Hate is a strong word, especially when it comes to art. We finally got to see Hamilton last night after two years of deliberation. I was not impressed, especially after cracking the one-hundred mark of musicals attended. At an average of even $200 for two tickets that’s a personal investment of $20,000 in Broadway education that I’ve received in the past 20 years. (See Post #454). My fanatic wife is usually the first at the box office, but two years ago a $400 single ticket on Broadway seemed excessive, even to her. She went to see Finding Neverland instead and never once regretted that decision. Last night was confirmation that her choice was the right one. However, she ended up buying the entire Portland Broadway Series just for the opportunity to finally get good tickets to see the show.

There was just too much hype to avoid seeing it any longer. However that one-time $400 ticket easily turned into thousands, since she bought extra tickets for her daughter and a friend who also joined us for a pricey dinner before the show. As with most musicals, I could take it or leave it, so it was not even on my “Small Pail List” to be in the audience. After all, most of the joy that I get about performances like this is watching the joy on my wife’s face as she dreams about being on stage herself. Her expressions are easily worth my price of admission, regardless of the cost. However, last night she was not feeling well.

We had been traveling the past few weeks, rudely interrupted with office issues and time changes, so sleep was hard to come by. The lack of sleep resulted in a bad cold and more restless nights. She had considered giving up these tickets, but her sister kept insisting that it was the best show she had ever seen, and we had company coming into town just for the performance. It was my fault not to listen closer to her concerns and allow her to skip dinner for a little more rest. Instead, I caught her softly snoring just before intermission. It reminded me of sitting next to Larry David during his Curb Your Enthusiasm spoof of the show with guest Lin-Manuel Miranda. He had taken a muscle relaxer, while my poor wife was just flat exhausted. There was no joy on her face, while I sat there equally bored during the seemingly endless hour-and-a-half before the much-needed bathroom breather.

I’m not really into rap music and for this reason alone there were low expectations. The lyrics were more understandable after the break, but I had already formed my opinion – juvenile writing with a predictably repetitive beat. I found myself tapping my foot with enjoyment on a couple of occasions, but it quickly got old (like me). As I looked at all the youth around me, I saw that pleasure that is normally on my wife’s face. I knew I was in the minority as indicated by the cat calls and enthusiastic applause. I was indeed feeling old and out of it, and began to wonder what was wrong with me? How could everyone else enjoy it so much and me so little. I would search for answers.

I Googled “Hamilton Haters” this morning, looking for some support. Comments like poor writing, bad music, too long, un-revolutionary, cost prohibitive to working-class minorities, cheerleader-like choreography, awful, and historically inaccurate prevail among the negative critics. However, the bio-musical won Grammy, Pulitzer, and Tony Award honors, continues to sell out at record-setting prices, and the related merchandise moves like a rapid moving stream. Alexander Hamilton was not a likable character, cheated on his wife, and made lots of enemies, including the man who ultimately shot him. His glory in the musical seemed to be at Thomas Jefferson’s expense.

A diverse cast, youthful genius writer, non-traditional approach, artistic status, story of immigrants, and political influence make it a “must see” phenomenon. Six of the eight of us that went to the show loved it. Unfortunately, the other two, my wife and I, paid the steep price for a good nap that ultimately inspired this short rap:

 

Didn’t want to hate, 

Just wanted to clap.

We heard it was art, 

But felt it was crap. 

 

Hard to understand, 

It’s rhythmic rap.

We paid the price, 

For a good nap. 

 

My apologies to those who enjoyed it, with envious kudos to those who created it.