Traditions and Thoughts

Gypsy, the musical by Arthur Laurents, provides a core example of the film industry’s use of stereotypes regarding gender and identity. The musical portrays the character Rose, played in the 1992 television film adaptation by Bette Midler as a business-centric, a pushy “stage-mother” who controls her children’s careers. Gypsy establishes a dependency relationship between Rose and her two children–Louise and June–and uses them as pawns to fulfill her desire of always being a star. While watching the musical, I didn’t resonate with many of the characters, but as I was reflecting, I could sense a bit of Louise within me.

Louise, played by Cynthia Gibb, is a shy little girl who her mother casts as is a boy in a vaudeville act with her sister June. Mama Rose doesn’t believe in Louise becoming much of a star and torments Louise for not being as good an actor as June. Yet, as Louise evolves into a young adult, her main goal is to fulfill her mother’s desire of performing on stage. I see a bit of me in Louise when she continuously sides with her mom, even though Rose put so much pressure on her growing up.  I am brought up in a modern South Asian family where my mom did not have as many opportunities growing up, and I would do anything to fulfill her wishes. June pisses me off because she can’t appreciate her mom’s harshness and resilience in getting their act booked, even if it wasn’t June’s passion.

Louise craved the satisfaction of fulfilling her mother’s dreams, and she did just that when she became a stripper. As a young girl, Louise wore cowboy clothes and draped herself in clothes that presented her as a young man. She echoed a shy young actor who didn’t enjoy speaking out because she was hiding her true self. As Louise grew older, she evolved into a stripper, which was such a big change in personality. Instantly having the added title of stripper, wearing lingerie, and dancing for the pleasure of others made her more famous than she would have been on the Vaudeville stage. It amazes me that men always put women on a pedestal when they remove their clothes and dance. Rose forced Louise’s hand into becoming a stripper, and once she did, she was proud of her. It was insane to see how Rose could give up the hope of Louise becoming a star and allow her daughter to become a stripper to progress her career. But in the end, Louise was content. Gypsy promotes the stereotype that being a successful a woman means having to flaunt one’s sexuality.

On the other hand, Rose’s other daughter June (played by Jennifer Rae Beck) shines like a bright star and does not care about Rose’s wishes for her. In “If Momma was Married,” June, sings: “If momma was married, we’d live in a house/ As private as private can be.”  No matter how much Rose works for her daughters, she will always fail in giving her daughters a stable life. Imagining that “if momma was married,” the girls hints that if Rose had a husband, they would be able to fulfill all their desires. This reinforces another stereotype: children must have a dominant male figure in their life to be successful and rich. June and Louise are so young, but they are already dreaming of growing up rich versus poor.

Louise’s eyes twinkle as she fantasizes about her mom being married and her being able to live with various pets, almost as if she yearns for her childhood innocence to come back. When Louise talks about having a family filled with animals, a father, and a mother, the film’s director creates an illusion through Louise’s smile, suggesting that she would be more happy in that life than her current one. Although Louise resents her childhood as a child actor because she was never the one that Rose believed in, she still sided with her mom over June, who only wishes that her mother would leave her alone. The audience can hear the anger building up in June because as her voice rises, almost as if she is passionate to show the world how badly her mother treated her. Though the two sisters have completely different perceptions of their mother, they hold each other’s hands to show agreement in their desire to see Rose to be remarried. While June has a negative reason behind getting her mom married because she wants to get rid of Rose, Louise can’t wait, almost as if she’s a baby getting a brand-new toy.

Women are always portrayed in a harsh light and are expected as pleasers in society. Gypsy proves how they stereotype women and portray them as submissive and willing to stoop to low levels to establish their crediblity. As a woman, especially as a South Asian woman, I find it difficult to locate a middle ground where I am not only fulfilling the wishes of my mom but finding something that I love doing. As women we have expectations from both society and family, we must unite to find a way to break the stereotype and create equality amongst all genders.

Is Gypsy Rose Lee the new symbol of Feminism?

It’s almost spooky season, and that means rewatching Bette Miller’s iconic role in the classic Halloween film Hocus Pocus. Whoops! Wrong spectacle.

Hocus Pocus GIF

However, her performance in the 1993 made-for-television production of Gypsy, directed by Emile Ardolino, is iconic in its own right. At face value, this production is not an aspirational spectacle for young girls, but hidden behind its curtain are a plethora of feminist critiques. Bette Miller is the perfect embodiment of loud, gregarious, strong-willed Mama Rose—complete with fiery red hair.

Rose embodies her role as stage mother, acting as a true “Mama Bear,” striving for the best for her two cubs June and Louise (who later becomes Gypsy Rose Lee). Rose dedicates her life to making her girls stars. The beginning of the film resembles many “wannabe” Broadway stars’ struggles to stardom. She begins as somewhat of a nobody in Seattle, Rose’s ambition rewards the girls with consequent gigs around the country at any Vaudeville theater that will have them. In her role as a mother, Rose defies the traditional gentle, dainty, proper female stereotypes in all aspects of her character.

1945 Modern Homemaker Magazine

Rose’s first solo number titled “Some People,” written by Jule Styne and lyricist Stephen Sondheim sets the stage, exhibiting her “go-getter” personality. Rose is not like “some people.” In fact, she is very much not like what a woman was “supposed” to be during the musical’s 1920s time period. As reminded by her father and future love interest quite often, she should be married (to a man, of course). The world expects her to have a steady family, with her children in school and her husband making money to support their family. She certainly should not be living in her Papa’s house as a middle-aged woman with two young daughters begging for eighty-eight bucks. In this regard, Rose’s character does not conform to social norms. At that time, it was unacceptable (or at least unusual) for a woman to have dreams beyond motherhood. While Rose is a devoted (albeit sometimes misguided) mother, her nurturing techniques are rather unconservative.

Rose has bigger dreams for her girls. Even when offered a hand in marriage to a man she arguably loves, she chooses the single route. Again, Rose defies gender stereotypes by denying what most would see as the obvious decision. The gender roles in Rose’s romantic relationship are almost reversed. Herbie, Rose’s love interest and agent, portrays the gentle, subversive partner, while Rose calls the shots. Herbie chases Rose, in this instance.

