“Don’t Rain on My Parade”: How an Iconic Number Washes Away Character Development

By Koby Hrynkiewicz

With a true New York wit and a voice like buttah’, Barbra Streisand’s breakout performance in Director William Wyler’s Funny Girl remains one of the best performances in any film musical. Not only did her role as Broadway pioneer Fanny Brice give way to the iconic phrase “hello, gorgeous,” but also to an unprecedented tie for Best Actress alongside Hollywood titan Katherine Hepburn at the 1969 Academy Awards. With so much iconography emerging from this classic musical film’s titular comedic lady, I would expect that it also pay a certain reverence to the story of Fanny Brice — which it does, but only for the film’s first half. The film falls victim to the stereotype of the worrisome lover (then wife, in the film’s latter half) by placing Streisand’s character amid male-centric songs . While the film remains one of the most important musical performances ever made, numbers like “Don’t Rain on my Parade” render Streisand’s Fanny Brice a poorly-developed character whose desire for male validation surplants her identity as an unparalleled Broadway star. 

Now, I am not questioning the legendary status of “Don’t Rain on my Parade,” which is arguably one of the most pervasive and iconic musical songs ever to emerge. However, it is important to interpret the song’s context within the film. The performance occurs near the midpoint of the film while Brice and the Follies complete their touring engagement in Baltimore. However, after a week-long love affair with the enigmatic Nick Arnstein, Fanny – in her typically Fanny way –  spontaneously leaves the tour to follow Nick to Europe. Perhaps the most crucial detail within this scene is her co-stars’ attempts to persuade Fanny to stay, stating lines like “you’re making a fool of yourself” and “haven’t you any pride?” These moments lead Streisand to burst into “Don’t Rain on My Parade,” with the film’s director William Wyler compelling the audience to view the Follies as the conflict, despite the actuality of their efforts to support a fellow female castmate. As such, the outburst into “Parade” – detailing the ways in which Brice will not be swayed from living out her true passions – feels like a slap in the face to Fanny’s character development. Sure, she’s standing up for what she believes in, but this sudden need to justify her want for male validation feels awkward. Throughout the film, Wyler has oriented us to Fanny’s daring, won’t-take-no attitude, but in this moment – the film’s most iconic performance, may I add – reduces her personality to appeasing her desires for a man. 

Bob Merrill’s lyrics, however, are strikingly empowering. Simply put, Fanny’s not letting anyone ruin her high – evident when she belts “I gotta fly once / I gotta try once” and “I’m gonna live and live now / Get what I want, I know how.” Only aided by the amazing range and emotion in Streisand’s vocal display, this song encapsulates a sense of go-getter aspiration and pursuit for Funny Girl’s protagonist. Yet, it is the full-bodied, reverberating crescendo of, “Hey, Mister Arnstein, here I am,” that ultimately reduces this empowerment anthem to a surface-level coo for the attention of a man. The fact that this singular lyric is the “highpoint” of the number indicates that this – the affections of a man she has been romantically involved with for only a few days – is the definitive motivator for her passions and aspirations. Throughout Act I, Fanny had been a shining beacon of pursuing her professional dreams, and has done so without once requiring the consultation of a male suitor. As such, this grandiose number ultimately waters down the vibrant aspirations Fanny pursues throughout the film’s former half. 

Yet, it is the full-bodied, reverberating crescendo of, “Hey, Mister Arnstein, here I am,” that ultimately reduces this empowerment anthem to a surface-level coo for the attention of a man.

What makes the “Mr. Arnstein” lyric all the more shallow is the fact that “Don’t Rain on My Parade” shares its melodic buildup and lyricism with “I’m the Greatest Star.” Unlike “Parade,” “Greatest Star” lets the audience see the go-getter mantra in a Fanny-centric way. In this previous number, Fanny pursues acknowledgment of her stage presence and raw talent. “I’m the Greatest Star” indicates Fanny’s celebration of herself through lyrics like “Some ain’t got it, not a lump / I’m a great big clump of talent,” unlike the way  “Parade” reduces her personal ambitions to a measly, little crush. The “Hey Mr. Keeney, here I am” lyric feels more powerful here, because Fanny knows she’s good enough on her own. Her call for Keeney is a sign of her boldness rather than a meager cry for validation. As such, the juxtaposition between the “Hey Mr. [insert surname here]” lyrics just hurts the authenticity of Fanny Brice in Funny Girl. The emphasis and dynamism Wyler placed on the “Parade” number rather than “Greatest Star” asks audiences to see Fanny’s pursuit for male validation as superior to her pursuit for talent recognition and the fulfillment of her dreams. 

