Wicked librettist Winnie Holzman in the bonus features for Show Business: The Road to Broadway:
“It’s very unique to have a show on Broadway. It’s hard to even describe the shock of it and the feeling of gratitude. One’s very aware of how difficult that is to have happen . . . the sense of the odds stacked against you, the feeling that you sort of pulled off a miracle. It’d hard to describe, but it’s there . . . I still can’t believe it.”
I recently followed a link on All That Chat to an article about someone who was honored through the BMI musical theatre workshop, and I was made acutely aware of the terrifying reality that I’m not the only out there trying to get a show on Broadway. That strikes me now and again when I see websites for people with shows they are developing, demos they are sharing, or, like the BMI link, pictures and names of people who are studying musical theatre with the hopes of robbing me of seeing my name in a Playbill.
There are so many people trying to make it on Broadway, what serious hope do any of us have of actually getting there, particularly if we are not connected.
Being a Book-Writer: The Blessing and the Curse
After networking, the biggest factor at hand is quality of our work. We’d all like to think of our work as undiscovered genius, but the truth is, there’s a lot floating out there that isn’t quite ready for Broadway. I actually have it easy because, as a librettist, my work can’t be accurately capsulated into an MP3 file. A book-writer’s skills are in character development and plotting, neither of which can accurately be measured in a few pages. That doesn’t mean we aren’t forced to shove our 138-paged self-proclaimed masterpiece into trivializing treatments or into one or two paragraph summaries, but I think it is easier to showcase talent as a writer than as a songwriter. How many music samples have I listened to online and thought, “What a bland melody” or “time doesn’t rhyme with kind” or “those rhymes are too obvious” or “the meter is off; we don’t say yes-ter’-day.” Judging and mis-judging a book-writer’s work isn’t quite as easy.
The flip of the coin, however, is that the librettist has the added challenge of time. I once had a producer of a favorite Broadway show say, “Send me a CD when you get the music done. That’s advice I got from Hal Prince. If I like the music, then I’ll read the libretto.” But unfortunately for me, I parted ways with the composer for his lack of work ethic (i.e. productivity, follow-through, abundance of convenient illness to explain lack of work, etc.) and no demo CD was made. It may only take an hour or two to read a libretto, but no one has the time to invest to do so. People will invest millions but not a couple of hours (though to be fair, one could spend a lifetime reading crap submitted to them, and while Cameron Mackintosh does, one assumes he has more free time since he earned untold millions in a stretch of twenty years).
When I started writing as the Broadway Mouth, I began sharing bits and pieces of my own journey to Broadway, hoping that my experiences and musings would entertain, enlighten, and, perhaps, inspire others. So, once again, I check-in with you, sharing what specifics I can about my journey.
One Year (and a Little Accomplished)
About a year ago, I wrote a column about discovering that my sister knew someone who knew someone well who was involved in the producing of a major Tony-award winning Broadway musical and how, through her, a connection was forged. In summation, the libretto for my second musical—a musical comedy—was sent off to be given to this producer-like figure with a promise that her people would read it.
Those sorts of things always take time. Producer Kevin McCollum (of Rent, Avenue Q, and In the Heights, among others) talked on the American Theatre Wing Working in the Theatre seminars (see the links to your right) about how the libretto for The Drowsy Chaperone sat on his desk for an entire year before picking it up to read it. Producers are busy people—heck, even non-Producers are busy people—and the fact that I haven’t heard anything in the nine or so months since it was hand-delivered isn’t a bad sign at all.
Of course, you can’t help but dream that by some fluke, the person loves your musical, wants to produce it, matches you up with the right collaborators, and in a year, you’re on Broadway with over a thousand people laughing uproariously at something that began life on your computer screen. Still, I am willing to be realistic and hope greatly to receive some useful feedback about my work.
As a writer, sending your play or script off to someone for feedback is always a scary thing. One friend of mine knows a stunt man in Hollywood who has done stunt work in some high profile movies, including in one of the Spider-Man movies. My friend arranged for him to read a sitcom pilot I wrote several years ago, and I was very thankful for the opportunity to send it to someone. His comments to me, though, revealed the big danger for someone writing in play or script format. Not everyone can read a script.
It takes a unique mind that is familiar with reading plays to begin to be able to visualize the images in the writer’s mind, the timing of the jokes, the expressions of the actors. I forget the specific wording, but his big recommendation was to include more in the way of stage directions to help show how things should be read and to better understand the characters’ personalities. I didn’t know how to read his comments because a writer should never be excessive in stage directions or designators, and the personalities are best shown through dialogue and actions (though how to describe characters in stage directions in a way that is clear but doesn’t rob the reader of meeting them in the way the audience will—through the dialogue and actions—may be a quandary I haven’t solved). His comments never fully satisfied me that he actually was able to understand what I had written.
I was very excited, though, when I was presented this past January with the gift of being able to send my musical comedy to an actual writer. I ended up meeting someone (a very talented artist in his own right) who knew this Broadway-produced playwright and, not-so-long story short, arranged for me to send a copy of my musical comedy to this writer, who has since contacted me and assured me that he will get to my work. After so many years of writing—and I have actually had audience reception to fuel my work—it will be life-giving to get some sort of feedback from an expert on the subject.
One Year (and a Lot Learned)
It’s amazing how much one learns and grows. I am in awe of those artists throughout history who have managed to produce art of note and lasting impression while still young—Anne Bronte, who published two novels before dying at age 29, both of which are still being read today; under-30 Lin-Manuel Miranda’s deserved Tony win for his hip-hop/Latin-infused hit of the season, In the Heights; or Stevie Wonder, who released his first album at 13.
