Remembering Norm MacDonald

I love Norm MacDonald.  

Long before The Daily Show’s ill-fated Craig Kilborn stint and subsequent wildly successful Jon Stewart stint, there was SNL’s Weekend Update.  And, in my humble opinion, no one helmed the Weekend Update desk better than Norm MacDonald.  One of the things we like to do now is go back and pick apart the past, holding it to today’s standards, and I won’t ignore the fact that there were parts of Norm’s comedy that would be viewed as problematic today, but this isn’t one of those pieces.  I want to celebrate Norm’s life and his contribution to comedy.  But mostly, I want to share how Norm MacDonald’s comedy affected me.

Saturday Night Live hasn’t been great for as long as I can remember, but being allowed to stay up late and watch Norm’s Weekend Update was always a highlight of my childhood.  I probably shouldn’t have been watching and I probably didn’t understand half of what he said, but I was mesmerized.  When he got his own show opposite Laurie Metcalfe, I was on board immediately.  I loved that show then, though I have no idea how it would hold up if I were to watch it now (a topic I’ll be tackling with many titles in my Revisiting series), but I do know that whenever I’m playing poker with friends, I sit down, look at my cards, and say “I have an excellent egg”; I’m almost certain my brother will be the only one who understands the reference, but in an episode of Norm, Norm explained his perfect poker face system, in which he states “I have excellent cards”.  Through a series of mishaps I no longer remember, he ends up at what he thinks is an underground poker game, but turns out to be a game where you have to smash another person’s egg with your egg, without breaking your own.  So, with his foolproof system in place, “I have an excellent egg,” he says, and he goes on to play.  What could possibly go wrong, right?

Norm’s movies might be some of those that also don’t hold up, but I remember the trembling excitement I had when returning from the local Hollywood Video with a copy of Dirty Work to run through my dad’s new fancy DVD machine (though I’m through and through a city person now, the suburb in which I grew up was so small at the time, it didn’t have a Blockbuster until several years later).  Again, I couldn’t tell you if I’d like it if I watched the movie now, but I’m willing to bet I’d still get several laughs out of Norm’s glorious delivery.  I still can say “I’ve never seen so many dead hookers in my life” and elicit a response of “Lord knows I have” thanks to Norm’s creative revenge-for-hire business in Dirty Work (the sex workers in question weren’t actually dead).  Okay, so maybe only from my brother, but having a brother is great for that, you’ve got someone built-in who will get most of your references.  

Later on in life, Norm took a role that no one is talking about and that, still, boggles my mind as to how it happened.  I can’t imagine the conversation that went on to lead my favorite Norm MacDonald role.  But hey, let’s give it a shot anyway.  

Norm’s Agent: “Hey Norm, I’ve got a role I think you’d be great in.”

Norm: “Oh yeah? If this is another trick to get me into Gamblers Anonymous, I’m not falling for it this time.”

Norm’s Agent: “No, no, it’s nothing like that.  It’s voicing a cartoon, you won’t even need to wear pants.”

Norm: “You piqued my interest, sir, when you said I didn’t need to wear pants.  Do they want me to be the new voice of Buzz Lightyear in Toy Story 5?  Everyone’s pretty sick of that Tim Allen now.  Why doesn’t he go and do another long running sitcom that’s identical to one of his other sitcoms?”

Norm’s Agent: “No, it’s not Pixar.  It’s a show.  Where you solve mysteries, like Scooby Doo.”

Norm: “You want me to voice Scooby Doo?  Ruh roh.  Or is it Shaggy?  ‘Give me some Scooby snacks, fuckface’.  I’ll workshop that line.”

Norm’s Agent: “Well, not exactly.  It’s a show called Mike Tyson Mysteries.  You solve mysteries with the cartoon version of Mike Tyson.”

Norm (in disbelief): “Okay…”

Norm’s Agent: “You’ll be playing a man….who everyone will call ‘Pigeon’.”

Norm: “Why do they call him Pigeon, what is he, some sort of sexually-attracted-to-birds weirdo?”

Norm’s Agent:  “Well, not exactly.  He’s a man…who was turned into a pigeon…by his witch of an ex-wife.”

