Should Race Be a Selling Point?

Norm Lewis made history as the first black Broadway Phantom when he joined the Broadway company of The Phantom of the Opera in May.  And while that is certainly noteworthy, I can't help but feel that maybe we are making *too* big of a deal about it.

Recently, some singer/talk show host I had never heard of was cast as the latest headliner in the terrible revival of Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella.  Her name is Keke Palmer, and she will be Broadway's first black Cinderella.  This news story bothered me greatly.

Now, let's be clear:  I am most certainly NOT upset that an African-American woman will be headlining a Broadway musical about a fairy tale princess.  As a person of color who once dreamed of being an actor, I am all too aware of the difficulties facing ethnic actors today.  While we are slowly seeing more diversity in entertainment, the sad fact remains that a lot of casting directors still won't consider an ethnic actor for a part that doesn't explicitly call for that ethnicity.  Furthermore, the parts that do require an actor of color often make skin tone the role's defining characteristic, as if that is the only thing which could possibly necessitate casting a non-white performer.  And since most subsequent productions have a tendency to mimic the casting of the original, if the original actor wasn't black (or Latino, or Asian-American, etc.), then actors of those ethnicities often aren't seriously considered for the role even if race has zero bearing on the story.  So any instance of a traditionally white role going to an ethnic performer is something I am all for.

No, what bothers me about Ms. Palmer's casting is that the producers and press made such a big deal about her being the "first black Cinderella" on Broadway.  Every story went out of the way to mention Palmer's ethnicity, which makes me believe this is something that was explicitly pointed out in the press release as a way of drumming up extra attention.  Because honestly, the 4th replacement in a revival of a musical with middling box office probably wouldn't even merit mention if not for this one tidbit.  I will choose to believe that the producers of Cinderella didn't cast Palmer solely because of her race, but they sure don't mind using her skin color to get some extra publicity and perhaps stroke their egos in a self-congratulatory, "look-how-progressive-we-are" way.

My problem with this is that it makes skin color the defining characteristic of this actress.  The selling point of Palmer's casting is not her talent or her previous accomplishments; it is her skin color, something she has absolutely no control over.  This is even more baffling considering Cinderella, which won an Actor's Equity award for the diversity of its ensemble, has several other ethnic actors in principal roles without feeling the need to point out their heritage.  No one mentioned that Ann Harada is the first Asian-American Stepsister.  You know why?  Because it is Harada's talent that is her most important asset, not her ancestry, which is only one component of the many qualities and characteristics that make her unique.

A similar thing happened recently when Norm Lewis took over the title role in The Phantom of the Opera, Broadway's longest running musical.  Every news outlet, even those that normally don't cover Broadway, was suddenly talking about Phantom again because Lewis is the first black actor to play the role on Broadway in the show's 26 year run.  And while that is certainly an achievement, and a cool bit of theatrical trivia, why did that have to be the defining piece of news about his casting?  Again, my problem with spinning the story this way is that it places the emphasis on Lewis' skin color, something he has zero control over, and not his talent, something he has honed and sharpened over nearly 3 decades of performing.

Defining anyone primarily by their skin color is reductive (and borderline insulting).  By calling extra attention to race, we continue to train future generations to notice it and use it as a way to define people.  Even if the focus on Palmer and Lewis's heritage is well-intentioned, as a mixed-race American it makes me vaguely uneasy.  It deemphasizes individuality, and encourages people to make assumptions based on someone's outer appearance.

To me, the ideal treatment of race is how the subject was handled in Rent.  That show featured an incredibly diverse cast without making their diversity the central focus.  All of the various characters in Rent are treated as people first, with subtle nods to their ethnic backgrounds that provided extra spice without becoming their defining quality.  Very little is explicitly mentioned about any characters' heritage, meaning the show could theoretically be cast with any combination of actors.  It is generally cast to mirror the ethnic breakdown of the original cast, which goes back to the lack of imagination on casting directors' part, but that is an issue for another blog.  The pertinent point here is that it was diverse without making race its defining characteristic, one of the many ways in which the show was so groundbreaking.

Or to use a currently running example, look at Disney's The Lion King.  It features a largely black cast, which makes sense given the African setting and director Julie Taymor's wholehearted embrace of tribal design aesthetics.  Yet the show doesn't once call attention to the character's blackness (probably because they're all actually lions, but that is beside the point).  As Taymor has said in various interviews, The Lion King is a show that is not about race and yet all about race.  As she astutely points out, to white audiences it is the same story they know and love from the movie, and the ethnicities of the actors are a non-issue.  But to black audiences, it is very much the story of a black king trying to win back his kingdom, and sends a powerful message that people of color can be noble kings and queens too.  The brilliance of the show is that it allows for this reading without doing anything to emphasize it, which makes it even more progressive than the shows that call attention to their inclusiveness.

There is no denying that Broadway could use more diversity.  The country continues to become more ethnically varied, but the principal characters in most Broadway shows remain steadfastly white.  I am all for actors like Palmer and Lewis breaking barriers, but I think when we call too much attention to it we only exacerbate the problem.  I hope directors continue to consider and cast actors of all ethnicities in all roles (provided the show isn't explicitly about race and racism), but cease to call attention to the fact that they are doing so.  Calling attention to it ultimately reinforces the notion that race is something to obsess over and define people by, and that kind of thinking helps no one.  Trying to get brownie points for your affirmative action casting decisions is just tacky, and devalues the talent of the people you do hire.

Podcast Episode 3: Recent Movie Musicals

As any musical theatre fan already knows, the big budget film adaptation of Les Miserables is coming to theatres in just one short month.  In preparation for the big event, I assembled a panel of experts (well, opinionated theatre people) to discuss the modern rejuvenation of the movie musical.  I'm joined by returning podcaster Jessica and first-timers Spencer, Jackie, and Brian for a conversation about what makes for a good film adapatation of a hit stage show, as well as a frank discussion of the successes and failures of the various musical films released since 2003 Best Picture-winner Chicago.

