I Just Really Love White Christmas

My all-time favorite Christmas movie is White Christmas. And since Christmas is my all-time favorite holiday, season, time of year, etc., that might make White Christmas a top contender for my favorite movie of all time. I was raised on it, and I can’t help but admit nostalgia is a huge factor in why I love it so much. But I remember showing it to my best friend for the first time in high school, and he was also hit with waves of nostalgia. How, why? He’d never seen the film before. It’s because White Christmas was meant to embody the modern idea of Christmas spirit, secular Christmas season, and all the nostalgia that ties to that time of the year.

White Christmas kind of created that nostalgia, in fact. It came out in 1954, nine years after the end of WWII, when the country was reestablishing an identity and the baby boomers were just old enough to love Christmas. The film is built around Irving Berlin’s hit song “White Christmas,” which hit big after showing up in Holiday Inn in 1942 (Bing Crosby’s recording is still the most-sold single of all time). White Christmas was a film that coincided with and guided the creation of the modern idea of Christmas as the season took shape in post-war America. The highest grossing film of the year and highest-grossing musical of its day, the movie’s still a holiday classic, but there’s more to be said on its content.

Let’s start, of course, by seeing that key first number of the film, “White Christmas,” where Bing Crosby sings the classic tune. The film has opened during WWII (Christmas Eve, 1944, in fact), in an active war zone, and the soldiers are trying to enjoy some holiday fun before a change of command and the division moves up. The number is simple, Bing Crosby (as Bob Wallace) stands on stage and sings against a barrel organ. There’s a tone to the performance, both in its visual presentation, and Bing Crosby’s vocal performance, that lends itself to the bittersweet, melancholy sense to the number. The camera pans back and forth from Captain Wallace singing, in uniform, thumbs hooked in his belt, to the soldiers arrayed in front of the stage. Wallace has on his face that pleasant, resigned look that so evokes the bittersweet, and the many men sitting past him are in uniform, helmeted too, holding their guns, staring at the ground. Maybe they’re remembering what they’ve lost or hoping for the future Christmases they can have if they live to return home. Maybe they’re simply wishing they were home with their loved ones. They smoke and stare and fiddle with their guns and there’s no choreography, just a sense of mourning crossed with nostalgia. And I can’t separate Crosby’s voice and Christmas, so let’s say he sings with Christmas spirit or something, although that’s a stretch.

The set is a ruined town, destroyed by bombs and war, with a little stage set up, a tree and a painted backdrop of a classic snowy country scene. As the song goes on, you can hear the bombs going off in the distance, flashing in the sky beyond the scene. And the scene ends with an enemy attack, further driving home the immediacy of the danger and death that surrounds these soldiers. These are men who live in fear of their lives and spend their holidays missing the comforts of home and family. The audience of this movie when it premiered would have been full of people who remember themselves in a position not so different from this one. All that longing built and ended up creating the nostalgia we see today, so intertwined with the Christmas season.

The film’s not all Christmas, though. In the plot, Wallace and Davis are putting on a musical show, and many of the number make their way into the film itself. Out of these, let’s start with the infamous “Minstrel Number.” I’ll admit, I had never heard of a minstrel show outside of White Christmas. I assumed they looked like that (they don’t) and weren’t racist (they were) and were related to medieval minstrels (nope). So the number feels more than a little gross to watch, as I see Bing Croby and Danny Kaye sing about how much they love watching blackface shows.

Admittedly, it ages well in the shadow of ignorance, because they don’t say anything obviously racist. They make some puns, but puns aren’t racialized today like they were when minstrel shows were most popular. Structurally, the number imitates a minstrel show, but otherwise, characterization, costuming, acting, and music don’t denote minstrelsy in any way. The evening dress generally imitates the high-class presence of white stage performers from the turn of the century onwards. The big banjos painted behind the set are, in fact, the biggest indicator of the topic, besides those lines directly referencing minstrel shows. And, most significantly (and boy am I grateful for this), nobody’s in blackface.

It feels like a big step in the right direction, compared to, say, Holiday Inn, but it’s also a dangerous erasure. The number takes the racist history of the act, tosses it in the trash, and moves along, promoting racist media on a huge national platform. And for what? Not for an excellent product, just for filler. The music is fun and swingy, but lyrics and lines fall short. There is some slight recovery in the delivery, because of the strong chemistry of the lead roles on camera. They bring some comedy and reality to a number that otherwise takes itself too seriously, and keep the audience from placing too much expectation on the quality of song and dance. But even then, it’s a disingenuous performance of white ignorance that doesn’t do the work of removing racism from the entertainment industry.

Past the quiet, two-man opening on a sketched background, we get an immediate overload of garish, vaudeville-esque set design, with bright purple backdrops and platforms, white and red chairs and women in sparkly dresses, men in green and red suits. It’s intense, but it succeeds in evoking a strong vaudeville aesthetic, calling back to Follies routines, though with a little less elegance. The color palette is just bad. And for a minstrel number, everyone’s conspicuously white. The dance is excellent, as far as skill goes, but unremarkable in choreography. It’s simply an exuberant number with strong choral dance and tap presence.

We see this final strange erasure in the set design, costuming, and dance. After all the minstrel callouts, we see little to no minstrel elements. It’s strange (“Mandy” was actually originally written as a blackface number, and there is a later dance number to the music from “Abraham,” the blackface number from Holiday Inn) to have these potentials unused but I’m honestly relieved. If there was a real blackface number in White Christmas (like the one in Holiday Inn), I don’t know if I’d be able to let myself watch it. It would have been wonderful if minstrelsy was never brought up, and as a cherry on top, black actors were present in notable roles in the film. But even when it’s a mediocre number with strong racist history, it doesn’t hit so hard as to keep me from enjoying the rest of the film, which I’m grateful for.

This isn’t the only non-Christmas song in the film, there’s a whole slew of them, with the standout being “Choreography.” What in the world is going on here? “Through the air they keep flying, like a duck that is dying;” this song can get so nonsensical it hurts, but there’s kind of a point to that. On a strange, abstract backdrop, an ensemble of simply-clad women performs jerky contemporary dance moves, until eventually Vera-Ellen and John Brascia show up to do a classic tap and dance routine. Some throwaway lyrics at the start about contemporary dance lowering theater, and a few silly faces from Danny Kaye. There’s nothing much to this, and besides the impressive dance skills, there’s not a lot that lends it a place in a holiday movie. It’s here as filler, but it also shows some of the stranger sides of nostalgia. This isn’t a song in the public mind, not played on the radio with Christmas music, and honestly not super good. But I still love it because every year I know what’s next in the movie and I look forward to the next familiar, silly song.

There’s a lot more to be said about the musical, but I’ll close out by talking on “Snow.” This number feels classically Christmas to us in the modern day, with lines like “no white Christmas with no snow,” and “a great big man entirely made of snow, but it’s a new type of Christmas song at the time. “Frosty the Snowman” came out in 1950, and “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” the year before (the animated specials didn’t come out until the 60s). Secular Christmas music was still new, songs about snowmen and reindeer and Christmas spirit, not Christ and glory and angels and advent. “Snow” never entered the national repertoire as a classic Christmas tune, but it does mark a change in the Christmas ethos at the time, when non-religious Christmas began to exist as mainstream.

The song’s simply set, they sing in a box car on their way to Vermont, which serves the story but does little for the number. In fact, they sit through the whole song. The sense of realism in this film comes through especially strong here, where nobody dances in froofy costumes unless the plot allows it. Simple harmonies, classic and endearing Bing Crosby warmth, and some simple lyrics with wintery imagery frame a pleasant interlude in the film. What does it do? It makes this song, and film, feel classic. Somehow this film captures all those things we tie so closely to our own national love for Christmas.

Watching this film, every single time I watch it, every year when Christmastime rolls around, I’m steamrolled with nostalgia. It’s a film built around nostalgia in the first place. White Christmas tried to tap into the American nostalgia for a classic Christmas at a time when people still remembered well the Christmases they’d lost. The film didn’t just use nostalgia, but in the end it also built it, helping to create the idea of a Christmas season, and of Christmas music, and even Christmas movies. It was on the cutting edge of a new cultural phenomenon and a new industry. With Christmas so loud in our lives each year (even for those who don’t celebrate it), there’s no surprise it secured a spot as a classic. Some numbers aren’t so memorable (or high-qulaity), and secure their spot in my memory simply because I’ve been watching this movie since as long as I can remember. Hearing utterly un-Christmas songs like “Choreography” still bring up a well of reminiscence in me and I love them for that. And now that I’m older, I can’t unsee the racist associations in the “Minstrel Number,” and further throughout the film. But of course, classic numbers like the all-time “White Christmas” stand in a league of their own. This era of Christmas music still plays nonstop on the radio every December, Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” remains the best-selling single of all time, the whole movie ends up a permanent fixture in households around the world. I’m going to watch this again with my family in like a week and it’ll be wonderful still. Merry Christmas!

You Will Regret It If Your Kid Missed Out On This Movie

Inevitably, an entity, a school of thought, an individual, or an establishment becomes represented by a few key factors. In some forms that factor may be an idea, event, a value, or even in this case a movie. America is just like any other institution or organization, the values that are upheld can be represented and viewed through some significant productions or events. It is always of value to prospect what may occur during the present that will impact the future by studying the past. These are the fundamentals of cultural assimilation. In other words, watching High School Musical made my life easier as an immigrant. 

When I came to America at the age of 10. The world was vastly different from the one back in Taiwan. Disregarding that I knew zero English or the color of my skin. This difference can be further attributed to popular culture and values. So how did I eventually blend in and make friends? The Entertainment Industry. Specifically, the Walt Disney Company was one of the best in the field, specifically catered towards kids and adolescents. Not only does it revolve around current pop culture but it also has many different layers in racial and gender implications. Furthermore, the frequent references in production lead the audience to become a more well-rounded individual. 

It may sound to be absolute insanity for anyone reading right now. But, consider this,  High School Musical. It’s not an argument of whether or not it’s an unrealistic expectation for high school. It is simply one of the best films to be watched not solely for entertainment, but to learn about high school. Furthermore, it is constructed based on the plotline from Romeo and Juliet (but English class is a totally different story). I will make an argument that the most fundamental level is desirable. And from my personal understanding, students would love it if their high school were like East High. To understand a person, understand their passion and desire. I remember walking into high school and everyone was just as High School Musical stated: segregated. Unfortunately, the real world has no songs and choreography to dissipate the segregation to form a utopia. However, the school could be perfectly represented by every act of the movie except for the last act (it was simply too perfect for the world). 