Mean Girls GIF

While Mama Rose is undoubtedly a strong female character, some of her parenting choices and treatment towards her daughters are questionable. At the beginning of the film, we see Baby June, played by Lacey Chabert (Chabert later stars as Gretchen in Mean Girls, truly embodying the role of “girly girl”) as the ideal, pageant queen, frilly, perfect female child performer. Her sister Louise, played by Elizabeth Moss, is there to ensure June shines on stage—whether that means dressing up as a cow or newspaper boy. Side note—June is in fact cast as a blonde and Louise as a brunette. I guess blondes do have more fun? Nevertheless, at the beginning of the film, Rose reinforces these role distinctions between her daughters, consistently doting on June, speaking words of confidence to her about her future stardom. Rose is so steadfast to follow her own path, why is she not more supportive of her daughters to defy the same gender norms she does?

The real kicker comes after older June (now played by Jennifer Raye Beck) decides to abandon both her mother and dreams of stardom to run off with a boy. Here we see another typical female giving up her dreams of a career (well, maybe they were Rose’s dreams for her) in the name of love. After Rose comes to terms with making Louise a star instead, the team arrives at a Burlesque theatre. While this rather mature theatre is surprising to the pure, innocent Louise (played by Cynthia Gibb), it is the place where she finds herself and her place in society.

Baby June and “Company”

Rewind to Baby June’s musical number titled “Let Me Entertain You.” Here we see an amusing, playful, childish upbeat song performed by Baby June. Dressed in a white, glittery, ballerina-like costume, with a bow almost as big as her head, June’s outfit paints her as an innocent, but talented little girl, somewhat like Shirley Temple. Were she a boy, she would not be able to capitalize on this aspect of her identity—or her female body. In this number, she refers to herself as a “bundle of dynamite,” highlighting her childlike demeanor. She then continues to boast about her ‘versatility’ and talents as well as her ability to make us feel good as she sings:

“I’m very versatile/ and if you’re real good/ I’ll make you feel good.”

Rose has June act younger than she is in the following scenes, having her continue to capitalize on her young female body (rather creepy in my opinion, having an adult pretending to be a young child). Viewed on its own, this song seems innocent enough, and simply explains June’s talent and ability to bring joy to her audiences.

Back at the Burlesque theater, Rose and Louise are both in shock when they see the audaciously unladylike performances occurring.

Louise’s face after watching her first “strip” act

Rose is so appalled she attempts to make a run for it until Louise convinces her they need the money from the gig. Louise does her first “striptease” act as a backup for a missing performer where the announcer mistakenly gives her the name “Gypsy Rose Lee.” This is the beginning of a transformation of Louise’s traditionally prude, conservative female characteristics to use her body and femininity in her performance. After Gypsy adjusts to the role of “stripper,” viewers see her fully embrace this new identity of herself. Rose has mixed feelings about seeing her baby girl act in such a provocative way.

This transformation makes us question what a female is supposed to be.

Should she be a prude? Married? Independent? Sexy? A Stripper?

Gypsy’s ending transforms Baby June’s original “Let me Entertain You” number into Gypsy’s signature act. This new context transforms the meaning of the song. Gypsy sings to a room of mostly older men hoping to see her take her clothes off. Her “versatility,” and “talents” convey added meaning, as does her ability to “make them feel good.” It’s sexual connotations could objectify Gypsy. However, the song helps Gypsy embody the same traits of independence and rejection of social norms as her mother. Rose may not fully approve, but this new identity—a truly new identity with a name change from Louise to Gypsy—is Gypsy’s own. She is no longer the “company” of Baby June.

“Gypsy brings
attention to taboo
topics such as
women using their
bodies to their
advantage”

But…. why is Gypsy’s only path to fame one of objectification and capitalization of her feminity? In this way, the movie reaffirms traditional female gender norms which emphasize physicality and beauty. Nevertheless, Gypsy not only brings attention to taboo topics such as stripping and the complexity of women using their bodies to their advantage. The musical explores the nuances within the traditionally female stereotype and makes viewers question their initial assumptions. Women are continually and regularly objectified and used for their bodies, but when they do it on their own accord, society labels them a “whore.” Shouldn’t a woman be able to be whoever and whatever she wants? I wouldn’t call Gypsy Rose the new face of the feminist movement, give her some credit for helping us consider these themes in a Broadway musical.

Thanks for reading 🙂

Baby It’s Cold in Allentown: A Lullaby into Acceptance of Misogyny and Objectification

Peggy (Clare Halse) is dipped by Billy (Philip Bertioli) in the 2018 revival of 42nd Street.

The Broadway musical 42nd Street (2018; streaming on Broadway HD) constantly places its female leads in positions of seeming autonomy but this only highlights the lack of power they possess in actuality. The show constantly reminds the audience that although Peggy Sawyer (Clare Halse) and Dorothy Brock (Bonnie Langford) end up ‘the stars’ of the show, their power is predicated on the decisions and money of powerful men – namely producer Julian Marsh and financial backer Abner Dillon. The song “Lullaby of Broadway” perhaps best underscores this concerning gender dynamic, when Julian (Tom Lister) attempts to coax a resistant Peggy into taking over the role which Dorothy can no longer play. This number takes place right after Peggy injures Dorothy onstage, leading to her dismissal and subsequent attempt to get on the next train to Allentown. At this point, Peggy just wants to return to her humble roots after being harmed by the showbiz industry. But after learning that Dorothy can no longer perform, Julian has other plans for Peggy, needing another leading lady to insure his own success. This is the audience’s first red flag about Julian’s character, and it extends to all the men with power in this show. 

Julian does not treat Peggy like a full human. She is simply a chess piece which he must move in order to keep his show alive and continue his own fame and fortune. With this in mind, everything Julian says as he opens his mouth to sing is utter rubbish. Julian knows he must simply say the things that Peggy wants to hear to keep her in the cast. He even throws out a pitifully ridiculous line about staying “for the kids.” Rest assured, Julian could care less about the juveniles in the cast, or really anyone for that matter.

