Patricia Zipprodt’s posthumously published memoir, written with theatre design historian Arnold Wengrow, is an absorbing, sharply observed account of one of the most imaginative and influential costume designers in twentieth-century American theatre. Born in 1925 and working steadily from 1957 until her death in 1999, Zipprodt left an indelible mark on Broadway, Off-Broadway, film, ballet, and opera. If the Song Doesn’t Work, Change the Dress captures both her artistic audacity and her idiosyncratic humor, documenting a career that earned her three Tony Awards (for Fiddler on the Roof in 1965, Cabaret in 1967, and Sweet Charity in 1986), three Drama Desk Awards (1776 in 1968, Pippin in 1973, and Shogun: The Musical in 1991), two American Theatre Wing Design Awards, and seven additional Tony nominations. Few designers of her era matched her expressive range or her collaborative reach: she worked with Jerome Robbins, Bob Fosse, Hal Prince, Mike Nichols, José Quintero, Garson Kanin, Peter Hunt, Gower Champion, James Lapine, and Gene Saks, among others.The book is richly produced, published in full color, and filled with visual materials from Zipprodt’s archives at the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts: costume sketches, production drawings, behind-the-scenes photographs, and developmental artwork from some of the twentieth century’s most influential productions, including Cabaret, Fiddler on the Roof, Chicago, and Pippin. Joel Grey contributes a warm, personal foreword, while Wengrow provides a moving epilogue recounting Zipprodt’s final battle with cancer and contextualizing her career through letters, oral histories, and archival interviews. Together, these elements create a memoir that is both intimate and authoritative—part personal testament, part documentary record of a designer consistently “working against the grain.”For scholars of Arthur Miller, one chapter is especially valuable: “Finding Myself Off Broadway,” Zipprodt’s vivid recollection of designing the costumes for the influential 1958 Off-Broadway revival of The Crucible. Directed by Word Baker—who would later achieve enduring fame with The Fantasticks—the production was conceived by Baker and designer Ming Cho Lee as a stark, psychologically charged reenvisioning of Miller’s allegory. It became a surprise hit, running 633 performances, more than triple the original Broadway run. In Zipprodt’s account, the revival’s success was not incidental: its visual language helped reshape how a generation understood the play.Her costume designs were rooted in a concept she describes as “an Abstract-Expressionistic quality,” a departure from the strict historicism that had characterized earlier productions. Using unconventional materials—felt and rubber sheeting for Puritan collars, sculptural and easily cleaned; hand-made felt buttons in individualized sizes to subtly distinguish characters; A-line dresses for the teenage girls that “went flying like dance skirts” during the mad scenes—she sought to externalize the psychological pressures of Salem. These choices, fabricated almost entirely in her apartment on a Singer sewing machine and a plywood cutting table balanced on a wooden horse, gave the production a visual dynamism that critics and audiences remembered long after its closing.The memoir also preserves a remarkable anecdote about her first meeting with Miller, a requirement written into Baker’s contract: the designers had to present their concepts directly to the author. Zipprodt recalls arriving at Miller’s East 57th Street apartment, where “pictures of Marilyn Monroe were all over the foyer.” Miller sat at his desk with blinding sunlight behind him—so striking, she writes, that he looked “like Michelangelo’s Moses.” Momentarily overwhelmed by what she calls Miller’s “beautiful neck” and “one of the most gorgeous men I have ever seen in my life,” she found herself unable to speak at all. After an excruciating pause, Baker finally broke the silence: “What she would like to say is this…” The story is humorous, self-deprecating, and revealing, offering a rare glimpse of Miller’s accessibility and of the often fragile human dynamics embedded in collaborative theatre practice.Beyond its value as memoir, If the Song Doesn’t Work, Change the Dress offers a significant contribution to the performance history of The Crucible. Zipprodt’s reflections illuminate one of the play’s most important early revivals—one that helped restore its standing after its uneven Broadway debut—and provide firsthand testimony about Miller’s engagement with designers, the production’s aesthetic goals, and the collaborative labor that shaped its enduring influence. For readers of The Arthur Miller Journal, this chapter alone justifies the book’s acquisition.Yet the memoir’s most notable achievement lies in its portrayal of Zipprodt as both artist and craftswoman: a designer who could translate conceptual daring into wearable, expressive forms; who could work comfortably with the most celebrated directors of her time; and who approached each assignment with a mix of rigor, inventiveness, and irreverent wit. Wengrow’s archival epilogue further deepens this portrait, expanding her voice into a lasting testament.If the Song Doesn’t Work, Change the Dress is ultimately a celebration of theatrical imagination, collaboration, and persistence. It is a compelling and beautifully produced volume—one that should find a place on the shelves not only of design specialists, but of anyone interested in the art and history of the American theatre, and of Arthur Miller’s place within it.
Stefani Koorey (Thu,) studied this question.