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.

Forced Romance- The Undoing of Jeff Calhoun’s Newsies

Disney’s 2017 adaptation of Newsies, directed by Jeff Calhoun and starring Jeremy Jordan as Jack Kelly and Kara Lindsay as Katherine Pulitzer, is a charming musical showcasing the story of young newspaper sellers as they strike against the monopolist Joseph Pulitzer. Sadly, however, for all its charisma, the musical does little to break free of gendered norms, especially in its two showcase characters, Jack and Katherine.

First, let’s take a look at Jeremy Jordan’s character, Jack Kelly. Jack is the unofficial leader of the newsies, as they refer to themselves. He is universally revered and admired by his fellow newsies. You may notice, however, that no character ever explicitly expresses these feelings. Nobody ever says “gee, Jack, you’re really somethin’ huh” or “I think Jack should be our decision maker.” Most people would write this off as the writers simply wanting to get the idea of Jack being a leader across without having to directly say so. I would argue, however, that there are instances where characters get 90% of the way there anyway, but fall just short of making any direct assertion, like in the opening scene when Crutchie says “I don’t need folks. I got friends” and nudges Jack in the shoulder. How difficult would it have been for Crutchie to end that line with a “like you” or even “I’ve got you and the boys”? It’s a fine line of expression that’s very easy to step over, but too many times masculine characters (and people in general) work hard to avoid stepping over that line. 

Beyond being just a leader, Jack is like an older brother to the newsies. Within a group of young men like themselves, the two roles seem to have more similarities than differences. There’s a sort of emotional support, however, that the ‘brother’ role tends to display more often. It’s characterized by lots of good-hearted teasing and hard-shouldered affection. Jack delivers a classic big-brother staple to Crutchie in the opening scene: “Would I let you down? Huh? No way.” This is followed immediately by Jack calling down to the other newsies to wake up and get ready for work. This is a classic masculine attitude of not-wasting-a-second-on-all-that- unnecessary-emotional-mush. Comfort Crutchie, then go straight to work. No time wasted. Still, this doesn’t mean that he doesn’t lean on the textbook older brother mannerisms like noogies, fake punches, and standing up for your brothers when someone knocks them down (ironically, one great example of that last point came against Oscar and Morris Delancey, actual brothers, when they shoved Crutchie and called him a cripple, instigating a swift beatdown from Jack). 

All in all, Jack Kelly is a “man’s man”. He’s tough, he’s got swagger, and, like any other male lead character in a major film/theater/television production, he is keen to, and some might argue obligated to, fall in love. We hear this critique constantly of women in lead roles, and rightfully so. But it takes two to tango, and this particular tango reeks of forced, artificial love. Jack immediately latches onto the first girl he sees, Katherine, despite the fact that she’s walking down the street arm-in-arm with another man (who we will later find out is just a colleague). In fact, he shoves Romeo (aptly named for reasons you can guess) out of the way just to get a word in with her. Here, however, the real issue begins to take shape. You could read a script of this musical and maybe, maybe see how Jack falls for Katherine, but once you watch the characters act it out,  it doesn’t seem convincing in the least. Jack never takes a moment to think “Hey, do I even like this girl?” Jeremy Jordan’s character is so caught up in being the cool guy, the king of swagger, that he never drops the act. There’s no real moment of vulnerability. His actions are based on pure instinct, because he finds her physically attractive, regardless of anything else. This is an all-too-common staple of the straight male role, and is very much in alignment with the norms regarding gender roles. He advances on Katherine instantly under the guise of selling her a paper, even offering to personally deliver it to her when it gets released. He says this last bit in a somewhat creepy/pervy way that strongly contrasts the tough-but-loving face he had entered the production with. Not long after, in Medda Larkin’s theater, he barges into Katherine’s private booth and continues to harass her despite her asking him to leave because she’s literally trying to do her job. Instead, he just sits there and draws her face and sings about her as she tries to review the show as if he’s formed any sort of mutual emotional connection with this girl. “I never planned on noone like you,” he sings. Buddy, what are you doing? Jack continues to make advances throughout the production until she finally gives way and “falls in love with him.” 

I should give Jack credit, nonetheless. He’s not a complete rough-and-tough meathead in every category. He paints backdrops for Medda Larkin’s theater sets. How cute. When Medda tries to brag about his artistic abilities, he shuts down her praises, insisting that “It’s a bunch of trees.” This is not as cute. God forbid he just let the poor woman finish her compliment and give a gracious thank you. Don’t let any of the other boys know you’re a talented artist, lest you become just microscopically less of a badass in some teenage boys’ eyes. He diminishes his one ‘soft man’ quality by refusing to acknowledge his talent and shutting anyone down that brings up the subject. Humility is one thing, but to deny the art you love is all but holding up a giant sign saying “My toxic masculinity is a more important representation of me than my passions.”