At 31, I count myself among those artists whose work required time, study, and refinement to earn attention (or, in my case, to hope to earn attention). Jonathon Larson was a genius, but not until he was 35 and watching Rent off-Broadway during previews. Writer Sandra Benitez (A Place Where the Sea Remembers) wrote an entire novel that she would later bury as a sign of death and resignation that not only would it not get published but that it didn’t deserve to be; she later wrote several other books which promise to thrive long after her passing. Amy Tan, whose books The Joy Luck Club and The Kitchen God’s Wife I esteem among my favorites, didn’t even begin writing until she was in her late 30s.
I liken myself to Jane Austen, in that she wrote two novels that never saw publication in their original form. One was Elinor and Marianne, the other First Impressions. It would be well over ten years later those works would be revised to become Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice. Their new titles alone suggest a maturity of style and depth that their earlier incarnations must have been lacking. Ten years of reading, studying, and maturing does wonders for your talent.
At this time in my life, I feel the most prepared to take on anything creatively. As much stress and frustration nine years of teaching gave me, I have to admit that the process of teaching writing and literature analysis to students taught me volumes that have helped me as a writer. I’ve also flourished in my ability to interpret the world and to create work that engages the heart and mind. I hope to look back on nine years (more, actually) of writing without fruit and realize that, as Maya Angelou would say, I wouldn’t take nothing for my journey now.
Advice to Future Broadway Creators
Starting the Broadway Mouth blog was one of the best things I could have done as an aspiring-to-be-produced librettist. One of the ways we learn about things is by writing. You could read a book or see a show and have the propensity for ideas sprouting from the experience, but writing is the most effective mode of actually giving those thoughts form and substance, forcing you to create sentences to complete your ideas.
A great example of this learning process is my recent series on “20 Great Broadway Songs from the Past 10 Years,” which began as an innocuous list celebrating Broadway. I can’t tell you how much this experience has taught me about Broadway music. By analyzing the different kids of show music (the pop Aida, the operatic Marie Christine, the comedic The Drowsy Chaperone), I have forced myself to learn more about how music affects the character development, tone, and style of a show, how pop music has one set of benefits, while the character-rich style of an Adam Guettel has another set of benefits. Honestly, I would recommend any aspiring Broadway writer to create their own list AND to write their own analysis.
Projects Bouncing About My Head
This summer, my blog has pretty much consumed the majority of my writing time (since I decided to make a point of enjoying the warmth of the summer more than ever before), but I am not without ideas for writing projects.
I have decided to spend my time now focusing on that which is most easy to secure an audience. So, in addition to the shows I’ve already written and am actively pursuing production, I’m going to take the time to turn my own First Impressions into a Pride and Prejudice. Five years ago I wrote a 350+ page novel that I always knew had great potential. As I wrote it, I would email chapters to two different friends who are avid readers, and the fact that they would eagerly anticipate each new chapter was encouragement. For a variety of reasons, I let the work sit dormant, but now that I’m older and have grown as an artist (like I mentioned above), I’m ready to sit down and revisit the work. I know how to better shape the material so that it has a chance of living up to my own standards. Books are easier to pursue publication for the simple fact that you can send them off to a variety of publishing houses and actually expect that someone will read them. Crap still has a difficult time getting published, but statistically, you have a better chance of getting feedback and an honest appraisal. Librettist Joe Smith could have the next Guys and Dolls, but no one is going to read it anyway. It’s a little easier with books.
For the past nine months or so, I’ve also been contemplating writing a show about the life of one of the most popular singers of the 1960s (who also had great success in the 1970s and 1980s). Not only was this singer extremely popular, but I know someone who has been friends with her for thirty years and would be willing to hand her a copy of my play. Face it, I’d at least get my work read, and her approval would be a huge step toward enticing a producer.
I have purposefully been staying away from Jersey Boys because I don’t want to be influenced by that show, and I think I have created a concept and plotline that infuses her big hits in a way that is fresh and dramatic. I would NOT write this work with Broadway in mind, but I do think it could be a big hit if I could make it entertaining enough.
My big dilemma, though, is twofold. Number one, it’s very hard to contemplate writing a living person as a character in a play when you aren’t sure of their speech patterns or the nuances of their personality, which would be very important should she read the play (which is part of the plan). I was hoping to meet the singer, but it isn’t going to happen anytime soon.
Secondly, it’s honestly not a project I am passionate about (though, frankly, once I start on it, I will be very excited about it). Honestly, I could write a great musical with the idea that I’ve got, but I would prefer to work on something entirely original (or at least using entirely original music).
It Sucks to Be Me / It Sucks to Be You
It doesn’t suck to be Winnie Holzman because she’s got a show on Broadway (and in Chicago, Los Angeles, and cities around the world), but you know, the reality is that at one point, it sucked to be Winnie Holzman too. We are all the metaphor of the butterfly who must struggle to escape the cocoon in order to develop the muscles needed to fly.
And yeah, there are a lot of other butterflies all trying to break out of their cocoon into a crowded world, but I guess if we don’t have the fortitude and belief in ourselves to break out of the cocoon, we would never survive in the cruel world of Broadway anyway.
To paraphrase Mary Poppins, it sucks to be us, and that’s as it should be.
the Broadway Mouth
July 7, 2008
Showing posts with label Winnie Holzman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Winnie Holzman. Show all posts
Monday, July 7, 2008
Thursday, January 3, 2008
In Celebration of Wicked
Oh my gosh, not only do I love Les Miserables and not West Side Story, but I’m now going to bat for Wicked, which means I will probably lose fifty percent of the authority I have in the world of musical theatre. Tracy Turnblad would be proud. And knowing I am proud of that means I gain fifty percent of that authority back but lose thirty percent of the original fifty percent I kept.
Well, here goes.
