In The Presence of an Icon (Or, “That Night I Waited Five Hours for Tickets to See Bette Midler on Broadway”)

At 4am Saturday, my alarm rang. By 4:45, I (along with my boyfriend, a saint) was sitting in Shubert Alley with the seven others already in line. Our mission? Secure standing room tickets to see Bette Midler in Hello, Dolly! that night.

At 10am, the box office opened. We each walked away with two SRO tickets.

At 8pm, the overture began. At 8:10 or so, Bette Midler appeared onstage, and one of the greatest nights of theater I’ve ever experienced took off.

Some background on why this was such an early wakeup call:

Months ago, I came to terms with the fact that I was only going to see Hello, Dolly! by a great stroke of luck or by suddenly coming into wealth. Once the Tony nominations were announced Tuesday and the show racked up ten nods, my determination to see the show was renewed and I took luck into my own hands. I researched the cheap ticket situation (no rush or lottery, but $47 for SRO). Going off the advice of a kind stranger on Twitter (whose tweets appeared when I searched “hello dolly standing room”), I decided to wake up (very) early Saturday, head down to the box office, and see what I could do.

A brief aside to sing the praises of my boyfriend: Not only did he wake up at 4am and sit with me for every minute of our 5-hour wait for the box office to open – he also brought camping chairs so we each had a real seat. But that’s not all. Since each person can purchase up to two SRO tickets, he snagged a pair, but instead of going to the show himself, he bequeathed them to my theater-obsessed coworkers (my roommate took the fourth ticket). Yes, I know, he’s the best person ever.

Seven people were already in line when we arrived, but given what my Twitter friend had told me (he assumed 15-18 SRO per show), and knowing they would be selling for both matinee and evening, I felt good about our chances. Five hours later, we emerged victorious.

Ok, now for Bette.

I honestly had no idea what I was in for. I mean, I kind of did, because it’s an icon in an iconic musical role. But what I didn’t understand until reading the Playbill is that she really hasn’t been on Broadway much (before 2013, it had been 40 years), and that this is her first huge, headlining musical on Broadway ever.

The first time she appears onstage, she’s disguised; she and two other actresses ride out on a carriage, their faces buried in newspapers. One by one, they drop the papers into their laps, and when you see that third face is Bette Midler’s, some crazy musical theater reflex is activated and you start clapping without even realizing it.

The clapping never really stops. Actually, it even goes beyond clapping; in some cases, it was full-on arm-waving, as if the person expected her to notice, stop and point, and proclaim, “Yes, I love you, too.” She may as well have done just that; the electricity in that audience never waned. David Rooney’s review in The Hollywood Reporter puts it perfectly: “Midler soaks [the enthusiasm] up like a heat-seeking beacon and then beams it right back out into the house.”

If simply being in Bette Midler’s presence was the best part, I still would have walked away happy. But more than that, she was also fantastic in the role. I loved hearing her sing, watching her dance and ham it up for the audience.

Every other element of the production was fantastic, too. It reminded me why I love classic musicals. As I’ve become a more knowledgeable theatergoer, I’ve discovered the joy of those that are more outside the box, too – Dear Evan Hansen, or, yes, even Hamilton – but seeing Hello, Dolly!, with its stage awash in colorful costumes, its songs catchy and classic, the whole thing borderline cheesy, I was reminded why I love standard musicals. I didn’t grow up with much attachment to Hello, Dolly! in particular, but it reminded me of the shows that first drew me to a love of musical theater.

I will admit to being bummed when we learned David Hyde Pierce’s understudy would be on that night as Horace Vandergelder. Next to Bette, he was a big reason I wanted to see the show (because, Niles Crane, hello). But Michael McCormick, who performed that night, didn’t seem to miss a beat, and played Vandergelder as the character I knew him to be; he had a gruffness that I almost couldn’t imagine in David Hyde Pierce.

The man standing next to me during the show had also seen the show a few nights earlier, with Pierce. He said he was also terrific, but McCormick wasn’t leaving anything to be desired. (And for the record, this man I spoke with was visiting NYC, had purchased his earlier tickets well in advance, but loved the show so much that he decided to tough it out in the standing room line for another chance.)

Gavin Creel, who played Vandergelder’s employee, Cornelius Hackl, was the great discovery for me. He’s been in tons of shows, but I’d never seen him before, and I absolutely loved him. It was when he started singing “Put On Your Sunday Clothes” that I realized there was much more to this show than just Bette Midler.

And yet, there still was Bette Midler. At the risk of sounding incredibly corny, I’m kind of excited to thumb through my old Playbills someday and think about how lucky I was to collide with this show, with that star.

Then I’ll remember I only secured the tickets because I spent five hours in the middle of the night waiting in line. So I wasn’t just lucky; I had to work for I, too. I hesitate to say I’d do it again, because Saturday night was such a purely lovely theater experience (and because no one should lose that much sleep on a weekend). But I’m so glad I did it once.