On the other side of the coin is Katherine. Compared to Jack’s overwhelming sense of confidence, Katherine never seems to feel comfortable in her own skin throughout the first act. Even as she rejects Jack the first time, making up the fake headline “Cheeky boy gets nothing for his troubles,” her voice and facial expressions still carry that hint of apprehension. It’s a decently clever comeback, so why can’t she acknowledge that? Even when she does stand up for herself in Medda’s theater and basically tells Jack to buzz off, all it takes is for him to make a sketch of her face on a newspaper for her to catch feelings. She picks up that scrap paper and her entire expression changes. Where is your resolve, Katherine? Did you forget how much of an f-boy he’s been in the two interactions you’ve had since you met him? The entire sequence reeks of the stereotypical “girl suddenly, inexplicably falls for boy” theme. She does the exact same routine in the deli after the newsies declare their strike: she walks in seeming confident, determined to get the info for the story she wants to write, but as soon as the boys tell her no, she crumbles and begs them to let her write the story. 

This leads to the infamous “Watch What Happens” number, a solo by Katherine that gives a perfect cross-section of her scatterbrained and flustered mind. Within this internal dialogue, she goes through the difficulty of writing such a topic, the backlash she may face for both writing this piece and being a woman writing it, and the weight of the issue itself. On this last point, she realizes the impact this story will have when it gets published and lets out a very girlish squeal to express her excitement. She is, up to this point, a character largely restricted by her own emotions, feeding directly into the stereotype of the woman with little constitution that will need to be ‘saved.’ Finally, she gains some traction in her writing, only to have that thought process pulled off course by the thought of Jack and “what a face” he has. Katherine is incapable of staying on track with her work because she is falling for Jack, a man who, up to this point, has been excessively flirty even when she didn’t want it, and more forward with his intentions than any civilized human being could consider ‘in good taste’ so to speak. And yet, she is a girl, and he is a boy, and despite the complete lack of chemistry and total unnecessariness of a romantic subplot in this story, the writers still force them to fall in love. This enforces societal norms of sexual orientation by implying that since the two major characters are a male and a female, they must be straight, and they must be attracted to each other, regardless of whatever outside circumstances are advancing the actual plot. 

Notice what happens to Katherine once you take Jack out of the equation, temporarily. In the opening number of Act 2, “King of New York,” she already has displayed more confidence than in the entirety of Act 1. Her and the newsies are celebrating their story making the front page, which is a beam of good news in an otherwise challenging point in the strike. She is happy and carefree in this song. The only difference? Jack isn’t there. There’s no awkward forced attraction between the two. This scene is proof that Katherine isn’t a weak or frail character at all; her interactions with Jack are the source of her awkwardness.

It isn’t long, however, before we see these two characters driven apart as Jack learns that Katherine is Pulitzer’s daughter. This leads to a moment of high tension on the rooftop where they argue back and forth, hypothetical punch threats are exchanged, and then, out of nowhere, they kiss. It’s the most inorganic, unromantic moment, though not uncommon in popular media. The fight-turned-fling scene is all too frequently used in the modern era, and is a direct consequence of the same forced romance theme we see in this production. The boy and the girl can fight all they want, but at the end of the day, love (that is, heterosexual, romantic love) wins out, and wins out quickly, as evidenced in that instant swing of emotions.

Of course, this interaction is immediately followed by a whole range of the stereotypical conversations that characterize budding relationships. Jack goes straight from the “what are we” question to the “girls like you don’t end up with guys like me” remark. At this point, the writers aren’t even making an attempt to veer this romance away from any other popular media romance. Jack’s second comment represents a thoroughly beaten-to-death story that, although on a surface level may seem ‘progressive’ by placing the woman in the more advantageous social position, is now as far from an original idea as can be and, in this case, ends up being negated anyway.

The relationship between Jack and Katherine compromises each of their individual characters’ achievements, but it is clear that it disproportionately affects Katherine’s character. All of Katherine’s hard work to be an independent woman and kickstart a successful career in journalism throughout the story is undermined by the fact that, in the end, she leans on Jack, falls in love with him inexplicably (which she admits by the way, saying that she “never saw him coming”), pledges to be by his side forever, and wraps things up as being ‘the girl the hero got’ instead of the individual hero she is. On the other hand, Jack is the hero that saves the day and gets the girl. The masculine character is framed as the winner, even though both played equal parts in reaching their desired outcome.

Newsies isn’t some backwards representation of gender roles that pushes its audience to view the characters in more conservative, traditional ways than are standard for its time. While it doesn’t help to fight stereotypes, it also doesn’t do much to advance them either. It simply feeds off of what popular media has been delivering to the general public during this period of history. It simply sits at our current spot in time, and takes in what it has been given. A casual fan will not walk away thinking “wow, that had some strong underlying sexist tones in it” just as the more critical fan will realize that it did nothing new to help fight the sexist and heterocentric biases that plague media of its time. This does not by any means suggest that it is a bad or worthless production, however. Newsies is a surprisingly pro-union story being told by a very anti-union company, Disney. There are good takeaways from it, but sadly, gender and sexuality do not make that list. One can only hope that, in the future, an updated version of Newsies will make a more conscientious effort to address these issues.