Troy Bolten, the basketball team captain, predicted to receive a scholarship, the most popular person on campus. Gabriella Montez, a shy transfer girl and an absolute genius in natural sciences. Both are victims of generalization and stereotyping in this movie. But, that is why this production is amazing. A huge factor in an adolescent culture that is widespread is bullying and malicious action or criticism. Whether or not there is the failure of acceptance or criticism for being unorthodox. Both of the above are reenacted multiple times in High School Musical. The social divide between the basketball players, academic achieving students, and performing arts students reinforces that idea. Sharpay can be seen multiple times in the film, visually disgusted at the other clique. Moreover, Sharpay goes above and beyond to protect the success of theatre (even though she is portrayed as a selfish character). This concept of a clique is extremely important to understanding the social hierarchy of k-12 education for immigrants. 

Life would be extremely hard if I attempted to become friends with the theatre kids, football team, and orchestra kids at the same time. My public high school had somewhat of the same sectioning of the student body as in the number, “Stick To The Status Quo”. In the film, there is a heavy distinction between the athletic student body and the academic student body. One significance is the placement of their table at the center of the cafeteria. That is something that was interesting to me as an immigrant. American public schools diverge a lot of effort and resources into maintaining the sports program. Sequentially, the athletes receive a good amount of publicity and attention. Thus, they are usually also the center of attention. Furthermore, the choice of outfit for all the groups are somewhat accurate representations of their clique. The sports section is filled with pregame warm-up gear and sweatpants. The nerd section is dressed more formally and everyone has a book in their hands. Last but not least, the last group that is representing skateboarders all have hats, beanies, or hair that somewhat shows their more relaxed personality. It is also culturally accurate that during the choreography, every table in the cafeteria is involved in this “freak out”. It shows that there is no single group that would be nonchalant towards change and chaos (representing an important value that groups are hesitant towards change). Furthermore, it means that every group by definition has a certain set of expectations and a blacklist of actions that should not be done. Lastly, the song lyric, “stick to the status quo … if you want to be cool, stick to the stuff you know” really shows the mixture and diversity of American culture. No matter the personality or interest, there is a fitting group if you search hard enough. And within that group, you have a chance of being “cool”. So within a limit, being oneself (conservatively) is enough to make friends and have supportive social relationships.

 Secondly, High School Musical highlights a masculine society. Most notably, the “Get’cha Head in the Game” is very masculine with the choreography of sharp muscle movements. Specifically, the coach’s encouragement to throw harder and move faster are fundamental encouragements of masculine traits. Furthermore, masculinity is portrayed throughout the musical simply by both cast choice and the dynamic that is created between the basketball players. A notable scene is in the locker room where Troy declares basketball first and is recorded for Gabriella. 

Personally, I am really glad I watched High School Musical as an immigrant. To some academic degree, the tropes and cultural references in the movie helped me grow savvier about American social interaction. At the most basic level, it was an absolute hit movie that every kid watched and made reference to. Till today, I still hum “Bop To The Top”. 

In the Heights, but where is the history?

In the Heights is a film adaption from the same-name musical by Quiara Alegría Hudes and Lin-Manuel Miranda, who later produced the famous Hamilton musical. Released in 2021, the movie is directed by Jon M. Chu, the director of Crazy Rich Asians, and the story focuses on the Latino community in Washington Heights, Manhattan, which is one of the largest Latino immigrant communities in the US.

Despite its extraordinary crew and critical recognitions, the movie landed with a box office of 43 million in contrast to its 55 million budgets. Major criticism from the audience included underrepresentation of the Afro-Latino residents, and less-than-catchy tunes. The casting issue is straightforward and the latter one we will leave to the interest of music theory experts. Here we will be discussing the “catchiness” of the characters in the movie, since the plot of this piece arises from the characters, and choreography and lines will be fixed in no time once the plot and character designs are in proper place.

The movie starts with a walkthrough of the Latino neighborhood in Washington Heights(“In the Heights”). By all the residents singing the same verse repeatedly, audiences are presented with the picture of a small and close community sharing many values. Then the lens center in on individual characters and their personal “suenito”, or small dreams.

In the Heights movie poster. From left: Venessa, Usnavi, Nina, Benny

Usnavi, who got his characteristic name from the first thing his parents saw landing in the US, is a second-generation immigrant from the Dominican Republic running a corner store or bodega, and wants to go back to the DR to revive his late father’s business. Vanessa, to whom Usnavi seems to have a feeling for, is currently working in a beauty salon but wishes to be a fashion designer downtown. Nina, who has brought honor to the neighborhood as a Stanford admittee, is already dropping out in Freshman year due to unbearable racism at school and not wanting to end her father’s business for her expensive tuition. Benny is an employee at Nina’s father’s company, and is looking for a second chance on Nina.

The blackout in the movie was based from the actual power failure that happened in 1999(Wikipedia).

While the characters’ individual struggles are common ones in the immigrant population, they are also being shrouded by larger-scale problems to the community such as gentrification and ethnic conflicts. What I felt when watching the movie is that the storyline switches so often among the characters and their problems that I didn’t have the chance to sympathize or contemplate on any of them. It felt like the writer wanted to cover the entire immigrants checklist and ran out of space to go into details with the movie already being 2 hours 22 minutes. Every character is given a personal goal, but the goals were just there from the beginning, and we don’t know why they had those goals.

For example, we don’t exactly know why Usnavi, who spent most of his lifetime in Washington Heights, wanted to inherit his father’s pub in DR long after his father died——he was not even sad when seeing the place he grew up in got wrecked by a hurricane; nor do we know why Vanessa was interested in high fashion and how she became the talented artist as portrayed in the movie——but we do know that she was not very determined in that dream as in the end she gives up her downtown life to be with her boyfriend (*rolls eyes*).

Vanessa and Usnavi(I did not realize they were the main couple until the second half)

Nina, whose romantic relationship with Benny was the only one that made sense in the movie, was struggling about whether to continue her education at Stanford. As a student in an American university, I feel that the racial discriminations mentioned in the movie (of Nina being searched when her roommate is missing valuables was because of her race in the first place) are at least a decade away from the present, and universities now are doing great at including students from all backgrounds. I am not saying that racial discrimination does not exist at all, but that they should have come up with a better example (I had been an Asian in a mostly-white school, I know what I am talking about). Even if the racial discrimination made sense, it would still not have been a satisfying motive for Nina dropping out of Stanford (she told her dad that the racial discrimination, not economic difficulties, was the real reason she wanted to drop out), unless the writers wanted to depict her as wanting to stay in her comfortable enclosed community without facing the real world, which would not have been a likable trait.

Nonetheless, there was one line in Nina’s story that caught my attention. When Nina was mistaken as the server at the donors’ party, she said that the non-white servers looked at her with the what-side-is-she-on face. Whether purposefully or not, this line put forth the ethnic identity issues and the expectation to take a side that multicultural individuals face every day, especially if their home country and the country of residence are not in the best relationship (I am from China and living in the US, ehem). Again, the problem was over in the movie before any discussion or a second mention.

In contrast to the main characters, the side characters seemed to have more of a personal history and thus motives. For example, Nina’s dad wanted Nina to stay at Stanford because she now has the opportunity of education that was taken away from him. This is personally relatable to me as my mother was accepted by Johns Hopkins University 30 years ago but was not able to go because her visa application was rejected, and now I am at a university in the US to continue the dreams of both her and myself. The point is, everyone lives with the history of their family and their culture, although definitely not by reciting one’s ethnic history in a gossip session like that by the salon ladies in the movie.

The brilliant staging using the NY metro in Abuela’s number “Paciencia y Fe”, after which she rested eternally. This is the only number in the movie that I want to watch multiple times.

The memorable number of Abuela, the grandma of the neighborhood, tells her life story as a child growing up in poverty in Cuba, coming to the US with her Mama to find jobs, and working low-income job while people looked down at them. Knowing from the movie that she is now economically stable and has a big found family that cares for her, her line “Mama what do you do when your dreams come true?” shook me. As mentioned before, I myself as well as many immigrants inherit our dreams from the previous generation, and it is easy to lose ourselves under the heavy weights of family and cultural history, one mental struggle many immigrants face but is overlooked in the movie. The death of Abuela was the emotional climax of the movie because she connected all the characters and the community together, but the emotion did not linger as the story quickly moved on again.

In the Heights was a good attempt at giving its audience a picture of the underrepresented Latino community and immigrants. However, it only brushes on the surface of their life and difficulties despite its message of “small dreams” and “asserting dignity in small ways”. Miranda’s later work, Hamilton, was much more a success with its ready-made characters and motives from history, contrasting to the shortcomings in original character design of this piece, and its absence of personal, family, and cultural history.

In The Heights: Being Reminded How Proud I am to be Puerto Rican

Lights up on Washington Heights, up at the break of day. I wake up and I remember that I’ve got to write an essay. 

Corny jokes aside, the film adaptation of In the Heights, directed by Jon Chu with music by Lin-Manuel Miranda, starring Anthony Ramos as Usnavi, tells the story of a vibrant community of Caribbean and Latinx people located in Washington Heights, New York City. The musical does a masterful job of portraying a real perspective of Caribbean culture, which resonated strongly with myself, a proud Boriqua descendant. Lin-Manuel Miranda’s influence on In the Heights is a perfect example of the value of identity and background in shaping cultural resonance on the stage (or in this case, in front of the camera). 

First, let’s talk about the intro song, also titled “In the Heights.” Wow. Just wow. Never before have so many little things from my upbringing been dropped into a musical number before. Now, obviously I wasn’t drinking copious amounts of coffee as a young child, but café con leche is definitely something I was aware of from a young age. And then there’s Abuela Claudia’s mother’s condensed milk recipe. I cracked up at this, because there’s so much condensed milk in Puerto Rican recipes, especially desserts. Condensed milk became popularized because it’s canned, so it’s non-perishable and can be easily shipped out to the islands. Then there’s quarter waters! Wow I forgot those existed. They’re so bad for you, but so good. And don’t forget BEANS AND RICE. The crown jewel of hispanic cuisine. Add in the music: salsa inspirations (brass, piano, hand drums and a guiro, which creates that sort of maraca-esque sound) throughout the chorus parts of the song, mix in some reggaetón over Vanessa’s solo and some old-school hip-hop accompanying Benny, and you get a rather well-rounded cross-section into actual Caribbean music in a way that Jerome Robbins and Robert Wise’s West Side Story fell sorely short. Oh, and I almost forgot the piraguero’s adlibs: “le lo lai le lo lai.” This is a cornerstone of old-school salsa, a phrase that means absolutely nothing but has become synonymous with the sounds of Puerto Rico. And who better to deliver it but Mr. Miranda himself? It’s a perfect summation of his stamp on this musical as a Puerto Rican. Towards the finale of this opening song, we see a more structured choreography that blends the fluid, hip-swaying movements of Caribbean salsa with sharp, heavy-footed moves that reflect more hip-hop traditions. It’s a testament to the dual identity of this specific community: a mixture of both their Latin American roots and the streets of New York they reside in. Several aspects of the scenery also encompass the Latinx experience well, especially the flags. While there is a strong sense of greater community between all the ethnic subdivisions of Washington Heights, each individual still takes pride in their homeland, and this is most often seen through displays of flags. Often times, this goes beyond traditional cloth flags, and you can find flag patterns on pretty much anything, from that one dancer’s tank-top in the movie to the side of the piraguero’s cart in the original Broadway production. 