As for the choreographic performance of “Don’t Rain on my Parade,” there is not much notable movement, but rather a series of long shots following Fanny as she makes her way back to New York and subsequently into Arnstein’s room on the ship. Many of these shots depict Streisand running frantically with her luggage and employing a multitude of transportation means to get to Nick. Within this supercut of Fanny’s unprompted return, I can’t help but notice how much this performance differs from the film’s prior numbers, those multitude of grandiose performances whether on the elegant Follies stage or wandering between street lights on Henry Street. This number feels small in comparison. Given what we know about Fanny Brice thus far – whether it be through Merrill’s audacious lyrics or Streisand’s zest-filled performance – small is not an appropriate adjective for describing this character. In most shots – specifically the train window shot and the shot of the taxi arriving to the seaport– viewers can hardly even make out Streisand’s bodily and facial characteristics. Wyler’s use of a supercut assumedly attempts to empower the audience alongside Fanny while she undergoes this triumphant return to her “love,” but I cannot help but feel a disconnect through this distanced orientation. For being such a bold and booming act closer, “Parade” undoes the nerve and excitement of earlier performances like “Roller Skate Rag” and “His Love Makes Me Beautiful.” Unfortunately, the lack of grandiose choreography or cinematography only prolongs the song’s vapidity. 

“Don’t Rain on My Parade” (Funny Girl, 1968)

“His Love Makes Me Beautiful” (Funny Girl, 1968)

With all that being said: I love Barbra Streisand, and I personally think she should have edged out Katherine Hepburn for that Best Actress win. I can’t even count the times I passed a mirror on the way out the door and thought to myself “hello, gorgeous.” Funny Girl is – whether you like or not – a piece of cultural iconography. However, it is important to acknowledge the inherent flaws present in this adaptation of Fanny Brice’s revolutionary role in the formation of modern musical theater culture: Brice is a standing column of inspiration, not only for women, but for first-generation Jewish individuals, and her role in the theater industry should be immortalized with total reverence and respect. Despite the powerhouse performance of Barbra Streisand in this film, the unfortunate hyper-fixation on her romantic obstacles takes away from the wondrous qualities which should have been the focus of this biopic.

Scarred bagel-girl

As a Boston middle-schooler, I learned to identify the complexity of a well-written character, one exhibiting multiple facets. Rounded characters exhibit multiple facets; they are split between identities. Tom Brady’s retirement and quick unretirement in 2022, for example, revealed his struggle with the idea that he might need to become a father/husband more than a Quarterback. The gothic classic, Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde demonstrated that sometimes split identities can lead to many people’s death. In contrast, “flat” characters can be fully understood at a surface level and have little impact on the plot. Our teachers discouraged the writing of flat characters, and yet many men have done just that to their female characters. Fanny Brice, as played by Barba Streisand in the 1968 film rendition of Funny Girl, is a complex character plagued by conflicting identities. Is she a woman or a professional performer? This binary existed for Brice in 1910, as society assumed it was simply impossible be both. One identity tugs against the other to drive the story’s plot. When her identity as a performer exudes, she constructs her life independent of the men around her. However, when she follows her desires as a woman, her life becomes wholly dependent on her husband, Nick Arnstein (played by Omar Sharif). Fanny Brice is a powerful performer on stage, but her immense success could not give her what she has always desired–to be as beautiful as a rose.

            “Hello, gorgeous!” are the first words the audience hears Fanny exclaim. Speaking to herself in the mirror, Fanny tries to convince herself that she is pretty. Her backdoor entrance into a dressing room establishes her identity as a performer. Still, immediately, the focus of the audience shifts their attention towards her voice which compliments her own looks. Confirmation of her occupation as a performer, but not of her stardom, occur quickly when John, the stage manager, gives her a thirty-minute warning. Fanny thanks him and John asks about Mr. Arnstein – a character still unknown to the audience. Fanny does not know anything, and Emma walks in and asks the same question about Mr. Arnstein. At this point in the show, Fanny has not even been mentioned. She has referred to herself as “gorgeous”, but no one has named her.

