Juvenile Shows vs. "Good Theater"

Several years ago, my dad took me to see the touring production of Monty Python's Spamalot.

I remember walking into the theater in Cleveland, Ohio with hundreds of other Monty Python fans, waiting to see jokes that I had grown up on put to music and lights. We were ready to laugh and not take ourselves seriously and just be in the moment of a show based off of something that I, personally, wouldn't have ever thought to make a musical out of. Well. Most of us.

I don't know why this has stuck with me, but I remember at intermission, a woman turning to the person next to her and going, "Oh, I thought this was high brow."

Can we think about this for a moment? Monty Python. The troupe who crafted such irreverent beauties as Flying Circus, Life of Brian, Holy Grail....you thought that was going to be high brow? Who are you and why are you deconstructing my beautiful theater going experience good madame? Have a velvety cushioned, overpriced seat.

But this statement wasn't a symptom of a new sentiment and it's not something that's gone away since. For many people, theater has the preconceived reputation of being high brow, classy, and upper crust. It's something that's representative of the elite's access to the arts- which is why you saw Instagram posts of every celebrity ever with Lin Manuel Miranda brandishing a Hamilton program, knowing that you would basically have to take out second and third mortgages to maybe get nosebleed seats. (This is a whole other issue that I'm not going to get into, but will instead redirect you to this awesome YouTube video about the issues with another, once-inaccessible musical, Rent). Good theater is transformative, immersive, and, often times, over the top. And as such, it makes some sense that some of the best productions will be the most expensive and/or the most high brow. Quality takes money. Especially on Broadway. I get that.

I grew up with the privilege of having a dad who always took me to see touring productions. And local productions. And came to see my school productions. Growing up, my family wasn't rich, but some of the best gifts I received were theater tickets. The first show I ever saw was a mediocre community production of Grease, where I fell in love instantly. I was eight years old. About a year later, I opened an envelope in my stocking on Christmas Eve and found tickets to Beauty and the Beast. My first professional touring production. It was captivating and I was transformed. And this became a pattern over the years. Theater tickets were  a priority and that's the reason why at the age of 27, I still love absolutely nothing more than sitting in a dubiously comfortable foldout seat, watching a performer in sequined costume belt their face off. I love theater because I had exposure. And because I had exposure, I learned theater appreciation. I took classes on theater in high school. I've done self study. I have an entire bookshelf of plays, musicals, and books about production, directing, and theater history. Because I had exposure as a kid.

I love me some theater-snob-sanctioned high brow theater. The first time I saw The Fantasticks, I literally cried. I can sing all of the parts of Cell Block Tango from Chicago, probably with choreography. Once on This Island gave me a full range of emotions that I still haven't untangled months after seeing it. Fiddler on the Roof has been one of my favorite shows (and movies) since I was in high school. But again...I'm saying this as a 27-year-old adult with a sell-out corporate job, who sees between one and four shows per month. Eight-year-old Rebecca would not have understood most of the shows I see now. Fun Home would have gone right over her head (and also, she wouldn't have gone to see it because it's a little mature for her what with the sexual awakenings and suicide). Same with Spring Awakening (sexual awakenings and suicide, again). Or Miss Saigon (.....do I see too many shows about sex and suicide? Don't answer that.) But I appreciate them now because when I was a kid, people took the time to make theater accessible to me. My dad, buying me tickets that I couldn't afford on my allowance, for sure. But also the people who actually put the time and effort into making shows that kids could and would want to see. And my life, and the lives of a million other theater nerds, were forever changed because of that.

Which brings me to an unlikely source of anger for me here lately.

Spongebob Squarepants.

Most of you know, if you follow theater or pop culture or watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, that a few years ago, a production team started development on a musical based off of the Nickelodeon cartoon, Spongebob Squarepants. It rolled out in late 2017 to great skepticism from many proud theater nerds, myself included. My sister, 14 at at the time, and I listened to two songs from the soundtrack back in November and were shocked to find that they were...in fact...pretty dang good. So when we made plans to go to New York in March of this year, one of the top things on our agenda was to acquire tickets to see this show. We bought our tickets, which were expensive because New York, but relatively affordable because...Spongebob (and it was before Tony Award season), and expected a cute show with cheap laughs because, after all, this is a Nickelodeon cartoon. How good could it be?

Very, actually.

The show was filled with bright colors. Ridiculous sound effects. Squidward tap dancing with extra legs (will never be over this fact, by the way. Gavin Lee was robbed of that Tony Award and you all can fight me.) It was an experience that took my skeptical, theater snob heart, and punched it in the face. It was clever. It was fun. It was loud.

And it was GOOD.

