Into the Woods: My Second Act!

It was time. I tightened my belt, sheathed my sword, and sweatily clutched the handle as I entered through the backstage door and into the wings of Weiss Auditorium. I hadn’t dealt with nerves like these in a long time. I kept trying to imagine that I was running out of the locker room like Ray Lewis in Baltimore circa 2001, but I just couldn’t quite get there. Despite performing in countless plays throughout my childhood, nothing had prepared me for opening night of my first musical.

Despite these feelings of nervousness, when it came time for me to enter, I didn’t shakily stumble onto the stage; I gallivanted. That’s what I had to do. Not because I was an actor. Because I was a prince. Prince’s don’t get nervous – or perhaps, after watching the trials and tribulations of Cinderella’s and Rapunzel’s prince, one might venture that they do. Whatever the anxiety levels of princes may be, as soon as I opened my mouth for the first time to begin to sing “Agony,” I was floating. 

Despite these feelings of nervousness, when it came time for me to enter, I didn’t shakily stumble onto the stage; I gallivanted.

I was suddenly a passenger, whimsically being whisked through the melodious tones and intense feelings inherent in the music of Stephen Sondheim. Thus began a love affair that has been going strong for the last six years – one need only look to my Spotify wrapped to understand the commitment I have made to the “Into The Woods Original Broadway Cast Recording.” Since the conclusion of my high school production of Into The Woods, the continuation of the undying love between myself of this musical has mainly consisted of humming, a few reprisals now and then, and dreaming of the old days. But right here, right now, that all changes.

Me (left) as Rapunzel’s Prince in 2018.

My dearest readers, I exit my prolonged hiatus from critically engaging with this musical by diving head-first into the story that I’ve held for so long in my heart, except this time, with even brighter lights, a much bigger budget, and James Corden singing – how fun! Without further adieu, I give you… my second act!


After my viewing of the film version of Into the Woods (2014), I grabbed an ice pack and threw it on my noggin for a hot minute, as I had just been hit over the head by themes and ideas that my ninth grade brain didn’t quite grasp. Don’t get me wrong, I knew that this was not a surface musical from the moment I picked up the script. I sobbed endlessly on the last night of our run, as our wonderful witch sang, “Children Will Listen.” “No More” – a tune inexplicably cut from the film – is a song that will tug at my heartstrings until the day I die.

The question that I found myself seeking to ask in my viewing, though, was: “what makes this musical, seemingly completely removed from real life, relevant today?” There is not one specific moment to point to, or one character that pulls everything together in this show. That’s the beauty of an ensemble musical. You can truly look at each scene and find something new about a character that you don’t know much about. However, there are some concrete things I was drawn to as I viewed this film, so allow me to guide you.

The construction of Into The Woods is very unique in itself. It’s an amalgamation of many fairytales from places and cultures across the Europe. In this fact, the show already takes on a unique sense of cultural relevance, as it serves as a bridge between storytelling cultures from all over the place. The reason for this may not be as deep as you think, as a fascinating article on the conception of the musical reveals that Sondheim decided to amalgamate these many characters because he thought it was simply impossible to start a fairy tale from scratch while trying to create the quest story that he had for so long wanted to conceive.

There is something innately beautiful about being able to combine different people’s stories and fuse it into a bigger cohesive story.

Despite the reasoning, the result is what’s important here. An amalgamation of different folktales and stories working in harmony gives this musical more meaning before the curtains even rise: there is something innately beautiful about being able to combine different people’s stories and fuse it into a bigger cohesive story? Isn’t that, in a way, what life itself is about? Cheesy, I know. But true. Very true.

From the jump this show shoots down the notion of universality: these characters are certainly not the same. They do not share the same privileges, the same financial security, and the same concerns. This musical thrives in the fact that these characters are so clearly different. There’s also a notion of hybridity in these characters. Sure – this is not as clear as it is in the analysis of some characters in West Side Story or Into The Heights, but the hybridity in these characters mainly lies in the fact that they have these set and preconceived identities associated with their fairytale. The characters never shed these identities throughout the movie – Cinderella is still Cinderella to us when the credits role. Undoubtedly, though, they take on new identities as the film continues. For example, Cinderella is not just an abused stepdaughter who eventually meets her prince, but an individual heavily grieving over her mother and someone who continues to experience problems after meeting “her prince.”

