Spring Awakening Gave Us Purple Summers
Totally F***ed jumping Photo by Paul Kolnik
The other night, it was raining, and Seattlest had spent the entire day in our tiny studio apartment with the shades drawn. Next thing we knew, we found ourselves at that back of a particular dark, dank Eastlake bar chatting with our editor for another job about how much we'd love to write a musical. The thing about musical theater, we contended, was that it was cheesy. Granted, we maintained, we love musical theater for all its glittery, flashy, jazz-hands-and-kick-ball-change cheesiness, but we recognize the wider world doesn't see an ounce of reality in Sutton Foster dressed like a flapper, killing the big notes at the end of "Gimme Gimme." Most people can recognize talent like that when they see it, but it doesn't resound with them the way that, say, Angelina Jolie's heaving breast during a close-up action scene would at any summer blockbuster.
"But," we prophesied as our editor looked at us, feigning interest, "tomorrow we're going to see Spring Awakening, and who knows. Maybe that's the one that manages to not be cheesy."
And, boy, when we prophesy, we're not messing around.
From the second young Wendla (Christy Altomare—spectacular) climbed on top of that chair at center stage and, feeling herself up under harsh white lights, sang about how her mother didn't teach her what she needed to know about the world, we knew we were in for a good few hours of cheese-less musical theater.
Before we go any further, let us clear something up: Spring Awakening is not about children having sex. We take back all our erroneous claims to that effect. Now, follow the jump for the truth.
Spring Awakening tells the story of teenagers being teenagers, but not in the same way of that other musical about teenagers tackles the topic. This is the stuff of real teenagers who aren't chained to Mickey Mouse via their Gap scarves. They're teenagers who are curious, rebellious, questioning human beings thrust into a vortex of confusion when their bodies and brains suddenly pull them one way, while their parents and teachers try hard to pull them in another.
Along the way, like teenagers, they form fierce friendships, they let each other into their lives in fearless ways that adults are too jaded to attempt—by sharing stories of neglect and abuse, lashing out, being frank about sexual curiosity, and routine about religious faith.
From the awkward and provocative choreography to the sometimes punk rock, sometimes overly sentimental music, to the spastic staging and the fact that every adult is played by the same two actors, this is the kind of musical that laughs in the face of cheese. Instead of jazz hands, Spring Awakening opts for the finger. And, after two hours of flailing and pleading and fucking about, there remains no question about why this play has stirred up such a storm in its wake. Broadway may continue to be the same cheesefest of glittery smiles and nudge-nudge punchlines, but Spring Awakening has quite handily left its mark.
10/14-10/19 (showtimes) // Paramount Theater // $22-70
