The lights dim. A brilliant blue rose projects onto the scrim. The orchestra kicks up. That familiar slightly haunting music plays, underscoring a deep, rich-toned voiceover. And with that, the show begins.
We all know the setup: The unkind prince turns away a witch in disguise who transforms him into a Beast. Enchanted roses, fall in love, and so on. In this stage production, where one might expect the text of the Prologue to be acted out before us with some standard flashy movement and flourish, we get instead, a wave of dark fabrics, rippling and bubbling along with voiceover. They take great form--starting small, growing, and rising high towards the lighting grid. The magic of the castle (and this story) roars to life as if we’re gathered over the smoking embers of a fire. A captivating sight in and of itself, the minimally lit fabric spectacle feels intentionally spare, dampening our visual senses in favor of our auditory ones. It’s a wonderfully bold move that shatters our comfortable memories of what the show is, erases our expectations of what it should be, and asks us to redefine what it means to listen. For if we are to experience the show in a new way, we mustn't just watch the show, we must also listen deeply. The towering fabrics subside. And this is where we get our first departure from the beloved story that we’ve come to know so well. For as the Prologue concludes, we already know that we’re not in for the same old “tale as old as time.” Let’s be clear: There is much to be said about the production as a whole. Staging, lighting, sound mix, music direction, choreography, set, and costumes all get their moments to shine. But the true stroke of genius--and the focus of much of what’s to follow--is director Jay Woods’ casting of the show. In the theatre, good casting and intentional directorial choices can pull from the text “something there that wasn’t there before,” or perhaps, something that was always there, but has been overlooked. And with all the Black, brown, and non-white bodies that will fill the stage and take up space for the next two and half hours, 5th Ave’s production of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast manages to do just that. The Disney Broadway musical’s based on the classic animated film that’s based on the 1740 French fairytale (La Belle et la Bête, Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve). However, the casting of Belle and her father Maurice as Black people elevates the story, transforming the narrative into something that feels akin to a modern African-American folktale that imbues the story with just as much intention, depth, and meaning as it does entertainment. African-American folklore is a tradition that functions as an expression of group knowledge of culture, beliefs, and shared experience. It bonds the community, preserves history, teaches morality lessons, and offers ancestral wisdom about surviving in the United States. And with that in mind: As the villagers flood the stage to sing the opening number (“Belle”), they side-eye Belle, and passively talk about how odd she is. One can’t help but be pulled into a triggering memory of being one of the only--if not the only Black person in the room at a social or work event, or in the mini mart, or classroom, or sitting in a theatre watching a musical. The feeling of being “othered” and having people up in your business is a common experience for Black people in America, particularly in Seattle. Add to this that the intersections of race, gender, class, and sexuality within American society unfairly place a unique set of challenges onto Black women as a group. They are among the most educated groups in America, are the most imitated, the most leaned upon as saviors and supporters, while simultaneously being the most unprotected and disrespected group in our society--with some aspect of their identity being challenged and threatened in virtually every space they enter. In this context, “Belle” suddenly takes on more weight. Here’s a smart, driven Black woman saying, “I want more than what is here and offered to me,” and a town full of intersecting identities retorting, “We don’t like that. Stay in your lane,” attacking her intelligence, her ambition, and her audacity to dream, all the while secretly envying her. Later, when Belle (a powerhouse Porscha Shaw) confides in her father (a chaotic and endearing Reginald André Jackson) about her experiences in town, he comforts her with the sweet “No Matter What.” The song becomes a powerful affirmation of Black Excellence with lyrics like “it’s my intention, my invention shows the world out there one day just what we’ve got. No matter what.” Moreover, in the context of a Black father and daughter singing to uplift each other when they need it most, the song pulls double duty in driving home the power and importance of Black people being in community with each other. When Maurice sings, “No matter what the pain, we’ve come this far,” that comes from bonding over a culturally-shared lived experience: The insidious nature of racism in all its forms, the toll that injustice and continued loss of life at the hands of police violence takes on the soul. The “pain” that Maurice sings about is recognized immediately and felt deep in the bones. And when we consider that Black women are criticized and dehumanized on the daily for everything from their physical appearance to their mere existence, the following line, “I pray that you remain exactly as you are,” feels like a father giving his daughter strength to continue to stand tall and in her truth in the face of an unjust world. The sentiment is particularly poignant if you are a Black person who finds themselves constantly having to navigate predominantly white spaces. And in the end, the song calls hope, pride in ancestry, and communal connection into the space, perhaps channeling shades of Kendrick Lamar's “Alright.” Later in the second act, we see the evolution of the father/daughter dynamic in a great payoff when Porscha takes center stage to sing a ballad (“A Change in Me”) that moves one to tears as you watch Belle grow into herself right before our eyes. This song was added four years into the original Broadway run, when the show was courting singer Toni Braxton to play Belle. When Menken and Rice agreed to write her a new number, she signed on. The resulting song being what author Thomas S. Hischak characterizes as a “moving ballad,” saying of the lyrics, "[the song is] about being at peace with oneself and how it’s expected as you grow up.” Now let’s recap Belle’s journey: losing her home, her connection to her family, being imprisoned and learning to survive in a new environment, navigating a complicated relationship with her captor, everybody in that new environment depending on her to save them and make their lives better, getting her freedom and then trying to reconcile all of that and define a new life for herself. Yup, that sounds like the Black American experience to me. And