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It Feels Like February (And That’s a Good Thing)

One miserable February day in high school, I remember one of my teachers illustrating how we all felt. On the white board, he drew two diagonal lines that intersected toward the bottom, each one representing half the school year. He labeled the low point, where the lines met, “February.” He meant it to encourage us; yes, it’s dark outside, but it only gets better from here.

For the last few months, I’ve been living firmly on that downhill slide, heading toward the low point. I should offer a caveat: Nothing objectively traumatic has occurred. I’m in one piece and grateful for my (ultimately very stable) life. But the low point has appeared in the form of wrestling with the realization that, especially in New York City, I’ll never be able to do it all.

One of the most important realizations I’ve made since living in New York/becoming an adult (for me, those two are one in the same) is that time is your most valuable asset. In a city with infinite activity, you have to make choices, and I feel like I’ve had to make a lot of them in the first part of 2017.

These choices are all centered on time – who you hang out with, what hobbies you pursue, where you go, what relationships you prioritize. Inevitably, people, places, and pursuits come and go as the years pass. I’ve only been in New York just shy of five years, and the way I spend my time now looks dramatically different from the way it did when I first moved. And that’s a good thing. But I’m also much more aware of the ways I spend my time now, and while I think the awareness is a good thing, constantly obsessing over how to spend time – and fretting about how I might be wasting it – seems like a rather fruitless endeavor.

“Epiphany” is too strong a word, but as I was washing a few dishes this evening, after just having watched an episode of 30 Rock and an hour of Hail, Caesar!, I thought of that illustration from my high school teacher. I just watched some of my favorite show, and a good chunk of a great movie. Last night, 15 people crammed in my apartment to watch the Oscars. Yes, the process of managing time and priorities never stops. But life is still good, and it only gets better from here.

While I have you here, and since I just mentioned it, let’s briefly discuss the Oscars, shall we? I really don’t have that much to say, except the screenplay winners gave my favorite speeches, and I’m bummed the Best Picture fiasco overshadowed 1) a win by a phenomenal film and 2) a fantastic hosting job by Jimmy Kimmel.

Tonight I decided to honor Hail, Caesar!’s nomination for Production Design with a re-watch while I scrolled through slideshows of the red carpet and Vanity Fair party. It was heaven. (I still think a convincing Supporting Actor case could have been made for Ralph Fiennes, although why would you really want to compete with Mahershala Ali.)

Despite all my love of movies and award shows, this was the first year I’d seen all the Best Picture nominees before the actual Oscars ceremony. Manchester by the Sea was my favorite film this season, but I am thrilled for Moonlight and would have been thrilled for La La Land, too. Even though it wasn’t my favorite of the year, I’ve become something of a La La Land defender in the past few weeks; no, the movie isn’t perfect, but it’s got music, dance, Technicolor, and dreams. I don’t think it deserves all the backlash.

Every year during the Oscar ceremony, there’s a moment where I consciously think about how I spent four months watching these movies for, more or less, the very purpose of enjoying this one night. And every year I question why I do such a thing. And then a few months later I’m yearning for awards season again. We all have our vices.

Last thing.

One of my resolutions for 2017 was to continue, and expand upon, the work I did in 2016 to document as much as I could about what I read, watched, and listened to. From an ease-of-documentation standpoint, at least for TV and movies, I find tumblr to be a more effective medium than this blog. I will definitely still be writing here, but I’m keeping a more updated, visually focused look at my cultural intake on tumblr.

Good night.

2016 Unfinished Business – The Best of What I Read

It’s January 22, 2017, but I have some unfinished business from 2016 and I’m taking care of it right here.

I can only remember one resolution I made going into 2016: Keep track of all the media I consumed – movies, articles, books, music, television – that caught my eye. Looking back, I can actually say I did a good job. Not a perfect job, but a job good enough that I’m willing to elaborate on the process.

What I’m sharing here are the online articles I read, though some of them lived in print, too. Some are podcasts. To save everything, I emailed a link to myself and saved it in a designated Gmail folder (I used the Notes app on my phone to save lists of movies, books, and TV). As often as possible, I included some context in my email, as well – mentioning how I found the story, where I was when I read it, particular phrases or paragraphs that stood out, or people with whom I discussed the content.

In the beginning, I felt the weight of every article I added. Was this article “worthy”? Was I setting the right criteria? As time wore on, I realized that was the beauty of the project. There were no hard-and-fast criteria. I could make it my own. Anything interesting, thought-provoking, funny…I could add it all.

At the end of the year, there were 138 items in the folder. I recently went back through all of them, and decided these ones stood out – most of them purely for their overall content, but others because of a specific turn of phrase, or because they came to my attention in an interesting way.