Also worth pointing out, it was my sister's first time to see a show on Broadway. (And second. We went twice. Don't @ us.) 

On my end, there was a hefty amount of mockery and skepticism from people around me. One of my best friends, for example, sent me text messages taunting me throughout my New York trip after I, admittedly went a little fan girl ham on my Instagram feed, having been able to take selfies with some of the cast and freaking out. One of the theater nerds at work, who actually produces shows, admitted that he "didn't get" the show. It came to light after this conversation that he hadn't ever actually watched the cartoon, so like, that made sense, but then, bruh, you're not the audience. I expressed this to him, being younger and having grown up watching the show, I had an appreciation for what this did with regards to accessibility. I expressed that I liked that there was a big, flashy, semi-affordable show on Broadway that catered to kids for once. And he said something painfully annoying.

"Yeah, but kids aren't the ones who pay to keep a show in business."

The other thing worth noting is that I follow an excessive number of people in the theater business on social media and the vast majority of them were raving about the production too. I was converted. This all had to be a good sign. I was ready for them to sweep the awards. I was an instant fan girl and I was ready for award season to come and validate all of the good feelings that I had, while simultaneously converting the hold-out theater snobs who would see an underdog show getting the credit it so fiercely deserved.

And that....kind of happened.

Spongebob ended up being the most nominated show on Broadway this year. Drama Desk. Critics' Circle. Tony Awards. Stacks of well-deserved nominations, which I cheered on as they rolled out. Ethan Slater and Gavin Lee won Drama Desk awards for their roles and I was giddy. The show received Best New Musical for Critics' Circle and Drama Desk and I started to get more excited. It was happening. A kids' show was getting the recognition it deserved. This was the proof that you could be goofy and silly and still be good theater. How freaking cool for baby theater nerds.

And then came Tony Award night. I had a mini-party at my house with pizza, lots of wine, and close, equally theatrically inclined, friends, who yelled and cheered at the TV with such force that I think I now kind of understand why people get so hyped about the Super Bowl. So we sat there, watching a collection of "low-brow" shows: Mean Girls, Spongebob, Frozen (it may be Disney, but you can't make me like it), go up against The Band's Visit, a more traditionally-focused production in that it contains substance, meaning, and beautiful orchestrations rather than, as I understand it (not having seen or read the show yet) gags and fun, flashy numbers. The Band's Visit is more contemplative, and necessarily so. It's incredibly important as it focuses on Middle Eastern culture and casted Middle Eastern actors in a time where it is, in many circles, very, very hard to be a person of Middle Eastern descent. I love what the show has done for visibility and I knew deep down in my heart that it was going to win Best Musical. And I was honestly fine with that. I love the music. What I know of the premise, I like. And as someone who can't sing well with perfect posture, watching Katrina Lenk belt while lounging in a bistro chair is basically as close as I will get to watching an actual, hand to God MIRACLE on this earth. But I've read reviews and know it had some places that it lacked. And so I was, nonetheless, shocked when it swept up every award. Best Book, I thought, was a surefire win for Tina Fey and Mean Girls. I really thought that Ethan Slater had a shot at the win for Best Actor in a Musical. But I watched as even things like sound design snubbed my beloved baby show, and I got confused. And a little annoyed because I had literally sat directly next to the sound booth and watched a man single-handedly craft a cartoon-reminiscent experience using things like xylophones, squeak toys, and bicycle horns.

It felt like an obvious choice. A "necessary" choice. An actual choice to refuse giving recognition to shows with lesser source material because they didn't meet the standards of traditional theater. And that made me so sad and disappointed, but I was overall unsurprised. I watched as Spongebob continued to sell well. I watched as my ability to buy tickets to see Mean Girls when I go back to New York in July slip away (or rather, to be subject to INSANE resell prices). And I was sated. They may not have got the recognition they deserved, but goshdarnit, people liked them. And maybe that was okay. The important thing was, after all, that they were providing accessible exposure for kids who would go on and come to love the theater for a lifetime.

And then the story from BroadwayWorld showed up on my newsfeed. Developers had been granted permission to renovate and raise the Palace Theater to create more retail space in Times Square (which, as anyone who's been to Times Square knows, is in very short supply. I know that when I'm looking for a Statue of Liberty paperweight, I often shake my fist to the gods and shout "IF ONLY THERE WERE ONE MORE KIOSK HERE, I WOULD BE SATISFIED"). The Palace Theater....where Spongebob is playing. It seemed counterintuitive. Shows close because of lack of public interest, because the money dries up. That wasn't happening here. Maybe it was just saying that once the show closed, they would break ground.

Unfortunately, no. Word broke this weekend that the show is closing in early September and I was HEATED.

