The Case Against Hamilton

In an alternate timeline, the streets of Hollywood outside of the Dolby Theater are full of masked vigilantes taking pictures with tourists. There’s as much to take in along the skyline as there is the ground, where the walk of fame lines the floor with every noteworthy celebrity’s name. It’s a stimulus overload, paying tribute to the glitz and glamor of an industry that’s founded on escapism. You’re captivated by the schmaltz of it all as you cross the street, moving into a cavalcade of random businesses selling mementos that may or may not just be knock-offs. You’re too wrapped up at the moment to really care.

As you walk further, you’ll find an awning hanging over your head. If you came at night, the bulbs would’ve blinded you, calling you in for the entertainment that lies inside. No, it’s not a random movie theater. It’s The Pantages Theater: one of the first west coast stops for every major Broadway show. By all accounts, it’s one of the best places to see a show. You’d go inside, but the tickets are too much and the parking is torture. Even entering lotteries require the tedious task of driving TO the location hours in advance only to risk being left out in the cold for three hours. Yes, The Pantages is a great place... if you have tickets.

In this timeline, we’re entering another week of Hamilton. While there have been blockbuster musicals as of late (The Book of Mormon, Dear Evan Hansen), Hamilton is arguably the only show since The Producers that doesn’t really need an introduction. Even if you don’t regularly discuss theater and never have so much as heard a parody of “My Shot,” you know Hamilton. It’s permeated culture in a way that every musical wish they could. It’s gotten so big that Lin-Manuel Miranda has pretty much been locked up at Disney for five years now fixing up their movies. It makes sense that the show once considered to have revolutionized the musical art form would hold a prestigious aura around it. 

Even five years on, you can lean back in a chair and brag to your friends “Yeah, I saw Hamilton” and be considered cool. You’ll be cooler if you can prove you saw it with Miranda and Daveed Diggs, but we understand how unlikely that is for anyone outside of New York. Your friends will join in as you sing “Cabinet Battle #2,” taking on the part of Thomas Jefferson to your Alexander Hamilton. There is so much that’s inherently fun about Hamilton as a piece of culture, and it’s even more incredible that it manages to get the youngins into American history at the same time. The world is better with Hamilton in it both as a form of entertainment and perfect evidence of what theater needs to do to grow…

With that said, I don’t love the show.

Does that make me a Burr-o-crat?

Okay, okay… I want to back up a minute before you discredit me altogether. I am one of those people who has never seen Hamilton, yet I’m well aware of its impact. I even remember the week that the O.B.C. came out and wondering what it was all about. At first, I thought it was a bunch of dweebs trying to be cool, but when I saw that it stuck, I began to second-guess it. This wasn’t going to be some crackers doing rap. It was going to be this masterful fusing of styles to make Broadway richer. You want to throw in a dozen The West Wing references too? That’s so cool. I’d argue even the parodies have enhanced its charm.

But there is one major issue with Hamilton that I haven’t really experienced with every other show: access. For me, some musicals don’t really land until you see them on stage, presenting its message in the most transparent way possible. When you see them acted out, the nuance in the lyrics begin to become more obvious and the emotions forever become lodged in your mind whenever you hear the songs again. The most noteworthy example of me for this is with Stephen Sondheim’s Assassins, where I listened to the O.B.C. one day and found myself a bit confused. It was catchy, but I never got what the sound was going for until I saw The Long Beach Playhouse put it on. Suddenly it became brilliant and maybe Sondheim’s most underrated show. The same can be said for Cats, though appreciating it through the guise of the 2019 adaptation makes me look like a madman.

Which brings me back to Hamilton. I am intimidated by long soundtracks of any kind. Whereas most get their case across in 75 minutes or less, seeing Hamilton’s soundtrack run 2.5 hours immediately overwhelms me. Considering that it’s a dense story that requires close attention, I can’t just put it on as background noise. I need to engage with it. Because of that, I’ve only ever listened to the soundtrack in full once. Sure, I’ve listened to the first four or five songs a dozen times just for quick fixes, but I don’t have this fondness for the second act when the plot becomes even more compelling. At best I have Spotify and Pandora playlists for Broadway musicals set on random playing these tunes – but there is so much need for context at times that you don’t get their full impact. 

Sure, Miranda is a genius. I’m not denying that. However, the biggest issue for Hamilton for me is that it’s too popular. I’m not suggesting that it just start bombing and placed in the public domain. I don’t wish that on such an accomplished show. What I’m saying is that because of its constant acclaim and sold-out shows, I have never been able to interact with the show as more than any one component. I could engage with the soundtrack, but I’d rather just listen to Waitress because it is a shorter commitment. I have seen Waitress onstage and loved it. I have an idea of what to expect when I press play. 