Ah, Social Class

Finally! We can dive deeper into “Agony!” The number features Cinderella’s Prince (Chris Pine) and Rapunzel’s Prince (Billy Magnussen) as they commiserate about women that they cannot yet achieve. (I think it’s pretty clear who these women are, considering the names of the characters.) Anyhow, it’s a funny sight, especially when juxtaposed to what other characters in the musical are going through: two well-off and good looking princes being over-dramatic about the pain they feel because it’s officially been one day since they selected a girl they want and they don’t have her yet. I mean, seriously? You’re upset because there are no doors on your maiden’s tower? The baker and baker’s wife may never be able to have a child! Rapunzel doesn’t know what grass feels like! But please, regale us of your pain in what is (may I biasedly say, the best number of the musical.)

This is worth watching yourself before any more discussion from me, so let’s take a brief intermission and give this one a watch. Wait! Go grab some popcorn first. I don’t want you to feel like you’re watching this clip as an assignment. Watch it with the true movie-goer experience in mind. Leave the analysis for later. Anyway, enjoy!

I love Chris Pine. I just absolutely love the guy. What a ham! You see why I had you watch that? Delightful, right? More than that, it’s important to watch these princes in action to truly understand what this number is trying to say. If you were to simply listen to the soundtrack, half the meaning of “Agony” would be lost. So much of this song is in the choreography.

One of the best moments of this song is when Cinderella’s Prince rips his shirt open as he WRITHES in pain (I hope the sarcasm is detectable) and then Rapunzel’s Prince, looking to fit in, hesitantly rips his shirts as well (1:26). A similar moment occurs just a few seconds later, as Rapunzel’s Prince opens his mouth to sing of his pain again, but then is forced to look to his right and cede to his brother, as he has already continued singing (1:37). The two also take part in ridiculous displays of thrusting themselves back on rocks in pain, bumping into one another as they try to prove who is in more lovesick, and even kick the flowing stream water on one another as this number continues. Pine and Magnussen also absolutely nail the facial expressions, as they manage to render themselves as two puppy dogs, who know absolutely nothing about the world yet. I think this is exactly why my director decided to cast two ninth graders as the princes: you need to be able to portray a high level of naiveté in the role.

The main way through which characters construct cultural identity in this musical is through social class. Into The Woods shows us extreme examples of both the poor and the rich, and displays the way in which their wealth or lack thereof it has shaped them. The reason I chose to focus on “Agony” lies in the pure privilege of this number. While Little Red is dealing with a wolf that wants to eat her, and Jack and his mother are trying to sell their cow to put food on the table, the princes have time to assemble in this beautiful clearing in the woods and lament about a problem that is not a problem at all. Although abstracted by the fairy tale-ness of it all, this societal contradiction exists everywhere. “That’s a first world problem,” is certainly becoming a hackneyed phrase, but it’s true. How often do you hear someone complaining about something that you think they have no means complaining about? How often do you think you complain about something that someone else internally scoffs at? It’s all about perspective, I suppose, and these princes certainly don’t have it.

This is all made worse by the fact that the princes will get these women – and not be fully satisfied! The more you have, the less you can enjoy, I guess. The people who really deserve to catch a break, like the baker and his wife – don’t get so happy of an ending. The rich get richer.

The Good ol’ Fam

There shouldn’t be a dry eye left in the house after this one. There really shouldn’t. Into The Woods finds its most powerful cultural relevance through its musings on family. It differs heavily from a musical like Fiddler On The Roof, which focuses on the traditions and customs of a specific familial structure. Sondheim went much more broad in his statements on family, and I’d be surprised if anybody could walk out of the show and not found something that they can relate to. Between the Baker and his wife and their quest to have a child, the witch and her obsession with protecting and hiding Rapunzel, the struggle between Jack and his mother, Cinderella’s mourning of her mother, the Baker’s unresolved relationship with his father, the Baker grappling with the new responsibility of having a son, and the Baker’s eventual raising of Jack and Little Red. “No One is Alone/Children Will Listen” is one of the most gut-wrenching numbers of the entire musical, as the Baker, now left without his wife, must raise his son on his own.

