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This was my initial reaction to seeing Hamilton for the first time Saturday night.
For better or worse, Hamilton has become the piece de resistance in the history of early American sovereignty. Everyone has seen it, reporting you have to see it.
Which is how I managed to avoid it for the first several years of its ballyhooed existence. When the masses are enamored of something, I tend to go the other way, post haste. Double time if Disney gets its white gloved hands on it. Even for a contrarian though, it’s sometimes good to find out what the fuss is about, so when the traveling production became the centerpiece in my wife’s birthday evening out, I was curious.
I went into Saturday evening knowing very little about the show. I assumed (correctly) it was about the former Treasury Secretary and mascot for the ten-dollar bill, Alexander Hamilton. I knew it had rubbed people from all over the political spectrum wrong (good) and was an unorthodox presentation of history.
Aside from this, I tried to remain ignorant and open minded in the days leading up to the performance. Though I generally find face value to be the perspective of the intellectually stagnant, I tried to approach Hamilton at its most basic function–a biographical musical about a historical figure.
The composer, Lin-Manuel Miranda, evidently drew inspiration from Ron Chernow’s biography, Alexander Hamilton, and began toying with the idea of telling the founding father’s story using rap and hip-hop music. Bill Buckley would’ve been delighted.
Hence my analogy. Miranda recognized an underserved topic–history in general and Alexander Hamilton specifically. To remedy that, he imagined that telling the story using modern music (rap, hip-hop) might just give it new life and/or expose it to an otherwise uninterested market. Christianity was given a similar treatment decades ago, when a flagging concept was merged with pop music for the invention of Christian Rock.
As far as the Founding Fathers go, Hamilton is often overlooked. There was a brief renaissance several years ago in one of those painfully ubiquitous got milk? ads. Even in currency, Hamilton is discounted. Only the two-dollar bill has a smaller circulation among the common bills (1-100). Hamilton never had a lofty title to ensure immortality. He was never president, and unlike his famous contemporary Ben Franklin, he didn’t invent things. He just wrote about them. I feel you, Allie.
Hamilton was not your average Founding Father. He was a foreign bastard. Literally. He was born on the island of Nevis in the British West Indies. He was adopted by a well-to-do family and grew up dedicated to education and hard work. Hamilton took an interest in finance and was a prolific writer. The pamphlet was his Tik Tok. Later, he’d be the most verbose contributor to The Federalist Papers. Personally, I dig a guy that goes to the trouble to write everything down. Even when he was caught in a scandalous affair, he produced a pamphlet. Further, Hamilton was instrumental in the establishment of the First Bank of the United States. After various starts, stops, and incarnations, it would eventually (d)evolve into the Federal Reserve. Like any quality hip wordsmith, Hamilton died young in Greenwich Village. Not from heroin, but at the hand of his old pal, Aaron Burr.
The weather was indecisive all day Saturday and into the evening. After feeding the insatiable parking lot meter, my wife and I had a nice, quiet dinner at a downtown hotel. From there, it was a short walk past the porn theater to the performing arts center. Before entering the TSA caliber security check outside the theater, I learned that Texas had won the conference championship basketball game. My mood was favorable.
Admittedly, I enjoy the theatre. As a seasoned concertgoer, it’s a nice change when the audience dresses up a bit, conducts itself in a cordial manner, and isn’t constantly crawling through rows, trapped in the beer and bathroom cycle.
In the lobby, Hamilton’s widespread appeal was on display. Families and couples young and old crowded the concourse chatting. Men dressed as tap dancers and women dressed as lumberjacks mingled with the more traditionally attired theatergoers. One man was offering exiled smokers whiffs of his coat which was saturated with cigarette smoke. Many sipped drinks in the crowded concourse. The PAC draught beer presentation gave the appearance of a urine test. At times it looked like we were interviewing for second shift TIG welder positions.
As for the performance, Hamilton was enjoyable. Miranda dressed up a lot of history as a musical. The show is like a high-end live presentation of Schoolhouse Rock. It’s a long show, but you have to consider the source material. Chernow’s book weighs in at a formidable 818 pages. That said, I couldn’t really understand what made it the runaway hit. Yes, it’s entertaining and well done. Catchy at times. But in a society that sees history as increasingly disposable, why are people shelling out hundreds of dollars to see this multiple times?
Even better, it was clever. A history lesson using hip hop is an undertaking in itself. But Thomas Jefferson as a hilariously charming Gaysian (is there any other kind?) is a masterstroke. As was the portrayal of blackmailing cuckold James Reynolds as an Eighteenth century pimp.
As for controversy, I didn’t really see anything authentic. However, in modern society everything’s a target and we’ve constantly got our fingers on our quivers. Where myopia reigns, it’s shoot first; ask questions later–if at all. Tackling anything of historical import is a dicey proposition these days as events and figures have been reopened for (cursory) analysis. Heroes and villains are constantly being arbitrarily recast by an unread mob, placing everyone’s resume under review. A particle of transgression can now void a lifetime of positive accomplishment.
Yes, Founding Fathers were portrayed by actors of color (the horror). This is called acting. When I was in fourth grade, I portrayed a dragon in a play. Clearly, I’m not a dragon, but I could still play one (albeit poorly). I think I can wrap my mind around George Washington looking like Chris Paul in a waistcoat and breeches.
The hip-hop songs and the whitest Americans portrayed by actors of color is only subterfuge. It goes without saying (literally) that Paul Rudd playing Frederick Douglass would lead to the raising of hell though it really shouldn’t. Race isn’t a component of quality. This is art and should be accepted as such.
Critics have charged Miranda with playing fast and loose with the truth. This is a musical, not a history book. Creative license is peanut butter concealing the dog’s heartworm pill. There’s a reason people skip history class and go to movies. We want to be entertained. A straight telling of historical events couldn’t sell “Young, Hungry, and Scrappy” Tshirts and tote bags for thirty bucks a pop.
After the fact, I read reviews critical of the sometimes trite lyrical content. When rhyme and meter are critical, the perfect word often isn’t an option. We all have otherwise cogent songs we enjoy that have a peculiar word or phrase, chosen only because it fits. "There’s a killer on the road, his brain is squirming like a toad" isn’t the greatest couplet ever composed, but it doesn’t make ‘Riders on the Storm’ a terrible song or LA Woman a bad record.
I admit to being under the impression that a performance of Hamilton was the place to be seen by your open minded, EV driving friends. But, Alexander Hamilton was as aristocratic as any of the founding fathers. He was likely a one-percenter. He owned slaves. In Federalist 68, he was a proponent of the electoral college. I obviously don’t understand Miranda’s motives, but I applaud him. Since it’s impossible to please everyone, aim for the more attainable goal of pissing everyone off.
But this isn’t happening. Night after night, a jubilant full house is turned out into the chilly evening singing about being in the room where it happened with an added literal connotation. Perhaps it’s cool sometimes to dial back the cynicism meter and just enjoy something for what it’s worth. Perhaps, sometimes the agenda is quality entertainment attractive to people of all walks of life. Perhaps Hamilton is just really good. Perhaps, as the song goes, That Would Be Enough.
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