You see, I will admit that I have a deep love for this show that many others do not share. And that's fine. The great thing about the theater community is that it is so dang innovative that there will always be something new. Something that will appeal to pretty much everyone. No two people will have the exact same theatrical palate and that's so very fine. But what I'm seeing is something that goes beyond one show being snubbed in favor of commercialism and high brow sensibilities. It gives me concern for the future of accessible theater, of kids' theater, in general.

If you dive into the theater edge of social media, you'll see a gaggle of teenagers who have found their community in musicals. They've picked up on messages and allowed them to help them through the identity crises that are so common for that age range. When I was 13, Wicked burst onto the scene (also not winning the Best Musical Tony, for what it's worth), giving a quiet, bullied kid who felt all too visible and invisible at once a voice through Elphaba. My sister, at the same age, saw herself in Dear Evan Hansen and the various coping mechanisms displayed through the show's characters. My brother, not a huge theater fan overall, fell in LOVE with Hamilton and it's one of maybe two or three soundtracks that he'll sing along with my sister and I to. And I want kids to keep being able to see themselves and their interests in theater. Things like this make me worry for shows like Be More Chill, a show that is coming to New York because of enthusiastic, persistent, and, for the majority, teenage fans who saw themselves in Michael's panic attacks, Jeremy's struggle for acceptance, Brooke's and Chloe's self-esteem and insecurities, and Christine's love of theater. I'm worried because I've already heard the critiques.

"It's a juvenile show."

"It lacks substance."

"The fandom is made up of teenage girls."

I'm concerned that high brow sensibility will get in the way of a great show that means so much to so many people. Theater is an amazing means to help people find themselves and their passions. And sometimes those people are kids and teenagers. Sometimes, they're eight-year-old girls watching community productions where the lyrics to Grease Lightning are censored who will go on to love theater almost twenty years later so much that they dream of producing shows themselves.

Please don't sell these shows short. Juvenile does not equal bad theater. Not every show has to make you rethink your life. Not every show needs to represent you, your demographic, or your social interests. What shows do need, though, is the opportunity to do well and provide that magic.

That's what I want to do someday. I want to make shows that make people love theater as much as I do. To find an escape in it like I do. To find themselves in it like I have, my sister has, and a million other drama nerds have.

I just hope that the system gives me that chance.

In the meantime, you have 10 more weeks to see a really cool show at the Palace Theater in Times Square before it succumbs to corporate greed and nonsense. If you have the chance, do it. See it. 

I'm pretty sure you'll be both as delighted as I was and angry as I am.

We Need to Talk About "I Feel Pretty"

I went to see the movie against my better judgment.

I'm not a fan of Amy Schumer because I find her to be short-sighted and exclusionary in general, but something changed my mind. I follow a plus-size fashion blogger, Glitter and Lazers, and she endorsed "I Feel Pretty", sitting down and interviewing Schumer and telling her followers in the comments that she understood the concerns, but there wasn't much to them. The movie was about acceptance and Aidy Bryant's character in the movie was decidedly body positive, so I decided to give it a shot.

If you're not familiar with the premise of the movie, it's that an average looking girl, Renee, is unsatisfied with her life and feels less than confident due to a myriad of reasons. She's not fashionable enough, there are jokes about when she showers, and she works in a Chinatown office for a makeup line's online division, hidden away from the public. She's asked to go to the company's Fifth Ave headquarters to deliver some reports, finds out that there's a job opening for that office, and after reviewing the online requisition, feels that she's not confident enough to apply. All of this changes, however, after an unfortunate SoulCycle accident in which Renee suffers a head injury that changes her perception of how she sees herself. In short, she believes herself to be transformed into someone beautiful, to the extent that she is certain that none of her friends recognize her, she hits on a man in a dry cleaning shop (who becomes her love interest.), and just in general is filled with the confidence that she feels that every conventionally attractive person has, which leads her to great success. It also leads her to being a royal tool to all of her friends, sabotaging relationships, nearly losing her job, and just being an overall garbage human. Obviously, though, this all comes to be tied up with a neat little bow where at the end, Renee discovers that she's always looked the same and that her beauty was there all along and it all just works out. HOORAY. CONFIDENCE FIXES EVERYTHING. HOW POSITIVE.

