Yesterday, one of my children had a "diaper accident" that required immediate attention; the car was lacking a replacement pair of shorts, so I had to remove another child's shorts, wiggle Child One into the incorrect shorts, then hope that Child Two would tolerate "diaper time" for thirty minutes of a "car interlude."
Child Two was in fact feeling intolerant--so the thirty minutes, which I had imagined as blissful reading time, instead became a frantic car trip back to the house, to find a replacement pair of shorts. The shorts I selected were inadequate, so Child Two resumed her tantrum, but when I tried to go in search of a third pair of shorts, the second pair of shorts suddenly attained "new status," and my apparent crime became the withholding of the second pair of shorts.
"Gypsy" speaks to me now more than ever. It's easy to drift through life without having given serious attention to your dreams (and then the world becomes indifferent). It's also easy to dump your own frustration on your children--which is unfair, because the children are just children.
Rose's daughter, Louise, attains fame by mocking everything that Rose holds dear. It's the one kind of fame that causes Rose to feel uncomfortable. Louise has great fun with this discomfort, applying pasties to her nipples, improvising new lines of dialogue. ("I've had such a long day, I've just dreamed of returning home and taking off ALL MY CLOTHES....Well, boys....I'm home....")
Part of Sondheim's genius is to show us that Rose, the monster, is actually a victim. He does this in the subtlest, sharpest way. When Rose begs her father for eighty eight dollars, he is gratuitously nasty... ("You ain't getting eighty eight CENTS from me, Rose....") Later, when Rose is strutting across an imaginary stage, her tough facade crumbles, and she becomes an infant, pleading with an inattentive parent. ("Mama's talking loud....Mama's getting hot....Mama? Mama?")
No one else thought to turn this odd story into a musical. But it's a story that seems to have universal resonance. Who isn't Rose? Who isn't Louise?
I'm eager to see Audra.
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