There are a few more thoughts after the linkage, elaborating on the broader themes I noticed and my plans to do things a little differently in 2017, but without further adieu, here are some good reads from the past year, with assorted commentary, great phrasing, etc., included. I know it’s too long, but once I got started, I couldn’t stop. Enjoy.

(The dates listed here are generally the dates I consumed said story. Sometimes they match with the publication date, sometimes not.)

January 11 – The New York Times’ David Bowie obituary 

  • I love the description of Bowie as “infinitely changeable, fiercely forward-looking”

January 18 – WTF with Marc Maron episode 671: Charlie Kaufman

  • Kaufman on deciding to write Adaptation – “so I thought, what I if I write about me being stuck?”

February 8 – WTF with Marc Maron episode 678: Cindy Crawford

  • I love reading or listening to something that completely opens me up to a new person. Of course I knew who Cindy Crawford was, but did I know anything about her? Her interview with Maron was fascinating, because she basically broke down every preconception I had about her, and told really interesting stories about her early days in modeling, her work with artists like Richard Avedon and Mike Nichols, and her marriages.

February 8 – Colm Toibin on Saoirse Ronan’s New York (Spring Fashion cover story for New York magazine)

  • At the time, this was the best story I read all year. It’s still very high up there, I would say. I even wrote a lot about it on this very blog. Better than anything I’ve ever read, maybe, it perfectly captures what it’s like to move away from home and attempt to embody both the new place you live and the old place you live. “Sometimes she tries to fit in, to pretend that she has not changed at all and that being away is no big deal; other times she flaunts her new self. There is one moment when she walks through the small Irish town wearing sunglasses and a brightly colored dress when she seems like a returned Yank, like our neighbor’s sister, ready to gather the poor natives around her to show them the style she has acquired.”
  • My favorite sentence from the story, describing Saoirse Ronan and her own embodiment of both Ireland and New York: “She invites envy, she lives in light, she loves glamour, but she also moves easily into the shadows.”

February 19 – Jesse David Fox in Vulture, on Steve Martin opening for Seinfeld at a Beacon Theater show

  • I actually laughed out loud as I re-read the article a few days ago. There were such specific observations about Martin’s jokes, noting where he got the biggest laughs. The author clearly took so much joy from his experience watching Martin do a quick bit, and the joy passes easily to the reader of this piece.

February 19 – David Edelstein’s review of “Hail Caesar” on NPR’s “Fresh Air”

  • My favorite part of this review has nothing to do with “Hail Ceasar!” itself. It comes when Edelstein compares it to “The Big Lebowski,” and calls the latter film a “glorious stoner gumshoe hodgepodge,” which is probably the most perfect turn of phrase I heard this year. Have four words ever been so perfectly selected, assembled, and used to convey meaning? I now find it unnecessary to use any other words to describe that film.

February 26 – Richard Brody’s Oscar picks in The New Yorker

  • If “glorious stoner gumshoe hodgepodge” is my favorite turn of phrase for the year purely from a word economy standpoint, then Richard Brody’s explanation for why “The Revenant” was not Leonardo DiCaprio’s most Oscar-worthy performance wins for the phrase that most succinctly gets to a point: “Anyone can eat the liver.” Brody’s point is that Leo is a fine actor, who could have won the Oscar for parts in which he displayed skills few others have. But “The Revenant” was not such a display. “Anyone can eat the liver.” I actually think about that phrase all the time, and I think it applies to more in life than just the Oscars.

March 2 – New York Times story about Sarah Paulson playing Marcia Clark

  • I caught major “People vs. OJ” fever last year; Sarah Paulson’s performance was probably the best I saw in anything all year. I loved this story about her by Michael Schulman in the Times, which was published at the height of the show’s popularity. In particular, I loved his phrasing as he described how Paulson’s performance redeemed Marcia Clark: “As played by Ms. Paulson, she is recast as a chain-smoking feminist underdog.”

March 8 – Nora Ephron in The New Yorker: “My Life as an Heiress”

  • This story was written in 2010, but for some reason The New Yorker posted this on Facebook in March, 2016. I remember wondering why they’d chosen it; maybe it was just randomly selected from the archives for special attention that day. Of course I read it, because it’s Nora Ephron, and I found it to be a delightful piece of easy reading. You hardly even remember you’re reading when you’re reading something of hers – it just is, it is how people talk, it is a depiction of real life you feel instantly familiar with. She recounts drama ensuing from an inheritance she and her sisters were supposed to receive, and the story ties back to When Harry Met Sally…, the work that first made me an Ephron apologist.

March 24 – “How Tracy Morgan’s Accident Made Him Funnier” 

  • Here’s what I wrote when I first read this article: “I always knew I really liked him but there is something about this that I just love. That makes me love him. I think it runs so deeply with my love for 30 Rock that it is like, he’s my uncle or something. Like I’m so glad we have him. I’m so glad he has sharks.” I loved this story. Tracy Morgan is fascinating, and this story was worthy of him. His best line in it: “Gotta keep my octopus alive. Gotta keep my sharks alive. Those are God’s creatures! I’m needed!”

