‘Miss Saigon’ Electrifies In Spite Of Problematic Storyline
With unmatched passion and intensity, it’s no wonder the music sits alongside ‘Les Miserables’ in Claude-Michel Schönberg’s repertoire.
Inspired by what appears to be a simple photograph, Claude-Michel Schönberg’s third masterpiece is a coarse glimpse into the (often dramatized) Vietnam War plaguing Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City) — perhaps Schonberg is attracted to love bursting from a world of adversity, like the blossoming love of Cosette and Marius during the tense times in Les Mis. At least that one had a happy ending (oh yeah! Spoiler alert!).
No, Miss Saigon is not delicate. Not in the slightest. The photograph, depressingly, depicts a mother’s greatest sacrifice. The woman is sending her child, the daughter of a former soldier, to her father in America, knowing her life will be better there. It’s absolutely heartbreaking — and exactly the premise Schönberg and lyricist Alain Boublil wanted to capture.
The national tour came to Seattle’s own Paramount late this past October and I had the opportunity to see it on the 31st — yes, I canceled my Halloween plans to see the show. In my defense, I knew it would be worth it.
The story follows Kim, an (underaged) girl living in Saigon in the thick of the Vietnam war. After the death of her parents, she is guided into sex work by a hustler named the Engineer (who is… the main character? That part was unclear to me). The story’s misogyny begins here — is Schonberg also attracted to stories about doe-eyed women forced into prostitution to save themselves until a man comes along to save them? It seems so. There is rarely (perhaps never) a moment we see female characters besides Kim and a white woman who is important later, Ellen, in anything besides lingerie. The second scene of the musical (“The Heat Is On”) is strikingly racy and beyond the power of my descriptions; you truly have to see it to believe it.
Kim is onstage for less than a minute before becoming a prostitute. In Les Mis, Fantine is shown before prostitution, and later her reluctance to turn to such a profession is made crystal clear. In Miss Saigon, Kim seems to take the Engineer’s advice without question, and takes a job in his joint. She is completely silent beyond saying her name until a solo in one of the first songs. What was the point of even showing her outside of the club if her personality outside of prostitution (and needing to be rescued from it) was completely vague?
Though, one point of interest for me was that in the club, fittingly named “Dreamland”, the women hope for an American man to fall in love with them and steal them away to America. After competing for the title of “Miss Saigon”, a girl named Gigi wins and asks the man who bought her for the night, a marine named John, to take her to America. He hits and insults her for bringing emotion into his night of pleasure. She sings a song — a beautiful one — about the “movie in [her] mind”, and the dreams she keeps in her heart as a way to continue (“The Movie in My Mind”). “Miss Saigon” for the men is about their sex appeal — but for the women, winning “Miss Saigon” is a chance to escape. A chance for love.
Thankfully, an American man, nicer than his abusive, unkind friends, is there to save the day. His name is Chris — and obviously, he is handsome and immediately drawn to Kim’s purity (because she is legitimately marketed to the men as being a virgin) and naivety, as any love interest should be. His friend John buys a night with Kim for Chris, and while he refuses at first, he observes how the other men treat her (i.e. worse than Chris, the “nice guy” would treat her) and decides to go to Kim’s home with her, as the audience is made to believe he is somehow a hero by leaving with her. Maybe I was naive, but I expected him to show his virtue and refuse to sleep with her — but, no questions asked, they sleep together as the lights fade to black.
It’s a rocky start. But awaking to the bustling Saigon, Chris watches Kim as she sleeps and wonders to God (“Why God Why”) why such a girl was sent to him when there was nothing left in Vietnam for him. I was touched by the song (though his admiration for her is quick and presumably vain) because frankly, it is a stunning song, and Anthony Festa’s silvery vocals certainly added to the effect. (Of course, he was Tony in West Side Story three times; I expected nothing less from a tall, white actor with such a good voice).
Chris and Kim’s love begins to blossom. Touched about her tragic past and her refusal to let him pay her for the loss of her virginity, Chris asks Kim to return to America with him. They sing (“Sun and Moon”), they kiss, and Chris calls John to say he’ll be taking leave to spend time with Kim — and John mentions that time is running out, and that the Viet Cong will take over Saigon soon, but covers for Chris anyways.
Kim and Chris are wed by the bargirls; in their eyes, Kim is the true “Miss Saigon”, and has won the opportunity out of their hellish world. I liked something about the way the women were portrayed. Yes, they were sex workers, and their characters were rarely established beyond “bargirl”— but they were kind to each other. When a man hits Kim early in the show, the rest of the girls quickly comfort her. When Kim won their idea of “Miss Saigon”, they aren’t consumed by jealousy — just happy that their friend has a chance they will never have. The women in Miss Saigon, regardless of their profession, support one another.
Then Kim and Chris sing their famous ballad, “Last Night of The World”. It’s worth a search on YouTube. Truly beautiful.
The time jumps three years — Chris left without Kim, later revealed that he had no choice but to leave her behind, with nothing but a gun for protection. Kim remains hopeful that he will return to her and Tam, their child, who she swears to protect with her life (“I’d Give My Life for You”). Kim watches Tam play quietly and reflects on her maternal desire for his wellbeing. She wonders how she can give him a good life when there is no chance for her in Vietnam, and how his life would have worth if Chris had taken her to America. Emily Bautista’s voice, while originally not as strong as I’d hoped earlier in the show, absolutely stunned in the emotional piece. The range of Kim’s role matches Eponine from Les Mis, which is one of the most famous belting roles of all time — and Bautista’s past as Eponine on tour rang clear as day.
