, and absolutely nothing else whatsoever. I know every single line to every single song from Gypsy because once, in 7th grade, this girl Laura played me a tape of it on the bus. Then she made me be Louise to her Baby June when we did duets. She is also responsible for me knowing all the lyrics to Chess (“Never stay too long in your bed . . . never lose your heart, use your head”) as well. Hmm, perhaps I am a dork.
I was really psyched to see Bernadette Peters in the role of Mama Rose because she is a goddess, a very brassy and down to earth variety of Fantasie Laydie. She is the star of one of my declared favorite movies, The Jerk. I love her coldy+squeaky yet perfectly modulated voice because it’s just so fucking cute. She is a genius. I’m horrible at sincere praise, which is why I tend to hate on things. But here’s my shot at it, vis a vis Bernadette: she is one of those rare celebrities who makes you doubt everything you’ve ever read about Capitalism = Bad because she actually deserves all the fancy shit she probably has. Really she deserves more, like a J. Lo level of fancy shit. If we were all equal, Bernadette would be getting screwed. Unlike, say, Amanda Peet, Bernadette Peters is different from you and me. She is a star.
And the show itself is the ultimate in Broadway musical. It defines the genre, it’s the industry standard: if musicals were candy bars, this one would be the Snickers. The songs are all familiar and famous. There’s probably a mule herder in the Andes humming “Everything’s Coming Up Roses” at this very moment. The whole experience left me exhilarated but sad that I don’t have any talents. But then again, neither did Gypsy Rose Lee, and she became so famous that now there’s a Broadway musical about her. You have to love an entertainment experience whose heartwarming moral is: if you had a crappy childhood, taking your clothes off can give you the attention you’ve always craved! True and profound. The only reason this does not get an A is the dork factor.