Norm: “I see.  At least I’ll be able to make fun of Mike Tyson.  Who’s impersonating his voice?”

Norm’s Agent: “Weeeellllllll, he’s voicing himself, so if you’re going to make fun of of him, I’d do it outside of punching or biting range.”

Norm: “I see.  Well, how much does it pay?”

Norm’s Agent: “They’ll meet your quote.”

Norm: “Then I’m in.  No pants, right?”

Norm’s Pigeon relaxes in Mike Tyson’s pool with a beer. He looks harmless, but he’s definitely carrying a gun in those feathers somewhere.

I could go on and talk about other flawless moments of Norm’s career, like Courtney Thorne Smith’s interview with Conan, but for me Mike Tyson Mysteries was nothing I’d seen before and Norm’s portrayal of Pigeon, a horny, crude, alcoholic, bitter, and unfiltered victim of witchcraft was absolutely perfect.  The show was (I assume was, I’m not sure it will go on without him) amazing and Norm’s performances were often the highlight of many, many episodes.  He was an integral part of that show and he made me laugh time and time again, just as he’d done throughout my life.

Norm MacDonald was one of those formative comedians for me—along with the likes of Dave Chappelle, Bill Murray, Chris Rock, Jon Stewart, Mitch Hedberg, Eddie Murphy, and Steven Wright—the comedians who taught me something about comedy itself.  They showed me the importance of making people laugh, the nobility of devoting your life to bringing smiles and laughter to people who may need it in ways you’ll never know.  Norm was one of the comedians that made me want to be a funnier person; someone who could brighten someone’s day with something clever or cut the ego with a sharp stroke of wit.  He was one of the people who made me believe in the power and strength of comedy, and from there I was able to see how the next generation took comedy and evolved it into literature (like Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s brilliant Fleabag or Bo Burnham’s excellent Inside).  I’m not saying we wouldn’t have experienced that without him, but I see an easy through-line from Norm and his contemporaries to the upper echelon of comedy we have now.  I often say the best comedy comes from a kernel of sadness, because that sadness is real.  But Norm was somehow the exception to that—he was real, but without the sadness.  He was just funny.  

I will sadly, deeply, and truly miss Norm MacDonald.  Poker face.  I have an excellent egg.  

The Blue-Haired Girl: The Heroes We Need Pt. 2

Confession time: I love children’s media.  Whether it’s nostalgic throwbacks from my own childhood like Pokémon or newer franchises like How to Train Your Dragon or Avatar: The Last Airbender, there’s something special about kids’ shows when they’re done well.  Admittedly, Pokémon is purely kids’ fare—there’s not much hidden depth to it, and it ultimately leaves you begging yourself not to think critically about it (the morality of using animals as warriors-for-hire, the strictly defined gender roles based on outdated stereotypes, how does everyone not smell all the time—they walk everywhere, practically live outdoors, and only make it to a place that presumably has a full bathroom every few episodes), but there are kids’ shows that are written with adults in mind and there are kids’ shows that are just done so well that they’re appropriate for all ages.  I’m not talking about sneaking in a cheeky reference here or there that adults will understand and kids will not (I call this Dreamworks Style), I’m talking about top to bottom storytelling that can thrill, delight, captivate, and teach anyone, of any age.  It’s about telling mature stories that both children and adults can relate to and enjoy. 

Hilda running along with her trusty deerfox Twig and a flock of woffs

Hilda is one of those shows.  Following the exploits of a young blue-haired girl of the same name who hails from the forest just outside the walled city of Trollberg, Hilda is an adventure show at its core.  From the opening sequence in the Hilda pilot, you can see that you’re in for expansive, fast moving haps and mishaps with Hilda and, eventually, her friends.  When we meet Hilda, she’s off into the forest with her trusty deerfox companion Twig, to explore, where she runs into an oddly shaped boulder after following a flock of woffs, which are large, balloon-like puppy animals with no legs and just a tail.  Ever the explorer, Hilda opens her trusty notebook to sketch the boulder, which she explains is a troll, turned to stone by the daylight.  Of course, as she would explain to Twig, during the day the trolls are harmless, yet the moment the sun goes down, the troll would rip both her and Twig to shreds and likely eat them.  And, as children tend to do, she loses track of time and darkness falls on her and Twig, triggering her failsafe—a bell tied to the troll’s nose.  A chase ensues, and when the troll finally catches up to her, he gestures for her help in removing the bell, which is causing him major distress.  After she does, the troll returns her sketchbook that she dropped in her haste and ambles off into the distance.  It was that interaction—one that started with fear and excitement and ended with a new understanding between very different creatures—that immediately clues you in to the fact that Hilda is a special show.

