Mainly on Directing by Arthur Laurents (readera ebook reader TXT) 📗

so much deeper than it had been at City Center but that it was even possible to be richer and go deeper. John hugged me, shook his head, and said, “What you've done is incredible!” I held that in my head all during Steve.

Steve, of course, is Stephen Sondheim, never exactly bursting with enthusiasm for Gypsy—even less for West Side Story. Understandable: he wrote only lyrics for those two shows; his enthusiasm, his caring is for all the shows he wrote the music for as well. He had liked the production at City Center, with reservations. Perhaps affected by a room reverberating with acclaim, he liked the new Gypsy a little better, also with reservations.

When a musical moves from the rehearsal hall to the theatre, the director warns the company to be prepared for the performance to fall apart. With Gypsy, no one was prepared for the total screw-up by the self-styled Technical Director. At City Center, the few pieces of minimalist scenery—doors, for example—were moved by actors or stagehands. At Broadway's St. James Theatre, the doors were automated. That meant they came on when and where they weren't supposed to and couldn't be stopped. The party line is that computerized automation may take a little longer to get the moves right, but once they are, they're set for the run of the show. Really? Have you ever heard of a computer that didn't break down?

That wasn't the worst problem. The stage-left curtain swags that were part of the portal would suddenly sway as though windblown and bang into the ROSE sign, sometimes so hard that a bulb from the sign would crash on stage and break. One night during previews, four bulbs came crashing down as the curtain went up on the second act with Patti on stage. Not missing a line, she got a broom from off stage and managed to sweep off all the broken glass before Laura and the Toreadorables had to get down on the floor for their number. An uninhibited delight, Patti LuPone: the star as cleaning lady.

But what caused the curtains to sway? By the time that had been solved thanks to Paul Libin, the caring man who runs the St. James, the Technical Director had been replaced and all was fine— almost. The host of stage problems had prevented us from getting through the whole show without stopping and oh my god, here it was, dress rehearsal for our first Broadway audience.

The audience for that dress is invited, which means it's not a real audience, which means that while the actors are nervous, they're hopped up on adrenaline. They know the audience is largely fans and friends plus a few—inevitable on Broadway— schadenfreuders. Many in the invited audience that night had seen the City Center Gypsy at least once. They weren't prepared for what they saw at the St. James; I was less prepared for how they reacted. The response to the new tone set by the new Rose Patti played in the kitchen scene and her “Some People” was wild enthusiasm; it kept getting wilder and wilder until the cumulative effect of the battle in Gypsy's dressing room, “Rose's Turn,” the bows, and the new last scene blew the roof off the theatre.

That wasn't a real audience, however. The next night was our first preview. People were paying; there were the LuPonistas, of course, but it could be considered close to a real audience. The roof was blown off early—they got this was a new Rose and they went mad for her—and the roof stayed off. All during the previews, we kept rehearsing; we even got back to that table. There were small changes that had a big effect. As fine as Boyd Gaines's Herbie had been, as much as he had held the play together, he had not been quite equal to Rose and Louise and as layered a character as they were until the previews. Then all the subtleties in his per-formance—Herbie's relationship to the daughter he wanted and the woman he loved—became clear and so strong and affecting that the audience burst into applause mid-scene. Most important of all, Herbie was finally aware of who he was and what he needed, and that changed the course of the second act.

The scenes in the burlesque dressing room shared by the three characters in various combinations had become moments strung together. The line wasn't clear; finessing an unclear moment was frequent; there seemed to be unnecessary repetition. As director, I had to face that the way the characters and their relationships had developed, the play as written didn't always work. The solution was to play against the text in places. Fortunately, the director knew the author, and the author knew how to play against the text and where it would help. Together, they brought it off. The play finally came triumphantly together without any moments I couldn't look at. We were ready for the critics just in time.

The producers didn't quite agree. They were extremely pleased with the production and said so over and over, each of them, all of them, but they weren't exactly mad about the new ending. Jack Viertel, speaking for all of them, sent a long e-mail. It was carefully thought out and written, highly complimentary about the book of Gypsy, but mistakenly singled out Roses admission that she had done everything for herself as the climactic moment which justified mother and daughter walking off together to end the play. This was what they did in 1959, but not in 1989; it was impossible for them to do now. The climax, as I said above, comes with Louise saying “Like I wanted you to notice me?” and Rose's consequent breakdown. Once the truth is exposed, it can't be pushed back in the closet. Rose tries to play Louise as she always has, but she can't, because Louise is gone. Her customary con game is merely amusing to the Gypsy Rose Lee who walks away laughing.