My only experience seeing the show was in the summer of 2005 when it was playing in Los Angeles with Stephanie J. Block and Kendra Kassebaum, two immensely talented women. Not one to plan, I figured that if I showed up at the theatre, I could easily get a single ticket. I was driving to Los Angeles, was there to scout things out, get the lay of the land, and to see the sights, so I didn’t want to get a ticket in advance and then not be able to attend for some unforeseen reason.
Silly me.
The show was sold out. Not even an itty-bitty single seat was available. So when waiting in the cancellation line didn’t prove fruitful, I took advantage of being in downtown Los Angeles and took my first walk down Hollywood Boulevard.
The next night I returned to try the lottery. I got there early to put my name in and met a few people in line. There was this really nice woman who needed four tickets for her family and was hoping to net a few. Since I was alone, I told her that if my name was picked, I’d let her have one of mine.
When it came time to pick names, oddly enough, one of the men from the theatre was wearing the exact same shirt I was. Who knew I was so trendy? But it didn’t help my situation. The first name was picked. Not I. The next. Nope, not I. The next. The next. And the next . . . It was looking like I’d be back for another lottery. Still, hope beyond hope, there was one more name to be picked . . .
Not I.
I was at least happy that it was the woman whom I’d been chatting with. She went up, said something to one of the name-pickers, who then announced they’d pick one more name for a single seat. I waited, hoping beyond hope (again) that I would get that ticket, that of all those people waiting to see Wicked, that it would be I who would hear his name.
Yeah, that didn’t happen.
But the next thing I knew, the woman whose name had been chosen, the woman I had been chatting with in line, came up to me. She had only bought one ticket because she needed four, and she was going to give me her ticket for the $26 face value.
I was in to see Wicked!
It was a double blessing as well, though, because by the time Wicked arrived in my home city, my understanding is that the tickets were gone shortly after being made available to the general public. There was such a hunger for them, no doubt doubled by ticket “agents” and scalpers, that I never would have had a chance to get a ticket otherwise.
First Impressions Can Be Tough [Spoilers Ahead]
I’ll be the first one to say that Wicked is not the greatest show ever written. I have, however, enjoyed many, many shows that were not the greatest shows ever written, most recently The Color Purple, The Drowsy Chaperone, and The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee. A show doesn’t have to be the next Guys and Dolls or A Little Night Music to be a wondrous night in the theatre.
After the first act, I actually entered the lobby of the Pantages Theatre in Los Angeles feeling like I was seeing the greatest show ever written. First of all, “Defying Gravity” is an exhilarating song, at least for someone born in the 1970s with a fleeting interest in contemporary music. Add to that the flying effect, which echoes the song’s emotional high, and it makes for a tremendous Act I closer. And best of all, it’s a capper on a terrific first act with lots of humor and heart. I was flying as high as Elphaba, if not a little higher.
To me, however, the second act lacked follow through. For whatever reason, second acts are tough, probably because it’s a fine balancing act between the multiple plots and subplots started in the first act, not to mention the development and completion of themes. Having written a couple myself, I can vouch for the fact that it is much easier to write about the flaws of a second act than it is to write a second act in the first place.
Now keep in mind that it’s been two-and-a-half years since I’ve seen the show and that the OBCR doesn’t contain a synopsis, but to my way of thinking, the second act of Wicked, in short, attempted to stuff too much into the short time it had. The result was, for me, a series of events that lacked development, like trying to watch the moving figures on a Disneyland ride while on a roller coaster. There’s wasn’t much time for it to sink in emotionally.
The transformation of Fiyero into the scarecrow was developed, but my remembrance is that Boq’s change into the Tin Man was thrown at us, and the change of the lion cub was only addressed in a song lyric. These are major changes that are tossed at the audience like throwaway comedy lines.
As part of that, there’s the addition of Dorothy and friends, not to mention the development of the characters’ relationships and the use of new locales . . . There’s a lot of great stuff going on, but sitting in the theatre, by the time we got to “For Good,” I had lost emotional involvement in Glinda and Elphaba because of all this other stuff going on, storytelling that seemed to be reduced to a checklist of events.
Since walking out of the theatre, I have always felt as if the excising of the transformation into the Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Cowardly Lion would have thinned the proceedings out and allowed for more emotional development.
I do think, however, that when I do see the show a second time—which I would like to—after having heard the music a million times and having seen the show once already, I will more easily fall into the emotional core of the second act. Instead of trying to process something afresh, I will be able to focus on what I already expect.
However!
However, the phenomenal success of Wicked speaks volumes beyond my response or experiences. I might say that its initial success could have been a knee-jerk reaction to the hype or the subject matter, and perhaps at first there was, but the show has been a smash wherever it’s been and is still a hot ticket on Broadway. Tarzan survived over a year on name recognition and advertising, but to thrive as long as Wicked has, there must be something more to the show.
So Wicked didn’t speak to me on a great level, at least not as great a level as it was on the road to speaking, but very clearly it resonates with thousands upon thousands of others. As Lois Lane would say, that ain’t hay.
I’ve never fully understood the vituperative response some Broadway fans have had toward Wicked. I don’t know if they genuinely don’t care for the craftsmanship of the show, the story, or if they hate it because it’s such a success. When people are entirely dismissive of something, I personally wonder if they are doing so out of reason or some other force. I, for one, would heartily say that despite the flaws I perceive Wicked to have, that isn’t to say there isn’t much to love in Wicked.
The Music
Poor Stephen Schwartz—er, scratch that. Filthy rich Stephen Schwartz gets such flack for his work in Wicked, a CD which gets much play on my CD player and is probably the most beloved theatre score since Rent, if not well on the road to surpassing it.
