This is not Dolly Levi Gallagher’s gesture, a widow in late 19 th century New York who works as a matchmaker and anything else that might make her a buck. She walks forward, first lifting her arms out in a diva welcome, then placing her palm against her chest, as if to say “your reception is giving me heart palpitations.” She is playfully portraying somebody who would make a gesture like that, but she’s also sincerely making the gesture. One of them abruptly snatches the paper down it’s Bette Midler. A “horse”-driven bus (actually two guys in a horse suit) comes on stage with a group of passengers reading newspapers that obscure their faces. It is not a grand entrance, at least not initially it’s a sly surprise entrance. What remains vibrant is the Bette Midler persona, evident from the moment she makes her entrance on stage. She also apparently can’t really dance her movement on stage is more like rhythmic walking, and it’s in bracing contrast to the professional dancers who are virtually flying around her. That voice is gone now, judging from the performance I attended at the Shubert, replaced by a rasp of limited range. I’ve idolized Midler since first hearing her debut album, “The Divine Miss M,” and discovering this sassy songstress with a gorgeous voice, delivering retro sultriness with a persona simultaneously self-mocking, sexy and sincere.
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