Of course, I’d also like to grant an honorable mention to the four adorable kids who shared the role of Tam. Those kids have to be thrown around nightly, hear gunshots onstage, and generally just stand around for all of their stage time. Probably pretty hard for a little kid. But they were absolutely adorable and I was glad the little girl who was on that night was given the last bow and the biggest applause.
(Also, since it was Halloween, I saw a video on one of the actor’s Instagram stories of the kids going around to each dressing room and receiving candy since they can’t have a normal night of trick-or-treating. Adorable.)
Sidenote — in a musical, take songs literally. When Kim swears she’ll “give her life” for her son, spoiler alert, she does.
After realizing that Tam will only live a good life in America with Chris and his new wife Ellen, after speaking to her when the pair come to meet Tam, she begs Ellen to allow her to make a mother’s greatest sacrifice: take her child. This calls back to the inspiration for the musical — the photo of a mother sending her child off, because she understands that her child’s life will be improved with her father. How hard it must be to give up the person who matters most in life. The person Kim killed for in order to protect, when she shoots her cousin after he threatens Tam. There is nothing stronger than a parent’s love for their child, even if that means separation.
J. Daughtry as Chris’ old friend John sung remarkably in an emotional piece about the children left behind by the Americans, now starving, poor, and fighting for survival, and the startling reminder that war doesn’t end when it’s over (“Bui Doi”). Tam is one of these children — and Kim is desperate to get him out of their difficult life.
In a tragic end to the story, the hour comes that Kim swore to reach, and she says a loving goodbye to Tam (“Little God Of My Heart”) and sends him outside to meet his father and stepmother. Kim’s sacrifice, so she doesn’t get in the way of Tam’s life with a happy family by interfering in Chris and Ellen’s relationship (since evidently, Chris is still in love with her) is her own life — and she dies in Chris’ arms after shooting herself and asking him to hold her one last time.
It’s painful. But what were you expecting?
The last scene is accentuated by Bautista and Festa’s chemistry — which they have an abundance of, and need to, due to the many kisses they have to share onstage. I have a theory that they’re dating in real life, backed by my extensive research on both of their Instagrams. Festa embodied the agony of losing someone the moment you realize you need them again; a feeling many of us may not know, but evidently, one that can be empathized with.
Truly, the production made viewers feel the dull pain of connection to the characters, even when the musical was a dramatic, theatrical over-exaggeration of the inspiration Schönberg and Boublil drew from the photograph. It left me weeping for someone who wasn’t really dead but moved by events that, to some extent, happened. The most wonderful kind of sadness seen in television, movies, books, music, or theater is the sadness of knowing that somewhere, sometime, there was someone who felt that pain.
Undoubtedly, there were some things I was less intrigued by in the show. The character of the Engineer, played memorably by Red Concepción, was somewhat implied to be the “main” character, since he sort of initiated all the events of the show and was granted a bow after Festa and Bautista. Frankly, I’m unsurprised there has been backlash surrounding the show for years from Vietnamese people upset that characters like the Engineer (your classic slimy pimp) and Kim (who leaves something to be desired around the strength of her character) are the only representations of their culture in musical theater. Even the smaller roles portraying Vietnamese people were not “good” representations — Kim’s cousin, Thuy, played by the talented Jinwoo Jung, threatens and attempts to kill an innocent child. The Vietnamese ensemble is entirely soldiers or prostitutes. Clearly, the history of Vietnam is deeper than these representations.
Despite the problematic nature of the characters, the ensemble absolutely stunned in every way. In scenes where there was a lot going on (i.e. bar scenes and a busy, exciting flashback sequence from Kim’s memories) the ensemble complimented each mood perfectly — particularly in a moment (based on another photograph) when the last helicopter leaves Saigon and citizens fight to be granted a way out of a country at war. Their acting doesn’t overpower the focus of the scene and their parts were always sung excellently.
An aspect of both confusion and amazement for me was the set. I have literally no idea how they fit so many set pieces backstage. No idea. I have never seen the wings of Paramount, and I’m sure they’re big, but they flew so many sets that I’m not sure how it was possible. And, if you know Miss Saigon, you know that the sets are one of the most iconic parts of the show. For example, on the first day of my stagecraft class last year, Bill talked for twenty minutes about the real helicopter they have onstage. Yes, a real helicopter.
In the tour production, the sequence with the helicopter takes place how I mentioned earlier — as Chris leaves on the last helicopter to depart Vietnam and Kim, effectively, is left behind, unable to reach him on time. It happens during a nightmare she has, so the set designers wanted the prop to be dark and dramatic. While many productions in the past have had a real helicopter stripped down and then used onstage, the tour production had a special prop built to emphasize the gloom of her flashback. While I’ve heard that the “wow” factor of the real helicopter onstage versus one built specifically for the show leaves something to be desired, I was unquestionably amazed. The music, the striking sets, and the deafening sound of the helicopter made it feel so real. It was one of those moments that remind you that musical theater is truly an art.
In an incredible blend of positively remarkable music, unparalleled sets and scenic design, and an exceptional cast, director Laurence Connor brought a taste of Broadway-caliber theatre to a city already familiar with such distinguished shows. Miss Saigon absolutely dazed from the moment the curtain rose to when the actors took their final bows. In a story laced with tragedy, romance, and (infrequent) comedy, each cast and crew member inevitably worked their asses off to bring such fervor and passion to the show — and they delivered.
In a letter grade system, I hereby bestow Miss Saigon with an A+++ multiplied by six-thousand. Additionally, I’ve decided to move it from B-tier to S-tier in my “definitive” tier of musicals. This was a production I will never, ever forget. The heat was truly on.