Beyond just the opening song lyrics, there are so many little details throughout the production that encompass this culture so well. There’s the blessings exchange, where characters ask Abuela Claudia for a “bendicion,” or a blessing, to which Claudia replies “dios te bendiga,” or God bless you. This is one of the most common ways to greet your elders, and were probably the first Spanish words I was taught as a kid. On a similar note, Alejandro addresses Usnavi as “papa” which literally translates to “dad.” While it may seem counterintuitive, many Latinx parents refer to their kids as “mama” or “papa” as a term of endearment. And then there’s the FOOD!! (You can tell what I get really excited about). Never have I felt more homesick this semester than when I saw Abuela Claudia’s ropa vieja y lechón. There are so many small tributes to Caribbean culture throughout the musical that elevate the experience for me, as a sort of affirmation of my background and upbringing. And there’s probably a thousand other details that others can relate to as well!

This is all present thanks to Lin-Manuel Miranda, a born-and-raised Nuyorican (Puerto Rican living in NYC), who actually grew up in northern Manhattan. He created a story that mirrored many aspects of his own background, and brought a fairly underrepresented culture in the Broadway sphere to the center stage. His identity, his experiences, and his stories shape In the Heights in a way that only they can, and it leaves us with an expression of culture that Latinx/Caribbean people can actually relate to. Now, I don’t know much about the pre-Broadway lives of either Robert Wise or Jerome Robbins, but I sure hope they weren’t running around stabbing people in racially motivated territory wars. 

A major source of conflict in the musical revolves around identity. The main characters can be divided into two major groups: those born in the islands, like Usnavi and Sonny, and those who have spent their entire lives in Washington Heights, like Benny and Nina. Even amongst the island-born characters, there’s varying levels of citizenship, from the natural-born citizens of Puerto Rico to the documented immigrants such as Abuela Claudia to the undocumented like Sonny and Usnavi. Each group faces their own struggles, from balancing assimilation with identity to being able to go to college. One of the premiere examples of assimilation is Vanessa’s character. Dare I say, it almost borders on white-washing. Her part in the opening song is immediately recognizable as a departure from what we’ve heard up until that point: the reggaeton beat is overshadowed by her more jazzy vocals as she negotiates with a “Mr. Johnson.” This trend continues in her solo “It Won’t Be Long Now.” The brass section features a combination of jazzy and salsa elements, and the piano is a lot more gentle and wispy than traditional salsa, though it retains a similar rhythm. The result is a song that reflects the evolving nature of assimilation: both cultures are present in the music, but one is more dominant than the other, and you know which side is taking over because of the way Vanessa sings. Not only does she sing about getting out of the barrio, she does so in a voice that, for lack of better words, is whiter than the rest of the main characters. She wants to be a downtown New York fashion designer, and she’s altering her identity to fit what she thinks will get her into that role and, more specifically, into that apartment. Navigating identity is something that we see so many of the musical’s characters struggle with, from Abuela Claudia’s hardships as a cleaning lady, to Usnavi’s homesickness, to Nina’s alienation at Stanford. It’s one of the few universal struggles between all of the residents of Washington Heights, regardless of citizenship. 

There is a downside to Lin’s perspective, however. And it’s certainly caught the attention of the public, especially since the film adaptation’s release. A large bulk of the musical’s criticism stems from the lack of Afro-latinx representation in the musical. The majority of the musical’s black characters populate the background, while the two main black characters, Benny and Nina, are non-hispanic and mixed, respectively. This is an unfortunate byproduct of having the story influenced by Lin’s upbringing, because, though he is hispanic, he has rather pale skin and can pass off as white at an off glance. His story is not one of the Afro-latinx community, and we see this in the musical. The most blatant act of racism in the musical, when the Stanford donor mistakes Nina for a server, is centered around her latina identity, not her black heritage. We see a similar situation play out with Vanessa, where she doesn’t get the apartment she wants because she doesn’t have credit and, most likely, because of her name. All of the acts of racism and xenophobia the musical describes focus on the more ethnically hispanic aspects of the characters, and race itself is not really addressed. Miranda never had to deal with that side of prejudice before, and it shows in the musical.  

Nonetheless, In the Heights is revolutionary in terms of bringing audiences across the country some much-needed exposure to the wonders of Caribbean hispanic culture. It’s a far departure from the Puerto Ricans in West Side Story, which were a group of gangsters played by white men in brownface with inauthentic music and even more inauthentic accents. For me, it was such a breath of fresh air to see so many aspects of my culture and upbringing portrayed accurately on the musical stage, especially after Robert Wise’s interpretation of my people left such a bad taste in my mouth. This brings us back to the most important point of all: representation means nothing if it’s not done right, and In the Heights, to a certain extent, does it right, at least more so than ever before. Lived experiences are worth their weight in gold when it comes to storytelling, and Lin-Manuel Miranda displays a dazzling amount of gold in this musical.

“I Don’t Dance” – High School Musical 2 and Queer Coding in the early 2000s

by Jin Yeo

https://videopress.com/v/pIfGg0yq?resizeToParent=true&cover=true&preloadContent=metadata

A Eulogy for My Hometown Store – In the Heights and Community

It’s physically harder to breathe in Salt Lake City. The elevated valley is 4,000 feet above sea level, and what little oxygen remains is often clogged with some of the worst air quality in the US. But the human body, amazing and adaptable as it is, manages to live under these conditions.

When I was eight years old, my family moved to Utah. We stayed there for ten years, moving to South Carolina after I graduated high school. It was the longest place we’d ever stayed – and to this day, the place I still consider “home.” One of my childhood highlights was going shopping at a small Korean store on 700 East – the Oriental Food Market. At the time of writing, the store has closed its doors for good.

While watching In the Heights (the 2021 movie directed by Jon Chu and based on the stage musical by Quiara Alegría Hudes and Lin-Manuel Miranda), I found myself oddly nostalgic for the musical’s setting. At face value, this was preposterous – I’d lived in the western US for most of my life, and had never set a foot in New York. And yet, there was something in Usnavi’s bodega that reminded me about the Oriental Food Market thousands of miles away. And the more I began reminiscing about my own childhood and community, the more I appreciated how beautifully In the Heights captures the people and places of an immigrant neighborhood. My life experiences were both culturally and geographically different than the ones portrayed in the film, but the musical’s world-building and relatable characters brought to life an immigrant story that I deeply resonated with.

An Aside

The purpose of this essay is twofold – first, to praise In the Heights for its excellent setting and characters. The other reason, however, is more personal.

In the Heights ends on a hopeful and optimistic note – Usnavi decides to stay in Washington Heights, reuniting with his community and his remodeled bodega. And as a musical and film with a fixed narrative, its ending will stay hopeful and optimistic with every rewatch. The bodega lives on forever.

I learned about the Oriental Food Market’s closing in my junior year of college. My parents had heard about it through the grapevine and brought it up nonchalantly over dinner. At the time, it barely registered for me. We’d been living in South Carolina for three years at that point, and I had no plans to live in Utah in the future.

The more I ruminated on it though, the more I realized I didn’t remember the last time I visited the store. And this thought rubbed me the wrong way. It hurt that I didn’t have definite closure on my memories of this childhood place. As if it was somewhere I thought would exist forever, until it suddenly didn’t.

Thus, the other half of this essay will be a pseudo-eulogy of sorts to that small Oriental Food Market – and hopefully pay respects to a closed chapter of my life.

Small Neighborhood Stores

Oriental Food Market, Salt Lake City, Utah. Photo from Google Maps

Usnavi’s bodega in In the Heights. Compactness is key!

Above are pictures of the Oriental Food Market and Usnavi’s bodega. There are differences of course – the contrast of different lighting and products, for example. But both locations excel in utilizing as much space for their products as possible. Usnavi’s bodega is covered with a variety of products, with stacks of goods surrounding narrow aisles. This lack of space is the greatest similarity between the two stores – I remember walking through the Oriental Food Market with shelves that piled towards the ceiling, and corridors that could only handle one person at a time. The set design brings a realistic sense of practicality; the bodega is small and family-run, not some generic corporate grocery store.

Another highlight that adds to the realism is how familiar Usnavi and the others are with the store. In the intro song, “In the Heights”, Usnavi goes through his regular routine. He checks the milk (which has gone bad) and sells lottery tickets and café con leche to the regulars. Later, we see how efficiently he and Sonny clean the shop.  There’s a sense of intimacy between everyone and the bodega – it is not simply a location for transactions, but a dynamic yet familiar part of the community.

In Salt Lake City, the Oriental Food Market was one of the few places my family would be considered “regulars.” The woman who owned the store grew sesame plants in the front of the store, and we’d always be some of the first to buy sesame leaves when they were fully grown. I can visualize the store in my mind – how we would start by grabbing soft drinks, then frozen foods, instant meals, vegetables, and then snacks.

In the Heights excels at creating a snapshot of an immigrant community – whether it’s the hair salon, the smaller yet homely kitchens, or the community pool highlighted in “96,000,” the set design and selection highlight the Dominican and Latino immigrant experience. Everything is carving out meaning in small places – the movie scenes are crowded yet vibrant. And in these humanized pictures of Manhattan life, I find myself remembering the intimacy I once had back in Salt Lake City.

Piragua and Yogurt

I also want to talk about the pervasiveness of the piragüero – and how his constant presence in the film serves as a metaphor for the tenacity of our culture and identities. To do this, I’ll have to cheat a little bit by talking not only about Salt Lake City, but about Korea as well.

In Korea, there’s a popular sugary drink that we call yogurt/yakult. The most common way to buy yogurt is from yogurt ladies, who walk the streets in beige uniforms and carts. They’ve been a part of South Korean culture since the 1970’s, but their role has shifted and diminished with the rise of delivery services and larger grocery stores. And of course, we don’t have yogurt ladies in the United States, so I had to settle for perma-frozen (and leaky!) yogurt bottles from the Oriental Food Market.