April 5 – Lin-Manuel Miranda featured in the New York Times’ “By the Book”

  • Having just seen Hamilton a few weeks prior to this story, I was in a full-on fever for the show; in some ways the timing of my personal obsession mirrored that of the national obsession. I read countless Ham-related articles that I could share here, but I’m highlighting this one because 1) I love knowing that Lin-Manuel and I share an affection for Doris Kearns Goodwin, and 2) neither of us could make it through Infinite Jest.

April 6 – Matt Zoller Seitz’s “People vs. OJ” post-mortem

  • Here we are with OJ again. I just re-read my notes about this and, man, this is a perfect assessment of the show. Every word of it has you nodding your head, shouting “yes” in agreement and realizing it gives voice to so many of the thoughts you had but couldn’t fully express. Like this about Sterling K. Brown’s performance as Christopher Darden: “Sterling K. Brown’s Darden has a woodwind voice that makes it sound as if he’s inhaling his own frustration…”

April 29 – Rob Reiner on “WTF with Marc Maron”

  • This was 90 minutes of showbiz story time. He talks about his projects, growing up in the business and in Los Angeles, the people he’s closely connected to. He talks about his father’s friendship with Mel Brooks and his own friendship with Albert Brooks (and about how “all of the Reiners were Reiners, but none of the Brookses were Brookses”).

May 31 – Joe Posnanski on taking his daughter to see Hamilton

  • Joe Posnanski turns the ordinary into the eloquent and sees the beauty in the everyday. That’s why I loved his Hamilton story so much. Hamilton itself is not “everyday,” but he tells us what going to Hamilton is like and helps us understand why such an experience is so special. This is the best piece I’ve read about the actual, magical experience of being in the theater, but it’s more than that – a story about fathers and daughters, the misery of being a teenage, the natural tendency to throw yourself into an obsession because it’s more fun than real life.

July 24 – James L. Brooks on “WTF with Marc Maron”

  • This didn’t get to the emotional place that a lot of Maron interviews do (Brooks was never exactly baring his soul), but like the Rob Reiner episode, it was story time. Just the kind of thing TV/movie obsessives like myself can’t get enough of. Brooks also had really nice words for Maron about his work on the podcast, and I love that he called out Maron’s interview with Terry Gross from 2015 as a particular favorite, because that’s the episode that really made me a fan of the show.

September 11 – “The Real Heroes are Dead” 

  • The New Yorker posted this 2002 story to Facebook on the 15th anniversary of 9/11. I remember laying in bed that night, clicking on it mindlessly, then finding I’d read the whole piece. It’s a love story (as its subtitle says)about a couple who found each other later in life; he worked in security for Morgan Stanley, worked in the World Trade Center, and died on September 11, 2001. My perspective on 9/11 – the day itself, not any attendant politics – has changed so much since moving to New York. Of course, as a kid in Oregon, we all knew what was happening and mourned. But New Yorkers – their husbands died. Dust and debris fell in their backyards. I’ve seen firsthand how deeply that day cut for people, and Susan Rescorla, the widow in this New Yorker story, is one such person.

September 13 – Billy Crystal on “WTF with Marc Maron”

  • Am I overdoing it with the Maron episodes here? I don’t care if I am! His show is great, and not that being on my list of must-consume media is some great prize, but I think it’s a testament to the quality of his interviewing skills and his ability to get to the heart of a person. People tell Maron stories they don’t tell anyone else. But anyway, this Billy Crystal interview. I realized how distinctive his voice is – like his actual speaking voice. Maybe I only realized it here because I have never otherwise heard him talk for such an extended period of time. His wit is effortless and unique, his one-liners perfection. And the story he told about watching the televised Vietnam draft (his birthday was never selected) will stay with me.

October 7 – Vulture on the joke density of 30 Rock 

  • This story was published in April, 2016, and I know I read it then, but I apparently didn’t add it to the folder until October. I think about this every time I watch 30 Rock now – how so many of the jokes are there just to be jokes, not to develop character or advance story. The whole point of this story was to compare season two of Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt to 30 Rock in that way, but it ended up changing a lot of my perspective on this show I love.

November 13 – Van Jones on race, post-election

  • Whatever your thoughts on the election and its outcome, I think you’ll find something in this article, especially in this from Jones:

I see the rebels on the rise and I see the Establishment on the ropes and I have some sympathy for all the rebels. Whether it’s the Sanders voters and Black Lives Matter or whether it’s the tea party and the Trump voters. I agree that there’s an elite in the country that’s let a whole bunch of us down. What I am desperately trying to do is, if I can, help the rebels understand each other better. We’re not going to agree on much, but the way forward here is for liberals to really do what we accuse the Trump voters of not doing. In other words, to empathize with the pain of their fellow human beings. This idea that Trump voters are all bad and Hillary voters are all good or Hillary voters are all bad, Trump voters are all good — that’s what’s getting us into trouble. On all sides, I see hypocrisy and blind spots and pain.