Introductory lines from Funny Girl 1968

The film names Mr. Arnstein twice, and people seem to want to know where he is. To the audience, he is a person of greater importance than this insecure, nameless character. The scene continues with Emma revealing that Ziegfeld, the show’s producer, is waiting for Fanny– demonstrating her significance to the show. Yet, as Emma says this, Fanny is in awe of the fact that she is worth waiting for: that she has value. Quickly, however, the next scene transports the audience back to a pre-star/pre-Nick era with Fanny’s mom and family friends in a modest kitchen on Henry Street. Family friends parroting that Fanny is not pretty enough for Broadway sets up an “ugly duckling” motif and explains her insecurity. As if their point was not emphasized enough, they break out into a song aptly titled “If a Girl Isn’t Pretty.” The friends continue to barrage Fanny, singing that as a non-pretty girl, she will never attain success. Fanny responds confidently that the world will be stunned at her performing abilities, disregarding the comments about her looks. Fanny has internalized her ugliness and bets on her talent to compensate for her looks. At this point, “Hello, gorgeous” is not a phrase that Fanny can even imagine. The journey of accepting her beauty parallels her rise to stardom, yet the desire to have something unattainable ultimately grabs and holds her attention.

             Success is a matter of intrinsic ambition (if the American Dream is true) while beauty is in the eye of the beholder (does not depend on the American Dream). Fanny is rational and understands that talent is easier to attain than getting rid of her “skinny legs.” Her desire is palpable as she recognizes that the best way to showcase her abilities is to just get on stage. She auditions for the seemingly unimportant chorus girl position at a theatre run by Keeney, who eventually fires Fanny because of her looks. In this moment of rejection, Fanny understands that she is the only person who actually believes in her future. She quickly tries explaining the predicament in the way her Jewish New York heritage and my baking obsession know best: an analogy involving bagels and onion rolls. In her world, onion rolls are ubiquitous, and she implies that they are worse than the unknown Jewish delicacy– the Bagel. Fanny is a delicious bagel “on a plate full of onion rolls.”

Bagels that I made circa April 2022 while in Switzerland

Finding it impossible to succeed as the bagel, she pulls herself up by her bootstraps and bursts out into a song, “I’m the Greatest Star,” that displays her performance abilities through lyrics, her vocal range, comedic interludes, and the movement of her skinny legs. She starts off, not yet in song, displaying her “36 expressions” in their most juxtaposed manner. The producers easily ignore her, and she tries again to demonstrate her value as a bagel by outright singing, “’ ’Cause I’m the greatest star/ I am by far/ but no one knows it.” Unable to look at her anymore, Keeney walks her out, suggesting that beauty is more important than skill. It’s a simple message that has stood up well to the test of time.

Yet, Fanny won’t accept it. She rapidly shifts her tones and intonations like car gears as she the producer kicks her out, a seemingly final attempt to get a job. Standing outside, she begins to understand that she needs to hype herself up. The violin accompaniment shifts instantaneously from legato high notes to staccato low notes as she gathers herself-creating a sense of urgency for the audience. She powerfully jumps forward, pauses, and then steps forward and backwards signifying her breaking through the hesitation of rejection. At her first mention of her beauty–“Who’s an American Beauty Rose?–she searches for reasons to be confident. Running back inside, voice growing louder, the accompaniment of strings seems to reach the climax until she finds herself on the stage. The music pauses which allows Fanny to gather her thoughts and exhibit her beautiful voice without distractions. Fanny’s confidence on the stage allows the audience to see past her insecurities with her looks. She is jovial, and her movements and notes are fluid. The tone and rhythm repeatedly transform, demonstrating why she is the “Greatest Star.” Her performance ends with her collapsing in tears as she has given the theater one last shot to establish her identity as a performer, and “Bam!”

Fanny attempts to construct her life and success independently of what people around her say. Luckily, Eddie sees her and offers her a small role. Obviously, with Fanny’s ambition, she accepts. Ecstatic at the thought of being hired, she forgets her bagel status. Forgotten for a whole few seconds as we see her look ridiculous attempting to roller skate. Yet now, her ugliness isn’t her looks, it’s her clumsiness, and the audience loves her performance. It’s ridiculous enough to look purposeful and comical. With her comedic performative abilities, whether intentional or not, Fanny Brice solidifies her role on the stage and crafts her identity as a performer.