This narrative aligns with the tale of the piragüero. We first see him greeting Usnavi in “In the Heights”, then going about his day selling piragua. In “Piragua”, we hear a little more about his struggles to compete with the Mr. Softee truck. Finally, he appears to have claimed victory, after the Mr. Softee truck breaks down in the movie’s last scene. The piragüero is not someone who is immediately plot-relevant. And yet, he’s not a one-time character either. Instead of being a part of a single “world-building” number and disappearing, he has his own mini-story and cameos through the musical. The character is pervasive – someone who continues to be in the neighborhood. Someone who’s just there, but in a good way. Someone like the yogurt ladies in Korea, who deliver the same yogurt, the same day of every week. The piragüero is representative of the communities and cultures that tenaciously hang on in a world with changing economic and social pressures.

I think that’s why losing the Oriental Food Market eventually got on my nerves. To me, the store was something that would forever be there, always stocked to the brim with yogurt and banana milk. After all, if the nearby Smith’s and Costco were still there after all these years, why wouldn’t it? In the end, the store was a part of my home community that I took for granted.

With hometown stores, yogurt ladies, and piragüeros diminishing in numbers, I find solace in the triumphant ending of In the Heights. Just as the bodega lives on forever, the piragüero will continue to sell his piragua. While my real life community may be gone, this realistic yet optimistic snapshot of Washington Heights can bring back fond memories.

“Breathe” and Today

Photo from Google Maps

The Oriental Food Market is now permanently closed. I don’t remember my last visit to it, nor did I ever see it closed myself. One day, it was a store I could always go visit again. The next, it was gone for good.

When watching In the Heights, I found myself relating to “Breathe” in many ways. Nina’s worries about living up to the community’s expectations echoed my personal doubts in my freshman year at Vanderbilt University. But perhaps most relevant is her relationship to her home neighborhood – when she softly sings “I think of the days when this city was mine,” I imagine Salt Lake City again. I imagine being a kid again, picking candy in the crowded aisles of the store.

In the Heights captures a precious snapshot of the immigrant neighborhood – depicting its people, places, and struggles. The set design is realistic and oozes with the personality of its inhabitants. The day-to-day living of people like Usnavi, Nina, and the piragüero is not a one-off world-building number, but integral to the narrative of the musical. The musical is alive with a community that has been underrepresented in media and on Broadway, and this realism allows other immigrants like me to relate to its powerful story.

And most importantly, In the Heights reminds me why I cherished that small Oriental Food Market so much, and why I don’t need to miss it. I loved that store because of the people I met, the experience of buying sweets from back home, and all the other adventures and memories I had. I fell in love with the small community that was built around this store. And while it may not be physically there anymore, it does still exist in my memory as a fond snapshot, just like the beautiful picture painted by In the Heights.

So, I’ll end off this pseudo-eulogy with one of my favorite lines from the musical. So long, Salt Lake City and that hometown store – I’ll remember you.

The neighborhood waved, and said

Nina, be brave, and you’re gonna be fine

“Breathe”

I’ll Make a (Wo)Man Out of You

I’ll be completely honest, I didn’t particularly care for a lot of Disney princess movies growing up. I guess a part of it has to do with the fact that I am simply not a part of the target audience for princess movies. Don’t get me wrong, these movies were always entertaining to me, but I never particularly found them to be all that relatable. I could enjoy the well-crafted, heartwarming stories of Cinderella and The Little Mermaid, but I couldn’t identify with the main characters because I was not an innocent, young girl searching for my Prince Charming to save me from the hardships in my life. 

I thought that I would never be able to relate to a Disney princess movie musical until I saw Mulan for the first time. Mulan made me realize that I didn’t have to be a young girl to relate to a Disney princess film, and once I got past the gender barrier I was able to see the deeper, more widely applicable messages buried underneath the princess story. Mulan was the first time I saw my Chinese heritage represented on screen in a way that was empowering and made me realize how important representation is in speaking to the experiences of a wider audience. By showing stories that normally aren’t told, media companies can connect with broader audiences and break down race and gender barriers in unique ways.

Mulan is a Disney princess musical unlike any other. For one, the movie strives to represent Chinese culture at the forefront, rather than a typical white story with white characters. The movie is based on the traditional Chinese legend of Hua Mulan, but revised to fit a more kid-friendly audience. The titular character isn’t even a princess, she is just a young woman who wants to bring honor to her family – a concept that is very important in traditional Chinese culture. 

The music also drives home concepts important to Chinese culture in a way that is relatable to Western cultures. The song “Reflection” serves as Mulan’s “I am” song, and describes Mulan’s desire to make her family proud and failing, which reflects the importance of collectivism and family in Asian culture but also serves to have a broader message about not living up to familial expectations. This song happens as Mulan slowly walks around her family’s altar and melancholically looks at her own reflection, doubling down on the sense of failure she feels toward her family duties. As she wipes away makeup from half of her face and belts the line “when will my reflection show who I am in inside,” she ties her own self worth to her failures as a woman to be a good wife. 

It is so rare for any race other than Caucasian to have representation in media like this, which is why it was so important for me to see my culture represented on a screen. Hollywood is full of white actors and even animation rarely features anything other than white leads. Minorities and especially Asians are typically relegated to side characters, if they are even represented at all in popular media. In extreme cases, white actors can actively harm Asian representation by taking roles intended for Asian people, such as Scarlet Johanssen, a white actor, being cast as a Japanese character in the 2017 live-action Ghost in the Shell adaptation. To have a musical, regardless of animated or live-action, take place in China and have Chinese actors and characters and tell a Chinese story is so refreshing to see in a high-profile movie by a high-profile studio like Disney and creates conversation about why representation matters.

The plot of Mulan largely hinges on breaking down gender stereotypes. When the Huns invade China, the emperor orders a man from each family to join the Chinese Army to fight back. From the very beginning, the Chinese Imperial Army establishes that male status is the only factor that they care about when determining who can fight for the country. Mulan’s elderly and crippled father is the only man in the family, which means that he is the only one who can fight even if he isn’t physically able to. Mulan decides to take her father’s place in the army to protect him and bring honor to her family, and in doing so breaks down toxic standards of masculinity and femininity and proves that a woman can be as powerful as a man by the end of the story. 

The musical number “I’ll Make a Man Out of You” directly references the standards of masculinity placed on the members of the Imperial Army, and the movie uses dramatic irony to break down these gender norms. The song’s key lyric, “I’ll make a man out of you” idealizes masculinity as peak strength and power, implying that the untrained soldiers were more feminine because they were weaker and less skilled as fighters, and that to become better warriors they have to “be a man.” Other lyrics of the song analogize the qualities of a man to natural processes like the swiftness of a coursing river, with the force of a typhoon, and with the strength of a raging fire, all of which elevate masculinity to beyond-human levels. While these lyrics are being sung, Mulan, disguised as a man under the alias “Ping,” is training with the other army recruits under Captain Shang. At first, Mulan is unable to overcome the obstacles thrown at her and is told by Shang to return home because she is too weak for the war, upon which she proves her worth using her intelligence to retrieve an arrow stuck to the top of a pillar, all while the lyrics “be a man” are being chanted repeatedly in the background. There is a beautiful irony in this scene where Mulan proves herself worthy as a woman of things previously built up to be things only a man can succeed in. 

The booming percussion and horns give the song a very masculine war-march sound to complement the lyrics. In terms of choreography, at the beginning of the musical number the characters are all very uncoordinated with the only coordinated one being Shang. By the end, once the characters have trained and persevered, they are coordinated and manly enough to join Shang in unison, showing their progression into the men the Imperial Army wants them to be. Yet again, Mulan defies these gender stereotypes by proving herself to be as strong if not stronger than the men in army with her intelligence and quick thinking, qualities of hers that come back later in the story to eventually aid in defeating the Huns and saving China. 

All in all, Mulan the Disney animated musical succeeds in connecting a broad audience to a fairly specific story through the use of race and gender to say universal messages about gender roles. It’s nice to see a big studio like Disney be so progressive in its representation as early as 1998, even if the live-action remake in 2020 ruined everything good about the original movie (which is a conversation for another day, seriously it’s not even a musical anymore). Disney has always been great at telling princess stories, and it’s especially great when these stories are used as an effective medium to connect more general lessons in an easily digestible way.

High School Musical and ‘Sticking to the Status Quo’

By: Megan Walters

Alrighty friends, I feel the need to level with all of you. Until two days ago, I had never seen High School Musical. I’d seen the third one… I’m pretty sure? Growing up for me, Disney was not as present. My Mom hated, and I cannot emphasize this enough, HATED television. Anything involving mean characters, snarky comments, and witty quips? (Something, by her definition, that Disney Channel was filled with.) Absolutely not. We all stuck to Veggie tales instead (Has anyone seen my hairbrush?).

Now, I’m a bit older now and probably could have watched this ages ago, but just never really got around to it. In all seriousness, I didn’t really care to watch it either. When I was six and it was the only thing that the other girls in my class would talk about it sure mattered but it kind of faded out of the limelight for a few years, only coming up in scattered conversations. Looking back however, the whole musical created kind of a sore spot for me. I wasn’t allowed to watch it and so I could never really bond or connect with the other girls in my class. I didn’t know who Troy Bolton was and I couldn’t sing any of the songs. In turn, I would just say that I hated High School Musical. Which wasn’t true because I really didn’t even know what it was, but I was upset because I really didn’t belong. And also saying you hate something that everyone loves, especially when you’re six, does not go over well either.

So here we are, this became an option to view for the final essay. In my recent years when I see other people look back on it, I’d heard mostly positive things about the movie. Sure, it’s not an accurate portrayal of high school, but the awkwardness, Gabriella’s shyness of being in the spotlight for being just too smart, and Troy and Gabriella’s relationship is a surprisingly healthy and accurate one. While I don’t have the luxury of comparing watching it when I was little, it’s overall kind of a charming, adorable musical. It’s like what little kids will think high school will be like and honestly? I think that was the intention. And as far as cultural relevancy goes, as someone from the outside I can blatantly say this defined a generation of kids growing up and eventually made way for Olivia Trevino’s musical career and fame when the spinoff series was created. (Spent the whole summer listening to SOUR pretty much.)

However, the movie isn’t really all that perfect. And that’s a fact, not just that I may or may not have a personal vendetta against this film. In hindsight I would say 2005 to 2012 was about the peak of the early 2000’s era. Say hello to low-rise, bootcut jeans, and a ridiculous amount of layers on top and 2006 is no exception to this era. The movie’s whole message is about sticking up for what you want to do with your life, doing what makes you happy, and not ‘sticking to the status quo.’ Which is a good message, fits the lightheartedness of the musical and is well, very Disney in the end. The idea of following your dreams is a good idea, but after a viewing and some afterthought, I think the movie missed its own message.