November 30 – “While We Weren’t Looking, Snapchat Revolutionized Social Networks” 

  • Snapchat became part of my regular social network routine in spring/summer 2015, and I’ve become a bigger and bigger fan of it as time has gone on. This column by Farhad Manjoo solidified my understanding of its larger importance. And I loved how it highlighted Snapchat’s human quality: “And perhaps most important, its model for entertainment and journalism values human editing and curation over stories selected by personalization algorithms — and thus represents a departure from the filtered, viral feeds that dominate much of the rest of the online news environment.”

Nothing from December needed to be urgently added here, so I’m leaving it at that.

A few others I want to highlight but ran out of steam to dissect fully:

As I reflect on the whole experience, I’ve decided the biggest tweak I want to make in 2017 is to diversify – both in sources and in topics. So many of the articles I highlighted here are from New York Magazine, the New York Times, and The New Yorker. Those are all publications I love, and I’ll continue to read and save their stories. And while my overall list (beyond what I highlighted above) included many other sources, like GQ, The Washington Post, other podcasts, The A.V. Club, IndieWire, Vanity Fair, and more, I want to make an active effort to read stories I might not naturally be drawn to, from outlets whose purview is unique from that of what I already read.

I loved creating something piece-by-piece, day-by-day, not really thinking as the time went on about how I was actually compiling a time capsule of my year. Looking through everything I saved was a reminder of what I read, what held my interest, what made me sad, and what I learned. I’ll report back in 12 months with the next set of findings.

Is this thing on?

Not a lot to say here, other than…it’s been awhile.

Why, exactly?

I don’t really know.

I’ve actually come here to write several times in the past few months, but nothing happened. I have a few drafts saved that recount all my summer adventures, from my college friends’ visit in June to my July trip to visit my sister in Germany. But it all felt a little forced. Everything seemed to follow a steady pattern of “Thing A happened to me, and I learned Lesson B.” Even what I’m writing right now feels a little forced, but I’m chalking it up to transition and putting it out there anyway.

Last weekend, I was on a retreat in New Jersey and spent some time talking to friends I hadn’t had a meaningful chat with in awhile. One is a dancer who’s great at encouraging others in their artistic pursuits, and she asked me about writing. Had I been writing? My answer was no, and what struck me most about our brief conversation was that it made me realize…I didn’t even notice I wasn’t writing. I’ve actually done a decent job this year of journaling privately, and keeping track of articles/stories/movies/media I consume. But in terms of writing here on my blog, or sitting down to flesh out little story ideas that come into my mind? I haven’t made any time for that.

I wish I could say that conversation last weekend prompted me to create an intentional schedule where I carve out tons of time for writing and reflection. That’s not exactly the case. But it did put the thought in my mind. If this is purportedly so important to me, why am I not doing more of it? What do I want to write about? What stories do I want to tell? What’s happening in my story – my life in New York City, my relationships, my aspirations?

So, more to come. The next thing I post here could be an essay about four years in New York and that moment you realize you’re not “new” at this anymore…or it could be 1,000 words about how much I love Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. But it will be written, and right now, that’s what I find most important.

I won the Hamilton lottery! Here is the story.

The Broadway gods smiled upon me Tuesday night, and I won the lottery for Hamilton. I had a front-row seat to the show I’ve wanted to see for a year, and I’m now living in its glow.

I’m not a theater critic, so I’ll leave it to Ben Brantley to tell you how marvelous Hamilton is as a show (note his first line). Yet while I’m not qualified to tell you how Hamilton is changing the American musical, I can at least explain what it meant to me, as a history nerd, theater lover, and someone drawn to works of art that are totally and completely new.

Since winning the online lottery Tuesday (a complete out-of-body experience, by the way…I’ve definitely gone back and re-read the email even after the fact since I’m not totally convinced it happened), I’ve been trying to re-assemble the timeline of my Hamilton obsession. It started last spring, when I began hearing buzz about its run at the Public. At that point, I don’t think my interest went much beyond general intrigue. I think often about how history might become more accessible for the general public. What would get people, especially young people, interested in those topics that seem dry on paper? I loved the idea that a musical about one of the Founding Fathers was actually really good.

Last summer, when the show transitioned to Broadway, it crossed over into phenomenon phase. Tickets were impossible to acquire (or afford) and each time I played the lottery outside the Richard Rodgers Theatre, thousands of other fans were playing, too, so chances of seeing it that way were slim.

