Watching 'Hamilton' in election season
America, you great unfinished symphony.
Few works of art have captured my attention as fully as Hamilton. When the musical’s soundtrack was released in late 2015, it quickly became an obsession. I listened to it on walks and at the gym; if I was listening to it while driving, I’d stay in my car until a song finished. I was so amazed at Lin-Manuel Miranda’s lyric-writing ability that, for almost a solid year, the Hamilton soundtrack was all I listened to when I wrote, as if I was hoping to absorb his genius by osmosis.
I was that annoying fan who told everyone I met that they had to listen to Hamilton. I read everything I could about its making. I bought the annotated script Lin-Manuel Miranda helped compile, and watched the PBS special about it just to try to get a glimpse at the staging. When my wife and I went to Chicago for our anniversary in 2019, I waited at the theater box office on a cold Saturday morning for two hours to see if I could score tickets (I did, and it was worth every penny we paid for those floor seats). You’d think that after nearly four years of obsession that there’s no way the show could live up to my expectations; it ended up to be the rare thing to exceed the hype.
And so, of course, when the filmed version of the Broadway production hit Disney+ this summer, I watched it as soon as possible. Two weeks in a row, actually. And while watching it on our television lacked the power and immediacy of seeing it live, Thomas Kail’s production is still a pleasure, and it provides the rare opportunity for everyone to see the original cast tackle the material.
Why do I love this musical so much that, at the end of 2015 or 2016, I called it the greatest piece of narrative art of the last 25 years (that’s probably hyperbole, but maybe not)? I don’t exactly know. I’m not a history buff, nor am I a hip-hop aficionado. I enjoy musicals, but I’m in no way equipped to say how Hamilton ranks with other Tony winners, and I don’t even know if I could tell you why I keep returning to this over, say, Miranda’s In the Heights.
I am still amazed at Miranda’s brilliance with lyrics, the cast’s perfect interpretation of his rhymes, and the dazzling choreography. I’m swept up in a story that is equal parts character study, romance, historical drama and cautionary tale about ambition. No matter how many times I see it, I laugh, cry and cheer at all the same places. It is a brilliant piece of work, and one that hits me deep. As someone who is prone to the idol of ambition, I recognize the breakneck pace of “Nonstop” because I see my own desire to put drive and legacy ahead of the more important things. As a Christian, I am moved by the threads of forgiveness woven through “It’s Quiet Uptown.”
And, as an American, I keep returning to this work because it makes me see both the beauty and folly of the nation I call home.
This week, I had a day where I was waylaid by a stomach ailment and found myself on the couch. With a few hours to kill, I decided to flip over to Disney+ and spend the afternoon rewatching Hamilton. I hadn’t thought much about the fact that I was watching it one week before what many people are calling the most important election in American history. But once I made the connection, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Like many people, I had long considered the first half of Hamilton to be superior to the second. It’s not that I disliked Act 2; it’s just that there’s a charge to the first half that grows more subdued later in the show. Hamilton’s ambition has yet to bite him in the ass, everyone’s mosty getting along and there’s some great battle choreography. It wasn’t until I saw it live that I realized that the second half has arguably the show’s best number in “The Room Where it Happens” and that the characters grow more complex and the thematic concerns really begin to hit home. While Act 1 gives us the most Jonathan Groff, Act 2 gives us Daveed Diggs’ turn as Thomas Jefferson, imagined as Prince by way of Bugs Bunny.
But watching it again, I also realized there are two stories of America at play, and perhaps my tendency to find the first half more enjoyable had to do with preferring that idea of our country to the one we get in the second half.
Act 1 gives us an idealized version of our history, the story we like to tell ourselves every Independence Day. It’s the story of a nation rising on the shoulders of passionate, courageous young men. It’s a story of throwing off the shackles of tyranny and of underdogs securing a win that would change the course of the world. “My Shot” finds several of the characters musing about the potential of a nation they would help create; “Yorktown” ends with the victorious cry of “We Won.” This is the origin story we like to imagine for our nation, founded by grit, courage and sacrifice.