I want to believe that this movie was made with the best of intentions. And I'll be honest, I found myself laughing at a few points throughout the film (e.g. A scene in which Renee, with her new found confidence, struts across the lobby of an office building to an Alicia Keys song. If you've never strutted to an internal soundtrack on a day where you're feeling yourself, you're probably lying because that is my MOOD). That being said, my main feeling was just immense frustration overall with how the story was depicted and, quite frankly, by whom. There was a situation about two years back where Amy actually addressed the press that she was getting for being plus sized. Namely, that she wasn't. She stated that she fluctuated between a 6 and an 8 and that plus size was typically a label used for sizes 12 and above. And honestly, props to her for owning that and not perpetuating the idea that anything above a four makes you a fattie. But that being said, when you own that you're not part of a community, you, in my opinion, lose your right to present a work that provides commentary on and jokes at the expense of, that community.

I am, decidedly, plus sized. Depending on the brand, I can wear anything from an 18 to a 24. Some days, I feel pretty (for example, in the montage on the right, working it in front of Cinderella's castle). Some days, I don't. Most days, I have to remind myself that I am a healthy human being who's doing my best. And I have a number of friends in that same boat. Along with this comes the frustration that for whatever reason, society has overwhelmingly decided that it's still okay to make jokes about size. For example, while I desperately looked for a tweet from a favorite author on this very subject (Never found it. Still mad about it.), I instead found this article about the prevalence of fat used as comedy in children's media. It's everywhere. It's prevalent. And it's annoying. But it's often justified under the pretense that to do otherwise is "glorifying" obesity and that people are "concerned about your health". The problem of this being that it's very difficult to determine someone's level of fitness and/or health by looking at them. It's also likely that when you see an individual of a larger size, they are struggling with health concerns that CAUSED OR CONTRIBUTED TO their size, rather than being caused by it. I, for example, have Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. My blood sugar is fine. My cholesterol is fine. I am overall a relatively healthy and strong person, but PCOS makes weight a pain to lose. And even if my weight were completely determined by my own personal choices and decisions, I still wouldn't deserve to have jokes made at my expense because I am a dang human being and I do not owe you the appearance of health, wellness, or beauty to merit respect.

Which brings me back to "I Feel Pretty". Probably one of the biggest issues that I had with the film was that of the bikini contest. On a date with dry cleaning man, Renee enters a bikini contest. She appears next to a variety of toned and conventionally tall, lanky, and beautiful women in swim suits wearing a tied up t-shirt and unbuttoned shorts. She is not toned, but proceeds to do a sexy dance and make jokes about herself anyway. The key joke in this scene, as with much of the movie, is that Renee is not toned or "attractive", but behaves in a way that puts forth the confidence of someone with those benefits. She comes on stage and a hush comes over the crowd because "she shouldn't be there". But when she makes jokes about herself, the opinion of the crowd changes. To me, this furthers the opinion that the only way that you can win people over as a plus-sized or, I'm sorry, not plus-sized, but average person, is to own those imperfections and share a laugh with others about them. Riveting. Overwhelmingly, with my background knowledge of Schumer's comments about not being plus sized, my internal monologue said something along the lines of, "They're laughing at her and she's a size 8. What would they do to you?" When you present yourself, as an "average sized person" as something that others can and do laugh at, you are creating a precedent for mockery and cruelty to continue. You have furthered the assumption that fat is funny. Non-conventional looks are funny. Anything that is not inherently and undeniably knock-out gorgeous is funny. And that's frustrating.

I understand why people want to promote this movie and even want to believe that it was created with a message and intentions that were overall good. It's true that Aidy Bryant's character is a delightful person who knits, wears cardigans, and doesn't care what others think of her, but to call her character body-positive or claim that including one character to balance out everything else wrong with the movie is entirely misleading. The overwhelming message that confidence is all you need in order to have your dreams come true ignores the fact that there are very real barriers for many women that are, at least in part, because of the way that they look. One of the first lines that Renee speaks when she is "transformed" is to a woman on the street who says that she got her dress at Target. "Girls like us are so lucky that we can buy clothes where ever we want and still look good." Speaking as someone who has insane amounts of credit card debt at Torrid and Lane Bryant, that line alone highlights an extraordinary blind spot. Have you tried buying a cute and professional work outfit in a 22? It is difficult. It is annoying. And 90% of the time, it is DEFINITELY more expensive than Target.

I want girls and women across the world, no matter their color, size, identity, or whatever else, to feel undeniably pretty. I want that for myself, unapologetically and unquestionably. And I want there to be something in the mainstream media that perpetuates and exalts that. I believe that at some point, probably sooner rather than later, that representation will come.

But "I Feel Pretty" is not that.

Not even close.



Note: This is not a comprehensive review of any and all issues with this film or any of Amy Schumer's other works. There are numerous concerns that people have raised with this film which are perfectly valid, but I can only speak for myself, my own feelings, and my own experiences. If you want to know more about why people are upset about this movie or, again, any of Amy Schumer's other works, I promise you that a good Google search will give you PLENTY of information.