For awhile, my desire to see the show was driven by my desire to be part of the conversation; it was less about the show itself. Even in the summer, I knew little about it, minus the names of a few of its stars, but my interest in the show and its creator/star, Lin-Manuel Miranda, grew even larger after a New York Times Magazine story from July, which was the first place I read about how the show portrayed Hamilton: It wasn’t a straightforward retelling of what happened in America’s early days, but a meta-narrative, exploring Hamilton’s place in history, how he and other founding fathers considered the ways they’d be perceived in future generations, and how their stories were carried forward.

That concept has long fascinated me; I thought most about it when I read Doris Kearns Goodwin’s “Team of Rivals” and learned how Lincoln was so concerned with doing something important enough to be remembered, because the idea of an eternal afterlife wasn’t comforting; he needed to do something that would make his name indelible on earth. Hamilton doesn’t present its titular character as having quite the same motivation (and I haven’t read the Ron Chernow biography that inspired Miranda to create the musical) but I see parallels. It’s that layer of historical perspective that makes the show so fascinating to me.

What Hamilton really comes down to for me, though is Lin-Manuel Miranda. The man’s a genius. He read the Chernow biography and saw something in it no one ever noticed: Alexander Hamilton embodies hip-hop. (Watch the snickers he gets when he explains that to an audience at the White House when he first performed what became Hamilton’s opening number there in 2009.) More than that, he created an entire musical out of it, and not a cheesy song-and-dance, which I’m sure it could have become if treated by less capable hands. It’s a feast for your ears and eyes, on top of being a fresh presentation of history.

To watch Hamilton in the theater is to know you are witnessing something new and different. You have never seen a musical like this. You have never learned about history like this. It pays homage to its predecessors across musical forms, but in channeling them all, it becomes something they were not. Lin-Manuel Miranda created this whole thing – the concept, the music – and as you sit in the theater, knowing this man playing Alexander Hamilton conceived the whole idea, you realize it is extraordinary.

Now that Hamilton is such a phenomenon, actually seeing the show is a meta experience. You’re there to see Hamilton, but you’re also THERE TO SEE HAMILTON! I’ve never seen a show with such an engaged audience. And since all the lottery winners sit in the front row, it’s obvious to everyone else in the audience that you’re one of the lucky 21 who had their name picked. Who got to see the show just by chance. When I handed the usher my ticket, she shared in the excitement, saying “Oh my gosh, you won the lottery, congratulations!” That made it fun. I also treated myself to an adult beverage because I was going to have myself a night (and I wanted the souvenir cup).

Now it’s annoying for me to say, “oh, you just HAVE to see it” because I know that for a lot of people, it’ll be impossible to see this show unless they suddenly fall into wealth, or they get lucky like I did and win the lottery. It’s true, though. There’s an energy in the theater you simply won’t get just listening to the soundtrack. The cheers start when the lights first go down, and the clapping and hollering never let up. Of course at other shows, certain lines will get a laugh, but at Hamilton, “immigrants, we get the job done” gets straight-up applause.

Something unique about the performance I attended: It happened the day after the cast was all over the news for performing at the White House. Even that morning, Lin-Manuel had been in DC with Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand. I remember noticing his tweet early in the day, replying to a fan and confirming that he would be performing that evening. Little did I know.

I also realized it was the first time I’d sat in the front row at any show. I got to see the spit and the sweat. Thanks to the proximity and the depth of emotion I could sometimes witness, I think I love songs that otherwise might not mean much, like “Dear Theodosia,” the ode Burr and Hamilton sing to their newborns. I’ll always listen to that song thinking of Leslie Odom, Jr., sitting onstage not far from me, beaming at this imaginary child. I was amazed at how easily he transitioned from rap to this gorgeous ballad.

My enthusiasm for Hamilton has not tempered since I’ve seen the live show. Now I’m hard at work memorizing the soundtrack, and I’m still soaking up every piece of information about the show and its creation I can get my hands on. It’s a fun show to be obsessed with, and I’m happy that Tuesday’s performance was just the beginning for me.

I leave you with a few random Hamilton-related clips that I hope help you fall in love with this show if you haven’t already:

A performance of “One Last Time,” which is emerging as one of my favorite songs from the show. Christopher Jackson, who plays Washington, gave probably my favorite performance at the show itself. How can a song can be so beautiful, and explain why Washington stepped away from the presidency after two terms better than any history textbook?

A #Ham4Ham performance outside the Richard Rodgers in October; the three actors to have played King George during the Public and Broadway runs perform, “The Schuyler Sisters,” one of my favorite songs (with Renee Elise Goldsberry, who plays one of the sisters, rapping the Aaron Burr part):

Aforementioned clip of Lin-Manuel Miranda rapping what became the opening number at the White House in 2009:

Goddess Kelli O’Hara performing at a #Ham4Ham:

The Hamilton Cast at the Public last year, paying tribute to A Chorus Line on its 40th anniversary (it also played that theater):

 

“Brooklyn” and Reinvention

In keeping with my previously stated goal of keeping better track of all that inspires me in 2016, I’m sitting here to meditate on a beautiful piece of writing I encountered today: “Bronx, Brooklyn, Broadway: Saoirse Ronan’s New York,” by Colm Tóibín, who also authored Brooklyn, the novel upon which the Ronan-starring film is based. The piece is the cover story for the current issue of New York magazine, its annual spring fashion issue. I love Saoirse Ronan, but it wasn’t her as the subject that made me love this; it was Tóibín’s turns of phrase, his perfect articulation of what it’s like to reinvent yourself, and his understanding of why you’d want to in the first place.