Sondheim delivers a song for the ages that leaves anybody with a pulse thinking as the credits begin to roll in this film. It’s worth a watch – have a tissue box on hand.

Great, now I’m crying. I think I can still manage to say what I want to say. When the Baker’s Wife appears next to the struggling Baker and says “Sometimes people leave you, halfway through the wood,” I immediately break down. The sincerity and love in Emily Blunt’s eyes when she delivers that line is so genuine that you cannot help but think of someone you have lost in your life, or someone that you absolutely couldn’t bear losing.

“Sometimes people leave you, halfway through the wood”

No One is Alone

Once the Baker gains the courage to begin speaking to his child, the Witch’s voice begins in the background, emphasizing the importance of being cautious with what you say to children. It doesn’t matter as much what you say to adults – they are all selfish and caught up in years and years of their own beliefs. Children, however, are blank slates. They will trust. They will care. They will listen. Thus, talking to a child, and, in a greater sense, raising a child, is one of the greatest responsibilities a human being could have. As the Baker begins to get in a rhythm of talking to his little boy, Jack and Little Red enter too, as well as Cinderella, who seems she will fill in as the motherly figure in the absence of the Baker’s Wife. Even in the face of great tragedy, people find family, blood or otherwise, to hang onto.

This song is also a very personal one for Sondheim, who was very affected by the psychological abusivness of his own mother. The two had a horrible relationship, ending in a twenty year estrangement and Sondheim not attending her funeral. With this number, Sondheim issues his own warning, serving as an example of just how deeply a parents’ treatment of their child can affect them for the rest of their life. This is perhaps the most universal cultural message of the show – in the construction of one’s identity, the role models and parental figures in one’s life are absolutely essential.

If I ever want to get the water works to get going, I know where to go. Thanks, Sondheim.

Breifly on omissions

I’m sorry, I had to just take a few seconds of your time to say the following about the parts of this musical that didn’t make the cut from the stage to the screen. I don’t get some of these removals. Clearly, I’m a purist for this musical, but it goes further than that. How do you get rid of “Agony (Reprise)?” With that, the film totally dismissed the storyline of the princes not being satisfied with their wives, and having affairs with Sleeping Beauty and Snow White.

This is so critical to this class discussion we were having earlier, as the stage version of Into The Woods seems to support the thesis of “The more you have, the less satisfied you are.” It’s beautiful comedy. Here these princes are in Act I, yelling at the universe for not allowing them to have these women that they SIMPLY MUST have. The first “Agony” ends with the two entering a falsetto to sing, “I must have her, to wife.” In Act II, the princes rejoin to sing of the new maidens they have found, and conclude the song by this time singing, “Oh well, back to my wife.”

“I must have her, to wife”
“Oh well, back to my wife”

What a difference a day makes, right?

To leave out “No More” is equally as puzzling. I get it, Hollywood. Big lights, big money, not a lot of time. Blah, blah, blah. Gotcha. That doesn’t change the fact that this is one of the most important numbers of the show. Talk about displaying the cultural significance of the show as a whole and bridging the gaps between all audience members by discussing the themes of family! Come on! “No More” is a seminal moment in which the Baker and the Mysterious Man (the Baker’s father) explore their broken relationship and how one is supposed to move forward in this scary and dark world. Another upper, I know.

There was no more universal reception at my high school performance than the reaction to this song. How could you not be shaken by the all-too relatable ideas of love, loss, fear, and broken-ness.

Try these lyrics on for size from the Baker as he unloads his fears to his father:

Can't we just pursue our lives
With out children and our wives?
'Till that happy day arrives,
How do you ignore
All the witches,
All the curses,
All the wolves, all the lies,
The false hopes, the goodbyes,
The reverses,
All the wondering what even worse is
Still in store?

What is a father supposed to say that??? How do we get to that day when we are with the people we love, and don't have to worry about all the things in this world standing in the way of that? Will we ever get there? The movie should at least ask this question by not making this nonsensical cut.

the ultimate quest

Sondheim set out to make a quest musical. Sure, he succeeded in doing that. But Into The Woods leaves us with a lot more than the Baker’s journey to find the cow as white as milk, the cape as red as blood, the hair as yellow as corn, and the slipper as pure as gold. It leaves us with an urge to further our own quest in this world. It causes me to question my privilege. Are the problems I’m dealing with right now that bad? Or am I Chris Pine, throwing myself back on a rock over nothing while there is a James Corden right next to me in a much worse spot?