The musical never takes any risks with its characters. Which I could argue is the point, everyone is too scared to stand out and conformity is the ‘in’. But everyone is simply so stereotypical its like the creators were terrified of making a person. Kelsi, the composer of a musical at age fifteen, is a shy band kid and a doormat of a character. She wrote a musical–and if I followed the plot correctly, she not only wrote the music, but the script, plot, and stage directions as well. That’s really impressive for a fifteen-year-old why don’t I know more about her? Why is there a Sharpay spinoff and not one about Kelsi? Broadway would love another writer, not ANOTHER blonde diva to take center-stage?

Chad, the ‘best friend to male main character Troy Bolton and obligatory black person,’ is constantly belittled and disciplined by teachers because he is ‘slow’, ‘doesn’t know how to read’, or is known for being a ‘trouble-maker’. Why does Chad struggle so much? Clearly everyone in this school is from upper-middle class judging by the houses and state of the school as a whole (has a strong arts and sports program as well as STEM, school is clean and looks relatively new, etc.) And while again, this is 2006, the whitewashing seems just a little too pristine for two major characters to be black and have no backstory.

The only real people we really get to know and see in this entire film are the two main characters and the ‘Villains’: Sharpay and Ryan. Which even then is a subject of controversy. Let’s face it, Ryan is the closeted gay figure in this film. His mannerisms, clothing, gestures all point to the stereotypical effeminate mystique. And yes, this is 2006 and people weren’t exactly on board with people being out, but this is a very, very Disney thing to do. The constant closeting and pushing of queer characters under the rug isn’t new, and to see it in a high school setting when so many people I knew revealed themselves is overall almost hurtful.

The movie’s message is to not ‘stick to the status quo’ and yet? That message can only be true to our two main leads. Not only because we know the most about them and the boundaries they are making, but because they are also in the ‘in’ crowd. Troy is extremely successful; the star player. Gabriella is the best and brightest child in the school with a very successful businesswoman as a mother. Even from the beginning, they aren’t the status quo; they are above and beyond it. It’s almost not a surprise that they are successful on stage too. If Disney really wanted to show what not sticking to the status quo looked like, it would have been about Kelsi, writing and composing at such a young age and the obstacles she goes through. Or it would have been about Ryan and his struggles with being closeted and the relationship he has with his family because of it. It would have been about Chad or Taylor (Gabriella’s new best friend) and their struggles with excelling and falling continuously behind in school. But instead, they are side characters, not as important and boiled down to their most basic stereotypes. Instead of sticking to the stuff we know (basketball star and smart shy girl), would it hurt to know about the stuff we don’t know?

Now, it’s a simple Disney channel movie that took the world by storm. I don’t think the creators thought it was going to be as big as it turned out ever and as previously mentioned, 2006 wasn’t the most progressive year and neither was the early 2000’s in hindsight. I have other smaller issues with the musical. I went into this expecting to feel sorry for Sharpay. I was told she worked her whole life to be on the center stage and has been in musical after musical. So yes, it is a little unfair that two randos come in and steal the spotlight. However, as someone who has performed in multiple productions and concerts and having countless people like her, I strongly believe she deserves to be put in her place. She is rude, constantly takes advantage of people lacking confidence, cannot handle when things do not go her way, uses and constantly abuses her brother and is overall, unkind. A whole internal theme of the plot and even throughout the series is that we should feel slightly sorry for Sharpay because she is ‘sometimes’ kind. However, none of that kindness is to believed to be genuine and she is really truly not a good person at all. And while we learned a little bit about Sharpay’s backstory and how hard she works to take the stage, she really only buys into the stereotypical diva. She falls into the category ultimately of spoiled brat. If the movie really wanted to fight the status quo, maybe they shouldn’t have made her as rich or come from some sort of hardship, showing the audience that the stage is truly all she has and therefore create sympathy for her and make her more of a person.

Overall, I enjoyed the experience of the musical. I got to heal my inner child a little bit by finally watching something that everyone seemed to grow up on and got to bond with my roommates over it as well. (We watched The Greatest Showman afterwards to see how Zac Efron grew up.) I enjoyed watching it being older now and acknowledging how different it would be if the show came out today and the issues that simply came with the era it was created in. Disney made a fun musical, because that’s what it was good at. It refused to take a risk with a musical where the whole point is to take a risk, but that goes along with the pattern that Disney holds over many, many of it musicals. While uncovering a piece of my childhood, I also got to be critical of the film and all of its endeavors.

In the Heights: Representation Done Right

One word. Wow…

My first interaction with the film, In the Heights, was actually when Nicole, my classmate, showed me the first eight minutes of the musical before it was released onto streaming platforms. From that moment, I was hooked but didn’t yet see it in its entirety — that is until we watched it for class during our module about ethnicity and immigrant stories.

The musical/drama film directed by Jon M. Chu and co-produced by Lin-Manuel Miranda and Quiara Alegría Hudes is the 2021 film rendition of the Broadway musical bearing the same name. The Broadway musical, co-written by Miranda and Hudes, first premiered in 2008 and received a whopping 13 Tony Award nominations (winning 4 out of the 13 noms). So, obviously, why wouldn’t they turn it into a musical film?

It is safe to say this film has my heart.

Within the first 30 minutes, I was captivated by the personal stories of some of the main characters, Usnanvi and Nina. What’s so enchanting about this film rendition is its reflection of representation as illustrated by the plot of both the stage production and film. The casting for this film reflects a large Latinx population, aiming to rectify the lack of representation the Latinx community has faced in Hollywood for many years (finally!). Not only does the plot and casting of the film contribute to this representation, but it also reigns victorious in choreography, musical numbers, cinematography, and the American Dream as understood in this film to be far from cultural assimilation but rather multiculturalism. 

Let’s get into it…

The ethnic representation through this film is one that should serve as a role model to others and is exacerbated by the widely present themes of community and perseverance. It is evident the community in Washington Heights, New York, is nothing short of close-knit — a family if you will. For example, Usnavi’s abuela is a staple in this community, continuously hosting her friends and family for weekly dinner gatherings (when she died, it took me three business days to get over it). In addition, it seems this familial connection in the film was a genuine reflection of the comradery among the cast members while filming. For example, in a Zoom interview, Leslie Grace (who plays Nina) speaks on this comradery by stating: “We all built such a tight bond over that summer. That summer changed our lives; now we talk everyday.” In discussing the casting for this film, it is also important to note the prevalence of misrepresentation of minority groups over the years. According to USC’s Annenberg Inclusion Initiative survey, “just 7% of major films in 2019 featured a lead Hispanic or Latino actor…” Thankfully, In the Heights has been an exception. To give some context from the greater world of musical productions surrounding minority groups, a New York Times article shares that some members of the production crew from the film West Side Story admitted they had never even met a Puerto Rican or even spent the time to sit down with them before writing the movie (Huh? Make it make sense…) In contrast, In the Heights worked diligently to cast actors that were personally tied to the experiences of the characters in which they played. The film is also not afraid to call out this very realistic lack of representation — we see this through Nina’s character during her first year at Stanford as she is misunderstood for part of the serving staff at a donor event. She walks the fine line between fitting in with her peers at school and her community that is reflected among the other members of the serving staff. The film displays this representation in such a way that I felt as though I had a sneak peek into the identity crisis Nina was facing. 

Can we also just talk about the choreography for a second? I don’t think anything will ever top the choreography that is seen in the number “96,000” as performed around the community pool in Washington Heights. Here, take a look for yourself. 

This scene itself adds so much depth to the film, considering the amount of people involved in the number. Additionally, we get a sneak peak into the unique personalities of each character, specifically as they envision what life they would have if they won the $96,000. We’ve seen ethnic representation in terms of casting, but now we’ve also seen the way in which choreography should be represented through this one scene. In case you need more evidence, check out the “Carnaval Del Barrio” scene where the community gathers in an alleyway to share grief over abuela’s passing and complaints about the hot New York summer without air conditioning. Within the choreography, the cast members are boundless and take up a substantial amount of space, moving their bodies in such a way that feeds them power — giving them the agency they have lacked for so long (especially in Hollywood). Their separate nationality groups are also displayed by the different dance styles and flags displayed in windows during the number. The choreography adds a strong component to the representation illustrated by this film.

Similarly, the song representation is among the most dynamic in a musical film that I have experienced thus far. The intro song, “In the Heights” performed by Anthony Ramos (Usnavi) includes a unique mix of singing and rapping, displaying the talent Ramos has as a performer. The storytelling piece is more than evident and gives viewers a deep look into the lives of the community in Washing Heights (I feel like I know everything about these people within the first five minutes of the film). Additionally, there are many other songs in which a large segment of the number is performed in Spanish, further adding onto the representation piece. It was clear to me just how passionate the cast members were within the musical numbers as is mirrored by the personal stories and experiences they have shared. 

Just as I thought it couldn’t get any better, the cinematography proved me wrong. Give that person a raise, am I right? The way the film reflects the plot line in such a way the Broadway stage could not certainly grabs more of my attention (as I’m sure it does others). Specifically, the “96,000” scene comes to mind again when Usnavi, Benny, Sonny, and Pete are headed to the pool. The magical realism in this scene helps to encapsulate the unique personalities and experiences of each of them. 

This can be seen again in the salon with the wigs.

The cinematography adds a whole other component to the representation piece and pulled me in as a viewer as I fell down a deeper hole of captivation. I was further drawn to the storytelling technique displayed in the cinematography as Usnavi jumps back and forth between the past and present, sharing his experiences with his future daughter and other children in the neighborhood.

Lastly, I find it important to highlight the ways In the Heights celebrates cultural differences in such a way that avoids cultural assimilation, and I think a lot of future productions can benefit from this example. The film celebrates the American Dream in a way that is different for each character. For Usnavi, as seen and heard in the number “In the Heights,” he sings of missing the Dominican Republic, admitting he hadn’t revisited since his parents passed away. He also owns a bodega on the corner — the place that just happens to be the one stop shop for everyone in the neighborhood and the same place that sells the winning lottery ticket. I’m still crying over his abuela leaving him the winning ticket (contact me in another three business days). The members of this community fly their flags proudly and celebrate the lives and successes of other people in the community. For example, they rally behind Nina who was the first person to make it to college from their community. Nina’s father, Kevin, is the typical overprotective father who keeps pushing Nina to succeed and represent herself proudly at school. Everyone else in the Heights is proud of her. It is refreshing to watch a musical in which differences are celebrated, not destroyed. This film gave a new definition to the American Dream. 