Most of the flack springs from the listener’s personal taste. If you don’t like theatre music that integrates pop, then there’s no use trying to change your mind. Theatre music wasn’t always Jerry Herman and Bock and Harnick, nor will it continue to always be that. As one who appreciates pop vocals (though not most pop music), I can easily stand in awe of Idina Menzel, Stephanie J. Block, or Eden Espinoza as they do their thing in “Defying Gravity,” called screaming by the theatre elite (whom I highly respect and revere), named belting by everyone else (who I am, apparently). Count me as one who calls “Defying Gravity” enormously powerful; it is a song that has inspired me in many low moments.
Similarly, people have been vocal (maybe even screaming) about their dislike of “One Short Day” and “Popular.” I find “One Short Day” to be motivated by story—establishing Oz’s reverence for the Wizard—and fun, not an optional jaunt into spectacle. Also, as Alan Cumming said on the commentary track of Show Business: The Road to Broadway, “Popular” is a pretty much perfect song. It may not be to one’s taste for whatever reason, but that isn’t a reflection on Stephen Schwartz.
Some people take to task Stephen Schwartz’s lyrics. I would say Stephen Schwartz is a genius lyricist, evidenced by his prior work in Godspell, Pocahontas, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, The Prince of Egypt, and Gepetto. He creates perfect rhymes that don’t require cheats in the music, and he writes in perfect poetic form. Some point at specific lines in Wicked’s lyrics, like Boq’s rhyming “Nessa” with “Confess, a,” but one’s personal taste doesn’t negate the cleverness of what Schwartz does. Again, look at his body of work. Schwartz is more than capable of writing great lyrics, so it’s not as if he’s a man of limited talents struggling within the confines of lyric-writing, something that could not be said of some songwriters with recent scores on Broadway.
Even the best lyric-writers of eras past get extra creative in writing lyrics. Dorothy Fields, for example, wrote that Charity thinks Charlie is a “hundred watt elec-a-tric light” (also a “Puli-i-itzer Prize”).The great Cole Porter pulled several cheats in his music, like switching the subject verb order (“So in love with you am I”) . No one ever criticizes Tom Eyen’s lyrics for Dreamgirls, which treats rhyme with a full pop sensibility, even in the book songs in which words like “out on the line” are expected to rhyme with “been too kind.” So whatever minor gripes one might have with Schwartz’s score, in the context of other writers, it’s nothing unique.
More importantly, I appreciate the score for how perfectly it suits the characters and develops the situations. Look at how perfectly “Popular” expresses Galinda’s personality, both in tone and lyrics, while “I’m Not That Girl” is a heartfelt, vulnerable expression of Elphaba’s experiences. Another “perfect” song in the show, those ones that some people hate for being too perfect, is “For Good,” which is such a beautiful expression of mutual love and respect, a song that has already started to have a life outside of the show (and, with a few lyrical changes to make it more general, would make for a great pop song).
For all that people criticize Schwartz, no one ever steps aside to praise the genius of his lyric-writing. Pick almost any song in Wicked, and there will be unearthed a treasure trove of rich rhymes and words. Some of my favorites include, but are not limited to:
Let’s just say—I loathe it all!
Ev’ry little trait, however small
makes my very flesh begin to crawl
“What is This Feeling?” is another one of those perfect songs, and the quick and catchy rhymes are part of the reason why it works so well.
Nothing matters
By knowing nothing matters
This is typical of Schwartz’s ability to cleverly use words to communicate his ideas. Here, Fiyero’s double use of the word nothing emphasizes his carelessness and happy-go-stupid outlook.
Enough to give pause
To anyone with paws
I admire Schwartz’s ability to play with words, to take either homonyms or word combinations with similar sounds and match them up.
Blithe smile, lithe limb
She who’s winsome, she wins him
The pairing of winsome with wins him is such an ingenious play on words, both poetic and truthful. I literally love hearing Idina Menzel sing it every time just for the word combination.
Too long I’ve been afraid of
Losing love I guess I’ve lost
Well, if that’s love
It comes at much too high a cost
I admire Elphaba so greatly, and one reason is because of this line, her insistence on doing what is right no matter the personal cost. In her heart, she wants Fiyero, but she’s willing to give up the hope of having anyone or any love in order to do what is right. Schwartz’s lyrics sum her up so beautifully.
The score of Wicked does successfully what many scores have either not attempted to do or have not been capable of doing, which is embracing the traditional musical theatre tradition—smart, character-specific lyrics with exact rhymes—while communicating in a musical vernacular that is accessible to the public and, better, is written in a form to which they can relate. No, it doesn’t have the beauty of Michael John LaChiusa’s Marie Christine or the smartness of Stephen Sondheim’s Sunday in the Park With George, but it is the 2000s equivalent of Camelot, The Pajama Game, and South Pacific.
The music of Wicked, perhaps, isn’t intended to speak to everyone, but for those to whom it does speak so vividly—the general public—it is magic.
The Book
Even though I criticize the libretto to Wicked for being too busy in the second act, there’s a lot of greatness in Winnie Holzman’s book.
To begin, I greatly admire Holzman’s ability to find humor in the situations of the story. In looking at a synopsis, Wicked might be confused as pop opera type of show—one or two characters for comic relief, everyone else in misery or in love. I love the dialogue in “Popular,” which is so funny. Here is a moment that could be played very seriously—Galinda and Elphaba finally connect when Galinda makes Elphaba feel beautiful for the first time ever—yet Holzman balances the emotions of the scene with audience-roaring laughter. Now that’s talent.
Some take to task the school setting of the first act with the cute boy subplot; however, when one considers the story of two girls who meet, it’s far more likely to happen in a school than in a pumpkin patch or while working at a McMorrible’s burger joint.
And Holzman handles the setting with great dexterity. She takes the schoolroom setting—so common on television shows and in movies—and creates nuanced, realistic characters. So we are given a cheerleader type of character in Galinda and a goth in Elphaba, but both characters are far more than the labels others would attempt to pin on them. Galinda isn’t so much mean-spirited as oblivious to the plight of the unpopular, while Elphaba reacts to Galinda’s popularity. The events at the dance, in which cause leads to effect which leads to Galinda regretting some of her choices from that evening, are skillfully choreographed by Schwartz and Holzman until Galinda, in a beautiful and touching scene, legitimizes Elphaba’s bizarre dance so that it becomes popular. It’s a beautiful moment.
