I’ve recently realized that I love musicals. Not all of them – not by a long shot – but enough that it’s definitely become a thing.

This is very much a recent phenomenon. I mean, I suppose I’ve always enjoyed several of the classics – Guys and Dolls, Singing in the Rain, My Fair Lady – and the periodic animated Disney movie. The shows on which I’ve been fixated recently are of a slightly different variety, however – darker, even when humorous, and fixated on more complicated issues. Rent, Spring Awakening, Heathers, Waitress, and of course Hamilton – all pretty meaty, despite the tendency of characters to break into song every few minutes. Even the relatively lighthearted productions – Something Rotten, Kinky Boots, Hairspray, Avenue Q – layer generous helpings of irony, snark, and social commentary into the otherwise ridiculous. They’re great fun, but you walk away feeling like you’ve just done something sophisticated simply by being in the audience.

But… why? Why musicals, and why now?

The part where costumed professionals repeatedly break into song and choreography is a definite plus, but that’s not always it. I mean, some of the songs aren’t even that great (especially in second acts), and I’m not sure I’d like even the good ones if offered to me entirely out of context. And live theater of any sort is always a risk – there are no second takes or fixing it in the edit.

And yet, I just keep chasing down shows – online, via streaming services, or anywhere within about a three-hour drive. Why? I can’t say with absolute certainty, but I have a few ideas about what might be going on…

First, musicals have a fairly predictable structure. While this can easily devolve into “formula,” when done well it provides a sense of security – the knowledge that whatever’s happening at the moment, things will (mostly) work out in the end. Even with the tragedies (West Side Story, Spring Awakening, Hadestown), there’s some redemption – some reason to hope that the bad stuff (usually including lots of dead characters) is bringing about positive change and growth of some sort.

To be fair, this same “Hero’s Journey” is true of most stories, in whatever medium. In novels, films, or dramatic theater, however, the ground covered within this general outline can still get pretty convoluted; it takes work to digest them. Sitcoms or popular music, on the other hand, lean towards the opposite extreme. They’re so predictable as to become trite, lazy, and – worst of all – uninteresting. A good musical strikes a tenuous balance. It must be creative, yet familiar. Bold, but accessible. And because it’s made to be performed live, all that wit and poignancy needs to be easily recognized and understood by viewers without captions or a rewind button.

Somehow, multiple shows each season pull this off to some degree. In chaotic, discouraging times, this is kind of a huge frickin’ deal.

Second, good musicals are clever in some fashion. A decent musical (of the modern variety) has to both meet and subvert expectations throughout. The compact storytelling required to get through an entire journey in two hours requires deft use of costuming, lighting, choreography, and (of course) lyrics. The audience must be entertained while developing an emotional attachment to the fictional constructs before them – enough that we care what happens to them and buy into their surreal journey.

Then there’s the singing and dancing itself, of course. A compelling production utilizes not only the words coming out of each character’s mouth but the musical style in which they sing them. These aren’t (usually) the same sorts of songs you’d hear on your car radio – they have to accomplish too much in a short time frame while remaining enjoyable and interesting. Lyrics tend to be clever and carefully woven for maximum effect, reinforced by choreography, costuming, even lighting. The best modern musicals find ways to connect with every audience member regardless of their familiarity with the genre while offering layers of insight to those savvy enough to discern them in the details.

All without taking themselves too seriously.

Third, musicals by their very nature must be shameless. This is a biggie, and part of what makes musicals such a “love them or hate them” undertaking. The genre requires that every person involved – on stage or off – remain absolutely fearless throughout. Themes are proclaimed as much as woven into the narrative. Emotions are literally backed up by an orchestra. Each character’s innermost thoughts are reinforced by ensemble choreography and backing vocals. There’s little room for subtlety or hedging your artistic bets.
Protagonists and antagonists may be complex enough to stay interesting, but we’re rarely expected to debate their true motives or desires. Instead, most pretty much tell us exactly what’s in their hearts and heads by breaking into song – a format inherently more transparent than behavior or the spoken word, at least on stage.

Imagine the Little Mermaid talking to her animal friends about wanting to be part of someone else’s world without rhyming, changing keys, or balancing on that big rock as waves crash behind her. Sebastian the Crab could then sigh and point out a few nice things about living under the ocean. The plot would advance, but no one would care. Ever. We’d all be begging Ursula to give fish-girl a personality in exchange for her soul.