While the scenery of the show will shift quickly from being set primarily in the forest to primarily in the city of Trollberg, this scene sets you up with everything you’re going to need to know about what you’re in for with Hilda.  She’s a hero, but a different kind of hero.  As the lore unfolds, it becomes clear that some sort of conflict exists between trolls and humans, leading to fear and strife, but while Hilda’s initial response was that of fear, she was able to see the troll not as some scary monster, but just as some other being that has a right to exist, just as she does.  She has the one thing true heroes truly need—empathy.

Rarely does Hilda pack heat, but when she does, it’s a sword.

Ted Lasso uses his empathy and kindness to take on a cheerleader role in everyone’s life—he’s always in your corner, using his innate goodness as a shield for you, while simultaneously being your cut man to prop you up.  Hilda wields her empathy like a sword, finding the things in life she sees that are wrong and swinging at them from the shoulder, doing all that a little girl can to make the world a better place.  And luckily, in TV shows, a person actually can make a difference in the world, even if that person is a small child aged, by my estimate, 6-10 years old, so her efforts never feel pointless, useless, or futile, like so many efforts in real life actually can (I am very bad at estimating how old children are).  At every turn in the series, Hilda reminds you that there are two sides to every coin, three sides to every triangle, and twelve faces to every dodecahedron.  Constantly subverting expectations, Hilda leaves you comfortable with the unfamiliar and reveling in the mystery.  As her stories unfold in myriad different ways (more than just running from trolls, there are dragons, cloud spirits, water spirits, a man made of wood, called Wood Man, who does not respect boundaries at all, time travel, seafaring pirate ghosts, the rat king, nightmare demons, elves, witches, and giants, among other things), you’re never in for the same experience twice with Hilda, building a deep world for both you and Hilda to get lost in.  

Hilda straddles the line perfectly—she’s got a mind of her own and doesn’t hesitate to speak it (which often gets her in trouble), but she never comes across as whiny or entitled, but rather as a modern day knight for justice.  Especially when it comes to young characters, this can be a danger—characters who believe the world should be the way they believe it should just because they believe it.  Hilda never stamps her foot and throws a tantrum, she finds real solutions for the problems in her world; she is always willing to put the work in to show that she’s right, rather than just insist that she is and demand that other people see it her way.  Hilda sends a message, and that message is to challenge the things that harm people, to question the world around when it tells you things you know to be untrue, and to be open and curious when confronted with the unknown.  Hilda is a role model for people of any age.  If more people in the world were like Hilda, the world would be a vastly better place.  I think I said the same thing about Ted Lasso, but it’s no less true of Hilda.  After all, this is a series about the heroes we need, it goes to figure that their traits would make the world better.

Hilda discovers unseen worlds around her, which somehow feels like an analogy, but I won’t go there right now

It’s on Netflix; I bet you’re glad I told you, since there are no other indications

