Harvey Fierstein, Theater

Twenty years ago, Harvey Fierstein made his Broadway debut wearing a tattered bathrobe and bunny slippers, and although his entrance in Hairspray is similarly schmattefied, by the time the curtain comes down he has been given some kind of redemption with an eye-popping, pre-psychedelic gown big enough to contain his ample bosom and the equally ample heart within. There’s a large guy in there with meatpacker hands, a defensive linesman’s shoulders, and, most famously, a voice that’s 95 parts kitchen disposal and 5 parts Yogi Berra. Having already won two Tonys, for Best Play and Best Actor, for his Torch Song Trilogy, and a third for his book for La Cage aux Folles, he’s back, making the world safe for fat girls, African-Americans, and top-40 rock and roll. And while the fat girl is the heroine, it’s Edna, her mom—that’d be Harvey—who is the indomitable soul of Hairspray. Which is to say, of course, the star. -- JEREMY GERARD