You're Not Even In The Scene, Patti

This is from the blog of someone who wrote in a little while ago about a post on the musical Gypsy:

...my favorite shows or movies are the ones that leave me incapacitated at the end. Literally in pain. [....] the funny thing about Gypsy is sometimes I get sick to my stomach just thinking about it. I don't even have to be watching it or listening to the cast recording. Merely thinking about the fight in the dressing room or last two minutes of "Rose's Turn" or the mocking laughter that erupts from the venom Louise's own mother cultured in her daughter's gut . . . I can't even deal. And somehow I'm going to see this show three times in a row. Pray for me. I might just die.

A strong reaction. In fact, I think a reason the show has never quite been a blockbuster (it's been on Broadway five times but its longest run was the 702 performances) is that the ending has so much pain in it. Gypsy's subtitle is "a musical fable," but that's referring to the somewhat fanciful biography of the title character, not the happily-ever-after part.

It's true, we go to the theatre to be moved. Not always to tears, of course--Guys And Dolls may be my favorite musical, and it's funny almost all the way through. (Frank Loesser used to ask others if his songs could make them cry, because he already knew how to make them laugh.)

Gypsy, on the other hand, has a protagonist who's hard to take. She can be played a lot of ways, but it's hard not to think the rousing Act One finale, "Everything's Coming Up Roses," is sung by a woman who's gone mad. In fact, the show could end there (if it weren't for the title--we've still got to discover how Louise becomes Gypsy Rose Lee). We see Rose losing her hopes and dreams when June runs off, but it doesn't matter--she won't quit until she makes the less talented Louise a star.

But, to (finally) get to my point, the funny thing is the powerful ending is not what moves me most in the show. The number that gets to me is "All I Need Is The Girl." It's sung by Tulsa, who's trying to demonstrate the kind of number he's planning. Tulsa is reasonably talented, but he has big dreams (which he probably won't fulfill). Meanwhile, poor, humble Louise watches, with an even smaller dream, that someday she could be with a guy like Tulsa. The simple dreams of two silly kids move me more than all the melodrama in West Side Story, the previous show created by Stephen Sondheim, Arthur Laurents and Jerome Robbins. Partly because they're not straining for effect--sometimes simpler is better.