I should give you some vitals of the show at this point, shouldn’t I?  Hilda is a Netflix exclusive and is based on the comic series of the same name; the animation style is close to the comic book and is, frankly, beyond adorable.  Hilda is cute as a button.  Twig looks eminently pettable.  Friends Frida and David are as endearing as kids come.  The elves, including Alfur, another nigh constant companion of Hilda, is as charming and lovable as a glorified stick figure can be.  I mean, honestly, the paperwork- and bureaucracy-loving elves are essentially stick figures with various hats and levels of facial hair, but they are so adorable it doesn’t even make sense.  Even the trolls are kind of cute sometimes.  Oh, and did I mention that Hilda is voiced by the actress who played Lyanna Mormont in Game of Thrones? She’s no less a badass in this roll as she was when she took on a giant wight. She and everyone else does a fantastic job lending their voices to these rich and well-developed characters.  It also should be mentioned that the show features a diverse cast of characters; it’s a female-driven show for sure, with most of the main characters being girls or women, but there are important male characters as well, and a variety of skin colors and ethnicities are represented in the show. There’s something here for everyone; there are characters on screen that just about anyone can see and say “Hey, that person is like me”. And much like Camp Cretaceous, this is presented as being normal, uncontentious, and unremarkable; the show doesn’t call attention to it or hold up diversity as a chit, it’s far more subtle.  Subtle enough that if you’re not paying attention, you just might miss it, which is great; there’s no tokenism here.  Because that just shows it as a regular, common thing; people of all races and genders should be able to get along without that being an issue and maybe the more people see that happening, the less resistance we’d have to it.

One of the unique things about Hilda is that there really isn’t a villain.  There are conflicts, but no real villains.  There’s tension and there are stakes, but there’s not a malicious force behind it.  Sure, there are opposing forces to Hilda, but her antagonists are not often painted as truly villainous—sometimes misguided, sometimes folly, sometimes unfair, but there really isn’t anyone to hate in the show.  Perhaps the mad scientist comes close.  Also, a character shows up in the second season who you could almost consider a villain, but he’s wrapped in so much unearned pompousness, ignorance, and occasional buffoonery, that it’s hard to see him as anything other than a pantomime villain.  And deep down, he’s not really much of a bad guy at all.  You’d think this would lead to ponderous storytelling, but it really doesn’t, partly thanks to the variety in kinds of stories that I mentioned before, but mainly to the smart dialogue and snappy pace the writers lend the show.  We’ve seen comics hit the small screen with grueling, bumper-to-bumper rush hour pace that crushes you; shows like Deadly Class and Preacher, for example.  But Hilda doesn’t have that problem.  It’s breathless when it wants to be, it slows down when it needs to, and it never encourages you to look at your watch.

This is a show I tell everyone to watch.  I try to do it sneakily as possible, telling my friends with small kids first, mentioning that “I came across this show somehow” and “but it looks really cool, it has some intense scenes that could be scary for kids under 5, but overall I think it’s okay for kids that young or younger”.  But here I am, telling everyone now.  This show is excellent for people of all ages.  

For all the potential pitfalls of having a message to begin with, the lessons of Hilda are simple.  When there is injustice in the world, fight it.  When something is wrong, stand against it.  When people care for you and you care for them, stick by them when they need you.  Do these things to the best of your ability, however little that may be.  Approach the world with empathy and curiosity.  Don’t let someone else dictate how you’re supposed to act, how you’re supposed to feel, or who you’re supposed to be.  And these are lessons that anyone, of any age, can stand to learn.

Empathy, curiosity, and the strength of your convictions—these are the lessons of Hilda

The Heroes We Need Pt. 1, Quarantine Edition

I don’t know which came first.  We have a chicken and egg situation when it comes to heroes.  Is it our art that elevates heroes to the point that we look for them in everyday life?  Or is it our search for heroes that led us to creating so many in art?

And I’m not talking about the frontline healthcare workers putting themselves at risk to care for us in the pandemic (and, well, all the other times as well), or the essential workers potentially exposing themselves to make sure our pantries are full, or the teachers who are trying to educate in stressful and difficult circumstances.  Of course, they’re heroes, but this is an entertainment blog.  I’m talking about a different kind of hero.  Sometimes they wear tights and capes, but sometimes they wear a blue sweater over a button-down shirt, or, even short pants and a fetching beanie/vest combination.  

Gus Roberts and the Truth Seekers

Over the past four years or so, I’ve noticed a lot of people in my social circle saying things like “Person X will contain this, Person Y will be the one to control this, Person Z will be the adult in the room,” but this isn’t a political blog (yeah right).  The gist of what I saw is that people were desperate for heroes and heroines and were looking for them in all the wrong places, trying, often with Olympic-level psychological gymnastics involved, to make heroes out of leftover bits.  Like trying to make a snowman out of the filthy snow clumped up inside the wheel wells of your car.  