Julian (Tom Lister) delivers his “Lullaby of Broadway”. Photo courtesy of IMDb.

Julian begins the number with an unsettling attempt to grab Peggy’s hand. Like many of Julian’s movements, this grab can be interpreted as simply part of his attempt to get Peggy back in the show, it comes off as oddly and uncomfortably sexual. As Julian, Lister leers and smirks at Halse uncomfortably, and the scene begins to read as harassment rather than a director simply trying to convince his star to perform. 

Julian then begins to sing, and immediately, problematic words escape his mouth. He describes the ‘essence’ of Broadway as: “The rumble of the subway train, the rattle of the taxis, the daffy-dills who entertain.” Apparently, to Julian, one of the core parts of Broadway and New York aren’t the strong actresses that make his show successful, but the delicate little ‘daffy-dills,’ who successfully entertain his audience. Julian’s character constantly oozes misogyny, but this seems extreme even for him. Julian shows the audience that he doesn’t view any women as talented individuals, rather he thinks of them as pretty little flowers at which his audiences can gawk. 

Julian’s misogynistic rant continues when he refers to Broadway actresses as babies, saying, “When a Broadway baby says “Good night,”/It’s early in the morning/Manhattan babies don’t sleep tight until the dawn.” Now, one might be fooled into believing that this “baby” reference is innocent, simply keeping in-line with the ‘lullaby’ theme. Don’t be fooled! He clearly uses the word ‘baby’ is clearly to refer to women in a patronizing, sexual way. This line reveals that this song as a lullaby for all industry women, sung by men to put their sense of autonomy ‘to sleep’. They will “hush” any women who want to make it as actresses and tell them to put any power they have to bed before they can truly succeed. Julian hasn’t come to the train station to show Peggy the beauty of Broadway – he’s come to convince her to ‘sleep’ on the injustices and misogyny of the industry and perform in his show! If there’s any doubt about this motivation, Lister constantly reinforces that this with his sly looks and sexual physicalization.

When Peggy tries to leave again, Julian puts his leg on her briefcase – another sexualized action that leaves the audience feeling horribly uncomfortable. At this point, the scene has taken a dive into full-on harassment, as there is no denying that Julian is sleazily holding Peggy against her will. It’s reminiscent of “I really can’t stay,” “baby it’s cold outside.” Although continually Julian uses his silver tongue to convince both the audience and Peggy that he is looking out for her best interests, the highly-sexualized leg raise and look he gives in this moment proves the opposite.

A version of “Baby It’s Cold Outside” from the film “Neptune’s Daughter” (1949).

When other characters, or as I like to call them, Julian’s reinforcements, enter to convince Peggy to take the role, they serve as the perfect representation of both perpetrators and victims of showbiz misogyny. Rather than an innocent display of happy, enthusiastic Broadway performers, it is actually something much darker. Reading the scene in the context of the repression and misogyny, the women represent those who have endured and accepted the injustices of Broadway while the men are the beneficiaries from this broken system. This seems especially true for Billy Lawlor, (Philip Bertioli) who obnoxiously sings “let’s call it day.” Billy is an acute display from 42nd Street that things aren’t getting any better in the industry, that younger generations are correcting the misogyny of older men. The musical introduces Billy to the audience in the context of him trying to ask Peggy on a date. At the end of the day, the only value Peggy, and the other women onstage, hold is their sexual appeal. Bertioli physicalizes Billy in a highly sexualized way, similar to Lister’s portrayal of Julian. The two actors absolutely nailed the sickening sense of entitlement and power that the ‘kings’ of Broadway felt for many years in the entertainment industry, and to some extent still feel.

The look on Clare Halse’s face as she is ‘serenaded’ by the company who try to convince her to join the show displays just how reluctant she is to enter an industry that does not respect her. It’s almost as if there are about ten devils on Peggy’s shoulder as she tries to make the right decision. It’s especially interesting to see the women of the cast trying to convince her to join. This is one of those moments where you may say, “See, this song isn’t about Peggy being subject to misogyny!” Careful. Just because the women of the cast try to convince Peggy to return does not mean they are happy in their own position. It reads as a desperate cry for another ally within the industry. It’s like they are saying, “Peggy, please face the horrors of this industry with us!” That they sing this plea with a smile on their face is symbolic. No matter how bad things are on Broadway, once the curtains rise, performed must appear one hundred percent in control.

Peggy has a moment where she almost gives in, then decides to flee, but then Julian grabs her and the group surrounds her. I found this the most disturbing moment of the number. It’s uncomfortable enough that everyone is surrounding a woman who clearly wants no part of being there, but even scarier when Peggy goes to turn and Julian grabs her. It’s important to note that he doesn’t just grab her to try to stop her, but seizes her only in a way that a person seizes a person when they want to lean in for a smooch. It’s amazing how this scene continues to find ways to become even more uncomfortable. While the sexual connotations of this scene may not be quite as overt as in “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” it’s still pretty clear that a woman gave a man an answer, and he simply won’t take it. It’s not easy to watch.

Of course, the group does not give up, eventually convincing Peggy to throw on a fake smile, and exclaim, “I’ll do it!” In the end, they force the woman to give in to the man’s wishes. Peggy has become just like the other women in the number, as now she smiles, and appears happy, as all performance have to on stage. But she has clearly given up. Re-joining the cast is not a triumph for Peggy; it is a concession. Julian has chased and grabbed her enough, she may as well just give in right? It’s a sickening ending to the scene, especially because it’s painted as a happy ending. Every time I watch this scene, it becomes a more pointed criticism of the power dynamics of Broadway and society in general.

If, for some possible reason, misgivings still exist about whether this scene is an example of Julian empowering or objectifying Peggy, one need not look further than the end of the show. Did Julian cast Peggy in the show and then simply allow her to shine? Of course not. He falls in love with her, rendering Peggy again more of an object than a star herself. There’s nothing more sickening than when Peggy is about to make her debut, perhaps the biggest moment of her life, and it sullied by Julian kissing her and saying, “You’re going out there a youngster, but you’ve got to come back a star!” Thanks, but no thanks, Julian. Neither Peggy nor the audience need to hear your empty, sly words anymore. Save your ‘lullaby’ to put yourself to bed. 