The blossoming of their friendship is handled so delicately and so well that by the end of Act I, it is a difficult thing to see them part their separate ways as Galinda decides to join the Wizard and Elphaba refuses to pair with evil.
Each of the three main young characters—Elphaba, Glinda, and Fiyero—undergoes a change; however, Elphaba is the one who stands out. Yes, she gets “I’m Not That Girl,” “Defying Gravity,” and “No Good Deed,” but she’s also a rich stage character. I’m jealous of her ability to turn her back on the world to pursue what is right, to sacrifice love and adoration to stand up for what she believes in, to go for what is just to the detriment of her career. Many teenagers relate to Elphaba because at some point, everyone feels less-than-perfect, like a wallflower in a room of bad 60s wallpaper. I, on the other hand, admire Elphaba because she is all that I want to be, a crusader for what is right no matter the personal cost. We need more Elphaba’s in this world.
Though the lack of a readable libretto makes writing about it a challenge, there’s much more to praise in Holzman’s book.
The Theme
It was Ben Brantley who, in Show Business: The Road to Broadway, called Wicked preachy. I guess it is kind of preachy in the same way that Hairspray is, or John Steinbeck’s novel The Pearl or F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby or Arthur Miller’s The Crucible.
In the good old days, we called a well-developed theme great writing.
As you can imagine, I disagree strongly with Ben Brantley and admire Wicked greatly for presenting issues at a deeper level. On Broadway, we are still enamored by shows that break new ground in content or concept—teens having sex on stage, a lesbian love story, the rock musical. I admire Schwartz and Holzman for actually presenting a show with depth, with attempting to tell a story that communicates ideas in way that a straight play or, particularly, a novel does.
Once again, without having a copy of the libretto, it would be a challenge to write a full analysis of Wicked, but my memory and the CD provide opportunity to present some of it.
To begin with, let’s take “Popular.” Yes, it’s a fun theatrically poppy song, but there’s truth in those lyrics. Life is all about popular. Glinda’s dead-on when she says:
I remind them on their own behalf
To think of
Celebrated heads of state or
‘Specially great communicators
Did they have brains or knowledge?
Don’t make me laugh!
They were popular! Please—
It’s all about popular! It’s not about aptitude
It’s the way you’re viewed
So it’s very shrewd to be
Very very popular
Like me!
I don’t mean to belittle brains—I’m very glad I have them myself—but a dynamic personality can make tidal waves where a shy brain can’t even splash. Our potential presidents believe it—Bill Clinton played the sax, Gore got airbrushed on the cover of Vanity Fair, Bush smiled his little boy smile, Hilary Clinton got botoxed, Fred Thompson announced his run on Jay Leno . . . It’s not about aptitude. It’s the way you’re viewed.
More importantly, “Popular” fits into the grand scheme of what Schwartz and Holzman are communicating, for it will be Elphaba with the aptitude who will sink, while Glinda the Good (viewed) who will succeed. Galinda will need Elphaba to show her the way, but in the end, Elphaba will never do all that Galinda can.
The subplot of the animals losing their voices is another brilliant piece of the puzzle, the symbol of those whose voices are silenced by fear and public opinion, the same public opinion that the Wizard can manipulate because of how he’s viewed. This is mass hysteria in action on a daily basis in any society, particularly in America in every decade.
For me, “Wonderful” was always a rich experience. I guess it doesn’t present anything that I haven’t encountered elsewhere in my life, but it presents those ideas in a concise and richer manner, punctuated by Schwartz’s clever rhymes.
The truth is not a thing of fact or reason
The truth is just what ev’ryone agrees on
A man’s called a “traitor”—or liberator
A rich man’s a “thief”—or “philanthropist”
Is one a “crusader”—or “ruthless invader?”
It’s all in which label
Is able to persist
There are precious few at ease
With moral ambiguities
So we act as though they don’t exist
There’s a lot of truth to this, a lot of truth that the average American doesn’t address despite that fact that we take part in this every single day. This idea of how we create history by how we label it stretches beyond political parties or current events; it is a reflection on our world, how we view it, and how we choose to ignore the flip side of most coins.
This ties in beautifully with one of the main concepts of Wicked, this idea of looking at the world of The Wizard of Oz through a different perspective. Just as we as Americans now look back with new perspectives on slavery, the Japanese internment during World War II, and segregation, Wicked asks us to look at our lives now and discover for ourselves what the interpretation should be, not with just whatever modern label is able to persist.
While some of this may be old hat for the theatre elite who read regularly and only watch foreign movies, this is pretty deep stuff for musical theatre, which has traditionally sought praise for the breaking of barriers in concept and content, not theme. The poster promises Beauty and the Beast but delivers something so much deeper than that.
Not every show is going to be the cup of tea for everyone, but I celebrate Wicked for what it sets out to do, for its success at reaching so many people. There’s much more I could praise—Susan Hilferty’s costumes, great choreographer Wayne Cilento’s movement for a start—but I think time will do that for me. I have a feeling that in thirty years, people will stand in awe that anyone ever had such harsh words for the original Broadway production of Wicked (which will have since been adapted for the big screen, no doubt, and produced at least twice by every American high school this side of the Atlantic Ocean). Maybe we’ll even get a day where shows with developed themes will not be seen as preachy but important.
As for me, I can’t wait until the day when I get to see Wicked again.
the Broadway Mouth
January 3, 2008
Well, here goes.
