Wicked To The Fifth

I saw Wicked for the first time in New York City. Ten years ago this summer, a couple of friends and I took a road trip up north and made Broadway one of our stops. We sat in the balcony for the show. My two friends sat together a couple of rows in front of me, and I sat, stage center, beside a large, square pole. At first, I was a bit lonely beside the pole, but as the show progressed, I became glad for the privacy—because I wore my emotions on my sleeve—and my sleeve stayed wet from wiping away the tears that flowed as I watched.

After another friend had introduced me to Wicked the summer before, I’d made it my goal to see what was becoming one of the most popular shows on Broadway. I bought the soundtrack and did my best to piece together the story-line, but the soundtrack producers did a wonderful job leaving out key pieces of information that are crucial for fully understanding the story. Armed with a familiarity of the music and a deep curiosity about the plot-line, I greeted the show with an open-ignorance that can only be experienced once. With no preconceived notion as to how things “should be” or “should have been,” I watched in amazement as the lights, orchestra, voices, costumes, choreography, and visual effects melded together seamlessly in an extraordinarily powerful performance.

I suppose that seeing a show for the first time becomes the standard by which every other viewing is measured. If the first show was great, then all other shows will pale in comparison. If the first show was awful, then all other shows will be valued for their improvements. My first time seeing Wicked was great. I guess it’s no wonder, then, that I don’t remember much about the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th times that I saw the show—just who I was with (three friends; mom and sister; one friend), where we were (Greenville; Durham; Charlotte), and the circumstances surrounding our attending the show (a birthday; Mother’s Day; a needed break from the grief of care-giving).

Tuesday night’s performance was different. First of all, my seeing Wicked that night was a gift. B sacrificed her opportunity to see the show because she knew how much I’d enjoy it. Second of all, I was sitting on the 5th row! And when you sit on the fifth row, you can observe facial expressions and notice other details not seen further back. And third of all, the entire cast of the show was solid—especially the leads. No over-singing. No over-acting. And. The girl playing Elphaba is a friend of a friend—which I think is really cool.

So I’ll remember Tuesday night’s performance not only because of who I was with, where we were, and the circumstances surrounding the show, but also because of the show itself…which was excellent.

Just one thing, though—

Ten years ago, when I saw the show, Elphaba walked into a party only to be greeted by stares. Everyone stopped dancing and started snickering until Elphaba garnered enough courage and strength to dance her own dance in her own unique way. Eventually, the entire cast began dancing her dance with her. It was so beautiful.

Over the past decade, the scene has changed. Possibly through natural evolution or possibly from a director’s command, the scene has become somewhat more comical and more heavily focused on the interaction between Elphaba and Galinda…and…well…I just don’t think it as poignant as when Elphaba created her own world in a world that did not want her and danced anyway.

I want to have the courage to dance anyway—to be myself—to stand upright when I know the world is judgmentally staring.