Waitress

With Hamilton? I kind of have an idea. If I want any more clarity, I’d probably have to watch one of the many bootlegs that are floating around YouTube, though ethically that feels dirty. Otherwise, I have to wait until it comes to town. The Pantages is/was (?) as close as it’s going to be for the next year. The best that I can do is download the Hamilton app (which I encourage you to do) and enter the daily lotteries for dirt cheap tickets. While every show of some repute has gotten into the lottery game, Hamilton has made it into an art form that was especially fun if you were down on old Broadway. Sometimes the cast would even perform to audiences who showed up in front of the theater for the lotteries. 

But to date, I have lost every time. It’s become a joke that I love chugging out during New Year’s, asking people “Will this be the year that we see Hamilton?” Every time there is this underlying sense that it’s no, no we won’t. We probably won’t until it’s been over a decade and Miranda has orchestrated his next show. There is this hopelessness around wanting to see Hamilton that almost defeats you, especially knowing that a professional recording is going to be released in 2021. Hopefully, that cancels out urgency, but I think that this is a once in a generation phenomenon that is bound for Phantom of the Opera-level success. Considering that tickets go fast and what’s left is pretty damn expensive, it’s hard to really care.

The one benefit that I hope Hamilton has done is turn this generation onto more traditional musicals. Not just shows from the past decade. I’m talking about going back to the classics like Rodgers & Hammerstein or Sondheim and understand what makes this form of expression so powerful. That is the real hope that I want to come from this. 

But aha, I have presented my biggest case against Hamilton. It’s not anything about the show itself, but the lack of confidence that I’ll ever see it. The joke that it’s sold out every night may hold my curiosity, but I believe that supply and demand only works so well. At some point, you can starve someone long enough that they’ll eat their vegetables. They’ll simply go somewhere else to understand what the experience of going to live theater is like. Someplace cheaper, where you can actually get in and admire the atmosphere. It’s the beauty of enjoying a medium that has been around across multiple centuries.

Matilda the Musical

In the past five years, I have really gotten into going to the theater if not regularly, then on a monthly basis. There is something exciting about looking at your calendar and noticing that shows like Matilda or Ragtime is coming up. It’s maybe not the newest thing, but Hamilton too will grow old, with the primary cast being replaced by a different group of professionals. It’s inevitable, though the substance remains largely the same. 

There is something exciting about being in a room and seeing something that will never be repeated again. This show may play several times a week, but the acting may be slightly off or the orchestra hits a flat during the overture. The spontaneity is so wonderful, even though the fact that it fades into memory so quickly once the curtain goes down is theater’s one tragedy. It exists in your mind unless it’s a professional production that has been professionally recorded. Then you get the performance, but being in the room with the sound bouncing around you is a much more preferable experience.

Recent shows that I’ve seen on their first national tour have included Come From Away and Dear Evan Hansen. In the former’s case, I don’t know that I appreciated it until I saw that rotating stage, actors taking on many forms to tell the greatest 9/11 story to date. You become overwhelmed with every piece of humanity because of how the choreography plays with your perception. Similarly, I don’t know that Dear Evan Hansen works if you don’t know how it uses electronic drapes depicting Evan’s rambling internal state. 

Dear Evan Hansen

Maybe it’s exciting because it’s new. Maybe I love it more because I got to sit there and witness masterful art. That is one benefit of a show not being a once in a generation phenomenon. Sure, Dear Evan Hansen is one of the biggest hits of recent years, but I feel like their lottery system is generally more encouraging. It could be that I’ve won twice, but the rise of websites like Today Tix has made theater more exciting because it’s broken down the price barrier on a lot of top-end shows. Maybe that is a benefit of Hamilton changing how we consume theater, but it also comes at an expense. 

Because we can’t get into Hamilton, I encourage you to go someplace else. Even local theater has a lot of fantastic varieties. They may have more limited means, but the heart and soul of performance provide for an exciting evening. If you go long enough, you’ll keep running into the same local actors and see them grow. There are small ways you can compensate with the feeling of inadequacy that not being able to go to The Segerstrom at a moment’s notice will give you. Don’t be discouraged. Just open yourself up to listening to new shows, ones that have an extra 10 seats in the back row waiting for you.

Listen, I would love to see Hamilton. The issue right now is that I lack any sentimental attachment to it. I have trouble seeing it as the greatest musical of even the decade (or honestly 2015), but that’s because I am saving the spark for whenever I do see it live. It’s on a bucket list along with other major shows I want to see (Hadestown! Company!), though even then my fondness for those shows compared to Hamilton differs greatly. Those come from adoring the music and story. Hamilton feels more like an obligation. I want to see it because everyone else will think I’m cool. I will be able to finally comment on the stage work and understand what the fan base is going on about. I don’t hate this show, but it’s far down on the list of shows I turn to when I’m looking for a soundtrack to play.