Also, I am looking to really increase the podcast presence on this blog in the coming months, so any feedback about it is greatly appreciated.  Let me know if you like the long format or would prefer shorter installments, and any suggestions for podcast topics are always welcome.

Enjoy, and have a Happy Thanksgiving!

What's So Speacial About the Original Cast?

There have been five Broadway productions of Gypsy, and for many the Ethel Merman original remains the best

One interesting phenomenon among musical theatre aficionados – really all theatre fans, but it’s more pronounced in musical theatre circles – is the near-universal belief that a show’s original cast is always the best one.  No matter how many times a show has been successfully revived or remounted, these fans insist the original group of actors represent the best possible incarnation of a property.  If the work is particularly beloved, suggesting different actors for the lead roles becomes tantamount to sacrilege, and eventually you get people who think the then 43-year-old Sarah Brightman is an appropriate choice to play ingénue Christine Daae in the 2004 Phantom of the Opera film.

The above example is extreme, but the thinking behind it is so widespread that people have paid good money to see a 37-year-old Adam Pascal play Roger in Rent or a septuagenarian Carol Channing do Hello, Dolly!  Those real-life examples can be explained away as people who missed legendary performances willingly suspending their disbelief in order to see great actors recreate their most famous roles, but such reasoning doesn’t justify the idea that no matter how many times Gypsy or West Side Story get done, the original cast will always be the best.

So what’s driving this belief?  Is there any substance to the assertion that the original cast is always the superior one?  In large part, I think the primary reason comes down to mere familiarity.  With musicals, many times the only thing resembling a permanent record of the show is the Original Cast Recording.  This is how the vast majority of fans are first exposed to a show, and it is just about the only way anyone can relive the experience of actually seeing a live production.  The particular set of mannerisms, vocal tics, and acting choices captured by the recording becomes subconsciously ingrained in the listener’s head, and through repeated exposure becomes the accepted or “correct” way the material should be done.  If the person has never actually seen the show in question, then the cast album becomes representative of the ideal version of the property that’s been created in the listener’s head.  Any deviation from this imagined ideal can prove off-putting, even with supposedly open-minded people.

But if the reasoning behind this preference for the original cast seems somewhat arbitrary, that doesn’t mean the resulting wisdom is entirely wrong.  The truth of the matter is that the originating actor often ends up being the best, or at least one of the best, people to tackle a particular role.  If the performer is lucky enough to have the part written expressly for them, the way Gypsy was written for Ethel Merman or The Producers was tailored specifically to Nathan Lane, then of course he or she is going to impress in the role.  Even if the writers don’t have a particular person in mind when creating a character, they will inevitably end up fashioning the part around the person chosen to play it.  If a scene or song isn’t working, any rewrites will almost certainly take the performer’s strengths into account.  In a particularly collaborative environment, the actor may have direct input into the character’s moods and actions, subtly but forever skewing the script towards that performer’s interpretation of the role.

Then there are the times when a performer proves so compelling in a role that it takes on a life of its own, becoming greatly expanded in order to fully utilize that actor’s talents.  Anyone who has read the novel Wicked will tell you Glinda is a much more prominent presence in the musical, because the writers wanted to put for focus on Kristin Chenoweth’s bravura performance.  Stephen Flaherty and Lynn Ahrens wrote the song “Sarah Brown Eyes” in Ragtime specifically to give Tony-winner Audra McDonald more to do, since she was simply too good to leave out of the second act.  Rory O’Malley’s Elder McKinley didn’t even exist is early drafts of The Book of Mormon, but Matt Stone and Trey Parker were so entertained by his antics in the ensemble they crafted a role to better highlight him.  When a role is so specifically tailored to the original performer, their take on it will naturally be one of the strongest.

Original casts (and premiere casts of revivals) also have the benefit of extended rehearsal time to explore their roles.  A typical Broadway musical has about a month of rehearsals and another month of previews, giving the performers plenty of time to discover the nuances of their characterizations and iron out any kinks.  Add to that the months or even years spent workshopping a modern musical, and you have an artist who is intimately familiar with their particular character.  By the time workshops, out-of-town tryouts, and previews are taken into account, Idina Menzel spent three to four years refining her Elphaba, whereas her many replacements got at best a couple weeks of rehearsal before their first public performance.

The massive investment of time, combined with the knowledge that they are the first person to portray a particular role, results in actors feeling a sense of ownership that is difficult to replicate.  The original cast of a show has a heightened investment in making the show succeed, and going through the journey of discovering their characters with the writers and director gives their performances a more fully-realized and believable quality.  In contrast, many subsequent actors are encouraged to replicate the original’s performance, which can create a feeling of inauthenticity in their work.  Even if the production is new, such as a revival with entirely original staging, the shadow of their predecessor can loom large over any actor.  Every woman who’s played Joanne in Company has had to choose between trying to mimic Elaine Stritch (thereby inviting director comparison) or veering from Stritch’s blueprint and likely being criticized for it.

As we have seen, there are a lot of factors that contribute to making the original cast of a particular show the preferred one.  Because of this, I will always try to see a show while the original company is intact, but I have also seen enough replacements and understudies to know that they can be every bit as strong as the original performers.  I’ve also seen some incredible revivals that surely must compare favorably with the originals, such as the Patti LuPone-led Gypsy or the most recent New York staging of Follies.  Ultimately, the right actor in the right role will make for amazing theatre, whether that actor is the first person to ever play that character of the hundredth.  That is what makes live theatre so exciting, and being able to see multiple interpretations of the same show is what keeps me coming back, time and again.