My only experience seeing the show was in the summer of 2005 when it was playing in Los Angeles with Stephanie J. Block and Kendra Kassebaum, two immensely talented women. Not one to plan, I figured that if I showed up at the theatre, I could easily get a single ticket. I was driving to Los Angeles, was there to scout things out, get the lay of the land, and to see the sights, so I didn’t want to get a ticket in advance and then not be able to attend for some unforeseen reason.
Silly me.
The show was sold out. Not even an itty-bitty single seat was available. So when waiting in the cancellation line didn’t prove fruitful, I took advantage of being in downtown Los Angeles and took my first walk down Hollywood Boulevard.
The next night I returned to try the lottery. I got there early to put my name in and met a few people in line. There was this really nice woman who needed four tickets for her family and was hoping to net a few. Since I was alone, I told her that if my name was picked, I’d let her have one of mine.
When it came time to pick names, oddly enough, one of the men from the theatre was wearing the exact same shirt I was. Who knew I was so trendy? But it didn’t help my situation. The first name was picked. Not I. The next. Nope, not I. The next. The next. And the next . . . It was looking like I’d be back for another lottery. Still, hope beyond hope, there was one more name to be picked . . .
Not I.
I was at least happy that it was the woman whom I’d been chatting with. She went up, said something to one of the name-pickers, who then announced they’d pick one more name for a single seat. I waited, hoping beyond hope (again) that I would get that ticket, that of all those people waiting to see Wicked, that it would be I who would hear his name.
Yeah, that didn’t happen.
But the next thing I knew, the woman whose name had been chosen, the woman I had been chatting with in line, came up to me. She had only bought one ticket because she needed four, and she was going to give me her ticket for the $26 face value.
I was in to see Wicked!
It was a double blessing as well, though, because by the time Wicked arrived in my home city, my understanding is that the tickets were gone shortly after being made available to the general public. There was such a hunger for them, no doubt doubled by ticket “agents” and scalpers, that I never would have had a chance to get a ticket otherwise.
First Impressions Can Be Tough [Spoilers Ahead]
I’ll be the first one to say that Wicked is not the greatest show ever written. I have, however, enjoyed many, many shows that were not the greatest shows ever written, most recently The Color Purple, The Drowsy Chaperone, and The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee. A show doesn’t have to be the next Guys and Dolls or A Little Night Music to be a wondrous night in the theatre.
After the first act, I actually entered the lobby of the Pantages Theatre in Los Angeles feeling like I was seeing the greatest show ever written. First of all, “Defying Gravity” is an exhilarating song, at least for someone born in the 1970s with a fleeting interest in contemporary music. Add to that the flying effect, which echoes the song’s emotional high, and it makes for a tremendous Act I closer. And best of all, it’s a capper on a terrific first act with lots of humor and heart. I was flying as high as Elphaba, if not a little higher.
To me, however, the second act lacked follow through. For whatever reason, second acts are tough, probably because it’s a fine balancing act between the multiple plots and subplots started in the first act, not to mention the development and completion of themes. Having written a couple myself, I can vouch for the fact that it is much easier to write about the flaws of a second act than it is to write a second act in the first place.
Now keep in mind that it’s been two-and-a-half years since I’ve seen the show and that the OBCR doesn’t contain a synopsis, but to my way of thinking, the second act of Wicked, in short, attempted to stuff too much into the short time it had. The result was, for me, a series of events that lacked development, like trying to watch the moving figures on a Disneyland ride while on a roller coaster. There’s wasn’t much time for it to sink in emotionally.
The transformation of Fiyero into the scarecrow was developed, but my remembrance is that Boq’s change into the Tin Man was thrown at us, and the change of the lion cub was only addressed in a song lyric. These are major changes that are tossed at the audience like throwaway comedy lines.
As part of that, there’s the addition of Dorothy and friends, not to mention the development of the characters’ relationships and the use of new locales . . . There’s a lot of great stuff going on, but sitting in the theatre, by the time we got to “For Good,” I had lost emotional involvement in Glinda and Elphaba because of all this other stuff going on, storytelling that seemed to be reduced to a checklist of events.
Since walking out of the theatre, I have always felt as if the excising of the transformation into the Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Cowardly Lion would have thinned the proceedings out and allowed for more emotional development.
I do think, however, that when I do see the show a second time—which I would like to—after having heard the music a million times and having seen the show once already, I will more easily fall into the emotional core of the second act. Instead of trying to process something afresh, I will be able to focus on what I already expect.
However!
However, the phenomenal success of Wicked speaks volumes beyond my response or experiences. I might say that its initial success could have been a knee-jerk reaction to the hype or the subject matter, and perhaps at first there was, but the show has been a smash wherever it’s been and is still a hot ticket on Broadway. Tarzan survived over a year on name recognition and advertising, but to thrive as long as Wicked has, there must be something more to the show.
So Wicked didn’t speak to me on a great level, at least not as great a level as it was on the road to speaking, but very clearly it resonates with thousands upon thousands of others. As Lois Lane would say, that ain’t hay.
I’ve never fully understood the vituperative response some Broadway fans have had toward Wicked. I don’t know if they genuinely don’t care for the craftsmanship of the show, the story, or if they hate it because it’s such a success. When people are entirely dismissive of something, I personally wonder if they are doing so out of reason or some other force. I, for one, would heartily say that despite the flaws I perceive Wicked to have, that isn’t to say there isn’t much to love in Wicked.
The Music
Poor Stephen Schwartz—er, scratch that. Filthy rich Stephen Schwartz gets such flack for his work in Wicked, a CD which gets much play on my CD player and is probably the most beloved theatre score since Rent, if not well on the road to surpassing it.
