At last night’s performance of Gypsy, the announcer informed us that Patti LuPone had hurt her foot, and would be performing in Isotoners—I thought it was a joke but sure enough, when her Madame Rose storms the stage, the sexy pumps familiar from publicity photos were nowhere in sight.

What looked like house slippers proved no impediment.  Only a fool would focus on shoes once this Gypsy got rolling; LuPone is an incomparable actress (I say this with the hope that some clever producer gives her powerhouse belt a rest, so she can show her mettle in straight roles—either a classic or something yet to be penned), who with a gesture or look, controls what she wants the audience to see.  I’ve nothing to add to the kudos already heaped on this revival of the Styne-Sondheim-Laurents classic—it’s remarkable, from James Youmans pseudo-decrepit sets (along with the visible removal of set pieces by the cast, an all-too-realistic aspect that sent this former actor back to his early days in summer stock) to the wonderful players (how I’ve missed the sound of Alison Fraser’s indescribable trill).

Too bad Laurents didn’t cast the audience—up in the St. James Theater’s mezzanine, I had to deal with full-throttle conversation, texting and an idiot kid (wish I knew his name, I’d print it with glee) who actually got up, ran to the top alcove and took a call.  All this during the final scene encompassing Rose and Louise’s showdown, and the sublime “Rose’s Turn,” as close to a mad scene as one finds in the musical theater.  I could have bit his head off.  Tourists: at the theater, it’s three hours out of a very long life.  If you can’t stand being cut from civilization for that long, give the rest of us a break and stay home.  Would you take a cell phone call in church?

Photo: Joan Marcus