The second half is more complex. We don’t get epic battlefield struggles; we get in-fighting among the Founding Fathers. There’s no romantic struggle; there’s adultery, lies, backstabbing and duels. America is less of a bold idea here than an organization held together by duct tape and bubblegum, capable of falling apart any minute. The people who started this nation aren’t heroic; they’re petty, political, eager to end the other’s career if it means advancement for them.
We don’t like this portrayal of America, but it’s just as true — probably truer — than our idealized origins.
It’s been hard to be a proud American during the last four years, and I know I’m not the only person to feel this way. Our nation is led by a racist, hateful buffoon. We’re currently in the middle of a pandemic that has claimed more than 220,000 American lives, and the more we learn, the more we see that much of this devastation could have been avoided. Our culture and way of life seem only to reward greed and under-handedness, a system designed not to allow individuals life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, but for corporate dominance and the continued empowerment of the wealthy and corrupt.
Hamilton has been described recently as being passe, an outdated relic of the Obama era that idealized American history and ignored some of its more problematic aspects. But watching it this week, and seeing the Cabinet battles, strategic maneuvering and career-ending betrayals play out, I was struck with a realization of how tenuous our entire system of government is. It’s a system created by flawed people, one that almost didn’t exist and stood a fair chance of crashing to the ground. When I realize these events took place less than 300 years ago, and that our nation could still be best described as suffering growing pains compared to those that have been around in some form for millennia, I’m more aware of the importance of having good leadership and an engaged, informed populace.
I’m terrified of what’s going to happen on Tuesday. I vividly remember coming home from class four years ago and sitting to watch the election results roll in, my heart sinking with every red state reveal. I went to bed hoping I’d wake up to a major turnaround; instead, the first thing I saw on TV that morning was the announcement of President Donald Trump. I spent that Wednesday in despair, angry and terrified. Not because a Republican had won; I’ve supported Republican candidates before. But because a man unfit for the office, someone whose name had always been a caricature of our worst impulses, had been elected. I was terrified of what would happen under his administration.
Four years later, we know. Donald Trump has spent four years belittling his enemies, using the American justice system as his own personal bodyguard, and proven himself unfit for his position. It’s not just that he’s not intelligent or that he lacks skills in basic diplomacy and historical knowledge. It’s that he’s a leader of a nation where he doesn’t care for half the people he’s supposed to lead. For him, it’s impossible to care about people who disagree with him. He makes political calls and decisions based on personal vendettas and prejudices. The allegations of racism that have dogged him his entire career have been proven out in the racial division we continue to be embroiled in. And his ineptness and disinterest in anything he can’t solve financially has led to a pandemic that has raged out of control, killing more than 220,000 Americans and is now entering its third and most deadly wave.
Watching Hamilton this week, I was reminded that our nation doesn’t exist via a God-decreed system of government. It’s one created by flawed humans that has endured despite our own worst impulses. At times, the whole house of cards is an inch away from collapsing. Our hope has often been that our leaders are not only intelligent about the system that they are a part of, but that they care enough about something bigger than themselves to, when necessary, put their own self-interest to the side and do what’s right by the people. Right now, I don’t know that we have that.
Which is why, if you’re reading this, it is so crucial that you vote. If you haven’t already, cast your ballot and drop it off at your city hall. If you are voting in person on Tuesday, go early, be safe, and do it. I’m not going to say who to vote for, although if you’ve read this far, you’ve likely inferred my preference. But I will ask that you vote with your neighbors’ needs in mind. Vote for a candidate your children can look up to and trust. Vote for someone who doesn’t bully. Vote for someone who doesn’t rule via division and strife. Don’t vote for a perfect candidate, because that doesn’t exist. But do vote for someone who’s shown they have the capability and desire to be a good person.
Note: There’s no digest this week because it was a rare week where I had no writing or podcasts appearing anywhere else. That should change next week!
