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Look, I Made a Woman: Lempicka
The musical somehow turns a radical bisexual painter, living and loving in Paris between the wars, a little bit boring.
When thin bars of light illuminate its railings, sliding up and down its aggressive lines, it’s genuinely exciting— Harold and the Purple Crayon writ large for the machine age—and when Peter Nigrini’s projections fill the set’s negative spaces with images of Lempicka’s actual paintings, then we get a taste of awe. Iman brings poise, ease, and emotional heft to Rafaela; her voice is sultry and gorgeous and—as Lempicka gains both fame and shame around her sex-worker girlfriend—Iman’s bitter heartbreak becomes the most affecting thing in the show. Marinetti was a nutball in real life: How can you not have a little room for a guy who—even while driving whole-hog into fascism—was so dedicated to writing manifestos that he literally produced a Futurist cookbook, in which he ranted about how pasta makes you “heavy, brutish… skeptical, slow, pessimistic,” and fills you with a “black hole” of “incurable sadness”?
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