Was Lea Michele’s Premiere in Funny Girl Worth the Six Standing Ovations?
(Photo: Bruce Gilkas)
by David Vincent Kimel, Guest Editorial
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There I was at the first performance of Funny Girl in history where comparisons to Barbra Streisand were the farthest things from anyone’s mind.
Killing time before Lea Michele’s premiere, I sat in the audience and doodled double helixes and eyeballs on my Playbill. Beanie Feldstein’s grinning portrait was no longer the logo of the show, inelegantly replaced by repetitions of the name of the play itself on the cover of the booklet. Flipping ahead, I saw that “For my Ever,” was written as the dedication of Michele’s blurb in the cast biographies.
“Who could Lea be talking about?” asked a man in a striped silk shirt.
“I think that she was referring to her reflection,” I said. That got a laugh.
The Lea Michele Uber-fans who sat beside me diplomatically ignored my quip. They were an immaculately dressed grandma and her granddaughter who had come all the way from Louisiana for this. The high schooler had seen every episode of Glee five times. “I’m a cheerleader like Quinn Fabray,” she explained, “except that I’m not pregnant out of wedlock.”
“Amen for that,” said her grandmother.
Then the lights went low. At that moment, was I pondering the ousting of poor Beanie; Michele’s onetime penchant for calling her costars cockroaches and threatening to shit in their wigs; debates about talent versus goodness; or the tremendous pressure on the star’s shoulders to prove herself and rescue a flailing multi-million dollar production? No. To be honest, the high schooler and I spent most of the overture wondering if that dude sitting ahead of us in the sea of better seats was Jonathan Groff. I think that it was, but he didn’t make eye contact with us, so screw him.
When the curtain rose, I didn’t actually hear Lea Michele say “Hello Gorgeous” because as soon as she appeared, the audience went feral. The screams of support literally made my ears ring. I screamed too, despite myself. I had never experienced this kind of vicarious exhilaration in a theatre before. By the end of the night, I had lost count of the standing ovations for her. I could tell that the audience had grown up with the character of Rachel Berry. It was like we were all living through the episode of Glee where Rachel premiered in Funny Girl, except in this version, Jane Lynch was out of that theatre even before the premiere.
Everyone who has ever read a review of Funny Girl knows the drill. The musical evokes a pivotal moment in the history of New York and Broadway itself, but the book is very old-fashioned and all the best songs are jammed into the first act (incidentally, will the same producer who had the foresight to hire Lea Michele please veto their obstinate peers for a second time and add My Man to the finale?) The success of the show hinges utterly on the talents of the lead actor; as other reviewers have noted, when she sings that she is “the greatest star,” we need to believe that this is not just a delusion for anything in the subsequent three hours to feel plausible, let alone enjoyable, since so much of the musical highlights her talents.
And by God, did Lea Michele deliver. When she finishes that song about being the greatest star and her interlocutors on stage go wild with excitement, in that moment, you totally understand them.
From the naive confidence of Fanny’s youth to the disillusionment of her middle age, Michele’s performance has a chameleon-like quality; she even performs a number in drag in which she is at first almost literally unrecognizable. Her early twentieth-century accent is spot on, never once descending into parody. Her voice is crystalline, as expressive and powerful as any auto-tuned rendition on Glee. The control and strength and thoughtful phrasing amazed me. Her signature use of emotive vocal “hiccuping” is restrained, and when she does employ this technique, it appropriately colors dramatic passages and never seems oppressive. “People” is tremulous and hesitant and oozes vulnerability; “Don’t Rain on My Parade” brims with life and chutzpah. She dramatically snarls some of the lyrics in that song, and the audience gasped in delight.
On top of all this, Michele’s comedic timing is impeccable, and she is just as affecting in the dramatic scenes despite the limitations of the script (Brice’s financial support of her husband is misguidedly portrayed as disrespectful of masculinity). Michele fed on the energy of the audience, and I could tell that she was having the time of her life and appreciating every moment because she almost didn’t have this chance. I have no doubt that she would have won the Tony award if she had originated this role. The only element in her performance which fails to convince is her repeated insistence on being physically unattractive; due to her distinctive beauty, the lines seem unmotivated and neurotic. But that critique holds just as true for Streisand’s rendition.
The most memorable moments in the performance were when art imitated life. The audience howled in approval at a line about Fanny Brice being a major success even before she premieres, for example. But the audience was also sensitive to what seemed like darker points of comparison. When the character declared that she had not read many books in her life, some cynics couldn’t help but cackle. And when she comedically pushed past a chorus member (“move it, Christina!”), I heard someone wonder aloud whether she was acting.
After the curtain call, the high schooler beside me was literally brought to tears. She and her grandmother hoped that they’d see Lea Michele at the stage door and wondered if she’d sign an autograph for them. After all, the girl adored Lea, and she had traveled from all the way across the country to support her idol that night. But I couldn’t help but wonder, if Lea Michele knew all about their story, would she sign that autograph if no one was looking? What do you think? I decided not to hang around to find out for myself. I didn’t want to be disappointed after such an incredible night of theater.
Editor’s Note: Lea Michele did sign autographs at the stage door.