When not making trouble for Raylan Givens, Walt Goggins is a pretty upstanding guy.

But I want to talk about the heroes I found on television over the past few months—characters who filled me with hope, my eyes with tears, and streaming queues with something to watch other than Futurama for the 800th time.  These shows all have one thing in common—they’re about good people who care about each other.  That’s not to say that there isn’t conflict, that they don’t fight or say the wrong things, but that they never intend to hurt and make amends when they do.  So many times in sitcoms, we’re presented with a group of “friends” who actually quite openly hate each other.  I’m not talking about friendly ribbing, I’m talking the things you say and do to an enemy, like the kid in class who reminds the teacher that they forgot to assign homework.  But not in these shows; the people in them actually like each other.  In this era of streaming services and cable networks really giving it a go, there’s no shortage of great, prestige dramas, but these shows and their characters are something else.  

Ted Lasso - Ted Lasso (Apple TV+)

I really need to get one of Ted Lasso’s AFC Richmond sweaters.

If, like me, you’re an American fan of English Premier League soccer, you may be aware of Jason Sudeikis’s Ted Lasso character, created as part of a short series of promos for NBC’s massive EPL deal from a few years ago.  The play was simple.  Lasso was an American football coach who brought bombastic ignorance and buffoonery to the EPL’s Tottenham Hotspur.  It was an exercise in the absurd—not only did Lasso know nothing about soccer, he was quite arrogant about it, and was put in charge of a very large, prestigious, top 6 club.  It was funny, sure, but not exactly the thing heroes are made of.  For years, I quietly clamored for a third Ted Lasso promo, but when I learned that Apple TV was doing a Ted Lasso show, I was immediately skeptical—after all, how can mildly arrogant asshattery carry an entire series?

The show smartly wipes out the promos from continuity.  Tottenham has been replaced by the struggling fictional London club AFC Richmond, battling relegation rather than fighting for a top 4 spot for the Champions League.  Lasso has been brought in to manage the team by new owner Rebecca Walton, a divorcée with a Major League-esque plan to destroy the club her philandering (and generally slimy) ex-husband loves so dearly (Rebecca is intriguingly played by Hannah Waddingham, whom you may have last seen walking Lena Headey naked through the streets of King’s Landing).  Lasso, with his trusty sidekick Coach Beard, is greeted by a cast of characters you’re used to seeing in sports films.  The hotshot youngster, the surly veteran, the fish out of water foreign player, and so on.  And yet, Lasso immediately befriends the equipment manager, the meek and timid Nathan, who was so shocked that anyone was even talking to him that he could barely respond.  

Gone was the arrogant buffoon.  Sure, Ted Lasso still didn’t know much about soccer, but rather than look down on what he didn’t understand, he tries to learn.  He is relentlessly hopeful, perhaps to the point of being naive, but with his hopefulness comes an impulse to believe—in himself, in his team, in his players, and in the people around him.  His unending positivity proves rather infectious as his management style begins to win people over.  

Lasso approaches every person and every problem the same way—with openness, kindness, and optimism.  What started as a gag from the SNL alum turned into one of the most inspiring figures on television today and perhaps ever.  Lasso shows depth as a character I never would have dreamed of when Ted Lasso was announced.  I was hoping for some good old fashioned whacky fun; a soccer equivalent to a show like Childrens Hospital or a live action Animaniacs.  But what I got was so much more.  Lasso himself shows unimagined personal depth, and the show’s three-dimensionality isn’t limited just to him—every character unfolds beyond the initially presented stereotype to show hidden depths lesser shows would only tell, but never show (and even lesser shows than those wouldn’t even bother).  That hotshot youngster, the surly veteran, the cold corporate owner, her spineless yes man, the popstar WAG (I hate this term, really) struggling to stay relevant in a society that puts an expiration date on women, the shy equipment manager—point to a character in Ted Lasso and you’ll be told their story. 