In the Heights is the type of production that has something for everyone. It’s the type of musical that consistently had my eyes welling up with tears, and while I could not personally understand the character’s circumstances, I felt drawn to them on an intimate level. Additionally, it had just the right amount of romantic relationships without engulfing the significance of the film’s message (because God knows we need more films centered around gushy love interests, am I right?). Not only is it a fun, feel-good 2 hours and 23 minutes, it also sets the stage for ethnic representation, and one in which many productions should follow. It is important for the greater context of the lack of representation of minority groups, specifically in Hollywood films. The way the film represents this population through multiple mediums such as choreography and lyrics makes it excel to the number one choice for me. It sets a precedent for how minority groups should be accurately represented and their talents displayed. 

Now, if you need me, I will be watching this on repeat probably forever (skipping abuela’s death of course 😭😭).

Cultural Relevance? Not in Paris

If you’re anything like me you’ll browse streaming sites for way too long, trying to find the perfect thing to watch. After skimming many synopses, I settled on An American in Paris, mainly sold by the nostalgia of music by Gershwin from my high school band days, but not knowing much else about it. The musical adaptation from 2015 directed by Christopher Wheeldon and Ross MacGibbon with book by Craig Lucas, is based on the 1951 film of the same name with music and lyrics by George and Ira Gershwin. Right off the bat I was pleasantly surprised when the three main male characters were introduced, each wanting to pursue the arts. Jerry Mulligan wants to be an artist, Henri Baurel a nightclub performer, and Adam Hochberg a composer. Ballet is the main form of dance in this musical, and the men take part too, doing leaps and pirouettes with fluid movements traditionally seen as feminine. Male characters who aren’t overly masculine and have discussions about the purpose and meaning of art? Yeah, sounded pretty promising to me too. Unfortunately, that ended real fast as soon as Lise Dassin, the love interest came into the picture. Despite its recent adaptation, the gender roles seen in An American in Paris still have traditional and outdated values, making it culturally irrelevant for a modern audience.

Before we get into everything, let’s quickly set up the love triangle. We have Jerry, an American soldier who chose to stay in Paris after the war, who runs into Lise and has a “love at first sight” moment. Adam, also an American soldier who stays in Paris, loves Lise as well. Then there’s Henri, he’s French like Lise, has been dating her, and wants to propose.

The main message I got from this musical: women have little agency in their relationships. Not exactly the first thing I want to be thinking about after watching a musical, but it’s happened more often than I would like. First, let’s discuss Lise as a character. She’s very feminine with her doe eyes, colorful, flowy dresses, and red lipstick. She looks down a lot and speaks quietly. Her feminine characteristics themselves don’t make her weak as a character, but they do emphasize the idea of femininity being weak when she acts with little to no agency in her interactions with Jerry.

From the get-go, Jerry will not take no for an answer. He goes to the department store where Lise works and causes a scene while singing that he has “beginner’s luck” in love because he happened to run into her twice in two days. Lise begs him to stop but he continues singing and disrupting the customers. At one point he picks her up and puts her on a counter while she protests, but once she’s standing on the counter and is looking out at the scene below with everyone in the store dancing, she smiles and laughs for a brief moment. That’s when I knew she was doomed. She was going to fall for Jerry’s obnoxious charms. If someone you saw twice but never talked to came to your workplace and started wreaking havoc at the risk of you being fired while professing their love for you, would you agree to meet them later? The absurdity of the situation makes Lise seem naïve. She also feeds into Jerry’s egotistical confidence. When Jerry asks Lise to meet him by the river, she refuses but he says, “I’ll see you there.” She questions “How can you be so sure?” to which he replies, “’Cause I’ve got beginner’s luck.” And of course, she shows up.

Right before Lise meets Jerry by the river, we see her writing a letter to her parents about her relationship with Henri and debating whether their love is romantic love or not. She starts singing about meeting the man she loves, and the lyrics contain themes of traditional gender roles. Take a look at some of these lines:

“And he’ll be big and strong”

“And when he comes my way, I’ll do my best to make him stay.”

“And so all else above, I’m waiting for the man I love.”

Changes have been made to the original lyrics which included lines about dreaming about the man she loves every night and never leaving the home he’ll build for them, but the original lyrics above still convey a sense of her needing a man in her life. In fact, a lot of the original songs from the film with more obviously problematic lyrics are not included in the musical. The lines above come from another song by Gershwin called “The Man I Love,” which was actually not in the original film. The writers behind this musical recognized the outdated gender roles of the original film, but their efforts to recharacterize Lise fell short, leaving her with little agency.

We start off the river scene with Jerry being Jerry and saying that Lise’s name is “Beautiful. But “sad,” trying to get a reaction out of her to stop her from trying to leave. He goes on saying “How about Lizzie? Or Eliza? Liza.” Lise says she likes her name, but Jerry replies that “Liza’s happier.” Lise keeps trying to leave, but every time she’s about to go he comes up with another way to get her to stay, soon launching into an attempt at a heartfelt moment when he confesses that he wants to forget everything about the war. Lise answers sincerely that she wants to forget too, but instead of empathizing with her Jerry immediately lights up again, having finally found some common ground he can work with. He claims that “With me you don’t have to be that sad girl. You can be Liza,” and bursts into song. He continually uses her emotions to his advantage, describing what their lives would be like together as she looks dreamily off into the distance or smiles to herself, enamored by his words. He keeps calling her Liza while he’s singing and at first, she corrects him every time. But she eventually stops, until by the end when he finally calls her Lise, she corrects him and says Liza. This is also when I remembered that she still barely knows him. Jerry’s been trying to manipulate Lise’s feelings for him, and she still gives up her name for his convenience.

Jerry has control over the situation. He’s the one singing and the one guiding the choreography, leading Lise around and trying to get closer to her. But despite Lise’s discomfort at his advances, she doesn’t do much to stop him. She’ll remove his hand from her shoulder, or edge away from him when they’re sitting on the bench, but she never leaves. Right after Jerry agrees that they can just be friends, he tries to kiss her, and she pushes him away. But even after that, she still leaves smiling as they agree to meet at the river every day as “friends.” Lise physically lacks control during much of their dance numbers together as well. Whenever her and Jerry have a ballet duet, he lifts her a lot, spinning her around and catching her in the air, or supporting her weight as she leans to the side and spins on one foot. She depends on him to perform these moves and he is in control when he lifts her in the air. Everything about their relationship has centered on Jerry having agency in the situation and Lise mildly following along.

Another character I want to talk about is Madame Baurel, Henri’s mother. Throughout the musical, Madame Baurel takes charge. She has a sharp tongue and a stern look and gives orders to those around her. Henri hides the fact that he wants to be a performer, knowing that his parents care a lot about appearance because of how they had to hide Lise during the war and would not approve of his dreams. During one of his performances his parents are there, and they find out his secret. Madame Baurel berates him after the performance, meanwhile Monsieur Baurel surprises everyone by exclaiming that Henri is remarkable and should pursue his dream. The instant he says this Madame Baurel is taken aback and quickly tries to recover by agreeing with him, saying “Oh, er, well yes, yes of course.” I couldn’t believe that she would drop everything she was worried about during the war so suddenly just because of her husband. Why couldn’t she form her own opinion about Henri’s career? Why did she need to wait for her husband’s approval first? For as much agency as she seemed to have, it was all a façade where underneath she was just following her husband’s lead.

Looking at these examples, it becomes clear that the traditional gender roles make An American in Paris culturally irrelevant. Okay, but why does that matter? It was based off a film from the 1950s, of course it might seem old fashioned and not everything needs to be revolutionary after all. But that’s just it. The fact that the story is still culturally irrelevant even after the adaptation, reflects the lingering gender roles that persist in our culture today (or 2015, if you want to be specific). The adaptation is a reflection of modern values, and we see that through the changes that were made to the song choices and lyrics. But the extent to which inequality between men and women is portrayed even in this revised version is problematic because it perpetuates these themes in popular culture. As many classic stories get brought back to life on the Broadway stage, it’s important to recognize and address the issues they may have simply due to the different cultural context they were created in. After all, it’d be nice to have our crème brûlée and eat it too.

How to be a bad person and get away with it: An essay by Evan Hansen.

(obviously this is not a real essay that’s actually written by this character, but he probably could if he wanted to… after a slice or two of introspection pie)

By Nicole Anderson

So here’s the thing. I’m pretty sure it’s nothing new that Dear Evan Hansen, written by Benj Pasek and Justin Paul, has some problematic aspects… but just how far does it go?

For some context, Dear Evan Hansen is a little musical about an anxious and depressed high school student whose inspirational letter to himself (which turned out not to be very inspirational) gets in the hands of a boy that ends up taking his own life. The authorities assume that it is a suicide note to Evan, his only friend, and so do the boys parents. Originally, he tries to explain his situation to the parents, but they are so set on Evan having been a comfort to their son he eventually caves in and lies to comfort them.

It then gets worse.

Evan has a friend that has him forge emails that prove they were friends, he gives those letters to the family, he bonds with the family (especially their daughter (and his long-time crush)). Evan and a few friends start “The Connor Project” in memoriam of the late teen, as a fundraiser and mental health awareness website. The lies build and build and build until it all inevitably collapses. 

Blah blah blah… the end. 

Right?

Wrong. If you don’t think too carefully about it, the musical seems like a great coming of age story about a boy and a girl that are all brought together through tragic means. It seems like a story that represents those with mental illness who don’t usually get representation in popular media. It seems like a cute love story. It seems like a silly tale of a young man’s adventures in high school.

But if you do think carefully about it…

Things like this blog post get written.

There are several “minor” (I just mean, in comparison) issues that riddle the musical like casual homophobia in the song “Sincerely, Me,” having several main female characters that all somehow have zero agency, and Evan being so damn rude to his mom (a single nurse who works overtime to make sure Evan can afford college) and never apologizing for it. But I’m going to focus on what really makes the overarching plot of this musical problematic.

I know this comes as a huge shock, but the cishet white guy never gets punished for his actions (from which, he learns nothing) AND somehow manages to simultaneously play the victim by blaming it all on anxiety and depression (perpetuating very harmful stereotypes).

As I get into this, keep this list in mind. These are the most appealing benefits Evan gets from pretending to have been friends with Connor. 

• Popularity
• A found family
• A romantic relationship with the girl he’s always liked
• Less social anxiety and depression (it magically disappears!)
• An offer for his college tuition to be paid in full

Now, I’m not saying that it would be better to get all of these things if someone were actually friends with someone who took their own life, but at least it would be somewhat morally acceptable. Evan getting all of these things because of a lie is disgusting. Especially considering he had no intentions of correcting anyone.

Here’s the thing. I’m not proud of this, but I was an Evan apologist for a long time. This musical had me convinced that Evan did not mean for any of this to happen. It was all one big misunderstanding fueled by the panic of an anxious teen, right? But then I started playing the song “Sincerely, Me” and “Words Fail” a little too frequently.