Love is empowering. Love is beautiful. However, what makes love absolutely mesmerizing for Fanny is that someone will love her even with her looks. Her ugliness is ingrained so deeply that as she attains stardom at the highest level, she must separate her role as a performer from feeling pretty. As a superstar, she could do whatever she wanted, and the crowd would eat it up (Remember, she is a delicious bagel). This only works because she is so innately funny–and she knows it. However, she doesn’t know how beautiful she is. The validation of others is the only way to certify the level of prettiness she desires. For a handsome and wealthy man to come and give her everything she feels like she is missing is simply life-altering. When she first meets Nick, she cannot help herself but blurt out, “Gorgeous!” calling to mind the first line of the play. They eventual marry, and Fanny works on convincing herself that she is as “gorgeous” as Nick. Yet, she always wonders if she is worthy of his love–does she have value? During their initial conversation, Nick drops that he thinks Fanny is a star while dallying with some beautiful girls in the background. In one conversation, Nick has given her the validation that she’s always wanted: Stardom, beauty, and romance. No wonder she fell in love.

“Fanny is a delicious bagel”

             Fanny thoroughly idealizes this first pseudo-romantic interaction, so it’s unsurprising that she pursues it. A single compliment was not enough to remove the ingrained feeling of inadequateness, which the audience sees when Fanny alters her beautiful bridal performance by stuffing a pillow under her dress for comedic effect. Premarital pregnancy was not favorable in the public’s eye in 1911. Yet, society understood very well how unfavorable it is, and so it is absolutely hilarious to the crowd. It’s important to note that Fanny’s inability to convince herself to sing a line about being beautiful indicates how deeply seeded her feelings are. Yet, Fanny’s stunt is pivotal as it leads Nick to sing directly about how he finds her attractive, potentially uprooting her feelings of shortcoming.

Nick’s song is fascinating as he does not call her beautiful but implies so by singing, “I want to be seen with you.” Analogous to the slow kneading required for a pristine bagel, Nick begins a series of flirtatious teases that draws Fanny and the audience closer to imagining a possible relationship. He comes to her neighborhood party and is cordial but leaves as soon as the idea of intimacy comes up. Eventually, he holds her chin, kisses her, and then quickly leaves and does not call back. They meet again by ridiculous chance, and he invites her for a private dinner. Nick calls her beautiful for the first at this extravagant private dinner, first by mentioning that her outfit looks “wonderful with [her] eyes” and then by outright saying “you look beautiful.” These compliments are accompanied by a sexual tension that makes Fanny feel awkward. They get into a screaming match and order dinner, and by then- the tension is sky high, and they break out into a song that sets up the nature of their relationship. “You are woman… You are smaller, so I can be taller!” Now not referencing her beauty or talent, but her gender, Fanny becomes uncomfortable and literally gets up and moves away. Yet he persists, “our friendship leaves something to be desired… you are woman, I am man/Let’s kiss.” She shivers, fans herself, saved only by the waiter’s knocking. Visibly uncomfortable, she loses all the power she’s earned on the stage. Through her verse, she attempts to convince herself, “Should I do the things he’ll tell me to?/ In this Pickle, what would Sadie do?” Sadie would do what the man wants to do as she is only his wife. As Nick has given Fanny a sense of beauty, Fanny finds herself wanting to be his Sadie more so than a Ziegfeld girl.

Fanny/Sadie

Fanny commands the stage and the performance on Broadway. Even the mighty Ziegfeld listens to Fanny. Through her identity as a performer, Fanny achieves everything she sets out to do as a performer. However, what she cannot get as a performer, is what she desires as a woman who has been scarred by insults about her appearance her whole life. With the career organized and successful, what is left to achieve is to be called beautiful by her husband. Nick provides that and allows her to flourish as his wife as she wants to. Although, years of mistreatment by her family and the industry push Fanny to constantly seek external validation about her beauty. This perpetual search leads Fanny to agree to leave the theatre if need be. At the end of the day, “you can’t take an audience home with you,” and Fanny establishes her agency with the decisions she wants to make. She is the producer, the stage manager, and the main character of her own life.

