Confession: The only thing I have voluntarily listened to for the past month is the cast recording of "Hamilton." Literally if you take a gander at my Spotify, you will see that the only thing that pops up is the fruit of seven years of Lin-Manuel Miranda's hard labor. History was one of my least favorite things in school, and American history specifically bores me to tears. I never expected to feel an emotional connection to Aaron Burr (Hamilton's colleague who also happened to kill him in a duel). It is nothing less than spectacular, with the fastest rapping Broadway has ever seen. And it's almost guaranteed to sweep the upcoming Tony Awards. "Hamilton" deserves every bit of praise it's receiving, from the beautifully diverse cast to the fairly accurate (and hugely entertaining) Cabinet Battles.
Alas, as much as I would like to write a 40 page paper detailing all of "Hamilton's" strengths, I would be lying to you if I told you it was a flawless piece.
Lin-Manuel Miranda took the story of a really old guy that we only know as a statue and the face of the 10 dollar bill and spun it into an exciting and engaging masterpiece that casts a spell on whoever is lucky enough to experience it. But unfortunately, that's just what Hamilton is. It's a story about a whole bunch of old white guys. For a show that is considered to be so progressive in terms of diversity, one would think that perhaps some historical people of color would be included in the storyline. To be fair, almost every single person in the cast is a person of color. Unfortunately, this is a tale of white history not everyone's history. Arguably, Hamilton was an immigrant and perhaps not a white guy, but one ambiguously non-white person of color certainly isn't enough to say this is everyone's story.
Or women for that matter. We have the three Schuyler sisters: Angelica, the intelligent and witty ringleader of the bunch; Eliza, the kindhearted and loyal wife; and Peggy, the youngest daughter who mysteriously disappears right after she's introduced. The only other major female character in this story is Maria Reynolds, Hamilton's mistress. Angelica and Eliza are the only two who get practically any air time, and while they're onstage, they're both musing about Hamilton's eyes. Seriously, the only purpose these women serve in the story is to be Hamilton's love interests. The only other aspect of Eliza we learn about is how she opened New York's first public orphanage, and we find this out in literally the last song of the show. While Angelica has short bursts of pro-women positivity, they are short-lived, and then she goes right back to writing love letters. Maria's only dialogue is begging Hamilton to stay, and the only things we hear from Peggy is whining about wanting to go home. As much as I want to love Angelica and Eliza, it really grinds my gears that the only thought they're associated with is Hamilton. Can we get a Schuyler musical, please?
Finally, and this isn't necessarily the fault of the show writer himself, the audiences who actually get to see "Hamilton" are almost wholly white, middle-aged, rich people. Tickets are widely expensive, and while Lin does as much as he can to make the show accessible (student shows, the lottery for tickets, almost excessive amounts of social media involving the show, etc.), it's almost impossible to get in. Even if you can manage to get a ticket, there so many social cues and paradigms associated with going to see a show at a theatre that it can be wildly uncomfortable for a non-white, middle-aged, rich person. Even with these faults, this show is so important, and not enough people are getting the chance to see it due to it's expensive and sold-out nature.
For a nearly three hour long show, it does a spectacular job telling an old story in an energetic and refreshing manner. But within those three hours, couldn't there have been just a smidgen more representation?
