Except for the pandemic era, one of my comfort zones has been going to live theater. Even if I’m not an expert on stagecraft or can rattle off the most iconic divas in Broadway history, I do find the joy of sitting before something spontaneous, happening in a moment. Ideally, the room is packed, and you’re bound to get these off-hand reactions that are genuine and heartfelt. To me, the show is only half the experience. It’s a social experience, unlike many others. Even if I end up disliking the show, the chance to sit in a crowd and feel the joy ripple towards the back wall is a sublime experience.
But there was one show that felt symbolic of where I had been mentally throughout 2023. Maybe it wasn’t the best that I had seen (though it’s close), but as I sat there on that fateful night, it became clear what this show has, should, and will always mean. As I grow discouraged by the outside world, I sit with my hands rapidly clapping as the performers tell me, “You can’t stop the beat.” You can’t stop progress from being made. After years of taking it as an empty anthem, I had become that Danny DeVito meme, crying in my seat and saying “I finally get it.” The truth is that I’ve never hated Hairspray, but adaptations to other modes have sanded down the edges and hidden what has made this show an institution. It’s not the first queer musical to win the Tony Award for Best Musical, but it’s maybe the one that transcends the most barriers and has for (wow)… 20+ years.
I think that I was always aware of Hairspray being challenging work. There’s been plenty of John Waters interviews where he openly admits that it’s his edgiest work. He was introducing conversations about race relations and drag into the mainstream. Schools were putting this show on alongside tackier and more ephemeral titles like Grease.
However, I can’t say that I had actively considered just how edgy it was. Even as someone who greatly enjoys Waters’ movies with Divine, I was mostly aware of this musical through the “sanitized” versions. This isn’t to say that they’re bad, but I am now able to notice that the productions of Hairspray have reflected where the larger cultural conversations were. The 2008 movie doesn’t necessarily shy away from things, but John Travolta’s Edna Turnblatt is much too sweet to be the Harvey Fierstein-esque original. Travolta doesn’t play her with the camp that is on stage, where Edna continually breaks the fourth wall and reveals that, yes, this is drag and it’s very much performative. I’d go so far as to argue that even Fierstein in the NBC live musical version is not nearly as interesting.
Were these takes enjoyable? OF COURSE! I should say that the songbook is one of the finest pastiche musicals I have personally seen. Marc Shaiman has done an excellent job of using teeny-bopper music to explore the complicated nature of its time. Underneath the bubbly joy are often promiscuous lyrics and gags that push aside any darker turmoil. It’s a show that doesn’t so much imitate as embrace the spirit of the 60s, making you see the joy in the culture. And yet, there was something that became clear seeing it on stage that hadn’t over my decade-plus of consuming the musical and simply thinking, “Yeah, it’s catchy.” I don’t actually think that I could’ve gotten the read I did at any other time in history, which (unfortunately) reflects why this show is timeless and essential.
I’m sure there will be a lot of themes that I’ll explore a lot in these end of year essays. For those who have read them all, forgive me if I sound redundant. For me personally, 2023 has been a difficult year to process as either being good or bad. On a personal level, I’ve achieved so much that I’m proud of. However, I look out at the world and feel less encouraged about the future of… well, anything. Large areas of America have become terribly homophobic with laws to match. In California alone, there have been months-long protests to remove Harvey Milk’s name from school textbooks where he’s simply a footnote. Orange County has agreed to not fly pride flags in front of government buildings. Along with riots taking place in Los Angeles County over a school merely recognizing June as Pride Month, a city that’s less than a two hour drive was the site where someone identifying as an ally was murdered at her queer-based shop. The Los Angeles Clippers (and, assumingly, the whole NBA) erased Pride Night from their 2023-24 season. Add in the Target backlash and Kid Rock sending Dylan Mulvaney death threats over drinking beer, and you get a world that feels very dystopian. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that it’s one of those years where I have been contemplative about what it means to be American.
Some of this happened after seeing Hairspray. A lot else, including stuff I’d forgotten or hadn’t considered, was going on simultaneously. Looking back on my live theater sheet for the year, I’m struck by how little is theoretically queer. It’s probably coincidental, but I hadn’t seen a single show that was so celebratory of the gay identity. For three hours, I got to take in the celebration that I had been missing and, for a brief window, got to believe in the world again. The people clapping around me couldn’t be on the wrong side of history, could they? Alas, I believed there was a community of kind-hearted people that I hope have had a pleasant 2023.
