I've just been reading the reviews of the new version of Gypsy starring Bernadette Peters. It's one of those times when you really get to wondering if all those folks who saw the same show were watching the same show. Ken Mandelbaum says of Ms. Peters, "Because she's not a natural powerhouse, she must push extremely hard in the dialogue and the glorious Jule Styne-Stephen Sondheim songs, and she sometimes runs out of steam from all the effort." On the other hand, Andrew Gans says, "…this Rose shines, seduces, scares and shatters." On the other hand, Howard Kissel headlines his review, "No Gypsy in Her Soul" and says, "Peters still is too much a kewpie doll to be plausible as the stage mother who, in her sick drive for success, makes her daughter a stripper."
On the other hand, Ben Brantley (He's The New York Times) says, "Bernadette Peters delivered the surprise coup of many a Broadway season in the revival of Gypsy that opened last night at the Shubert Theater." On the other hand, Charles Isherwood (he's with Variety; link not available) says, "The controversial casting of the downy-soft Bernadette Peters as the flinty Momma Rose proves to be, as many had feared, a miscalculation that all this talented performer's hard work simply cannot overcome." On the other hand, Michael Kuchwara says, "There's a steely quality here that Peters gets with icy accuracy, a single-mindedness that really defines who Rose is."
And so on and so on. Some thought she and the show were terrific. Some didn't see Momma Rose on the stage. The wide range of views is, of course, the norm. Opinions, after all, are just opinions. But these struck me as more conflicted than usual. Eventually, of course, I hope to see for myself.