Awe and Wonder

Hamilton: An American Musical

“To be more childlike, you don't have to give up being an adult. The fully integrated person is capable of being both an adult and a child simultaneously. Recapture the childlike feelings of wide-eyed excitement, spontaneous appreciation, cutting loose, and being full of awe and wonder at this magnificent Universe.”
Wayne Dyer, Self-Help Author and Motivational Speaker

“Full of awe and wonder” is exactly how I felt when I saw Hamilton: An American Musical at the Orpheus Theatre in San Francisco; it thrilled me, touched my soul and created a sacred memory of awe and wonder for the magic of theatre.

For more than a year after its debut on Broadway, Hamilton (music, lyrics, book by Lin-Manuel Miranda) was the talk of the theatre community and viewing public. When the national tour first came to southern California, I didn’t have the means to purchase the $250 - $300 tickets, which was the average price of admission at the time – if you could even get them. Although the cost of attending those first performances was a stretch my non-expanding wallet could not handle, it didn’t dampen my desire to experience a professional production, just delayed its gratification.

That longstanding desire was fulfilled this past summer when a jaunt to the San Francisco bay area provided the opportunity, and my ex-sister-in-law, Kiri, (I divorced the brother, kept the sister) generously provided the theatre tickets. After the success of a joint road trip up the coast of California the previous summer, Kiri and I decided an encore performance was in order for 2019. We flew into San Francisco the last week of June and spent most of our time in the area surrounding the city, but not in it, until our final night. Kiri bought our tickets in advance. Good fortune shone its spotlight on our seats: aisle, row G, orchestra. And now, the day had arrived, and my desire turned to excitement as curtain time grew near.

It was still light out as we arrived at the Orpheum Theatre for the Monday evening performance – early enough to be able to take in the ornate late Spanish Gothic Revival façade. Built in the mid-1920s, the building represents what I imagine all of San Francisco was like in its heyday: lavish in detail, refined in line. Kiri and I are giddy with anticipation. We take selfies in front of the marquee. However, it wasn’t until we stepped inside that we became aware of the architectural crown jewel of the building: the auditorium. But, we’re not there yet; we need to stop at the merchandise booth. I had waited a very long time for this moment, and I wanted to memorialize it in some way. Albeit, some very small, inexpensive way.

It was finally my turn at the booth, and my visual senses went into overload. I felt overwhelmed, almost assaulted, by a myriad of promotional products to peruse, caps to covet, bags to buy, and tchotchkes to temp even the most fiscally ardent. I focused long enough to come away with a black baseball cap and reusable shopping bag; two items I thought would maintain their appeal even after the event’s afterglow dissipated. Goods in hand, Kiri and I were led to our seats by a courteous usher where we shuffled into our row, sat and decloaked. That is to say, we removed our coats. Even on the cusp of summer, nights in San Francisco are chilly. We removed our layers of warmth, sat back and scanned the room. I felt a wide-eyed, tingle begin to surge within me.

I have experienced awe before, but never to such a high, sustained degree as I did that evening. It began here, upon our arrival in the auditorium. I felt transported, as if in a dream, because everywhere I looked, intricate architectural elements vied for attention. And I mean everywhere. The walls are layered with scrolls, spires, balconettes and statues, some carved in relief, some in full three-dimensional glory. I can’t discern the specific material used – wood, plaster or marble – but it is all exquisitely crafted.

Next my eyes move upward to the vaulted ceiling resplendent with a glittering sun-like light fixture which protrudes from the ceiling’s surface. It is flanked by more carved scroll work and what looks like sun flares billowing out across the ceiling. A blanket of stars fills the remaining void in a geometric pattern resembling Moroccan macramé. It is magnificent! I feel small, as if engulfed in its space, and at the same time, one with it.

The sound of the crowd and my companion rising from her seat to take pictures of the open stage brought me back from my dreamy exploration to the moment. I, too, began to examine the stage. Lit mainly from behind, the horseshoe-shaped, double-storied open-concept set threw two distinct suites of shadows across the stage. One pattern shone through several of the open staircases that lined the perimeter, creating horizontal lines reminiscent of plantation shutters across the set, while the other streamed over the second story balconies, laying a crosshatch design on the stage floor. Evoking passages from the our past, passages by sea and tome, these shadows effectively add to my anticipation and excitement for the unfolding of the story to come.