One of my favorite elements of the movie Brooklyn, which I saw a couple weekends ago, was that it understood homesickness in a very real way. I have not moved between countries, but I moved from Oregon to New York at a key transitional point in life – right after I graduated from college and entered the quote-unquote real world – and I identified so strongly with Ronan’s character, Eilis, as she left Ireland for Brooklyn and began a new life. I have cried like Eilis cried in the movie, felt the same hopelessness and wondered why I ever did this. But I’ve also made friends, started a career and built a life in this new place, and felt with unshakeable certainty that this is where I am meant to exist right now.

In the article, Tóibín describes Ronan (in comparison with her Brooklyn character) “as someone familiar with rural Ireland who was also intensely glamorous and ready to be transformed.” That phrase “ready to be transformed” leapt out at me. My transformation has been less a physical transformation than one of attitude, one of thought. I have changed since moving to New York in ways I did not expect, but the more I thought about Tóibín’s words, the more they rang true. The expectation of some kind of transformation was inherent in my longstanding desire to move to New York.

The strangest parts of being home are those subtle moments when I realize how much I’ve changed. I’ll notice moments when I say something, or react to a comment, or take an action that makes so much perfect sense to me now, that I only realize later how out-of-character that would have been for the pre-New York me.

I left the theater after Brooklyn concentrated on one shot: Eilis, briefly back in Ireland following a family tragedy, running errands around her sleepy town in a bright dress and sunglasses. It embodied the transformation she’d undergone in Brooklyn; not just that she now wore sunglasses, but that it was only natural for her to wear them in public, even in rural Ireland.

saoirse ronan brooklyn sunglasses

I’ve thought about that shot for days. In the context of the film, it says more about homesickness and reinvention than I ever could with words, and I grinned when I got to the end of Tóibín’s New York magazine story and saw he referenced it:

Sometimes she tries to fit in, to pretend that she has not changed at all and that being away is no big deal; other times she flaunts her new self. There is one moment when she walks through the small Irish town wearing sunglasses and a brightly colored dress when she seems like a returned Yank…ready to gather the poor natives around her to show them the style she has acquired.

I’m still working on the literal style part of my transformation (I do think I dress better than I did in college, though when I made this observation to some friends I visited at home over Christmas, I realized I was wearing a plaid Gap button-down technically made for men) but in the broader sense, this is exactly what I experience any time I’m home, or when I’m in New York and stop to think about how I am different because of this city.

The Tóibín piece can be enjoyed apart from deep reflection on self-reinvention, though. His turns of phrase alone are a joy to read. A few of my favorite parts:

On observing people like a childhood neighbor in Ireland, who emigrated to America but would come back to visit: “They had white teeth and good suntans. They thought life was short.”

On the specific childhood neighbor, compared with her sister who moved from Ireland to England: “The American sister, on the other hand, was all glitter and fascinating talk.”

On the realization Irish immigrants to America had when fully understanding their freedom in the new country – no family members to bump into on the street, etc.: “You could invent yourself here, even if the term self-invention was not yet understood by you.”

On Saoirse Ronan in this moment: “She has come home to a place that is neither Brooklyn nor Ireland but rather a place that she herself has imagined and embodies.”

And more on Saoirse: “She invites envy, she lives in light, she loves glamour, but she also moves easily into the shadows.”

Read the whole thing yourself, and enjoy. And see Brooklyn while you’re at it.

My September of Gerwig-Baumbach Movies

I have found a new spirit animal, and it is Greta Gerwig from this scene in Greenberg, the first of a trio of Gerwig-Noah Baumbach (all starring and sometimes co-written by her, and all directed by him) movies I have seen and loved in the month of September:

Because who among us has not danced and sung along to a Wings song while alone in her apartment.

Actually, the circumstances surrounding the Admiral Halsey dance are a little melancholy, and of the three films I’m thinking of (the other two being Mistress America and Frances Ha), Gerwig’s character in Greenberg is the one I saw the least of myself in. And yet, the film as a whole still fascinates me. All three of these films seem to have met me in perfect timing over the past few weeks.

I saw Mistress America first of the three, at the picture-perfect Lincoln Plaza Cinema on the Upper West Side. I remember first seeing a preview for it when I saw Love and Mercy in June, and at the time I remember enjoying a couple of the lines and realizing, oh, that’s Greta Gerwig, the girl from Frances Ha and the forgotten How I Met Your Mother spin-off. Frances Ha came less than a week later. It was Sunday of Labor Day.

