We finally saw Lin-Manuel Miranda's Hamilton.
I've been aware of the show for some ten years. In April of 2016 I wrote,
An Occasional CEO post about entrepreneurship [I've removed the link because it no longer works] has against all odds made me excited about a new Broadway show. I'll be happy to wait for a production that is less expensive and closer to home, or on video. But I want to see "Hamilton."
We did briefly consider seeing it during our visit to New York City in November of that year—before we decided to settle for visiting Alexander Hamilton's grave in Trinity Church Cemetery instead. And then ... Hamilton really took off. It became popular. Everybody had to see it! It became available around the country, and even, I'm told, on Disney+, of all things. So of course, contrarian that I am, I lost interest.
And then...we went on a cruise. And one day, exhausted by our intense excursion schedule—who said cruises were supposed to be restful?—we collapsed in our stateroom, flipped on the video screen, and took a look at the movie offerings. The choices were many, but nothing I wanted to see...except...except...there was Hamilton! A recording of the stage production, with the original cast, including Lin-Manuel Miranda himself. So we settled in for an adventure.
As is the case with much of my family, my reflex upon sitting down in front of a movie or TV show is to fall asleep, no matter how interested I think I am in what I'm watching. That was not the case with Hamilton, which kept my attention from beginning to end.
I wasn't expecting that at all. It's been a long time since I've been so moved by a show. For a few minutes it was disorienting: the style of music was totally foreign to me, and seeing Aaron Burr as a black character was as odd as the time I watched a version of the Mikado in which the characters were all British. But the strangeness passed quickly as I became engrossed in the production. Which was brilliant: from the interpretation of the story to the believability of the characters to the cleverness of the stage set. Best of all, perhaps, was a faithfulness to the historical story that I've rarely found in theatrical adaptations. The production feels authentic despite—or perhaps even because of—its unusual setting
After that experience, I was shocked to read part of a conversation that my friend Eric—the same whose post had introduced me to Hamilton in the first place—had with ChatGPT about the show, in which the LLM made the following observation:
The Obama-era optimism and "America as an unfinished project" theme landed differently in 2015 than it does after years of political polarization. Historians and writers have increasingly criticized the show for sanitizing the Founding Fathers, particularly Alexander Hamilton's and others' relationships to slavery. The casting and "America then told by America now" concept, which once felt revolutionary, is no longer quite as novel. Some of the hip-hop references and stylistic choices are now identifiable as distinctly 2010s.
That criticism was as shocking to me as Aaron Burr shooting directly at Alexander Hamilton in the duel instead of "throwing away his shot" as Hamilton himself did. Hamilton moved me deeply, for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with immigrants or slavery or President Obama or musical styles or anything that could possibly be considered political or cultural, let alone outdated. It touches on deep subjects and emotions and problems common to "all sorts and conditions of men" at all times, and deserves to be recognized for the classic that it is.
And then there is my own, personal, gut-level identification with the show. Hamilton hit me right where I live.
Just before the intermission, in the song, "Non-Stop":
Why do you write like you’re running out of time?
Write day and night like you’re running out of time?
Ev’ry day you fight, like you’re running out of time
Like you're running out of time
Running out of time
Are you running out of time?
How do you write like tomorrow won’t arrive?
How do you write like you need it to survive?
How do you write ev’ry second you’re alive?
And then, at the very end, in "Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story?"
Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?
When you're gone, who remembers your name?
Who keeps your flame?
Who tells your story?
She tells our story
And when my time is up, have I done enough?
Will they tell our story?
Will they tell your story?
And when my time is up, have I done enough?
Will they tell my story?
In two songs, this crazy musical about one of America's Founding Fathers nailed much of what drives my life and work these days.
It was an incredible experience.