Give her a three-minute song, however, and we know her. We care about her. We root for her, even though we suspect she’s in for some rude awakenings – all thanks to clever lyrical choices and a musical arrangement so catchy that it’s blasting through your brainspeakers over thirty years later as you read this.

Hamilton offers such a rich exploration of its title character and the “damned fool who shot him” because of how directly we’re able to share every internal thought and emotional conflict. We don’t have to infer it from facial expressions or body language (although both are present as well); they tell us. Over and over. In complex layers you can still sing along with a decade later.

Six brings new life and presence to the ex-wives of Henry VIII by reimagining them in a musical competition to determine who got screwed over the worst. You may gain more information by reading Alison Weir or Antonia Fraser (both of whom have excellent books on the subject), but you care because of the humor, pathos, and strength of their fictionalized counterparts.

Heathers is about finding beauty in ugly times by first refusing to become part of the problem. Waitress celebrates the challenges of embracing love and our own fallibility – claiming our own happiness even if we’re still just us. Something Rotten is mostly about laughs and mocking the musical and literary heritage on which it’s built, so when it fervidly embraces “to thine own self be true”, it carries that much more power because the sentiment shines through the silliness. Spring Awakening explores young love and burgeoning sexuality contrasted with youthful angst and parental neglect. Avenue Q explores the stresses of adult life in the format of a children’s program (its mix of humans and puppets emulates Sesame Street), tackling racism, joblessness, sexuality, and personal relationships through perky – yet insanely poignant – songs. And Hadestown… Hadestown uses classical Greek mythology to talk about love, suffering, and redemption, and to remind us that there’s something heroic about hope even when you know how the story has ended thousands of times before.

Which brings us to…

Finally, musicals always have a point. It may not always be profound, but even the darkest shows offer some hope of redemption – at least for a few. As in most good fiction, characters make choices, and those choices determine not only what happens next, but who they will be. Our protagonists may be stuck in poverty, trapped in high school, or mired in Hades for half of each year – but they can always choose who they are and how they’ll respond. Thanks to the nature of the medium, it’s usually pretty clear-cut… and if there are gray areas, at least they’ll sing about them so we understand the details.

Accepting Gravity

It’s worth noting that most of these elements are sorely lacking in the so-called “real world” at the moment. History has never been exactly “predictable,” but the past several years have been absolutely bewildering. Sure, the underlying problems were there, but who honestly thought we could lose this much ground this quickly?

It’s hard to imagine a satisfying resolution anytime in the next two hours, nor are the people and entities running the show at the moment particularly clever or creative. Most rarely, if ever, break into song or choreography. Several may qualify as “shameless,” but certainly not in a good way.

Politicians and corporate behemoths have always had the ability to turn a phrase or manipulate an emotion or two, but this is no longer the age of “We have nothing to fear but fear itself.” We’ve traded that for “Faith and patriotism mean fear and loathing of everyone and everything.” A good musical helps us care about every character, good or evil. Real-world political success comes from marginalizing and demonizing anyone not already in the ruling majority – gay kids, school teachers, the sick, and the poor. In a musical, even villains’ songs are entertaining. In real life, they’re just depressing and wrong.

As to whether or not real life has a “point,” that one’s a bit trickier. We all make choices, but they rarely feel as clear-cut as they do for Elphaba and Glenda, Veronica Sawyer, Jenna Hunterson, or Danny Zuko. Oddly, their struggles often help to clarify our own. Understanding their hopes and fears somehow validates ours while promoting empathy for folks we may not “get” in the real world. Musicals are by their very nature full of passion and humor, drama and exaggeration, the ridiculous and the sublime. They dare us to let down our guard and just kinda believe for a bit. They suggest that things could be bigger, and better, and WAY more entertaining than they currently are – that maybe we don’t have to simply accept the world we confront once we leave the theatre.

If you’re wondering at this point what all this talk of musicals has to do with education, maybe nothing. Maybe I’m just sharing because the blog has been a little slow lately.

Or maybe you haven’t been reading very closely. That’s OK – just like a good musical, it’s all about using exaggeration and spectacle to sneak in some otherwise perfectly mundane observations. If you don’t believe me, you should see what I’m wearing and the dance I’m doing right now.

You know, metaphorically speaking.