Chrisicisms
The pop culture I’m consuming this week.
Little Shop of Horrors - The Director’s Cut: Frank Oz’s 1986 comedy has long been one of my favorite big-screen musicals. Rick Moranis is sublime, the musical numbers all pop, every cameo threatens to walk away with the entire movie, and the puppetry is masterful. Those who knew the stage production were likely baffled when they saw the movie in theaters because Oz’s film drastically changed the story’s twisted, dark ending. Oz had actually shot the bleaker finale, complete with giant Audrey II puppets terrorizing the city and devouring whole populations, but WB requested a change after disastrous test screenings. The deleted footage had been available for a while in a black-and-white extra that you could see on YouTube (or if you happened to own one of the DVDs that was quickly recalled), but a few years back they put out a special edition Blu Ray that incorporated it in color. This version is also available on HBO Max (under the extras for the theatrical cut), and it’s my preferred version. I don’t think the ending is perfectly incorporated; the tonal shift is quite jarring and I think letting an editor trim the rampage at the end might have been wise. But it’s still great to watch the brilliant miniatures work in action and see the full vision from start to finish. And it’s tacked on to one of the few great actual musicals of the 1980s, a film that might be best described as the most demented Muppet movie ever.
The American President: I watched this as research for something I can share with you in the coming weeks, and I’d never seen it before. Rob Reiner’s 1995 romantic comedy, based on a script by Aaron Sorkin, really feels like a rough draft for The West Wing, which would use several of the film’s White House sets and actual dialogue when it debuted four years later. While the romance between Michael Douglas’ Commander in Chief and Annette Bening’s lobbyist is cutesy and a bit pat, the dialogue crackles in a way that only Sorkin can do, giving the political discussions just as much weight (possibly more) than the romance. It’s a smart, often very witty screenplay, and the supporting cast, which includes Martin Sheen, Michael J. Fox, Richard Dreyfus, John Mahoney and Wendy Malick, is having a ball with Sorkin’s heady speak. It might also be the last solid film from Rob Reiner, a director who had one of the most unbelievable streaks in the 1980s yet has largely floundered since the mid-1990s. And it’s another one that was weird to watch in these last days of the election season, a reminder of a time when we could imagine our presidents to be compassionate, thoughtful, wise and tactful.
The Liturgy of Politics: Spiritual Formation for the Sake of Our Neighbor by Kaitlyn Scheiss: A book that should be essential reading for all congregations not only in election season but all year round. Scheiss’ book isn’t a rundown of political issues or a partisan screed. Instead, it’s a thoughtful and engaging look at how the church should shape its parishioners to understand the needs of their neighbor and equip them to serve and advocate for them. Having grown up in Baptist churches, it’s only in recent years that I’ve begun to learn more about the benefits of the liturgical calendar and to view the sacraments as something more than a monthly wafer-and-juice dinner. Schiess goes through our Christian calendar, or worship programs and our spiritual disciplines to show how these can form us to be sensitive to the needs of others and ready to help craft a world that gives them a taste of the hope and beauty of the kingdom of God. I know this close to Election Day that I’m kind of burned out on politics; this actually rejuvenated me.
The Dark Side of Harrison Ford: The Roles that Led to What Lies Beneath by Robert Daniels: I must confess that, to my shame, I wasn’t really familiar with Robert Daniels’ film writing. Last Sunday, however, I had the opportunity to sit in on a webinar where he was a panelist along with Vox’s Alissa Wilkinson and Emily VanDerWerff about culture writing. Coincidentally, this week he also published this fantastic essay about Harrison Ford at RogerEbert.com. Ford’s an actor we don’t think of much these days outside his iconic roles, so it can be easy to forget how welcome his presence was in the 1980s and 1990s. The Robert Zemeckis film What Lies Beneath was seen by many as his first turn as a villain, but Daniels digs into Ford’s work in movies like The Mosquito Coast and Frantic to look at the obsession and darkness that have often been there. It’s a great piece of writing, and I highly recommend it.