GLITTER, GLAM, AND GIRLS:

42nd street as a product of the patriarchy

by emily Willett

It has glitter, glam, and girls?! It’s no surprise 42nd Street became nothing short of a musical phenomenon that returned to the stage only four years ago. Written in 1980, Michael Stewart and Mark Bramble create a show within a show, with a plot that followed a timid, talented chorus girl, Peggy Stewart (played by Clare Halse), on her claim to fame. She navigates the highs and lows of show business through—wait for it—glamorous song and dance. Al Dubin and Johnny Mercer’s lyrics combined with Harry Warren’s composition allows her story to come alive, as well as the stories of other leading characters like accomplished yet difficult actress Dorothy Brock, aggressive producer Julian Marsh, and leading man Billy Lawlor. Gower Champion’s choreography brings the musical to life, contributing to critical reviews calling it a “gorgeously made musical.” Gorgeously made, however, does not mean gorgeously conveyed. Through the lyrics, costume, acting, and choreography, 42nd Street glorifies misogyny through the objectification of women. The number “Dames/Keep Young and Beautiful” is a prime example. Billy sings about the sole purpose of seeing a show (“Dames”) while putting forth sexist ideas that the writers and choreographer only emphasize through the chorus girls’ portion of the song, “Keep Young and Beautiful.” As a female-identifying viewer, I do not wish to see harmful stereotypes expressed through song and dance, especially when they are not followed up or addressed in some productive manner. Although not as obvious, such gender stereotypes still very much exist in today’s world. Musical numbers such as this one certainly lack in the “positively contributing to society” category.

The number opens on Billy, sing-expressing his thoughts about women (enough said). Peggy, as directed by Mark Bramble, passes him and noticeably crouches in nervousness, fear or embarrassment (most likely a combination of all three), to which Billy pays no mind. He continues singing and even gives her his hat, clearly establishing a power dynamic between the two. As this dominant figure, the audience hangs closely to the words coming out of his mouth, which include, “who cares if there’s a plot or not,/ when they’ve got a lot of dames!” This line not only diminishes the intricacies of show business, but it also underscores objectification of women, since the reason given for why men attend is simply to admire the “dames.” The male chorus echos with lyrics about how women are “temporary” and how they “don’t recall their names,” to which I say, oh-my-god-what!?! This blunt misogyny stares the audience right in the face, not only through these awful lyrics, but also through their costumes. Each man is wears (bow)ties, suspenders, and top hats, all of which reflect a typical image of masculinity (at least for the time period). The costumes also play to these men’s good nature and even innocence through the sweater vests and large smiles, depicting them as “good boys” allowing them to get away with the harmful things they say. 

As a female-identifying viewer, I do not wish to see harmful stereotypes expressed through song and dance, especially when they are not followed up or addressed in some productive manner.

As the men clear the stage, they unveil a group of women, posing and looking at themselves in handheld mirrors. This image immediately sets the tone for the women’s embrace of their surface-level feminine beauty, created not only through the mirrors but also through their choreography. With leg movements to create symmetry and geometric shapes, the chorus girls’ dancing very much appeals to the song’s targeted audience, prioritizing visual aesthetic and pleasure, over showcasing their talent. Champion purposefully draws parallels to Ziegfeld’s Follies, also designed to appeal to the sexual desires of men, as well as Theoni Aldridge’s costume design (nothing screams “object of affection” like sparkly leotards) and Dubin and Mercer’s lyrics.

The chorus girls listen intently to the lyrics sung by male ensemble (and written by Maggie Jones and Bert Barry) absorbing every word with smiling faces and enthusiastic nods, despite the demeaning line (and even title) “keep young and beautiful / if you want to be loved.” The anti-feminist statements keep coming—“take care of all those charms / and you’ll always be in a guys arms” once again enforces the idea that it is a woman’s sole purpose in life to be loved by a man (which is, not to mention, very heteronormative), and to do so, they must take care of their “charms” and be physically and sexually appealing. Not only is “charms” a sexual innuendo but also defined as “giving delight or arousing please,” which is precisely what the entire number suggests in regards to female sexuality and the male gaze.

With leg movements to create symmetry and geometric shapes, the choreography the chorus girls perform very much appeals to the targeted audience that is outlined in the song, prioritizing visual aesthetic and pleasure, over showcasing their talent.

“Dames/Keep Young and Beautiful” functions as a product of the patriarchy by perpetuating sexist concepts and physically establishing power dichotomies between the male and female characters. Perhaps it is because the number is metatheatrical, depicting a 1920s period number in Pretty Girl, or it’s a product of the 1980’s feminist backlash, but either way, the lyrics, costumes, acting, and choreography express blatant misogyny. Looking forward, I hope to see more female empowerment interwoven in the book, lyrics, choreography, and acting of characters in the musicals I continue to watch, or at the very least, I hope to see less explicit sexism. Musicals are meant for entertainment, and because of the circumstances, I can’t say I felt very entertained. 42nd Street draws on old-fashioned ideals of entertainment that are rooted in misogyny (which are even spelled out in “Dames”—ironic).

The Male Gaze and Gypsy (1993)

Transformations intrigue us. We gasp at the Very Hungry Caterpillar’s metamorphosis as children, fixate on before and after diet photos, and unhealthily pore over Breaking Bad character analyses for days (I’m guilty of the latter). And just like Walter White’s becoming of Heisenberg, Louise Hovick’s development into the titular Gypsy Rose Lee sparks interest. What prompts this change? What does this transformation say about her character and her environment? 

Gypsy: A Memoir (1957)

Gypsy (1959 Stage Musical)

Gypsy (1993 TV Film Musical)

Director Emile Ardolino adapted the television film musical of Gypsy from the 1959 stage musical (which in turn took inspiration from Gypsy Rose Lee’s autobiography). With music by Jule Styne and lyrics by Stephen Sondheim, Gypsy tracks the transformation of Louise Hovick from the shy, oft-overlooked sister of vaudeville headliner June to a bold, independent burlesque star. With that established, let’s try to answer the aforementioned questions.

