With each passing year, there is nothing that feels as strange as realizing that you’re growing older. It’s true for everyone, but it feels especially true when talking about yourself in relation to September 11, 2001. For several generations, it was their version of The John F. Kennedy Assassination, creating this distinct memory of where you were at a time and place. I know that I do, looking at a TV as a 12-year-old and not really understanding what I was looking at. Somehow, for as much as the days that followed have faded into memory, that minute of seeing The World Trade Center crumbling, bodies falling to their imminent death, sticks in my mind.
It’s difficult to forget, especially with this week marking the anniversary. Every now and then a politician will inadvertently remind me of how much time has passed by saying that there are people in college or the military now who weren’t alive on that day. It’s been harrowing to think about for a variety of reasons, feeling like the world had permanently shifted. It’s in part because we’re rapidly approaching the 20th anniversary, a milestone that only makes me realize my mortality more and presents one terrible truth that’s a bit more shallow but arguably just as necessary:
There’s not a lot of great media about 9/11.
I’m sure that’s misleading, especially since scholars have probably written definitive books about those days and years. What I’m talking about more is fiction, this inability to really grapple with a day that in some ways united this nation while creating a divisive ideology that still haunts the country. It’s one of the tools that’s made Zero Dark Thirty (2012) a brutally honest portrait of American obsession even if the facts are increasingly untrue. However, I don’t know that there are many stories that have been told that don’t have some ounce of a saccharine, overdramatic plea of cynicism and confusion. Somewhere inside is a valuable idea, but it personally doesn’t capture 9/11 in a way that doesn’t predict nihilism and the world falling apart.
I get the instinct to go there. To quote Hamilton, the world turned upside down. Families were broken up, the country felt less secure. Before that day non-travelers were allowed to go to boarding gates in airports. Now it’s extra-secure, where almost every stage of the check-up process has one or two questionable motives. It’s just how the world changed.
Even then, I wish that people remembered the other side of the picture. For as much that was lost on that day, there was something else that was downright inspiring. It was the sight of firefighters picking through the rubble, where everyone put aside their biases and helped each other with their day. The world, for a moment, was in unity over this tragedy. It was even a time when George W. Bush could arguably be seen as a decisive leader, before any controversy that came with his War on Terrorism.
Basically, the 9/11 that I knew didn’t pull out sniper rifles and hide in their homes. We saw a problem and reflected compassion. So while books like Jonathan Safran Foer’s “Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close” does a decent job of capturing the lingering impact of trauma, I want to focus on what I still consider to be the greatest piece of 9/11-based entertainment that I have ever seen. To put it simply, it’s one that doesn’t trivialize what happened but instead grapples with it to such an extent that it feels like every emotion being perfectly expressed at once.
Ladies and gentlemen welcome to the rock!
I know that I previously wrote about Come From Away on here in talking about how the stage version needs to be preserved. I don’t honestly believe that a film adaptation could be as good for a variety of reasons. However, the sentiment is still incredible and should be considered essential viewing/listening around this time of year. For starters, the music is catchy and reflects the growth of the sung-through musical genre better than any other show. It’s the type of show that despite a few dozen cast members, it makes Les Miserables feel small. This is an intercontinental story, with every actor playing various roles.
It’s impressive just as a production, managing to capture this underlying sense that deep down everyone is the same. They’re all on that bus to a shelter in Newfoundland just trying to get by. The Canadian island isn’t exactly the biggest, ballooning from a couple hundred to a couple thousand overnight in population. The question is how do you take care of them all?
It’s a journey that takes you through those days, starting with the “islander” natives who all have their place in the town. It’s a nice and quiet area that you wouldn’t expect much to happen in. The only thing that makes it special is that the airport is a place for international travel to fill up during a longer trip. That is one of the many reasons that they got selected for Operation Yellow Ribbon, to house planes full of wayward travelers who just want to get to their destination, but find themselves stuck in an even more uncertain place.
The most incredible part of the show is the impact that the ensemble makes when singing. It starts abruptly, with no curtains going up or fanfare telling audiences to quiet down. “Welcome to the Rock.” The islanders bang their feet in rhythm to the opening melody. It starts with one, building to the entire cast, capturing a community in constant expansion. By the end of the opening song, the world-building is so concise and full of diverse personality that makes the next part catch you off-guard. Even if what proceeded lasted mere minutes, it’s important to understand the heart and warmth of these characters as something ominous happens.