In the song “Sincerely, Me” Evan is creating fake emails sent between him and Connor. Evan says, “I wanna show that I was like, a good friend, you know?” This is clearly not him trying to make a family feel better about the loss of their son. This is not a panicked boy doing his best. This is him building an ego by manipulating parents who are mourning the loss of their son. This demonstrates perfectly the transition of him making decisions out of panic to out of greed.

“Words Fail” comes after the big reveal that it was all a hoax. This song is exhibit A on proof of why no one should be forgiving Evan for anything any time soon. Let’s go lyric by lyric and break it down.

I never meant to make it such a mess

I never thought that it would go this far

So I just stand here sorry

Searching for something to say

Something to say

“Words Fail”

Take note how he never actually says “I’m sorry.” So far, as an apology goes, it isn’t off to a great start but let’s see where it goes. There is still hope for an Evan apologist.

Words fail, words fail

There’s nothing I can say

“Words Fail”

Yikes, that’s the best you can do? You lied to this family for damn near a year and that’s the best you can do? The days leading up to this you knew things were beginning to unravel– you had time to prepare for this and yet you still don’t know what to say? This is a little embarrassing for an Evan apologist but there is still a sliver of a chance he can redeem himself.

I guess I thought I could be part of this

I never had this kind of thing before

I never had that perfect girl

Who somehow could see the good part of me

I never had the dad who stuck it out

No corny jokes or baseball gloves

No mom who just was there

‘Cause mom was all that she had to be

“Words Fail”

Woe is Evan. What is so sick about this song is somehow, despite everything, he is still painting himself as the victim. One could argue that this is his attempt of justifying his actions, but considering how long the lies went on for you can’t really play that card. Sometimes you don’t get to justify your bad actions. Sometimes you just have to admit you were wrong and a p.o.s. After everything we have seen, this comes off so cheap. Not having the “perfect” life doesn’t excuse all the things you did while you were entirely in control of your actions.

That’s not a worthy explanation

I know there is none

Nothing can make sense of all these things I’ve done

Words fail, words fail

There’s nothing I can say

Except sometimes, you see everything you wanted

And sometimes, you see everything you wish you had

And it’s right there, right there, right there

In front of you

And you want to believe it’s true

So you make it true

And you think maybe everybody wants it

And needs it, a little bit too

“Words Fail”

You don’t get to be a bad person because your mom is busy. This fully admits that he saw something that he wanted and he did what was necessary to make it a reality for himself. He is admitting his manipulation without saying it for what it is. He just keeps up this ridiculous narrative that somehow because he wanted something and felt that he was entitled to it, no one is allowed to get mad at him. Evan apologists, this is an “L” for you.

This was just a sad invention

It wasn’t real, I know

But we were happy

I guess I couldn’t let that go

I guess I couldn’t give that up

I guess I wanted to believe

‘Cause if I just believe

Then I don’t have to see what’s really there

No, I’d rather pretend I’m something better than these broken parts

Pretend I’m something other than this mess that I am

‘Cause then I don’t have to look at it

And no one gets to look at it

No, no one can really see

“Words Fail”

More dialogue about how he is the victim and his actions were justified. This screams, “audience please feel bad for me” over and over again. This is like water torture but with someone claiming to be a victim. Not only that, it screams, “Hey please don’t hate me; family that I purposefully deceived because I saw the potential benefits of having a relationship with! Still want to pay for my college tuition?”. But this next bit is when it really gets messy.

‘Cause I’ve learned to slam on the brake

Before I even turn the key

“Words Fail”

AND THEN YOU GUESSED IT: HE TRANSITIONS INTO A REPRIEVE OF “WAVING THROUGH A WINDOW”. YOU KNOW, THE SONG ABOUT HOW HE HAS ANXIETY THAT CONTROLS HIS EVERY ACTION??? Sorry Evan apologists, it’s over.

It’s one thing to have anxiety. It’s an entirely different thing to blame all of your poor decisions on it.

I’ve already pointed out how several times he all but admits he is doing things out of greed instead of anxiety but for him to finish off this banger of an “apology” by bringing it all back to his mental illness and painting this picture of him not being accountable for his own actions is damaging to those with mental health and perpetuate harmful stereotypes that the community has faced for decades.

He admits it in “Words Fail”. He admits it in “Sincerely, Me”. He repeatedly demonstrates how he was in control of his own actions but he never takes responsibility for it. Yet he still uses his mental health as an excuse to play the victim.

This musical does one thing phenomenally: insinuating that people who have mental health issues will always inevitably act out.

Let’s face the facts: everything surrounding Evan is a lie. From the fake relationship with Connor, to how depression magically disappears once you get some action with a girl, to the song “You Will be Found” (a song that is all about how Evan was not alone, when you find out later that he actually was). In hindsight, this is just about as far from a fun coming of age story as someone can possibly get. It’s dark and upsetting and filled with lies. Harmful lies. Damaging lies.

When Evan stops taking his medication without consulting his doctor it is barely even mentioned. Having a girlfriend fixed all his problems. That’s how mental health works, right? This is just another splash of inaccurate and harmful stereotypes that lead to real people in the real world getting hurt and yet this fact is forgotten in the plot of the musical as if it is insignificant.

What makes the character and the writing surrounding him truly deplorable is that his mental health is utilized as a plot device. It wasn’t put in there for representation. This was written in 2015. If Pasek and Paul wanted to accurately portray mental health there were ample resources to learn about it and then do so. However, this “representation” was put there as an excuse; both to write the musical and for Evan himself.

Without ever actually apologizing (very on brand it seems) or giving a statement about it, the production manages to admit its shortcomings. You can tell by how many things it changed with its film adaptations.

There were going to be changes anyway, that is how musical to film adaptations work, but when several specific problematic aspects disappear, one notices a trend. Especially in the change from Evan and Zoe’s first kiss happening directly after a 3 minute number that chalk-full of straight up lies from Evan (“If I could tell her”) and on her late-brothers bed (which is immediately turned into a joke), you begin to wonder how that was even allowed in the first place. In the movie this kiss is pushed back to happen after the song “Only Us,” the theme of which is to forget how they came together in the first place and how “what came before won’t count anymore or matter”. Additionally, at the end of the musical when all of Evans’ problems fade away with time, he doesn’t actually demonstrate how he has learned anything from it all. The movie spliced together a montage of him reading some of Connors’ favorite books and contacting people who knew him to learn more about who he really was. Alyssa also gets her own song in the musical, fleshing out her character a bit more, which was a refreshing change from her original iteration, that really only exists as a facet for conflict in the plot. 

The film adaptation was an opportunity to fix some of the original story’s problems and they did– but it is about time that these problems be addressed by the broadway stage production. As it stands now, Dear Evan Hansen is a story about how a cishet white man is never punished for his deplorable actions. This is exactly what Broadway (and life, really) needs less of. It’s full of stereotypes that have plagued marginalized communities for decades and this is not what a Broadway stage should represent. Not now, and not ever.

We’re All in This Together… Forever: The Timelessness of High School Musical

Disney Channel has been making original movies since 1983, but it wasn’t until over two decades later in 2006 when they released High School Musical that Disney Channel tapped into its true potential. I’m a huge fan of DCOMs (as they’re more affectionately known), even the ones about a boy who turns into a mermaid at 13 years old, or a boy who has tremendous luck only to realize that his luck comes from a magic Irish coin. That is to say, even if the movie’s premise is ludicrous, the acting is painful, and the special effects are comical, I’m going to eat it up. For while, DCOMs were easy ways for the Disney company to appeal to their audiences without having to fork up a huge budget.

But High School Musical was different. Groundbreaking some may say. And those people would be right. High School Musical, directed and choreographed by Kenny Ortega and written by Peter Barsocchini, broke through Disney Channel’s long running streak of cheap made-for-TV movies that would really only appeal to their target audience: young children. It’s difficult to pinpoint one specific reason why High School Musical was such a success. From the familiar plot pulling from classics like Romeo and Juliet and Grease, to Kenny Ortega’s tremendous choreography, High School Musical appeals to all audiences: young kids (like myself who was 6 at the time of its release), to young adults (like my current self who still rewatches the series every few months), to actual adults (like my mom who pretends to do something else while she’s actually watching). High School Musical is different precisely because it is not; it draws upon messages that have already been explored, but modernized the story with song and dance (and just enough cheese) to appeal to viewers of any age, and it’s no surprise that with a choreographer like Kenny Ortega and a young cast of rising teen heartthrobs (Zac Efron, Vanessa Hudgens, Corbin Bleu, Ashley Tisdale) that this movie would be a success. Its success, however, was record breaking.

To know High School Musical is to know “Stick to the Status Quo”, the film’s midway point chorus number. After Sharpay, Ryan, Chad and the rest of the basketball team find out that Gabriella and Troy have signed up for auditions, all the characters head into the cafeteria for lunch. The cafeteria, like in most teen movies, explains a lot. Every cliché clique sits with each other, and each have defining features and interests that separate them from other groups (see the Mean Girls cafeteria scene for reference). Despite being the place where all the students come together, the cafeteria is always divided. High School Musical stays true to this trope, and thus “Stick to the Status Quo” emerges. Sharpay, annoyed that there are outsiders infiltrating her drama club, claims that someone needs to tell Gabriella the rules. Ryan tees up the song by asking “And what are the rules?” (38:52) and the camera pans to the jocks where Zeke begins the song.

Zeke’s deep, dark secret is that he bakes, and all the jocks lose their minds. After telling Zeke to speak his mind, they shut him down immediately with the ever-famous “If you wanna be cool, follow one simple rule: don’t mess with the flow no, no. Stick to the status quo” (39:52). The song continues with each group—nerds, skaters, etc.— having their own Zeke who have a passion outside of their clique’s interests. The entire lunchroom breaks out into the same choreography and song, all declaring that sticking to what you know is what’s best for everyone.

Despite each group wanting to remain separate from the others, Ortega’s choreography displays an act of unity, with everyone joining together in the same choreography, but still keeps each group separate at their own table. The choreography is hard hitting and maybe a bit on the nose (like pointing to the basketball when the jocks sing “stick to the stuff you know”). But nonetheless, the choreography is a sign that things are starting to unravel in the school, and the stomps, fists in the air, and hands outstretched like asking “what on earth are you thinking” all compound on the lyrics to drive the point home: no one has ever broken out of their clique’s mold and the whole school might fall apart if they do.