First, what prompts this change? Easy: Madame Rose, Louise’s mother, volunteers her as a replacement for the main stripper because she believes it is a breakout opportunity. Louise, although initially unconfident, grows more comfortable as she receives (gross as it is to say) “support” from the burlesque theater audience. As Louise recognizes that she can play this role successfully, she capitalizes on it to become a burlesque star. 

What does this transformation say about her character and her environment? This question is much harder to answer. Gypsy Rose Lee clearly empowers herself by embracing her sexuality, and throws aside traditional notions of demure femininity as defined by the patriarchy. However, despite the decline of this form of stage entertainment, burlesque theater is still popular enough for Gypsy to succeed… a popularity which suggests more insidious elements. Although a message of triumph, Louise’s transformation to Gypsy Rose Lee also presents a sad truth: the influence of the male gaze, and more broadly, the power of a patriarchal society. 

A satirized example of the male gaze from the Hawkeye Initiative.*

Coined by Laura Mulvey, the “male gaze” refers to a heterosexual perspective that objectifies women in a sexual manner. Succeeding in popular media, especially in the early-to-mid 20th century, with a large – if not majority – heterosexual, male audience, meant catering to this male gaze.

Gypsy implicitly brings up the male gaze in an earlier dialogue between Louise and Tulsa, a boy that coworks in June’s act. When explaining the reasoning for why he tries to dance more than his female partner for a nightclub routine, Tulsa opines, “They always look at the girl in a dance team, especially if she’s pretty.” Tulsa is subconsciously aware of the male gaze – catering to a probably very male nightclub audience. Yet still wanting to be the main lead, Tulsa believes he must dance more. 

“They always look at the girl in a dance team, especially if she’s pretty.”

-Tulsa

Bette Midler playing Madame Rose in “Rose’s Turn” actively caters to the male gaze. She realizes the her desire to be a star manifests unhealthily in her aggressive pursuit of fame for her children. Madame Rose plays in an empty theater and objectifies herself to an imaginary audience (uncomfortable as it is for the viewers). She draws attention to her breasts (“How do you like them eggrolls, Mr. Goldstone?”), accentuates her body through suggestive movements, and refers to herself as “Mama” in a sultry voice. Madame Rose, despite playing for an imaginary audience, anticipates needing to cater to the male gaze. Both this and Tulsa’s example illustrate that the male gaze is ever-present, that it insidiously underpins popular media. Although the actors don’t explicitly recognize this male gaze, they knowingly create products for a majority-male audience, and by doing so, give hegemonic power, or consent, to patriarchal society. 

Louise

Gypsy Rose Lee

Louise’s quick shift from passive, shy girl into confident, independent woman also illustrates this power. Louise embraces her sexuality to gain personal agency as a burlesque star. And just like Tulsa and Madame Rose, she recognizes the male gaze and its power in patriarchal society – after all, she is a stripper. Such a contradiction could be confusing – that she empowers herself through her sexuality, yet that patriarchal society exploits her. While Louise does find empowerment, it is only through her sexuality; that is, within the confines of patriarchal society. 

So what? Although this movie carries a message of triumph and self-empowerment, it still reminds viewers that we live in a hegemonic patriarchal society which we perpetuate. And just like Louise, Tulsa, and Madame Rose, we support its hegemonic power in some way, whether it be normalizing the male gaze in popular media, or accepting stereotypical, restrictive gender roles for women in everyday life. 

And as a heterosexual, Korean-American male, that reminder is especially noteworthy. Not only did society teach me these problematic gender narratives as universal truths, but I also at one point believed them. And as I grow more aware of our society, it’s becoming increasingly important to ask: is this belief, or truth?

Footnotes:

*While researching the male gaze, I was introduced to this phenomenon through this article. The Hawkeye Initiative is a website made “to draw attention to how deformed, hypersexualized, and unrealistically dressed women are drawn in comics…” (FAQ).

Funny Girl: Frustratingly Telling About Our Society

Provided by IMDB

By Matthew Enfinger

Sheridan Smith in Funny Girl, directed by Robert Delamere, brilliantly plays Fanny Bryce: an icon in broadway history and a star never afraid to be herself. However, Fanny being the complete opposite of what most would consider “American beauty and desire,” fights for the spotlight, revealing a larger conversation of gender and sexuality in societies larger agenda.  

On stage and off, Fanny embodies the notion of being a “funny girl:” a little awkward, quirky, and fun. Using this to fight for her own place on stage, Fanny takes comfort in her talent, her incredible singing and ability to interact with audiences and other stage members in unique ways. Fanny never wavers in this identity, choosing to live it 24/7, bringing an authentic feel to her characters and performances in ways not seen before. It is Smith who takes this performance to another level, delivering and exuding energy in ways that other cast members lack, and it is her performance that truly makes audiences understand and root for Fanny. 

Disgustingly, Fanny lives in a man’s world, and it is this world that she fights to find her own place within. Men tell her yes, men tell her no, and men argue with other men on whether she deserves a yes or a no; to the point that Fanny never really controls the trajectory of her career alone. Tom Keeney, director of a small theater house, initially refuses work for Fanny until an applauding audience convinces him otherwise. Even then, Keeney underpays her until another man, Nick Arstien steps in and makes him pay up for the talent he deems “worthy.” Eventually, Fanny reaches the highest and most desirable stages, performing under the direction of Florenz Ziegfeld, the man literally responsible for defining “American beauty” through his reinvisioned show girls that Fanny does not fit represent. Ironic isn’t it? However, Zeigfeld too undervalues Fanny and wants to use her as a comic, someone to be the foil to the show girl. Not someone to laugh with but laugh at. Oh and did I mention Nick Arstien becomes Fanny’s love interest and is a stereotypical man who cannot handle a woman making more money than him and causes a lot of problems for Fanny. There’s that too.