The loudness drops out. News of 9/11 begins to arrive in the narrative, at first like gossip that you can’t believe is true. Still, it comes with one of the best lines in the entire show: “You are here, at the start of a moment.” It’s a narrative gimmick, but one that couldn’t be truer. Come From Away is talking about one of the most significant events of the 21st century. It’s a moment that most people in the audience will have some passing experience with. Everyone else will know somebody who was there. The start of this moment is like the calm before the storm, before the planes touch down.
It’s to co-creators’ Irene Sankoff and David Hein’s credit that everything from here is comprehensible at all. As mentioned, there will be thousands of intervening characters, reflecting as many passengers as there are islanders all trying to get through the day. It’s a miracle of writing, casting, set design, choreography, and music that every last character is distinguishable from each other. While there are some that are more significant than others (Beverley the pilot), it’s a story of empathy, where every small story matters.
Their struggles are given light, managing to capture the events in rigorous detail through song. No corner of the narrative is ignored, as even the maintenance of pets stowed aboard get a whole subplot. Everyone is accounted for, and it’s all incredible given the size. It’s in how the big revelation comes, as passengers discover via radio of what happened. We don’t know their families, and yet they feel like ours. By the end, they may even be us. Like the best of Canadian stereotypes, it’s one of those hopeful and upbeat shows that manage to look at disaster and not think the worst. It’s a show so full of concern, that tomorrow will be a better day, that you can’t help but admire the overwhelming and selfless humanity.
Though for as sad as it is, there’s plenty of moments for Come From Away to get downright entertaining. “28 Hours/Wherever We Are” is an early standout where the passengers stuck on a runway slowly give into cabin fever. They’re tired of watching Titanic (1998) and the cramped space isn’t doing anyone justice. There’s no denying that it’s a frustrating time, but the song manages to find community when a bottle of booze gets passed around, and “everyone got friendlier.” By the end of this song, the rousing melody will be accompanied by a catchy refrain of “open the airplane doors” and people flashing cars. It’s just the fun ways that the show understands humanity deep down.
The amazing thing that Sankoff and Hein achieve is a balance of tone amid all of these conflicting ideas. People are as eager to get home as they are to feel safe. Bonds are made and new friendships are formed that (in the real world) have lasted to this day. It’s a story of sacrifice and finding the good in others. The need for this story is obvious, especially as evidence that tragedy doesn’t need to bring out the worst in people. If anything, it’s when the best is needed most. Even then, the way that the show manages to question the value of this is endearing, finding courage and strength in flawed characters.
While the story may be public domain at this point (everyone continues on their journey home), I feel like it is best for you to experience the rest on your own. Considering that theater has a way of making abstract concepts feel accessible, Come From Away is an incredible achievement that works because it couldn’t be done elsewhere. You need all of these subliminal tools at play to make you feel like the world is connected, that everyone has some shared identity. It’s less plausible in cinema, especially with close-ups that can reflect any technical flaws. On stage, one actor can transform into five or six characters without being questioned. The entire island of Newfoundland can be projected without so much as a signpost. It allows for a deeper focus, of a more flexible stage that makes the events feel as big as they need to be.
I’ll continue to harp on this until it happens. I believe that Come From Away NEEDS to have some digital release if not by this year, then preferably by 2021. In a time that will be sure to have the world once again focused on 9/11, it is important to remember the stories of hope, of needing to come together and believe in the power of humanity. If theaters aren’t open doing it by then, then I hope that they take a page from Hamilton (2020) and find a way to make it accessible, to tell a story that I didn’t know about but continue to find fascinating in hindsight.
While I enjoy having it as musical fans’ best-kept secret (it’s one of the rare megahits to premiere at The La Jolla Playhouse in San Diego, CA), I do feel like it’s necessary to share. I’m confident that next year will especially be full of retrospectives and movies playing nonstop to commend this anniversary. As much as I’ll enjoy taking those in and having a conversation about the world has changed in two decades, I don’t think we’ll appreciate what it was like to be alive then until generations too young to understand that day realize that it wasn’t all bleak. There was some hope. This is a story that I hope continues to outlive us all, if just because it’s one of the few that feels like it’s doing more than singing catchy songs. It’s amplifying a story that should never be forgotten.
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