As this was my first experience seeing Hamilton, I prepared myself by listening to the soundtrack before our trip so as to familiarize myself with the story and music. From everything I had heard, this production presented one of those rare revolutionary moments in theatre history (mirroring Hamilton’s historical setting) where a writer/creator breaks out of the tried-and-tested mold, and tells their story their way. My preparation was about to be tested.

As the auditorium lights dim and the overture begins, I feel the hive-mind electricity in the room, and we buzz with the communal circuitry of shared anticipation. The first song introduces all the main characters, including its namesake, “Alexander Hamilton,” and aptly sets the tone. The lyrics are deft and dense, and defy me to take in every syllable, heavy with exposition. But rather than striving to focus on hearing every word, or concentrating on the unique melodies, or the masterful delivery of both, I decided to allow it all to simply wash over me, to experience the flashflood torrent of Hamilton as a whole. The aperture of awe opened wider still, and I was wholly submerged in its brilliance.

In the third number, Aaron Burr sings “My Shot,” and its lyric, “rise up,” feels like an involuntary call-and-response. The music calls, and my body responds. I sit straight up in my seat; I lean in toward the stage. The very next song/scene, “The Story of Tonight,” reminds me of a similar one from another of my favorite musicals, Les Misérables. I suddenly feel a nostalgic longing for that experience mixed in with sheer joy of the present moment. I feel pride for being a small part of the tradition of theatre and the continuity of community within the theatre family. I hear these lyrics, “look around, how lucky we are to be alive right now,” and I feel so incredibly blessed; I cry. These will not be the only tears I shed that night.

Thank goodness for King George III. His arrival provides perfect comic relief with his pompous circumstance. His song, “You’ll Be Back,” written in a more traditional musical theatre style, brings sheer delight, and I relish it with childlike glee, giggles and all.

Although each musical number stood on its own merits, I want to speak to the way the variety among the songs also created emotional impact. This is where the saying, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, rings as true as the Liberty Bell. The impact this production had on me was far greater than the music, or choreography, or dance alone could have delivered. Through choosing contemporary music (rap, hip-hop, R&B, pop, soul), nontraditional casting, and corresponding choreography, Lin-Manuel’s inspired story about this vaguely familiar founding father, came alive for me this nippy night in June, so brilliant was this piece of theatre history about our nation’s history. The staging, direction and choreography seemed magical in its effortless flow from scene to scene, song to song, rising and falling action and back again. To achieve this magic, in part, the production employed a circular moving walkway in the stage floor. It could and did rotate clockwise and counterclockwise to facilitate much of the movement and choreography signified within the script.

Utilizing jazz, curated street moves and cultivated hip-hop dance in support of the diverse music styles within the musical, each number felt in sync with the whole, which in turn allowed me to feel in sync overall. So sublimated was I to the ‘sync’ that body parts (mine) engaged involuntarily in response to these infectious beats: toes tapped, head nodded and body swayed with the rhythms. The magic called me, and I stepped inside its rhythm.

By the time intermission rolled around, I was in utter and complete awe. No other word describes it better than awestruck. Feeling as if I were floating two feet off the ground, it took a couple of tugs on my arm from Kiri to reel me back in to reality.

“Do you need to use the ladies’ room?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said absently. It was hard to think about the needs of the here-and-now when my mind was still in the there-and-then of the play.

The second act brought more engaging scenes and musical numbers. The most notable being the manner in which they effected battlefield explosions utilizing flashes of white and red light supported with cannon-fire sound effects. This combined with the actor’s slow-motion response to these traumatic moments, forged an effect as if time had slowed to a mind-numbing crawl. The direction seemed flawless, and technical expertise of scenes such as these felt magical, spellbinding. The show itself – with its deft execution of character arcs, beautifully sung songs, cleverly written lyrics and gorgeous, evocative costuming – allows Lin-Manuel’s synthesis of styles to stretch the genre’s seams enough to inspire a whole new generation of Musical Theatre lovers with relevancy and awe. Or awesome relevancy, take your pick.

By the end of the evening, my sense of awe swelled to include the magic of the entire experience. American singer and songwriter, Dion DiMucci, better known simply as ‘Dion,’ is quoted as saying, “Life is full of awe and grace and truth, mystery and wonder. I live in that atmosphere.” And, for one awesome night, I did too.