Most of the flack springs from the listener’s personal taste. If you don’t like theatre music that integrates pop, then there’s no use trying to change your mind. Theatre music wasn’t always Jerry Herman and Bock and Harnick, nor will it continue to always be that. As one who appreciates pop vocals (though not most pop music), I can easily stand in awe of Idina Menzel, Stephanie J. Block, or Eden Espinoza as they do their thing in “Defying Gravity,” called screaming by the theatre elite (whom I highly respect and revere), named belting by everyone else (who I am, apparently). Count me as one who calls “Defying Gravity” enormously powerful; it is a song that has inspired me in many low moments.
Similarly, people have been vocal (maybe even screaming) about their dislike of “One Short Day” and “Popular.” I find “One Short Day” to be motivated by story—establishing Oz’s reverence for the Wizard—and fun, not an optional jaunt into spectacle. Also, as Alan Cumming said on the commentary track of Show Business: The Road to Broadway, “Popular” is a pretty much perfect song. It may not be to one’s taste for whatever reason, but that isn’t a reflection on Stephen Schwartz.
Some people take to task Stephen Schwartz’s lyrics. I would say Stephen Schwartz is a genius lyricist, evidenced by his prior work in Godspell, Pocahontas, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, The Prince of Egypt, and Gepetto. He creates perfect rhymes that don’t require cheats in the music, and he writes in perfect poetic form. Some point at specific lines in Wicked’s lyrics, like Boq’s rhyming “Nessa” with “Confess, a,” but one’s personal taste doesn’t negate the cleverness of what Schwartz does. Again, look at his body of work. Schwartz is more than capable of writing great lyrics, so it’s not as if he’s a man of limited talents struggling within the confines of lyric-writing, something that could not be said of some songwriters with recent scores on Broadway.
Even the best lyric-writers of eras past get extra creative in writing lyrics. Dorothy Fields, for example, wrote that Charity thinks Charlie is a “hundred watt elec-a-tric light” (also a “Puli-i-itzer Prize”).The great Cole Porter pulled several cheats in his music, like switching the subject verb order (“So in love with you am I”) . No one ever criticizes Tom Eyen’s lyrics for Dreamgirls, which treats rhyme with a full pop sensibility, even in the book songs in which words like “out on the line” are expected to rhyme with “been too kind.” So whatever minor gripes one might have with Schwartz’s score, in the context of other writers, it’s nothing unique.
More importantly, I appreciate the score for how perfectly it suits the characters and develops the situations. Look at how perfectly “Popular” expresses Galinda’s personality, both in tone and lyrics, while “I’m Not That Girl” is a heartfelt, vulnerable expression of Elphaba’s experiences. Another “perfect” song in the show, those ones that some people hate for being too perfect, is “For Good,” which is such a beautiful expression of mutual love and respect, a song that has already started to have a life outside of the show (and, with a few lyrical changes to make it more general, would make for a great pop song).
For all that people criticize Schwartz, no one ever steps aside to praise the genius of his lyric-writing. Pick almost any song in Wicked, and there will be unearthed a treasure trove of rich rhymes and words. Some of my favorites include, but are not limited to:
Let’s just say—I loathe it all!
Ev’ry little trait, however small
makes my very flesh begin to crawl
“What is This Feeling?” is another one of those perfect songs, and the quick and catchy rhymes are part of the reason why it works so well.
Nothing matters
By knowing nothing matters
This is typical of Schwartz’s ability to cleverly use words to communicate his ideas. Here, Fiyero’s double use of the word nothing emphasizes his carelessness and happy-go-stupid outlook.
Enough to give pause
To anyone with paws
I admire Schwartz’s ability to play with words, to take either homonyms or word combinations with similar sounds and match them up.
Blithe smile, lithe limb
She who’s winsome, she wins him
The pairing of winsome with wins him is such an ingenious play on words, both poetic and truthful. I literally love hearing Idina Menzel sing it every time just for the word combination.
Too long I’ve been afraid of
Losing love I guess I’ve lost
Well, if that’s love
It comes at much too high a cost
I admire Elphaba so greatly, and one reason is because of this line, her insistence on doing what is right no matter the personal cost. In her heart, she wants Fiyero, but she’s willing to give up the hope of having anyone or any love in order to do what is right. Schwartz’s lyrics sum her up so beautifully.
The score of Wicked does successfully what many scores have either not attempted to do or have not been capable of doing, which is embracing the traditional musical theatre tradition—smart, character-specific lyrics with exact rhymes—while communicating in a musical vernacular that is accessible to the public and, better, is written in a form to which they can relate. No, it doesn’t have the beauty of Michael John LaChiusa’s Marie Christine or the smartness of Stephen Sondheim’s Sunday in the Park With George, but it is the 2000s equivalent of Camelot, The Pajama Game, and South Pacific.
The music of Wicked, perhaps, isn’t intended to speak to everyone, but for those to whom it does speak so vividly—the general public—it is magic.
The Book
Even though I criticize the libretto to Wicked for being too busy in the second act, there’s a lot of greatness in Winnie Holzman’s book.
To begin, I greatly admire Holzman’s ability to find humor in the situations of the story. In looking at a synopsis, Wicked might be confused as pop opera type of show—one or two characters for comic relief, everyone else in misery or in love. I love the dialogue in “Popular,” which is so funny. Here is a moment that could be played very seriously—Galinda and Elphaba finally connect when Galinda makes Elphaba feel beautiful for the first time ever—yet Holzman balances the emotions of the scene with audience-roaring laughter. Now that’s talent.
Some take to task the school setting of the first act with the cute boy subplot; however, when one considers the story of two girls who meet, it’s far more likely to happen in a school than in a pumpkin patch or while working at a McMorrible’s burger joint.
