Skip to main content

Patti LuPone

 A friend of mine would prefer a "loss" for Patti LuPone this weekend, at the Tony Awards. (LuPone's victory seems highly likely.)


The case against LuPone: She sits in a chair and sings just one song, and she is too old for the role.

It's hard to argue with this--but I think she does great work with the song, and it's one of the All-Time Brilliant Moments in the Sondheim catalog. And even if we see LuPone's third Tony as a "lifetime achievement" Tony, let's just recall what that life has entailed:

*Iconic roles in "Gypsy," "Company," "Anything Goes," "Sweeney Todd" (all first-rate musicals)

*Iconic roles in "Les Miserables," "Sunset Boulevard," and "Evita" (so-so musicals, but they have made a mark)

*Important voiceover work in "Title of Show"

*LuPone has immortalized the following sentences, which could now carry (should now carry) a Patti LuPone TM sign: "Silent music starts to play." "I beg to differ, Billy." "Let's get this show on the road; let's make it obvious. Peron is off and rolling...." "I love flannel on a man."

*Also: When "Les Miserables" was a rough draft, Fantine was supposed to remain on one note upon hitting the word shame. It is Patti LuPone who invented this staircase line, as we now know it: "Turn your dream to sha---aaaa---aaaa---aaa---aaaaaaame...."

*Patti is admirably philosophical about her career. "I'm a working actor; I take care of myself. I dress casually. It's silly to be undone by success. You have to do the job and go home." "Sondheim was a taskmaster, but he made me better." "After 'Evita,' I did good work in regional theater. I'm dead because I'm not in New York? Some of my best work came out of those wilderness years."

Look, I'm very fond of Shoshana Bean, but there can be only one winner per category (most of the time), and I liked "Company," and I liked Patti--and I'm ready to see The Third LuPone Triumph (on Sunday night).
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...
3 comments
Read more

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...
1 comment
Read more

My Favorite Pop Song

  One thing I admire about Prince is his weirdly pretentious verses: Dream, if you can, a courtyard-- An ocean of violets in bloom. Also: Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside. No one else writes like this. Did people try to shoot down these choices? Did a producer say, "We'd like to rethink this one... Touch, if you will, my stomach...."  I can't help but wonder. But it's the chorus that makes this a classic. It's direct and universal--and it ends with that bizarre flourish, the allusion to "the crying doves." (Prince's song was number one in America for quite a while; it defeated Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark.") How can you just leave me standing-- Alone in a world that's so cold? Maybe I'm just too demanding. Maybe I'm just like my father--too bold. Maybe you're just like my mother; She's never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cr...
Post a Comment
Read more