If you walk out of this movie thinking one thing, it has to be: “am I happy with my relationship with my family right now?” Into The Woods is a call to action for parents, children, husbands, and wives alike to right the wrongs in their relationship before it’s too late. The musical brings a sense of urgency to our time on this planet so acutely that I always feel a need to give my parents a call after watching this on the stage or on the screen.

With this musical, Sondheim so kindly says – “this time here is so precious, I would advise you to not mess it up.”

Baby It’s Cold in Allentown: A Lullaby into Acceptance of Misogyny and Objectification

Peggy (Clare Halse) is dipped by Billy (Philip Bertioli) in the 2018 revival of 42nd Street.

The Broadway musical 42nd Street (2018; streaming on Broadway HD) constantly places its female leads in positions of seeming autonomy but this only highlights the lack of power they possess in actuality. The show constantly reminds the audience that although Peggy Sawyer (Clare Halse) and Dorothy Brock (Bonnie Langford) end up ‘the stars’ of the show, their power is predicated on the decisions and money of powerful men – namely producer Julian Marsh and financial backer Abner Dillon. The song “Lullaby of Broadway” perhaps best underscores this concerning gender dynamic, when Julian (Tom Lister) attempts to coax a resistant Peggy into taking over the role which Dorothy can no longer play. This number takes place right after Peggy injures Dorothy onstage, leading to her dismissal and subsequent attempt to get on the next train to Allentown. At this point, Peggy just wants to return to her humble roots after being harmed by the showbiz industry. But after learning that Dorothy can no longer perform, Julian has other plans for Peggy, needing another leading lady to insure his own success. This is the audience’s first red flag about Julian’s character, and it extends to all the men with power in this show. 

Julian does not treat Peggy like a full human. She is simply a chess piece which he must move in order to keep his show alive and continue his own fame and fortune. With this in mind, everything Julian says as he opens his mouth to sing is utter rubbish. Julian knows he must simply say the things that Peggy wants to hear to keep her in the cast. He even throws out a pitifully ridiculous line about staying “for the kids.” Rest assured, Julian could care less about the juveniles in the cast, or really anyone for that matter.

Julian (Tom Lister) delivers his “Lullaby of Broadway”. Photo courtesy of IMDb.

Julian begins the number with an unsettling attempt to grab Peggy’s hand. Like many of Julian’s movements, this grab can be interpreted as simply part of his attempt to get Peggy back in the show, it comes off as oddly and uncomfortably sexual. As Julian, Lister leers and smirks at Halse uncomfortably, and the scene begins to read as harassment rather than a director simply trying to convince his star to perform. 

Julian then begins to sing, and immediately, problematic words escape his mouth. He describes the ‘essence’ of Broadway as: “The rumble of the subway train, the rattle of the taxis, the daffy-dills who entertain.” Apparently, to Julian, one of the core parts of Broadway and New York aren’t the strong actresses that make his show successful, but the delicate little ‘daffy-dills,’ who successfully entertain his audience. Julian’s character constantly oozes misogyny, but this seems extreme even for him. Julian shows the audience that he doesn’t view any women as talented individuals, rather he thinks of them as pretty little flowers at which his audiences can gawk. 

Julian’s misogynistic rant continues when he refers to Broadway actresses as babies, saying, “When a Broadway baby says “Good night,”/It’s early in the morning/Manhattan babies don’t sleep tight until the dawn.” Now, one might be fooled into believing that this “baby” reference is innocent, simply keeping in-line with the ‘lullaby’ theme. Don’t be fooled! He clearly uses the word ‘baby’ is clearly to refer to women in a patronizing, sexual way. This line reveals that this song as a lullaby for all industry women, sung by men to put their sense of autonomy ‘to sleep’. They will “hush” any women who want to make it as actresses and tell them to put any power they have to bed before they can truly succeed. Julian hasn’t come to the train station to show Peggy the beauty of Broadway – he’s come to convince her to ‘sleep’ on the injustices and misogyny of the industry and perform in his show! If there’s any doubt about this motivation, Lister constantly reinforces that this with his sly looks and sexual physicalization.