Together, those movies represented my current life phase better than any movies ever had. Never had two films spoken so articulately to the phase in which I found myself at the time of viewing them – Mistress America in a broad sense, and Frances Ha more in the specifics.

Since I saw Mistress America in theaters, I haven’t been able to go back and recall the exact wording of several lines that made my eyes widen in recognition. I’m stuck with the lines I typed furiously in a note on my phone as I left the theater, and with what I’ve been able to dig up from tumblr and trailers. But the overall feeling, of being a young person trying to figure it out in New York, resonated to my core. Gerwig’s character, Brooke, has a line (maybe several and I’m only remembering it as one) about how she loves so much, but none of what she loves or seems to be good at is something that the world, at least from a work perspective, finds valuable. I also identified with the characters of Tracy and Tony, two college freshmen, who realize they’re kind of the worst right now and just want to grow up, fit in, and be good at something.

And Brooke’s New York is the New York I think a lot of people glimpse and have in the back of their mind every time they dream of moving here. She lives in Times Square and gets by purely on her commitment to her artsy ideas. There’s a shot of Brooke and Tracy in the middle of Times Square one morning, parting for the day as any friends might outside an apartment building, and that image is stuck in my mind because it’s exactly how I first envisioned living here. Even the mundane things, like heading out for a morning gym class, happen against the big, bright backdrop of the city. As Brooke, and everyone else in New York eventually learns, this does not retain its glamour.

I’m making it sound like Mistress America drove me to an existential criss, but much of the film is great just because it’s enjoyable. Lines like, “If you live in suburbia, you really have to love your house,” (said by Tracy) simply made me laugh because that’s an idea that has crossed my mind as I’ve schlepped stuff from one apartment to the next in New York City. (In The New Yorker, Richard Brody wrote, “While watching the film, I wanted to transcribe the dialogue in real time for the pleasure of reading it afterward.”)

A few days after seeing Mistress America, I decided to watch Frances Ha. I’d been meaning to watch it for months, since I knew it had been well-received, and I’d heard rave reviews from a movie-loving friend. Mistress America made me even more willing to dive in.

If I’m judging a movie based on how well it delivers what I most want out of a film, Frances Ha is as perfect as they come. Shot in black-and-white, set in New York City, insanely well-cast, highlighting people who are a little bit aimless…it’s all there.

It’s almost hard to find words for how well this movie depicts New York life in a specific way. I didn’t have quite the same ahhhh what am I even doing here?  feelings as I did with Mistress America, but had more moments of, oh, yes, I have experienced exactly that crappy or amazing thing while living in this city. Like waiting an eternity on the subway platform before realizing that line isn’t running this weekend. Or having your eyes bug out with excitement the instant you realize your tax rebate has come.

Greta Gerwig is from Sacramento, and the movie features a whole montage depicting Frances’ trip home for Christmas (her real-life parents play Frances’ parents). I have never seen the spirit of a holiday trip home from New York City shown in such a lovely way on film. Joy, family, fun, Christmas decorations, walks around the neighborhood, twinges of melancholy. I’m finding I want to end every sentence I write about this film with sigh, it’s perfect.

In the past year (and some change) in which I would say I’ve become legitimately interested in film, I’ve basically just followed movies from one to the next, going after whatever directors or actors or styles hold my obsession that moment. I can’t even remember why I first stumbled upon Greenberg, but something in my movie knowledge quest led me to it on Netflix awhile ago. I didn’t actually watch it until last week, completing my September Gerwig-Baumbach trifecta. This is actually the oldest of the three films I watched, and the only one set in Los Angeles. What I loved about it was less about how it connected to me – since I noticed fewer similarities between its characters and myself – and more about the movie as a whole and its specific performances. Like the aforementioned dancing to Admiral Halsey.

There’s an underlying uncomfortableness to it since Greenberg, Ben Stiller’s character, is so unpleasant. Even Greta Gerwig’s Florence has her difficult moments. But there’s a scene where she and Greenberg are talking in her apartment, and she’s describing a time she and her friend went out and pretended to be slutty girls at a bar, and Greta Gerwig in that scene just blew me away. (I came across this piece in the New York Times by A.O. Scott, written at the time of Greenberg‘s release, which eloquently describes the scene and the heart of Gerwig’s greatness in it.) It’s not that I didn’t appreciate Gerwig’s acting in the other two films, but in this one, it’s just more apparent, or at least it’s the element that most resonated with me.

It’s the end of September now, but not the end of my quest to see more of the Gerwig-Baumbach catalogue. I’ll have to shift to movies they did separately; I’m most excited to watch earlier Gerwig performances, and Baumbach’s While We’re Young (bonus points for even more Wings music in the trailer). But these three they did together have been added to heavy rotation in my movie world.