The following is an excerpt from the Tribune’s Oct. 21, 1968, review of “Funny Girl” by critic Clifford Terry.
Those people who have been lying in wait . . . for Barbra Streisand’s film debut to fall flat on its, well, nose, had better stay home and content themselves with sticking pins in her album covers.
Personally, Miss Streisand may not exactly be the Story Book Lady, but when she gets on that screen, she turns into a boobeleh, which . . . is a sort of Yiddish sweet patootie.
For the first 20 minutes of “Funny Girl,” it is no trick to keep the Barbra barbs poised and ready (sure, she sings loudly and clearly, but where’s the heart?) — an attitude reinforced by the direction of William Wyler, who initially scraps the creative for the cliche. . . .
But then something happens to both the director and his star, and it suddenly becomes amazingly easy to warm up to Fanny-Barbra . . . to that Streisand mastery of the dead-pan “crack” — worthy of a delicatessen counter girl on a good night. . . .
“Funny Girl” rightly belongs to the portrayer. Photographed with a now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t beauty, Miss Streisand belts out the songs with clarity and drive . . . and raps out those Mae West-like put-downs, later displacing the smart-mouthiness with a touching sadness as she builds toward that tearfully gutsy black-backgrounded “My Man” finale.
Barbra Streisand should live and be well.