And Holzman handles the setting with great dexterity. She takes the schoolroom setting—so common on television shows and in movies—and creates nuanced, realistic characters. So we are given a cheerleader type of character in Galinda and a goth in Elphaba, but both characters are far more than the labels others would attempt to pin on them. Galinda isn’t so much mean-spirited as oblivious to the plight of the unpopular, while Elphaba reacts to Galinda’s popularity. The events at the dance, in which cause leads to effect which leads to Galinda regretting some of her choices from that evening, are skillfully choreographed by Schwartz and Holzman until Galinda, in a beautiful and touching scene, legitimizes Elphaba’s bizarre dance so that it becomes popular. It’s a beautiful moment.
The blossoming of their friendship is handled so delicately and so well that by the end of Act I, it is a difficult thing to see them part their separate ways as Galinda decides to join the Wizard and Elphaba refuses to pair with evil.
Each of the three main young characters—Elphaba, Glinda, and Fiyero—undergoes a change; however, Elphaba is the one who stands out. Yes, she gets “I’m Not That Girl,” “Defying Gravity,” and “No Good Deed,” but she’s also a rich stage character. I’m jealous of her ability to turn her back on the world to pursue what is right, to sacrifice love and adoration to stand up for what she believes in, to go for what is just to the detriment of her career. Many teenagers relate to Elphaba because at some point, everyone feels less-than-perfect, like a wallflower in a room of bad 60s wallpaper. I, on the other hand, admire Elphaba because she is all that I want to be, a crusader for what is right no matter the personal cost. We need more Elphaba’s in this world.
Though the lack of a readable libretto makes writing about it a challenge, there’s much more to praise in Holzman’s book.
The Theme
It was Ben Brantley who, in Show Business: The Road to Broadway, called Wicked preachy. I guess it is kind of preachy in the same way that Hairspray is, or John Steinbeck’s novel The Pearl or F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby or Arthur Miller’s The Crucible.
In the good old days, we called a well-developed theme great writing.
As you can imagine, I disagree strongly with Ben Brantley and admire Wicked greatly for presenting issues at a deeper level. On Broadway, we are still enamored by shows that break new ground in content or concept—teens having sex on stage, a lesbian love story, the rock musical. I admire Schwartz and Holzman for actually presenting a show with depth, with attempting to tell a story that communicates ideas in way that a straight play or, particularly, a novel does.
Once again, without having a copy of the libretto, it would be a challenge to write a full analysis of Wicked, but my memory and the CD provide opportunity to present some of it.
To begin with, let’s take “Popular.” Yes, it’s a fun theatrically poppy song, but there’s truth in those lyrics. Life is all about popular. Glinda’s dead-on when she says:
I remind them on their own behalf
To think of
Celebrated heads of state or
‘Specially great communicators
Did they have brains or knowledge?
Don’t make me laugh!
They were popular! Please—
It’s all about popular! It’s not about aptitude
It’s the way you’re viewed
So it’s very shrewd to be
Very very popular
Like me!
I don’t mean to belittle brains—I’m very glad I have them myself—but a dynamic personality can make tidal waves where a shy brain can’t even splash. Our potential presidents believe it—Bill Clinton played the sax, Gore got airbrushed on the cover of Vanity Fair, Bush smiled his little boy smile, Hilary Clinton got botoxed, Fred Thompson announced his run on Jay Leno . . . It’s not about aptitude. It’s the way you’re viewed.
More importantly, “Popular” fits into the grand scheme of what Schwartz and Holzman are communicating, for it will be Elphaba with the aptitude who will sink, while Glinda the Good (viewed) who will succeed. Galinda will need Elphaba to show her the way, but in the end, Elphaba will never do all that Galinda can.
The subplot of the animals losing their voices is another brilliant piece of the puzzle, the symbol of those whose voices are silenced by fear and public opinion, the same public opinion that the Wizard can manipulate because of how he’s viewed. This is mass hysteria in action on a daily basis in any society, particularly in America in every decade.
For me, “Wonderful” was always a rich experience. I guess it doesn’t present anything that I haven’t encountered elsewhere in my life, but it presents those ideas in a concise and richer manner, punctuated by Schwartz’s clever rhymes.
The truth is not a thing of fact or reason
The truth is just what ev’ryone agrees on
A man’s called a “traitor”—or liberator
A rich man’s a “thief”—or “philanthropist”
Is one a “crusader”—or “ruthless invader?”
It’s all in which label
Is able to persist
There are precious few at ease
With moral ambiguities
So we act as though they don’t exist
There’s a lot of truth to this, a lot of truth that the average American doesn’t address despite that fact that we take part in this every single day. This idea of how we create history by how we label it stretches beyond political parties or current events; it is a reflection on our world, how we view it, and how we choose to ignore the flip side of most coins.
This ties in beautifully with one of the main concepts of Wicked, this idea of looking at the world of The Wizard of Oz through a different perspective. Just as we as Americans now look back with new perspectives on slavery, the Japanese internment during World War II, and segregation, Wicked asks us to look at our lives now and discover for ourselves what the interpretation should be, not with just whatever modern label is able to persist.
While some of this may be old hat for the theatre elite who read regularly and only watch foreign movies, this is pretty deep stuff for musical theatre, which has traditionally sought praise for the breaking of barriers in concept and content, not theme. The poster promises Beauty and the Beast but delivers something so much deeper than that.
Not every show is going to be the cup of tea for everyone, but I celebrate Wicked for what it sets out to do, for its success at reaching so many people. There’s much more I could praise—Susan Hilferty’s costumes, great choreographer Wayne Cilento’s movement for a start—but I think time will do that for me. I have a feeling that in thirty years, people will stand in awe that anyone ever had such harsh words for the original Broadway production of Wicked (which will have since been adapted for the big screen, no doubt, and produced at least twice by every American high school this side of the Atlantic Ocean). Maybe we’ll even get a day where shows with developed themes will not be seen as preachy but important.
As for me, I can’t wait until the day when I get to see Wicked again.
the Broadway Mouth
January 3, 2008
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