She Is Woman, He Is Man, I Want to Vomit

by Natalie Wright

For the first 19.5 years of my life, I existed in a state blissfully unaware of the plot of the 1968’s hit film Funny Girl. In this time (excluding, I suppose, the first few years), I held on to the childlike belief that the story was one of an unlikely star making her way in a male-dominated industry. This year that innocent dream shattered. 

The music is still incredible– “Don’t Rain on my Parade” remains one of the Best Songs of All Time. Barbra Streisand’s performance as Fanny Brice is just as amazing as people say. Her Oscar was well deserved. What was not deserved, however, was the film taking up two hours and thirty minutes of my life, not exploring Fanny Brice’s glass-ceiling-breaking career, but instead detailing the ins and outs of her relationship with a lackluster man. Apparently, Ray Stark, the producer and the real life Fanny Brice’s son-in-law, thought this an appropriate representation of a woman’s life.

Never is this horrific story choice more obvious than the cringe-inducing song, “You Are Woman, I Am Man.” The film paints the song as terribly romantic but in actuality enforces a strict gender binary and blurs lines of consent. Take a watch if you can stomach it. (Frankly, I’ve seen enough.)

Let’s take a look at the first section of the song, sung by Omar Sharif’s Nicky Arnstein:

You are woman, I am man.

You are smaller, so I can be taller than.

You are softer to the touch.

It’s a feeling I like feeling very much.

You are someone

I admire.

Still our friendship leaves something to be desired.

Doesn’t take more explanation than this.

You are woman, I am man.

Let’s kiss.

[Insert retching sounds here.] In a few sentences, Nicky Arnstein defines what it means to be a woman AND what it means to be a man. There’s no room for nonbinary folk in Mr. Arnstein’s eyes, or perhaps more accurately, in lyricist Bob Merrill’s eyes.

As he sees it: woman = smaller, softer; man = taller, rougher (by process of elimination). More than this, he defines being a woman as not being a man. He does not say “You are smaller, and I am taller than.” He says “You are smaller, so I can be taller than.” Women are thus defined by their relation to men, existing only so men can exist in contrast. Thus femininity is an identity of not being: not being tall, not being rough, and more than anything not being a man. 

However, this is not the only arbitrary rule Merrill applies to men and women. And I do not use the word ‘arbitrary’ lightly. If one defines gender by height and “softness,” my sandpaper elbows and above-average build have me looking a lot like ol’ Nicky Arnstein. 

Thus femininity is an identity of not being: not being tall, not being rough, and more than anything not being a man. 

No, the most crucial definition of gender that Arnstein introduces in this song is that women inherently desire men and men inherently desire women. Every woman and every man. The sheer simplicity of “You are woman, I am man. / Let’s kiss” erases the necessity of consent. If one defines femininity as an unfiltered attraction to men, then the consent of any woman, or any person a man deems feminine, is a given.

This is absolutely insane.

The song’s oversimplification perpetuates the myth that sexual attraction, specifically heterosexual attraction, is a fundamental truth of humanity. By Arnstein’s definition, a lesbian is not a woman, and a gay man is not a man. An asexual person, like myself, is none of the above. I am not less of a woman because I don’t want to have sex. Period. End of story.

But perhaps I’m overthinking what is contextually a moment between two romantic partners, not a statement on society’s gender norms. Or perhaps I’m thinking just the right amount. After all, director William Wyler must’ve known the cultural impact he was making; he’d already seen his power over defining society’s perception of gender in the reception of Audrey Hepburn’s debut film Roman Holiday (1953). Regardless, if a man said any of this nonsense to me, he’d notice pretty quickly that “softer” hands punch just as hard.

I am not less of a woman because I don’t want to have sex. Period. End of story.

 Now, this isn’t to say that Omar Sharif isn’t terribly charming and handsome in his performance. He is. In fact, his charm works so well that Streisand’s Fanny goes from being visibly unsure to head over heels in love.

This initial discomfort is not just textual– repeatedly Arnstein puts Fanny into positions in which she is clearly physically uncomfortable.

In one moment, Arnstein has Brice, for lack of a better word, trapped between him and the fireplace. He goes in for a kiss, from which she shrinks away. Three minutes later she’s melting into him after only some wishy-washy internal monologue and some kisses on the neck.

