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Hamilton: Why Are We So Drawn To A Tale Of American Politics?
Because let’s face it, how many of us are really here for the history lesson?
It’s Tuesday night and the lights go down in the Lyric Theatre at QPAC in Brisbane and if it’s not a full house, it’s close. The hushed whispers of the audience fade to silence; the air thick with anticipation inside the theatre as it is with humidity outside. A pause, an opening note, and Burr launches into the first song: How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in the Caribbean…
There is a collective rise of joy as Hamilton begins and my face breaks into an irrepressible smile at the rapture of the moment. It matters not that I have already seen the show performed live in Melbourne, or that I subscribed to Disney+ for the sole purpose of being able to watch it on demand, or that I have sung along to the soundtrack in my car so often that I could step in as understudy for any and all of the characters — the exhilaration is unequivocal; the energy in the room (where it happens) unparalleled.
Immediately I am drawn into the world of Hamilton, only vaguely aware there are other people around me and an actual world existing outside of the theatre walls. For the following three hours my entire being is…
