Bearded Ladies

Before I get to the topic at hand, the topic at chin, I want to take a sip of Ritz brand RaspBeRRy SeltZer. For those of you not so fortunate to be living in this small segment of the west coast of Florida, you may have to start with a more well-known seltzer

such as Poland Springs in New England or Perrier in France. The seltzer is a preface to submersion into this whirlpool of consideration: Bearded Ladies. A topic not often explored. A topic heretofore of circus sideshows and the like. Here we are delving into the very soul of the bearded lady. The psyche, if you will. The hirsute history of the most bending of genders. This is both a tantalizing preview and a warning. The topic is not for the weak hearted or feeble minded. It is a bracing endeavor. It is looking at something intriguing without flinching, without allowing the mind-as-censor to overtake your interest and further investigation. Think of me as your ring master, your intellectual ring master: one who calls your attention to the center ring where the bearded ladies are spotlighted. Not as freaks. Not as sideshow. But as the Main Attraction. As Boris Karloff used to say on one of those old T.V. shows: "As sure as my name is Boris Karloff, THIS is a Thriller!"

For those of you who are still reading, still hungry for the information promised: I refer you to the upcoming production of the musical LaBarba. Never in musical theater has a subject been explored with such depth. The music has been called brilliant, but it is the book of the musical that is also without equal in the annals of modern, or for that matter, ancient theater.

In two or three acts the musical examines the life of one woman who desires the beard, obsesses over the beard, dons the beard, and faces the consequences, both expected and unintended.

We witness the transformation both literally and internally (and cosmically, I might add) of what it means for the female to deliberately defy natural law (and one might also argue God), cut and paste the beard (not only on her computer screen, but on her flesh) and then ultimately find the magic potion that enables her to actually grow the beard that takes her to the existential and intrinsic elements of the human condition.

We witness it all: the longing (wonderful arias), the defiance of social mores (exquisite soliloquies), the beard worn in private (facing the shame and overcoming it), and finally the exit from the closet into the sunlight, the world (unforgettable arias, duets, production numbers, and tragic recitativo.)

And we know that, as before, for now and ever there will be bearded ladies in our midst. Never again will you view your mother, your wife, your sister, your aunt, any woman again without wondering: does she don? You will sing the appropriate section of the opera and fully know what the beard means to some women. And life will never be the same. (Act Two: La Vita transforma from La Barba.)