There are no discussions of boundaries or consent, and none are apparently needed as the story establishes this moment as a peak in their relationship, the beginning of their ensuing honeymoon period.

I know I’ve joked about this song making me feel sick, but really, it just makes me sad. Isobel Lennart, a woman, wrote the screenplay; she also wrote the book for the stage musical. She saw it fit to portray romance in this way. 

This film tells all the girls, who watch this movie to belt along with “Don’t Rain on My Parade,” that a man not respecting a woman’s boundaries is a good thing. It simultaneously tells young men not to take no for an answer, that a partner’s discomfort will subside if you push hard enough. This is not only infuriating, but it is actively harmful. 

I could go on and on about the sexism ingrained into Funny Girl– the demonization of women with prominent careers and financial independence springs to mind–but what really bugs me about this song, in particular, is its simplicity. 

This film tells all the girls, who watch this movie to belt along with “Don’t Rain on My Parade,” that a man not respecting a woman’s boundaries is a good thing. It simultaneously tells young men not to take no for an answer, that a partner’s discomfort will subside if you push hard enough.

That’s the point of the song– to oversimplify, to talk about a complicated thing like love in its most basic terms. In doing so, this song defines love as something that it doesn’t have to be. This version of love is unrelenting, male-oriented, and limited only to a specific subset of people (read: straight people). Arnstein and Brice’s relationship inevitably fails, but a plot-line of a doomed romance only works if the love was once there.

 If this is love, I don’t want it. 

Beautyism in Funny Girl

Ewon Kim

Photo by: https://www.amazon.com/Funny-Girl-Walter-Pidgeon/dp/B00005O3VD

Love is the most common emotion one can experience; one loves their family, friends, significant other, or pet dog. But what if love is not equal for everyone? What if some are unfamiliar with the concept of being loved due to their appearance? The 1968 musical film, Funny Girl—directed by William Wyler and written by Isobel Lennart—illustrates the impact of beauty in romance through its protagonist Fanny Brice. As a girl who did not meet the typical beauty standards, Fanny was completely new to the experience of being loved. Consequently, she was vulnerable to the romantic appeals of a man named Arnstein and ended up prioritizing her love for him more than her long-held professional dream.

Photo by: https://www.charactour.com/hub/characters/view/Fanny-Brice.Funny-Girl

The production instantly establishes Fanny as a girl with bland looks; in the opening production number “If a Girl Isn’t Pretty,” her mother and her friends comment about Fanny not being pretty enough to become one of the Ziegfeld girls. The film further emphasizes her lack of beauty by including the musical number “I’m the Greatest Star,” in which Fanny repeatedly clings to the manager for a chance to stand on stage, despite his judgment that she does not have presentable visuals. Though Fanny coincidentally earns an opportunity to perform, it is only a minor role of a roller skater. She only manages to remain on stage by becoming a comical character, embarrassing herself by making mistakes or being a pregnant Ziegfeld girl.

The film’s characterization of Fanny as a “not-so-pretty” girl makes audiences assume that she has never had the experience of being loved by someone. Fanny not only desires love in a romantic sense but also desires the love of an audience; even after embarrassing herself onstage, she reacts quite delightedly when she receives applause. To a “normal” girl like Fanny, having people be interested in you is a brand new feeling.

Audiences notice Fanny’s unfamiliarity with receiving affection even more when Arnstein appears. He straightforwardly expresses his interest in Fanny, which mesmerizes her enough to cause a drastic shift in her focus in life; even though Fanny is on the road to being a successful star after miraculously joining Ziegfeld’s Follies cast, she ditches her lifelong dream to marry Arnstein.

Video by: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Yfh_CpA9Sk

Specifically in the production number, “Don’t Rain on my Parade,” the screenwriter emphasizes the dramatic effect Arnstein’s love has on Fanny. The lyrics depict Fanny’s determination to sacrifice her dream to stay with Arnstein. In fact, Fanny suddenly sings as if her life-long dream was to be in love with a man all along; she declares, “I’m gonna live and live now! / Get what I want, I know how!” as she rides the train that takes her to Arnstein.