When Peggy tries to leave again, Julian puts his leg on her briefcase – another sexualized action that leaves the audience feeling horribly uncomfortable. At this point, the scene has taken a dive into full-on harassment, as there is no denying that Julian is sleazily holding Peggy against her will. It’s reminiscent of “I really can’t stay,” “baby it’s cold outside.” Although continually Julian uses his silver tongue to convince both the audience and Peggy that he is looking out for her best interests, the highly-sexualized leg raise and look he gives in this moment proves the opposite.

A version of “Baby It’s Cold Outside” from the film “Neptune’s Daughter” (1949).

When other characters, or as I like to call them, Julian’s reinforcements, enter to convince Peggy to take the role, they serve as the perfect representation of both perpetrators and victims of showbiz misogyny. Rather than an innocent display of happy, enthusiastic Broadway performers, it is actually something much darker. Reading the scene in the context of the repression and misogyny, the women represent those who have endured and accepted the injustices of Broadway while the men are the beneficiaries from this broken system. This seems especially true for Billy Lawlor, (Philip Bertioli) who obnoxiously sings “let’s call it day.” Billy is an acute display from 42nd Street that things aren’t getting any better in the industry, that younger generations are correcting the misogyny of older men. The musical introduces Billy to the audience in the context of him trying to ask Peggy on a date. At the end of the day, the only value Peggy, and the other women onstage, hold is their sexual appeal. Bertioli physicalizes Billy in a highly sexualized way, similar to Lister’s portrayal of Julian. The two actors absolutely nailed the sickening sense of entitlement and power that the ‘kings’ of Broadway felt for many years in the entertainment industry, and to some extent still feel.

The look on Clare Halse’s face as she is ‘serenaded’ by the company who try to convince her to join the show displays just how reluctant she is to enter an industry that does not respect her. It’s almost as if there are about ten devils on Peggy’s shoulder as she tries to make the right decision. It’s especially interesting to see the women of the cast trying to convince her to join. This is one of those moments where you may say, “See, this song isn’t about Peggy being subject to misogyny!” Careful. Just because the women of the cast try to convince Peggy to return does not mean they are happy in their own position. It reads as a desperate cry for another ally within the industry. It’s like they are saying, “Peggy, please face the horrors of this industry with us!” That they sing this plea with a smile on their face is symbolic. No matter how bad things are on Broadway, once the curtains rise, performed must appear one hundred percent in control.

Peggy has a moment where she almost gives in, then decides to flee, but then Julian grabs her and the group surrounds her. I found this the most disturbing moment of the number. It’s uncomfortable enough that everyone is surrounding a woman who clearly wants no part of being there, but even scarier when Peggy goes to turn and Julian grabs her. It’s important to note that he doesn’t just grab her to try to stop her, but seizes her only in a way that a person seizes a person when they want to lean in for a smooch. It’s amazing how this scene continues to find ways to become even more uncomfortable. While the sexual connotations of this scene may not be quite as overt as in “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” it’s still pretty clear that a woman gave a man an answer, and he simply won’t take it. It’s not easy to watch.

Of course, the group does not give up, eventually convincing Peggy to throw on a fake smile, and exclaim, “I’ll do it!” In the end, they force the woman to give in to the man’s wishes. Peggy has become just like the other women in the number, as now she smiles, and appears happy, as all performance have to on stage. But she has clearly given up. Re-joining the cast is not a triumph for Peggy; it is a concession. Julian has chased and grabbed her enough, she may as well just give in right? It’s a sickening ending to the scene, especially because it’s painted as a happy ending. Every time I watch this scene, it becomes a more pointed criticism of the power dynamics of Broadway and society in general.

If, for some possible reason, misgivings still exist about whether this scene is an example of Julian empowering or objectifying Peggy, one need not look further than the end of the show. Did Julian cast Peggy in the show and then simply allow her to shine? Of course not. He falls in love with her, rendering Peggy again more of an object than a star herself. There’s nothing more sickening than when Peggy is about to make her debut, perhaps the biggest moment of her life, and it sullied by Julian kissing her and saying, “You’re going out there a youngster, but you’ve got to come back a star!” Thanks, but no thanks, Julian. Neither Peggy nor the audience need to hear your empty, sly words anymore. Save your ‘lullaby’ to put yourself to bed.