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Eight times a week at the Majestic Theater in Manhattan, the entire, harrowing arc of a classic tragedy is delivered in 4½ minutes that are as exhilarating as they are upsetting. All the textbook components of tragedy according to Aristotle are vigorously at work here: self-delusion and self-knowledge, pity and terror, and the sense that what is happening is somehow both unexpected and inevitable.
And all of this — right down to that climatic, rushing release called catharsis — is provided, near the end of a delectably tuneful show, by a lone woman performing a single song in what is generally regarded as the cheeriest of theatrical forms, the American musical. Yet by that number’s conclusion, Audra McDonald, the Tony-nominated star of George C. Wolfe’s Broadway revival of “Gypsy,” has the flayed-skinless appearance of a figure in a Francis Bacon portrait.
And while most hardcore lovers of musicals have surely heard this song before, they are likely to sense that something new is happening here — something harsher, rawer, more wondering and ultimately more devastating. An old standard is providing fresh and unsettling revelations, while an unconventionally cast, mold-cracking performer is shedding surprising light and shadow on one of the best-known characters in the genre. No wonder that audience members leave the Majestic looking as if they had just been sucker punched.
A visit to the show in late March inspired the Los Angeles Times theater critic Charles McNulty to call McDonald’s interpretation of the song “if not a religious experience, then a spiritually transfiguring one.” And a friend of mine, who is not generally a fan of musicals, emailed me after a Wednesday matinee that she “was so gutted by that number that when I walked out of the theater I really didn’t know where I was or which direction to turn.”
“Rose’s Turn”
Audra McDonald sings on the cast album for “Gypsy.”
Such is the experience of watching McDonald sing “Rose’s Turn” in “Gypsy,” the 1959 story by Arthur Laurents, Stephen Sondheim and Jule Styne about one very determined stage mother named Rose in the dying days of vaudeville. It’s the kind of number that makes you entirely rethink both the show you’ve been watching — one you may have felt you knew all too well — and its central character.