The lines “Get ready for my love, ’cause I’m a ‘comer’ / I simply gotta march, my heart’s a drummer” also demonstrate Fanny’s blind curiosity for a romantic relationship. Without any prior experience, Fanny merely admires the fact that a man has an interest in her. To Fanny, this opportunity is just too precious to overlook.

On her way to meet Arnstein, the woodwind instruments under Fanny’s vocals play sequences of staccatos that climb up the scale, building an exciting tension for what Fanny will find at the end of her journey—Arnstein. This further highlights how vulnerable she is to his love.

During the number, Fanny wears the most conspicuous orange dress with an extravagant fur hat that implies her high socioeconomic status achieved by being a Ziegfeld girl. Despite possessing the power and freedom from financial abundance, she ignorantly chooses an impermanent relationship with a man over the stage she desired to stand on since she was young. The costume that emphasizes her capabilities represents the splendid aspects that Fanny potentially gives up for this relationship.

Photo by: https://meetinmontauk.com/tag/funny-girl/

The lyricist also displays Fanny’s decision as a bold action against the common standards of women, as she sings “Don’t tell me not to live, just sit and putter” and “Who told you you’re allowed to rain on my parade?” The actress exaggerates her pronunciation, as if she is yelling at the people who are thwarting her from quitting her job, which adds to the sense of breaking free and behaving strong. However, women traditionally have given up their place in the workforce and devoted their lives to supporting their husbands and family. From this ironic depiction, we can observe how the writers of this song—Jule Styne and Bob Merrill—purposefully characterized this decision to feel like a bold and romantic move for Fanny, as if it was not common to give up everything for love.

The lyricist further implies that Fanny has transformed, believing that love is the greatest goal that she can achieve: “I gotta fly once, I gotta try once.” This number enforces the standard belief that a woman needs to give everything to her romantic relationship in case someone might try to steal her man, revealing her desperation to keep Arnstein’s love, to the point where she believes she is making the right decision for herself.

This indirect “privilege” still prevails. I could also find myself in Fanny’s shoes, as I do not 100% match the current beauty standards set for women. Before being aware of the privileges one holds by being pretty, I strongly believed that it was only right for me to date someone who I truly liked. If I stepped into a relationship without sincerity, I would only hurt the other person by undermining their emotions. So I waited until the day I would magically find someone who liked me and who I also liked back. It was not easy to find someone who was willing to have a mutual relationship with me without meeting set beauty standards. Gradually, I doubted my initial belief, waiting for an opportunity to be in any romantic relationship, disregarding how I truly felt about the person. Without the privilege to choose who I love, I might instantly say “yes” to receiving any love. Therefore, I understand Fanny’s primitive tendency to prioritize Arnstein’s love over her own ambition in work.

Under Funny Girl‘s humorous lines and story about a talented yet ordinary girl achieving both her dream and love lies a premise that beauty standards cause subtle inequalities by giving more opportunities to certain people who meet the expectations. By portraying Fanny as a victim of this inequality, the musical alerts the audience that beautyism should not impede anyone from loving or being loved.

The Girl May Be Funny, But The Plot Is Not

Lindsey Carroll

If you’re a mezzo-soprano belter in musical theatre, chances are you’re familiar with the 1964 musical Funny Girl. In fact, it’s likely you have sheet music from the show in your collection — I know I do. “Don’t Rain on My Parade” is a song every mezzo should know, even if Barbra Streisand’s iconic show-stopping performance in the 1968 film adaptation has made it off-limits in the audition room. Still, if you can belt, you should know it. 

But there’s a song from the film even more taboo than “Don’t Rain on My Parade.” The finale: “My Man.” Seriously, sing it at your own risk. The song is synonymous with Streisand’s performance, which clinched her Best Actress win at the 41st Academy Awards. Anyone listening to you sing it will instantly compare you to Streisand, and no one can sing it like Streisand. Trust me and save yourself the trouble. However, if you’re looking for a song to sing on your own time with an octave jump up to a Db5, be my guest. I find it impossible to resist breaking it out in the practice room every once in a while.

Barbra Streisand wins the Academy Award for Best Actress for her performance in Funny Girl. Photo courtesy of Barwood FIlms.