given what we know about the song’s genesis, to then harken back to Hischak’s read, it’s no wonder that the ballad feels like a song about finding peace with oneself, it was actually written for a Black woman. Beyond the Belle and Maurice casting, this production works toward representation and emotional depth, and actively fights against stereotypes and tropes. You’ve heard of the Black Best Friend trope, right? In a story, there’s a white lead who gets plenty of character development, has obstacles, goes through changes, and gets a full story arc. And then there’s the Black friend or character with a minor role (let’s call it the “minor minority”) who gets little development, only shows up when the white lead needs support, guidance, or quick lesson about racism, and typically doesn’t have a real arc. In the entertainment industries, assumed whiteness is still the standard practice when it comes to casting. This frustrating practice often relegates BIPOC actors to sidekick and minor minority roles, and disqualifies us from consideration for lead roles in narratives that have non-specific requirements with regards to race and casting, while giving white actors those bigger, more highly coveted roles. Because of this there are three character pairings in Beauty and the Beast that could very easily end up looking like this: White Gaston, Black LeFou; White Lumière, Black Cogsworth; White Mrs. Potts, Black Madame de la Grande Bouche. Here, though, the production feels aware of the industry's casting pitfalls and instead, casts each of those pairings in reverse, not only avoiding, but actually subverting the Black Best Friend trope. Jaysen Wright’s Gaston is a treat to watch, and what a voice! John David Scott’s vaudevillian-esque LeFou is good for a whole evening of entertainment. “Be Our Guest” is a classic. Nicholas Japaul Bernard’s Lumière shines brighter than his own damn candelabra torches, and plays well off of Jason Weitkamp’s uptight and entertainingly nimble Cogsworth. Lisa Estridge’s Mrs. Potts will have you screaming with laughter in one moment and in tears the next, giving you all the feels with the title number, while Madame de la Grande Bouche is a fabulously luxurious cameo for beloved Seattle treasure, Anne Allgood. This kind of decentered approach to casting makes for equitable storytelling with BIPOC actors getting the more hefty roles, including lead protagonists, and white actors getting the less hefty roles that still allow them to strut their stuff, still get their flowers, and still get their bag without dominating the spaces and narratives. See: Martin Freeman as Everett K. Ross in Black Panther. Speaking of the castle’s knick-knacks and what-nots. Disney is a perpetrator of a growing Hollywood trend known as the transformation trope, where lead characters of color in animated films are transformed into non-humans or animals for a large portion of their screen time, effectively negating much of the representation value that the film might have offered. Well-intentioned or not, the creative decisions of these animation studios have real life impact. If you’re acutely aware of the trope, then at first glance, 5th Ave’s casting of Riley Brack and other several actors of color as the Beast and his castle objects, might appear to fall head first into the transformation trope. But trust and believe that when the whole castle is belting lyrics like “I can’t wait to be human again,” what might’ve felt like a trope lands like a protest statement. A call for the full breadth of our humanity to be seen, heard, and represented. Other details that really launched the production into the stratosphere: The music direction felt like there were efforts made to really empower actors of color to sing the score with their unique voice--how they might sing it in the family living room. In theatre training programs, there tends to be a focus on “neutralization” of the voice and body in an attempt to widen an actor’s range and marketability, which includes asking actors to literally change the way they speak and sing. This practice of demanding that students eradicate their uniqueness can cause harm and stunt growth and progress. It did my heart good to hear parts of the score of Beauty and the Beast sung with soulful texture, syncopation, and tone-slides. The costuming of the utensils and other castle things during the absolute showstopper that is “Be Our Guest” felt like the production was pushing to break free of gendered norms. Here, the hard lines for what “men's” and “women's” costumes should be felt disregarded and queered in such a wonderful way. More of this, please. Whether it’s pants, skirts--it doesn’t matter. If the actor is comfortable and they look and feel good, that’s all that matters--especially when we’re talking about anthropomorphized eating utensils. The choreography hits it big with an inspired step section (shout out Be Russell!), showcasing the talents and vibrancy of different cultural styles of movement and dance. Lastly, many of the actors of color in this cast have been grinding for years without the recognition they deserve. Those of us who have been watching them on smaller stages and in living-room workshops, we already knew, but it’s truly special to see these talented-ass artists and wonderful humans crush it in front of 30,000 people--a culmination of years of dedication, sacrifice, patience, trust, time, and effort paying off before our eyes. And one of the most rewarding experiences one can have is seeing those who deserve to shine, SHINE. 5th Avenue Theatre’s production of Beauty and the Beast is an act of defiance. It stands to show just what talented folks can do when they are given the opportunity, support, and space to create. It’s a statement for people of color living in a predominantly white metropolitan city. To see each other and be seen, build community, feel represented. It’s an important reminder to children that odd does not equal unworthy or bad, that they don’t have to be a size zero, that natural hair is amazing, and that they are worthy of being royalty. I write this piece in hopes that producers, theatres, theatre critics, and theatregoers see just how instrumental this kind of work is to reshaping the theatre industry and adding to the vibrancy of our city and its communities. My greatest hope is that we not only understand the value of this level of depth and intention of the work, but to then continue to produce it, and fund it, and write about it, and talk about it, and see it. I implore that we continue to do it better and better and better until we have forged the kind of equitable, diverse, and inclusive culture of the future.
1 Comment
Nat Whitten
2/20/2022 02:47:50 pm
250% This!
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AuthorI'm no different from anybody else--just a passionate person with opinions about the world. This is my platform to express them. Archives
May 2023
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