But why would I think this? I think it’s the biggest thing that’s detrimental to the internet. For all the connection it has given us, nothing compares to simply standing up and going somewhere. I’ve struggled to recognize fact and fiction through Wi-Fi. Even as I find validation, it’s the type of stuff that only exists in the shape of pixels. They give me euphoria, but it’s questionable how long that sensation lasts. When you’re somewhere, you’re trapped in a moment, forced to process everything. It’s tangible. There’s effort put into being here. It also puts into scope that, yes, you’re not the only one who likes Hairspray. The show has fans from many backgrounds, and it comforts me that people support this kind of art.
I’ll admit that one of the biggest revelations was how long this musical has been popular. Whereas I’ve been more skeptical of typical queer musicals like Rent, there is something about Hairspray that feels unapologetic and honest. I know that I’ve focused on LGBTQIA+ specifically, but it’s a show that, as a cinephile and student, was full of these different groups that all coalesced into the ultimate underdog story. It wasn’t just a work of fiction. For as much as Tracy Turnblad symbolized the easiest entry point, I think merely writing her off as “the white lead” is to not recognize how she is revolutionary.
At its core, I see the Hairspray musical as a send-up of what is essentially B-Movie genres of the 50s and 60s. It can be read as the fabled troubled teen genre, but it’s also about how ostracized obese people were, the struggles of the Civil Rights, and the importance of drag (and the implicit queerness). In most other shows, every single character you fall in love with would be the perky sidekick awaiting a hunky lead to set up a joke. It’s the commentary of the equally disposable Corny Collins Show plot, itself seen as ditzy nonsense. Everything about the show was celebrating things that people mock that make these people happy. It’s full of winky lowbrow humor, but its greater intentions keep it from ever being a detriment.
One moment that stands out to me is something that seems inessential in any other context. While there’s a lot to love through Tracy’s own journey, there is something about her parents that ultimately struck me as beautiful. I think on a subliminal note, it was the idea of one generation of “outcasts” raising the other. Together they help them survive in the world. Edna may never be the definition of cool, but there is something that makes her one of the great stage musical characters. She is unattractive in a conventional sense, and yet she tries to fit within femininity in ways that feel genuine. She is insecure and a bit out of place, but she is never disregarded. She’ll crack jokes, lower her voice to that male guttural level, and you’ll still enjoy watching her.
But there’s something about a moment more mundane that made my heart flutter. It’s a romantic number between Wilbur and Edna called, “(You're) Timeless to Me” where they stand off-center in front of a curtain and sing a love song. It’s got plenty of smutty jokes, but it’s still so passionate and alive that you can’t help but be captivated. Suddenly, it’s a moment that transcends the idea that we’re watching RuPaul alum Nina West in drag. It’s a story of a man who is absolutely ravished by his wife. Despite the years of hardships and many arguments, they love each other. You could read it as the heterosexual cisgender take that feels kind of existent, but applying different queer texts makes you realize something more profound. Even if Edna is simply drag, she is still loved.
It’s a message that I’ve been needing to hear all year. There’s been plenty of art that has touched me in that way, but none that I had experienced in a community. Maybe Bottoms (2023) comes closest, but even that had a level of sarcasm that didn’t feel as impactful. This isn’t to discredit live theater on a greater scale. I have seen shows this year with gay characters, but Hairspray hits differently. It does when it’s so clearly made by people celebrating the form while winking at the bigots who are trying to keep them from having a good time. As Edna exits the aerosol can while cracking toilet humor, you know you are in safe hands. Without having to preach to the choir in the banal “love is love” way, you come away feeling proud to be yourself, no matter how that applies. Not only that, but for the first time I felt like I understood “You Can’t Stop the Beat” on a very personal level.
Maybe it’s that this show has withstood the test of time. Maybe it’s that it doesn’t feel as precious as other good-intentioned media. Something about seeing Hairspray made the year better. What seemed inconsequential when I was a teenager has now come to be this beacon of hope. As I hear about people like Ron DeSantis trying to expand the limits of Don’t Say Gay and book bans growing more careless, I keep thinking about “You Can’t Stop the Beat” and feel like it’s the rallying cry we deserve. I know there are more passionate, earnest songs about embracing yourself and change, but they don’t work well as a goofy ensemble number quite like this. As important as individuality is, having harmonies makes you realize you’re not alone.
The power of live theater is a special thing and one that I don’t think can be replicated. As with every year, I had my highs and lows. There were surprises even on a small scale. I was personally moved by a local production of Ride the Cyclone. I got to see the amazing Les Miserables touring production that is very much worth every self-indulgent decision. Again, Hairspray may not rank as my absolute best of the year, but it has given me the most relief in the months since. As it feels like the outside world is growing crueler, I have that stage. I have people who recognize that drag can be merely for entertainment and that these communities can have value. All you have to do is stop and listen. If you don’t, well, I side with John Waters in believing that you are very, very silly and should probably take a hard look in the mirror.
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