However, when singing “My Man,” I never think about the number’s cultural implications. The lyrics compel me to swear as a woman my devotion to my male partner, daring others to challenge me as I follow him to the ends of the earth. I will give up my career, my passion for performing because my love for my husband is stronger. Wait…what? I’m giving up my hard-earned, successful career as Fanny Brice, the headliner of the Ziegfeld Follies, to stay with my insecure husband? You’ve got to be kidding me. 

The addition of “My Man” as the finale to the film adaptation, a song not included in the original Broadway production, transforms Funny Girl from a musical about an empowered artistic trailblazer to one about a woman who is ultimately subservient to men — how disappointing. Why would director William Wyler put this song in the defining position to end Brice’s story? To counter Second Wave Feminism? To feature one of Brice’s most famous Ziegfeld numbers? To show everyone Barbra Streisand is one of the best musical theatre performers we’ll ever have? No matter the reasoning, the song, as well as Streisand’s performance, makes Funny Girl’s ultimate message one championing the “devoted wife” above all else: an antiquated and sexist idea. 

“My Man” transforms Brice from a strong woman making her own way in the world to one dependent upon the approval of a man — a feminist nightmare. 

The lyrics of “My Man,” translated from the work of Albert Willemetz and Jacques Charles, paint a picture of a woman absolutely submissive to her husband. Brice, one of the most successful performers of her time, sings “all my life is just despair/ but I don’t care/ when he takes me in his arms/ the world is bright,” sharing that her success means nothing to her without a man’s love. This sentiment sharply contrasts Brice’s repeated assertion that she wants to be “the greatest star” the world’s ever seen. Additionally, Brice sings “what’s the difference if I say/ I’ll go away/ when I know I’ll come back/ on my knees one day.” These lyrics vividly depict a woman so beholden to a man that she will metaphorically crawl back on her knees to him no matter what. Lyrics like “whatever my man is/ I am his” further emphasize how Brice will stand by her husband even when he treats her poorly. With these words, “My Man” transforms Brice from a strong woman making her own way in the world to one dependent upon the approval of a man — a feminist nightmare. 

Composer Maurice Yvain’s score for the piece supports Brice’s transformation. Romantic mezzo-piano violins set the tone at the beginning of the song, encouraging the audience to listen carefully and believe Brice’s words. The score repeatedly fades throughout the song, allowing breathier vocals to dominate, forcing the audience to give their full attention to the lyrics. As the third verse begins, Yvain adds staccato snare drums and horns to the instrumentation, creating a bombastic atmosphere that captivates the audience as the vocalist soars into a forte full-chest belt. A rallentando before the final few lyrics imbues the song with drama and suspense that captures the audience in the performer’s emotional world. Every musical choice furthers the storytelling provided by the song’s lyricism.

An instrumental version of “My Man” with Streisand’s vocals edited out.

Streisand’s “My Man” is one of the most iconic musical theatre performances because her acting and vocals spellbindingly convey Brice’s devotion to her husband. Before she begins singing, Streisand shows us a new side to Fanny — she is hesitant and unwilling to make eye contact with the audience, nervous to shed her theatrical persona to become vulnerable. These acting choices clue in the audience that this is the “real” Fanny singing, and they should heed her words. Throughout the first verse, Streisand blends her speaking and singing voices to add intimacy to the song, specifically speaking the line “I don’t care” as she chokes back tears; it is obvious how much “her man” means to her. Streisand produces actual tears as the song continues, infatuating the audience. As the third verse begins and the instrumentation picks up, Streisand takes more space physically and vocally, challenging the audience to get in the way of her devotion. With an octave jump from Db4 to Db5 on “alright,” it is impossible to focus on anything else. Streisand (and Brice) become completely lost onstage during the final sustained note, singing for themselves rather than for the audience. With this performance, one is unable to deny the conviction behind Brice’s commitment to her husband. 

Barbra Streisand as Fanny Brice performing “My Man.”

The combination of lyrics, music, and performance creates an unforgettable finale, and the song’s message is difficult to forget. Brice is a woman undeniably loyal to her husband, willing to give up everything she has built to stand by him no matter what he does or how he treats her. She transforms from a confident performer, willing to do whatever it takes to achieve stardom, to a wife focused only on maintaining her marriage and gaining her husband’s approval. This is a wildly disappointing character arc for an icon of the Great White Way. While it’s hard for me to ignore the sexist implications of “My Man,” I must admit — damn, the song’s fun to sing.