“Don’t Rain On My Parade” perfectly encapsulates the complicated and dense environment that Fanny Bryce lives in, and Sheridan Smith’s performance of it is everything. With every beginning and end of musical phrase, Smith belts out lines that not only put a wall between her and patriarchal authority but also question the very notion of it with lyrics written by, Bob Merrell, such as “Don’t tell me not to fly/ Who told you you’re allowed to rain on my parade?” The contour of her voice and the melodic line she sings brilliantly enhance the lyrics with subtle shifts of note length, tone, and inflection that combine to add an edge, an attitude, and a confidence that highlights Fanny Bryce’s steadfast desire to live life as she chooses: fuller and undeniably herself. It is this desire that also invokes a dream-like feel for what could be and makes this song and this moment in the musical that much more special. 

A jazz big band accompanies and mimics the lyrics, playing a simple upbeat swing, show tune and groove written by Jule Styne. Like Smith, the band utilizes changes in inflection, playing heavier and more staccato when questioning patriarchal authority and playing more light and airy when invoking Fanny’s dreams of a world that could be. Orchestration has a big role in pulling this off, whereas most of the time the brass have this bite to their sound, when Fanny begins dreaming, they sing and their melodic lines soar and are legato rather than being short and abrupt. 

However, just as Fanny Bryce is living in a patriarchal society, so too is the song and the music. Another interpretation of the short staccato interjections in the big band throughout the song being the fight back to Fanny’s commentary, with only the longer more lyrical moments along with the slower breakdown being truly Fanny’s and Smith’s voice. 

Further complicating this idea is that the actual peak, the high point, and climax of the song occurs when Smith sings “Hey Mr. Arnstein here I am.” The high point, the most critical moment of the song, directly talks to a man. In fact, in this moment of the musical Fanny is leaving her job for love, for a man, for the toxic man Arnstein, which only goes to show that despite all of the work Fanny puts in to being herself and fighting for change, ultimately, patriarchal society is still very much overbearing and present. It’s inescapable…. unable to be broken. Interestingly, this is not the only song in the musical that Merrell and Styne write together with the climax being “Mr.” which only solidifies the undertones of this song. It is a clever choice, subtle, to the point, and damning.

“Don’t Rain On My Parade” is a genius representation of gender and sexuality as it reveals and highlights the complicated layers in which Fanny has to fight for her world. From the very notion of not being the typical “showgirl” that broadway demanded of at the time, and for constantly having to fight to remain true to herself and in “control” of her narrative. Yet at the same time, the song displays the true world in which she lives, that no matter what Fanny does, as long as society is a patriarchal society, she will always be a part of this oppressive and binary society; making this musical and this song problematic to me. It is both good and bad, certainly revealing, and leaves you, me, questioning the society and world which we live in today, which I ultimately think is intended and for the better. 

Funny Frustration

By Mady Johnston

Funny Girl’s “I’m The Greatest Star” is one of the most iconic numbers within the musical. It’s the recognizable “pip with pizazz” and Fanny Brice’s “I am” song, setting the basis for how the audience interprets her character’s decisions. However, the themes brought up in “I’m The Greatest Star” are far from centered in Fanny’s decision-making. The song sets up the frustration that many viewers have reported when finishing Funny Girl in that Fanny seems to stray so far from her “I am.” Well, I have news about that frustration…that’s show biz, kid!

In other words, Fanny Brice’s glam in this song contrasts with the real-life struggles she faces. The plot of Funny Girl refuses to hide the misogyny that not only is a large part of Fanny’s story, but also the time period.

What’s she even talking about

In order to understand Fanny’s perspective, we have to understand what she’s saying in
“I’m The Greatest Star.” For this interpretation, I’ll be referencing specifically the 2018 adaptation, directed by Robert Delamere and performed on West End. The production presents the song after Fanny’s rejection from the stage and becomes bundled with the emotions she feels from not being given a shot. What’s unique about this song is that she’s singing about her woes but she’s unashamed at the same time. She’s singing of all the great things about herself: all the things she could offer to an audience that are “six expressions” more than anyone else. What’s more, Fanny is acutely aware that she doesn’t fit what Ziegfeld and others would consider an “American Beauty Rose.” She’s proud of her Jewish heritage, her home, and her looks.

I feel this overwhelming sense of joy as a Jewish New Yorker when I hear Fanny Brice proudly sing of her “American Beauty Nose.”

John Springer Collection/Getty Images | Side profile of Barbara Streisand

Despite what the world says about her outwardness, her culture, or her character, she is dead set in her belief that she’ll make it. To prove it even more, Sheridan Smith, the actress who plays Fanny in this adaptation, stays sitting on the ground for more than half of the song, but remains exaggerated in expression hilariously, exemplifying her great ability to perform. “I’m The Greatest Star” isn’t some sad lament where Fanny sings about how many times she’s failed. Instead, she sings about all the ways she can succeed. Additionally, the song is not a “performance within a performance,” meaning that this behind-the-scenes moment between her and Eddie shows her true self and her true wishes. Her “I am” song is powerfully positive despite all odds.

Sheridan Smith and Joshua Lay in Funny Girl (2018) | “I’m The Greatest Star”

Oh no! It all went wrong!

So where does her power go? Well, it left with the money that she sent to Nicky Arnstein. Only joking (stick around for the jokes). In discussion with people who’ve watched this musical with me, they all seem to have the same shtick: that Fanny shouldn’t have left her dream of performing–and therefore “losing herself”–for a guy. But consider the real-life Fanny Brice. While Funny Girl is a loose biography, it still is set in the 1900s, and regretfully, life was disappointing for women back then. There wasn’t a lot of wiggle room when it came to what a woman could do during those times.

Meme by yours truly

Mrs. Strakosh, played by Myra Sands, even ranks marriage over Fanny’s successful career, often talking about her daughter who is married in comparison to Fanny, or asking about Nick rather than the shows. What happened to Fanny was a product of intense love, of course, but it also was, unfortunately, a product of the time. Fanny blaming herself for pushing Nick and not letting him make money himself exemplified the mass misogyny that existed back then. Fanny had more money than Nick, and when she attempted to save him from bankruptcy, he felt emasculated by her success.