I can’t think of a single episode where I didn’t have tears in my eyes and usually tears of more than one kind.  I laughed so hard I cried, I was moved so profoundly I cried, I was heartbroken, I was heartwarmed.  Ted Lasso allowed me to feel the whole gamut of emotions that I’d been keeping at bay during this pandemic.  It wasn’t mere distraction, like so much of the entertainment I’ve sought out recently has been—it was catharsis.  

Lasso with Coach Beard and Nathan, the unlikely inner circle

And Sudeikis’s Ted Lasso’s big heart was firmly at the center of that catharsis.  Ted Lasso was the hero I needed to see in these times.  One who has the courage to stand—not against some mystical, otherworldly villain, but perhaps against the most monstrous nemesis we face—self-doubt.  Lasso has the courage to stand and believe in you.  

I’ll not mince words here.  Let’s be bold.  Ted Lasso alone makes Apple TV+ worth it.  If you don’t subscribe to the service, sign up for a free trial and watch it.  This show is too good to miss.  If it stays at this level for its entire run, it may well unseat Arrested Development as my top comedy series of all time.  

That’s it for part one of this series.  Part two will be continuing soon, but first will be a short detour as I face down the looming giant—what are the best Christmas movies of all time?  If you want to keep the conversation going, you can find me on Twitter almost any time (and I mean that, it’s becoming a problem) at @aslamchoudhury or @studyroompod.  Until next time, I hope you have a happy, safe, and socially distant holiday season.  

Revolution, Quarantine Edition

It’s Hamilton day.  

By now you’ve noticed that the biggest musical event in at least my lifetime has come to Disney+.  Auspiciously the day before today, July 4th, 2020, the United States Independence Day.  Of course, it’s no mistake.  Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the last five or six months, you know that the United States is going through quite a rough time.  It’s not just the US, of course; the global pandemic has touched just about every country on the map and the righteous civil unrest that started in Minneapolis has spilled over to just about every major city across the world as well.  In this time of global fear and anxiety, the release of Hamilton’s live capture to Disney’s streaming service was pushed up to July 3rd from October 15th, 2021—a date so far into the future it might as well have been the distant fantasy of flying cars and an interactive Ronald Reagan selling me a Pepsi from Back to the Future II, which I was promised five years ago.  The nation needed a pick-me-up, and in the way they could, Disney and the cast of Hamilton delivered it.  

If you’ve never seen Hamilton or heard its soundtrack before, you’re probably still aware of it.  Maybe you have that annoying friend who loved to point out that he saw it with the original cast.  Maybe he saw Lin-Manuel’s penultimate show.  If you know me, then you know I was that asshole.  That asshole who saw it a second time and still was able to brag about seeing it with the original cast.  “I’m not even into musical theater,” I’d say.  “Don’t really care for musicals” would roll off my tongue.  “Frozen was fine, but it was all songs,” I’d mutter, before ducking.  But now everyone can see the amazingly talented original Broadway cast for the cost of a Disney+ subscription.  I don’t mourn the loss of exclusivity—I’m overjoyed that this is available to millions more people than could see it in New York.  Hamilton isn’t just a great musical, it isn’t just a great story, it’s one of the most important stories that’s being told right now, especially because of the way it’s being told.  

Today I watched Hamilton for the third time, this time sitting on my couch in chinos and a long sleeve t-shirt instead of a shirt and jacket, barefoot instead of in brogues.  I’d listened to the soundtrack dozens of times on my phone, and my favorite song “Yorktown” dozens more on its own (sadly, this song is censored in the Disney+ version, which got me because it’s my favorite verse in the whole show and it misses a little punch without that fuck in it).  And the first thing that struck me is that the show didn’t get less powerful upon repeat viewings the way mysteries become less compelling or comedies become less funny, but rather it was more powerful than ever.  Knowing the fates of all involved, seeing this story of men coming together to stand for their principles and fight tyranny had a new meaning to me.  Seeing this cast of Black, Latinx, and Asian actors and actresses put on this show does so much more than just the sounds of their voices do when pumped through my headphones.  Seeing these actors telling the story of not just Alexander Hamilton, but of the birth and infancy of a nation that was built on the backs of immigrants and slaves carries so much more weight than just hearing it.  Especially as I watched a multicultural sea of people mask up and spill on to the streets demanding justice over the entire past month in cities and towns across the world.  Now those standing for justice aren’t just men; it’s men, women, nonbinary people, trans people, Black people, Latinx people, Asian people, and tons of white people marching in the streets, young and old, responding to the senseless murder of a Black man, the latest in a pattern of police brutality and militarization, often times racist (particularly against Black people), standing together for change and progress.  Standing together against injustice.