As the song continues, the choreography has all the students dancing around their tables, and then eventually other tables, and soon enough, the people who are actively singing about keeping the status quo are hanging out with people in other cliques. A cheerleader is sitting in the lap of a skater, a nerd is doing a split leap off of the jock’s table. It’s madness! At least, that what Sharpay thinks. Sharpay seems to be the only one who is sticking to the stuff she knows. Watching over the lunchroom as the cliques begin to intermix, Sharpay starts singing and the other characters react. They go back to their tables as Sharpay tries to return things to normal (in her typical, Sharpay way, which is yelling at everyone).

Ortega’s over-the-top choreography, the very literal lyrics, and the delivery of each line cues audiences into the fact that the film is not actually pushing this message. It’s ridiculous to think that people can’t have multiple interests, but it’s exactly this ludicrous idea combined with a catchy tune and danceable choreography that makes “Stick to the Status Quo” so notable. It’s silly enough for kids to enjoy, it’s sweet enough for teens and adults to find comforting, and above all, it’s entertaining. Seeing an entire cafeteria dancing together in unison to a catchy song sung by a chorus of people makes viewers want to jump in and join. The fact that they can create a song with a terrible message and choreography that contradicts the lyrics speaks to Ortega’s genius: it’s just tongue-in-cheek enough for people to know it’s intentionally hypocritical and ridiculous without being so riddled with sarcasm that it seems insincere from the characters. We believe these characters feel this way, but the choreography hints that deep down, they not only have the ability, but the desire, to change the status quo.

Being at the almost halfway mark of the film, this number shows that these characters are stuck in their ways, but with almost an hour left, anyone who has even the faintest knowledge about Disney knows these issues will be resolved. After the basketball team and the scholastic decathalon team join forces to split up Troy and Gabriella, the school really does unravel, but not because people didn’t stick to the status quo, but because they did. Gabriella sings the melodramatic “When There Was Me and You” to a literal life size poster of Troy in the hallway and quits the decathalon.

Troy can’t make any jump shots. Suddenly, Gabriella and Troy’s friends realize that their scheme actually made things worse, and they do some self-reflecting. Realizing that doing a musical isn’t as horrifying as originally thought, they make amends with Troy and Gabriella. Now all that’s left is for Troy and Gabriella to make amends. Troy visits Gabriella’s balcony which connects directly to her bedroom and sings to her to apologize (side note: this movie gave me insanely high expectations about high school relationships, really setting me up for failure). If this explanation sounds rushed it’s because this all happens in like 10 minutes. It’s a Disney movie let’s not forget.

They all get back into the groove of things and prepare for their events: the basketball team’s game, the scholastic decathalon, and the callbacks. The basketball team gets a cake for the decathalon team, and, in response, they make a poster for the basketball team. Both groups give the drama club a present of boys with letters on their shirt spelling out Go Drama Club! Despite what “Stick to the Status Quo” established, it seems that the school is running smoothly, if not better than before, now that everyone has accepted people doing other things.

But oh no! Another problem has arisen! Sharpay convinced Ms. Darbus to reschedule the callbacks to the same day and time as both the game and the decathalon. I smell another scheme. Gabriella and Taylor, with their freaky genius minds, manage to rig the scoreboard and lights in the gym, stopping the game. They also create a mixture so foul smelling it clears out the decathalon competitors and audience. Gabriella, in her lab coat, and Troy, in his basketball uniform, rush into the theater hoping to make the callback. They’re late, Ms. Darbus gives them a hard time, but once she sees the crowds of people Troy and Gabriella have brought in, she agrees to let them audition.

“Breaking Free” (a very literal song title) shows the whole school coming together to support Troy and Gabriella. While their choreography on stage includes very innocent displays of affection like hand-holding and circling around each while staring lovingly into each other’s eyes, it’s the crowd’s choreography that shows a stark contrast to what we saw in “Stick to the Status Quo”. They stand up and clap along, intermixed in the auditorium seats. They’re no longer ironically all dancing together, but united together supporting their friends who are proving that you can be smart or good at basketball and also be great at singing.

Afterwards, we return to the basketball game where the Wildcats win and within the span of about two minutes, Chad asks Taylor out (another basketball-nerd romance), Sharpay and Ryan make amends with Gabriella, Kelsi and Jason share a moment (a basketball- drama club romance), and we break into the most famous number out of the entire movie: “We’re All in This Together”. Even more than “Breaking Free”, “We’re All in This Together” is the juxtaposition to “Stick to the Status Quo” where the whole school comes together for one final act of unity. The lyrics are clear, “We’re all in this together. And it shows when we stand, hand in hand, make our dreams come true” (1:33:30) and the choreography is spirited and dynamic. It acts as a celebration of winning the basketball game, but even more than that, it’s the culmination of all of the resolutions for the conflicts that arose throughout the film. The iconic downward fist bump to and over the head clap is ingrained within anyone born from the late 90s to the early 2000s.

The hands crossing over their faces as they sing “We’re all stars” and the claw hand movements during “Wildcats everywhere! Wave your hands up in the air” match the celebratory lyrics, giving the entire number a jovial and uplifting sentiment. It’s not as forceful as the choreography in “Stick to the Status Quo” but that’s because it’s not trying to force people into a box. This song is about letting people shine in their individuality, and the choreography accounts for that. Once again, Kenny Ortega’s choreography matches the lyrics in a way that will appeal to young children, but its simplicity is what also makes it timeless.

High School Musical doesn’t need some deep, complex message. After all, this is a movie targeted towards young children. It not only appeals to all audiences, but also stands the test of time, because it’s just plain fun. The characters retain their identifiable looks through costuming, which makes their unified and harmonious choreography all the more powerful. The movie isn’t advocating that everyone should be the same to get along, just like it wasn’t advocating for everyone to be different and separated. “We’re All in This Together” shows that everyone being different is what makes everyone special, and it doesn’t have to divide us. VERY cheesy, but it’s a message for every kid, a reminder for every teen, and an anthem for every adult.

High School Musical is the most successful Disney Channel Original Movie ever released and it’s not hard to see why. It’s got a great cast, catchy songs, dynamic and energetic choreography, and a not-too-cheesy message. Nothing about it (except maybe the clothes) has gone out of style, and its timelessness, attributed mainly to Kenny Ortega’s impressive choreography, makes every rewatch just as enjoyable as the first viewing, regardless of how old we get.

If In the Heights Was Set in New Orleans

The summer after my senior year, I realized that if I were to move past high school and onto college, my Broadway Showtunes playlist had to reflect that growth. I looked up a list of Broadway hits and started listening to find new additions. When I first heard “Breathe” from In the Heights, I started sobbing my eyes out. I had been feeling anxious about going to Vanderbilt since I was accepted, but I was never able to verbalize what I was anxious about.

 Listening to this song, I finally recognized the amount of pressure I was feeling to succeed: pressure from my family to make them proud, pressure from my friends to show that a Cabrini girl could make it at such a prestigious school, pressure from Vanderbilt to do well enough to keep my financial aid. The midpoint of the song encapsulated how I felt whenever I would try to talk to my family about how I was worried about going to Vanderbilt. In the background, the listener hears the community of Washington Heights praising Nina in Spanish, but Nina’s inner monolog overlaps, expressing her worries. There was always this disconnect between me, feeling nervous, and my family, having faith in me, that made me think they could never understand how I felt.

My dad and I the day I was accepted to Vanderbilt

When I started classes at Vanderbilt, I overcame some of these anxieties, but new ones soon took their place. Whenever I felt overwhelmed by this pressure to succeed, I would listen to “Breathe” and feel a little relief. I may have felt like I was being crushed by other people’s expectations of me, but someone else understood how I felt. 

When I saw that we might be studying In the Heights for this course, I wasn’t sure how to feel. I had seen the trailers for the 2021 film version, directed by Jon M. Chu, and knew it would be amazing from a production standpoint. However, I had this feeling that I would ultimately be disappointed. I figured that the connection I felt to “Breathe” would be the only way I could relate to a musical written in the early 2000s about the latinx community in New York. However, after watching this musical I realized that I had a much deeper connection with the people of Washington Heights than I first thought. 

Back home, I live with my grandmother, who used to be a hairdresser. Because my grandparents could not afford to lease a storefront, my grandmother and my aunt (who’s not really my aunt) opened a salon in the backroom of our house. The up-tempo, bright singing in “No Me Diga” reminds me so much of sitting in that backroom, listening to the regular customers laugh while they get their hair done that I can almost smell the perm solution.

My 7th Birthday Party: “Salon Day”

Since my grandmother has stopped doing hair, she has come to more closely resemble Abuela Claudia. She loves taking care of everyone in our neighborhood, finds small ways to assert her dignity, and tends to treat herself to a lottery ticket but then forgets to check the numbers (but believe me, I will definitely go get her a ticket whenever she asks from now on). 

While I was able to draw these comparisons despite the fact that I am not latina, there were notable points in the story that I did not relate to. One such example is Abuela Claudia, especially when she sings “Paciencia y Fe”. I will never experience the events that Abuela Claudia sings about: I did not have to move hundreds of miles away from my home to a new country, watch my mother struggle to find work, get a job to support my family, or learn English as a second language. However, the emotion that Olga Merediz infuses into the performance and the dynamic movement of the backup dancers tells a story that the audience cannot help but feel empathetic for.

Another example is when Usnavi asks Sonny’s father if Sonny can come with him to the Dominican Republic. In a somber tone, Sonny’s father highlights the fact that Usnavi pays Sonny in cash. Watching this scene, I had no idea what he was implying. However, when Sonny expresses to Nina that he is undocumented, the connection clicked and my heart broke. While attending college, especially a school like Vanderbilt, was difficult for me, it was never as unreachable as the position Sonny is in. Again, I have never gone through the experience that Sonny is going through, but the dramatic structure that explains this part of his story elicits such empathy.

 Being able to appreciate the connections while recognizing the differences between my life and In the Heights showcases the musical’s cultural relevance. The show’s 11 o’clock number, “Carnaval del Barrio”, highlights the fact that the community of Washington Heights is made up of people from many different countries in Latin America. While they all experience the greater sense of community by living in Washington Heights, there is no one right way to be a part of the Washington Heights community. The main example we see throughout the story is how the main characters envision their futures. Nina and Vanessa want to leave Washington Heights, going to different places in America. Usnavi wants to go back to the Dominican Republic to reconnect with his roots. Sonny wants to stay in Washington Heights, helping the neighborhood to grow. None of these opinions are presented as the “correct” option.

This idea that a community is not a box that the members must fit in allows a white girl, like me, to feel understood by this musical.

The fact that there are parts of this story that I do not personally connect with does not invalidate the fact that other parts provide me with comfort and understanding. It is this connection that highlights the importance of giving different communities a platform to tell their stories. A group that I am not a part of sharing their stories does not lessen my experiences. Musicals, like In the Heights, allow people to recognize the similarities they share with others and better understand their differences.