Brice loved performing–her “I am” song was the greatest 😉 –but she loved feeling like other women more. She constantly mentions how Nick made her feel “beautiful.” However, in “I’m The Greatest Star” it seems like she already feels beautiful, so let’s not forget that. But her self-view changed to what others considered normal. Her self-view became what she thought fancy people in ruffled shirts viewed as beautiful, which was “typical” Ziegfeld girls and wives with children. She no longer fit in her self-view. She loses herself because of her environment. She mentions her jokes and her faces in “I’m The Greatest Star,” acting extravagantly as the form of comedy she produces, but she wants people “to laugh with her, not at her.” This meant to be a part of the majority, and give in to what the modern eye might see as frustrating.

Finding yourself again

Great news! Fanny and Nick do, in fact, get divorced. So where does this “I am” song land now? Right back at the center like we thought it was meant to be! We get about five minutes of validation towards the end of the production when Nick leaves Fanny, and Fanny looks at herself in the mirror. She quotes her “I am” song. Knowing all the things Fanny went through as well as keeping in mind the time period, this ending unravels the return of empowerment within Fanny. This empowerment is not only women’s empowerment but also just plain old self-empowerment. Looking at yourself in a mirror and saying “Hello, Gorgeous!” is what the modern day would call “daily affirmations.” But her forgetting to do her daily affirmations is not what got us to this conclusion. Despite all the casual misogyny she experienced and the letdown of a lifetime, she still achieved the dreams she set out in “I’m the Greatest Star.” However, she went back to holding that aspiration at the highest value when the finale hits (she says beforehand she would have left performing if Nick told her to). With the reference to “I’m the Greatest Star” at the center of this finale, Fanny communicates to the audience some rendition of “I am despite what is.” The audience follows the story of Fanny Brice and Nicky Arnstein for quite some time are pulled back into the modern world suddenly. Fanny Brice can be whoever she wants to be without a man. Fanny Brice had more money than Nicky Arnstein that she made on her own. These are all things that in the modern age are relatively normal, but back then were almost offensive. Audiences leave the musical being proud of Fanny though because she returns to her progressive nature. She returns to grappling with her role in society when it comes to gender and sexuality but lands upon forming that outside of the status quo once again.

“I’m The Greatest Star” differs from common “I am” songs because it is not a basis for how we view the character, but rather a reference point for how Fanny Brice changed. Success throws Fanny into a different world, far from Brooklyn and her small fan group of family. She definitely changed moving forward, but her past didn’t. I leave you with this thought- love is difficult, but you find yourself again and again and again, with or without it.

Moral of the Story: We Should All Quit Our Day Jobs and Become Strippers

Okay, maybe not. But still! The musical Gypsy definitely satisfies the male gaze. By that, I mean that Gypsy, the television directed by Emile Ardolino, encourages the objectification and sexualization of women. Viewers can see this in a few different ways, but I want to focus on the character Louise, played by Cynthia Gibb. More specifically, my analysis looks at the evolution of her character and how her relationship with her femininity affects her success and happiness. Let’s begin with “Let Me Entertain You,” a musical number performed twice within the musical but with significan difference in each rendition. Through analyzing the costuming, performance, and music of both performances, viewers can observe how Louise’s character evolves and what this evolution suggests about the film’s attitudes toward gender and sexuality.

Source: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0107065/

Part 1: “May We Entertain You” – Baby June and Baby Louise

Let’s first dissect the costuming. Viewers first hear this song when June and Louise are young. They stand next to each other on stage, full of confidence and energy, ready to perform. Dressed in a bright colorful, frilly dress, June draws all of the attention. In comparison, the overalls her sister Louise wears swallows her small frame. This begins a pattern where June always dresses in high-quality feminine clothing whereas Louise dressees in scrappy boyish clothing. Viewers can literally see the distinction between the two characters. Everyone around June, who dresses according to female expectations, rewards her with attention and undying glory. By contrast, everyone who meets Louise, who dresses according to masculine expectations, casts her aside. Their clothing is a physical manifestation of their feminine difference and how others treat them as a result.

Source: All images were screen grabbed from the film.

The film further highlights their difference in their performance of the number. The choreography positions Louise as an accessory. She is a tool to help June shine. During the second line of the song, for example, Louise kneels on the ground and June literally dances circles around her sister. It doesn’t get any more straightforward than that. June is the cherished child, while Louise is forgotten.

June both looks and acts the part of an idealistic young girl in a sexist society during this song, and the music further characterizes the division between the girls. June sings proudly: “I will do some kicks/ I will do some tricks” to which Louise responds with, “I’ll tell you a story/ I’ll dance when she is done.”

Louise explicitly waits for June to perform before she will, proclaiming her second place status. So this song defines the relationship between the two girls, but what about the relationship between the girls and their larger society?

“May we entertain you?/ May we see you smile?”

These lyrics position the two little girls on stage to ask permission to perform and impress an audience. Servitude is their purpose, even as children. The reprise of this song will further support this ideal of servitude and satisfaction (*ahem* particularly for male spectators).

Part 2: “Let me Entertain You” – Louise

Source: Image was screen grabbed from the film

I’ll set the scene. Before this moment, Louise was the insignificant sibling. At this point, she spent her entire life living under the shadow of her sister, ignored by virtually every other character in the musical. But the very second she steps onstage in a sensual satin gown, she feels different. And so does the audience. 

As a costume choice, her first dress highlights her female figure. The mermaid silhouette draws attention to her waist and radiates the energy of a poised and voluptuous woman. The silk fabric is delicate and smoothly bends with every curve of her body. This is a dramatic contrast to the oversized costuming she wore previously. The shift is so jarring that the other characters feel drawn to her, unable to hide their awe as she walks onstage to perform independently for the first time. She wears long white gloves that stretch all the way up to her bicep and a feathery boa across her chest. Altogether, the costume gives the illusion that she is tantalizing yet demure. She only hints at the beauty that lies just beneath her clothing. Similar costuming choices appear consistently throughout the number, beginning a montage of her performances. Her dresses are both skin-tight and flowing. The long silhouette highlights her height and curves. She is the personification of sexuality and prestige. This is the image of a woman embracing her femininity and finding power because of it.