Just like Hamilton, Laurens, Lafayette, and Mulligan.  And this is why, in this moment, Hamilton is one of the most important pieces of media you can watch.  

You can watch Hamilton and simply be in awe of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s genius, who wrote the lyrics and music to the entire show.  You can simply hear the connections between the songs and just enjoy how masterfully crafted every single word and note is.  When one single word of a song reminds you of another and paints a picture by connecting two different people on opposite sides of fidelity, when Burr cockily notes that Angelica Schuyler’s disgust of him means that they’ve discussed him, when Hamilton poignantly attacks Burr for being a man who stands for nothing and would fall for anything, when the wisdom of Washington telling Hamilton that dying for something is easy and living for it is harder stabs you right in the heart, you can just enjoy this show for how incredible it is.  But you can see so much more here.  

Miranda could have told the story of the American Revolution.  Of Alexander Hamilton’s rise from orphan to war hero at the side of Washington.  He could have stopped at “Yorktown” and have told a wonderful, triumphant war story.  “Yorktown” is the moment the war movie cuts away and we get to be Americans in unison, winning the war for freedom for all (in a country that still had slavery and where women’s rights were a joke).  Later today, I’ll probably fire up Independence Day and get my metaphorical pom-poms out for American excellence and Will Smith’s quips, but that’s not what Hamilton is about.  Hamilton doesn’t just tell the triumphs.  

Hamilton and Burr are flawed characters and it tells the story of two men who could have been friends, who might have been friends, but who end up standing across from each other with pistols trained.  Hamilton is our hero, yes, but Burr is the main character.  It shows the importance of perspective in tales of heroes and villains.  It tells of Hamilton’s failures as a husband and father, it reminds us that no person who ever had their name on a statue or a dollar bill is perfect.  Hamilton reminds us that those we exalt are just like us.  That it’s okay to acknowledge the humanity in historical figures rather than canonize them and act as if their legacy is flawless.  That it’s okay to be honest about our history.  It is flawed, the people in our textbooks are flawed, the textbooks themselves are flawed (we all know the myth of Washington cutting down the cherry tree, but we rarely talk about his slave ownership), that our nation is flawed, and that it’s okay to be flawed, to note our flaws, and to work to correct them.  It reminds us that our flaws don’t undo us, but that they are part of us, and it’s dishonest to ignore them.  Lin-Manuel Miranda ends his masterpiece not with a shout of victory, but a reminder.  

And Hamilton is acutely aware of that fact, stating several times that we have no control over who tells our story and what aspects of our story get told.  I’m of the age that my first lesson about Alexander Hamilton was a Got Milk commercial where a peanut butter sandwich and a lack of a glass of milk to wash it down kept an Alexander Hamilton enthusiast from winning $10,000 because he couldn’t clearly get the words “Aaron Burr” out of his mouth.  It was an anecdote, an oddity of American history.  When I first heard that a hip hop musical was coming out telling the story of that guy, I checked my calendar to make sure it wasn’t April 1st.  And yet, what came of it was not just the best musical I’ve ever seen, but one of the most important.  I can go on and on and tell you what my favorite songs are and what my favorite lines are, how Hercules Mulligan’s verse gets me off the mat when I need someone to tell to get off the mat, how Hamilton touches on both my hopes and fears, or how it inspires me and leaves me petrified at the same time.  But more than anything, I want to leave you with the importance of Hamilton.  That in this moment in history, we must note that freedom means freedom for all, that honesty still matters and has always mattered, and more than anything, a few principled people can stand together against any odds and make a difference.