The text for Harvey Fierstein’s delightful new one-person, one-act play Bella Bella begins with a list of characters who do not appear in the piece, followed by a short glossary of Yiddish terms that do—among them yenta (busybody), geshrieng (hollering) and gornisht (nothing), as well as the rather less commonly used gatkes (underwear) and one of my grandmother’s favorites, gantse macher (a big shot or know-it-all).
Even if Bella Abzug, Fierstein’s subject, had not been a Jewish woman from a certain generation and background, the wonderfully evocative language would be well-suited to a feisty New Yorker who loomed large during a key chapter in the American century—as a lawyer, Congresswoman and key figure in second-wave feminism. And Bella, which Fierstein wrote and performs, under the precise and loving direction of Kimberly Senior, is a mechayeh—a blessing that brings joy and relief, here in the form of a funny, pointed, affectionate tribute that reminds us how far dedication and, yes, resistance can (and can’t) go in effecting positive change.
Granted, Bella unfolds during one of Abzug’s unsuccessful political bids, for the spot of Democratic candidate for the U.S. Senate—a race she lost in 1976 (by less than one percent of the vote) to eventual Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan, one of several idealized icons and institutions portrayed in a more complicated or critical light in the play, adapted from Abzug’s own words and works. (She would again lose the party’s nomination before 1977’s mayoral election, to Ed Koch.) Set at Manhattan’s Summit Hotel on the September evening the returns came in, Bella finds its heroine addressing us from an oversized bathroom that scenic designer John Lee Beatty has adorned with hat boxes and pocketbooks, as if to remind us that Abzug’s legendary toughness did not preclude a fondness for traditionally feminine items, particularly those that proved practical.
[Read Melissa Rose Bernardo’s ★★★★ review here.]
Fierstein enters in a bright red bowler hat and matching jacket (courtesy of costumer Rita Ryzack), which are quickly put aside; this is not a drag act, but a declaration of empathy and respect. Abzug was among the first members of Congress to not only support but advocate for gay rights, as well as racial justice; her feminist credentials were also buttressed by opposition to Senator Joe McCarthy, President Nixon and the Vietnam War. Playing her, the actor/writer aims to capture not specific physical or vocal mannerisms—her New Yawk accent stemmed from the Bronx, his is Brooklyn-bred—but a fighting spirit and biting wit, accompanied by a warmth that shines through, especially when the subject of the monologue turns to loved ones.
The characters said to be waiting just outside the bathroom include Abzug’s husband, Martin, and their two daughters (one, Liz, served as a consultant on the play), to whom she is clearly devoted. They’re joined by friends such as Shirley MacLaine, Lily Tomlin and Gloria Steinem, along with less famous allies, whom Abzug praises while lamenting corruption and taking on some of the sacred cows who have helped sustain it. JFK was “just another patrician in over his head,” we’re told. On Harry Truman: “A man so thin-skinned that demanded a loyalty oath from everyone who worked for him.” (Hmmm. Sounds like…nah, perish that thought.)
“Women are simply more fluid,” Bella reasons. “We’re not wedded to the policies of the past because, frankly, we had nothing to do with them.” That doesn’t mean she’s above a little meowing and gossip-sharing. “Betty Friedan was once late for a peace march because she was getting her hair done,” she notes, adding, “Betty’s mother is beautiful. Betty’s sister is beautiful. Betty’s angry.” Such touches, besides injecting more humor (and insight), actually humanize Abzug—as do the tangential comments and anecdotes Fierstein has sprinkled liberally into Bella. Quoting from The Ten Commandments to illustrate one point, she can’t help but interrupt herself: “You see that movie? Yul Brynner. Shegetz (non-Jewish man), I know, but gorgeous!”
Even in lighter moments, though, Fierstein’s Abzug never takes her eyes off the prize. “If I had my way I’d wear a suit. No. A white tie and tails,” she says, remembering another film star, Marlene Dietrich, in another film classic, Morocco: “Her confident smile telling everyone, this is my world and I will do with it as I please.'” And, Abzug surely would have added, help lift up others in the process.