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Source: All images were screen grabbed from the film

Her performance only adds to this picture. She begins the number shyly and awkwardly. She has never worn a dress, let alone worn one in front of an entire audience – especially male. Mama Rose reserved the dresses for June, not for her! She has only ever known baggy pants and overalls (and a cow suit, apparently). Her body language is uptight and shy, but she is curious, drawn in by the attention that she has never received. But the tension unravels with the drop of her first glove. Viewers watch Louise blossom into her confidence and stardom with the loss of every article of clothing. By the second stanza of the song, she stands tall and confident. She rolls her shoulders back and holds her head high. She has the audience in the palm of her hand, and she knows exactly how to play with them. Just give them a little leg here… and a shoulder there… and her audience melts. Even the suggestion of her naked body is enough to give her complete power over the audience and her career as a whole. 

The lyrics even further support her sexuality as a means for success and power. Perhaps the most glaring difference between the two numbers lies in who sings lead. June sings the lead in the first appearance of this song, but now, Louise is the sole singer and completely owns the stage. Furthermore, instead of questioning “May we entertain you?” Louise purrs the slightly more alluring lines of “Let me entertain you/ Let me make you smile.” The sexual undertone is heavy as she continues with “And if you’re real good/ I’ll make you feel good/ I’d want your spirit to climb.” Through her words, audiences hear the power dynamic between Louise and the audience. She will please them, but only if they behave for her. The audience is at the complete mercy of what Louise is willing to give, and they love it. In fact, they pay her for it. These routines give her massive stardom, and she rises to a level of opulence of which her mother and June could only dream. She has surpassed the success of her sister and transcended the desires of her mother. By embracing her sexuality and femininity, she is happy, confident, and successful.

Source: https://giphy.com/gifs/young-fangirling-fangirlunnamed-SO4trEzzGYDhC

Part 3: Putting it all together (by stripping it down)

So how does Louise’s character arc support the idea that women are tools for sexualization and objectification? Let’s review. Throughout the majority of the movie, characters regard Louise as insignificant. They ignore her and maker her feel as if she is not good enough to receive even an ounce of attention. How does the movie visually depict this? It virtually erases her femininity, clothing her in oversized masculine attire with little makeup and no stylized hair.

But the moment Louise wears something sensual, the very second that she acknowledges and highlights her femininity, she receives all of the attention and power that she was denied for years before. It’s almost as if the movie screams in your face, “Ladies, look at the old Louise. Do you want to be ignored and belittled? No? Then act like this shiny and sexy Louise instead! She has everything she wanted in her wildest dreams!” It’s like a campaign for women to invite men to ogle at their bodies because Louise did it and look how happy she is now! 

That being said, I completely support women embracing the reality of our misogynist society and using their sexuality to reclaim control over their bodies. But it is harmful that Louise wasn’t ever accepted before claiming her sexuality. The film constructs this narrative that it is not okay for women to ignore beauty standards. Because if they do, society will reject them, and they will fail. So maybe the moral of the story isn’t quite to quit our jobs and become strippers, but apparently, we should be comfortable with the idea.

That’s a lot of dames!

Who writes the words and music

for all the girly shows?

No one cares and no one knows.

Who is the handsome hero

some villain always frames?

But who cares if there’s a plot or not

if they’ve got a lot of dames?

These lyrics come from the song “Dames” from the musical 42^nd Street. With playful music draped over them, you might interpret these sleazy lyrics as satirical, honest, or even critical. But the 2017 West End revival of 42^nd Street is none of these. From Hamilton to Newsies, it plainly states the political mission of many musicals: to distract viewers from bad politics with song and dance.

The show’s “handsome heroes” sing the above lyrics, suggesting that “Dames” is a man-to-man conversation. One could argue that director Mark Bramble, choreographer Randy Skinner, lyricists Al Dubin and Johnny Mercer, and composer Harry Warren are poking fun at “unsophisticated” Broadway conventions. But the next section of the song continues:

What cute about a little cutie?

It’s her beauty, not brains!

Old father time will never harm you

if your charm still remains!

After you’ve grown old baby

you don’t have to be a cold baby.

Keep young and beautiful

[Chorus] Oh yes!

It’s your duty to be beautiful

[Chorus] Oh yes!

Keep young and beautiful

If you want to be loved.

[Chorus] Oh yes! Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes!

Even though women sing these lines on stage, men wrote, set to music to, and choreographed them, making women sing them in nude leotards. Underneath the playful musical exterior is a clear, patriarchal message: only girls beautiful enough for Broadway get to find love. The number then features a dance break, where the countless, nameless chorus girls, costumed to look naked, dance for the spectator’s male viewing pleasure. These women are cute, dainty, basically naked, and most importantly, nameless, so that audiences don’t have to think too hard about whether or not they should take one home tonight.

The song ends with the triumph of Broadway spectacle. The orchestra plays a fanfare as the beautiful, nameless dames parade around stage wearing extravagant dresses and accompanied by tuxedoed heroes. The music reaches a victorious crescendo as the leading lady, dressed in brilliant white, graces center stage like Venus in the jaws of a shark. Therefore “Dames” is not satirical because it does exactly what it pretends to make fun of: sexualizing unnamed chorus girls. And this is not an accident; it’s the result of a long list of decisions made by men to exploit young women for profit.

A musical that celebrates the history of Broadway, 42^nd Street puts its female performers on a pedestal without stopping to think about the bigger picture. The antifeminist overtones of “Dames” carry through the rest of the show and the history of the stage on which it stands. 42^nd Street asks the fundamental question: what is the point of a Broadway musical? The answer: dames!

But the song and dance do not cover up the monstrosity beneath. To leave the message and meaning out of the overall analysis of a production misses the point. For in 42^nd Street, the costuming, choreography, music, set design, and writing objectify the female cast. It celebrates the trend that producers can reinforce whatever structures of evil they want, as long as they wrap it up in song and dance. Personally, I’m tired of illusions, and even more tired of settling for “fun” shows with abysmal politics. Instead of celebrating their roots, those who write American musicals need to take a good look at the past and realize that the present can be so much better.