#mimireviews

Saw part II on opening night so naturally had to go and see the stage show again.

Wicked forever prevails in excellence.

Beautiful, bold, inclusive, immersive, captivating, and endlessly political, it brings a new dimension of meaning to The Wizard of Oz’s storyline and characters.

I seem to have a pattern of favouring the non-canon backstory of the villain - preferring Maleficent significantly over everything about Sleeping Beauty, and coming away from watching Cruella in absolute awe - something 101 Dalmatians never managed to stir within me.*

The Wicked Witch of the West’s life is so much more interesting than a random unlucky girl’s mission to get back to rural Kansas. Her sense of loneliness, her social exile, her righteousness, her spirit, her grit - Elphaba is the definition of misunderstood (and better off for it).

Gaaaahhhhlinda on the other hand… hoo boy. My relationship with her is prickly - despite her faultless aesthetic, her humorous one liners and her flawless operatic numbers, she does not get much praise from me. When push comes to shove, ie - during the important parts of the story, she makes her true colours clear as crystal: she is 100% part of the problem, a cowardly fence-sitter who cannot truly take a stance against a fascist regime because she directly benefits from it.

In today’s word, she would undoubtedly be a Zionist, an “all lives matter” preacher and a “I know Trump can be a little problematic but he’s not allllll bad” Republican. Glinda defenders are just as performative and icky as her spiritually Israeli character.

Yet despite how problematic she is, I do believe she truly loved her friend and the core of their friendship was real. It just goes to show just how realistic and nuanced they all are.

The music has always had such a special place in my heart:

- “No One Mourns The Wicked” is one of the strongest and best opening numbers of a show in theatre history.

- “What Is This Feeling?” is the epitome of the beauty of musical theatre. It’s such a phenomenal piece - full of personality and opportunities to tweak and choreograph into one’s own performance.

- ^ Same with “Dancing Through Life” and “Popular”.

- “I’m Not That Girl” is forever a favourite.

- “As Long As Your Mine” is probably one of the most romantic show-tunes I can name.

- “Defying Gravity” and “For Good” will never fail to make me cry.

Cynthia and Ariana excelled in the movies - so did Jonathan, Jeff, Ethan and everyone else except Michelle.

A few things the movie did better than the show -

- Starkly drawing parallels of ICE and immigration so explicitly on the screen.

- The dance scene - turning a light-hearted, comedic scene into something so heartbreakingly vulnerable added such a strong layer of sentimental tenderness to the story.

- The door scene at the end - just magnificent. Finding out it was unscripted? Simply stellar.

Special thanks to Jon M. Chu for the last shot of the film. Recreating the playbill was genius and so staggeringly heartwarming.

The movie is terrific, the show is timeless and it has been such a pleasure watching people who ordinarily don’t care for MT being so enthralled by the franchise.

Always remember - theatre, music, ART… is always political.

Just make sure to support the right side 🧙💚

I don’t think I’ve ever publicly acknowledged my crippling Hamilton obsession, but after spontaneously booking tickets to see it for the 5th time tonight, take the following word vomit as a metaphorical gesture of me holding a boom-box in the rain outside of Lin Manuel Miranda’s brain’s balcony.

I must confess that I was massively late to the bandwagon. I distinctly remember when it first came to Broadway/West End and the buzz roused its genesis. Honestly speaking, it was the critical acclaim that steered me away from going to see it/taking the time to listen to the soundtrack.

In that specific period, I was too preoccupied with the doomed fates of Sansa and Arya Stark after they left Winterfell to invest in anything else.

It wasn’t until years later that I went to see Hamilton on stage in London - more to tick off the show in order to add to my credentials for the self-certified PhD I have in Theatre Attendance. I went into the show pretty much blind - only having vaguely known the first line of the opening song.

Much to my best friend’s irritation, I came out of the Victoria Palace Theatre absolutely incensed by the magnificent performance I had just been immersed in, repeatedly kicking myself for failing to have fuelled my soul sooner.

The writing is utterly otherworldly. The intricacies, the flows, the endless bars, the incredibly clever wordplay - it all makes my head spin in its excellence even today. I have spent many late nights fighting sleep and pouring obsessively over each detail of lyricism, and it still defeats me in its complexity as I’ve not yet managed to learn it all to performance standard.

I’ve watched pretty much all the interviews and promotions LMM has done for Hamilton and aside from his astounding intelligence and astute mind, what really stands out for me is his passion. The exuberance that captures him when he talks about his musical inspirations will always fill my heart. As a massive rap fan, I am always prepared to pay homage to the lyrical poets that inspire so many genres of music.

His little anecdotes of finding inspiration in the mundane is merely one reflection of his genius.

Eight years of writing to put together an evergreen masterpiece like Hamilton is something I’ll be singing praises of from beyond my grave.

I feel it absolutely paramount to credit just how feminist the musical is. Just from its name alone - titling it just “Hamilton” instead of “Alexander Hamilton” is very deliberate. It’s paying respect to a very simple but overlooked truth - we wouldn’t know about Alexander without Eliza and everything she did for his legacy after his death.

As much as it’s purposely left to interpretation, I will always vehemently argue that her final gasp at the end is undoubtedly Eliza breaking the fourth wall and seeing the crowd, learning that she did in fact “tell his story”.

Despite Alexander’s accolades, it truly is Eliza who is the star of the show.

“Behind every successful man is a woman.”

Or, to unveil all the smoke and mirrors:

“Behind every successful man is a woman, and behind her is his wife.”

Extremely unfortunate but sadly true.

Visiting the Richard Rodgers theatre last year in New York was one of the highlights of my trip, even though i didn’t get to see the show.

Affirmation: it will happen one day.

I adore Hamilton, I adore Lin Manuel Miranda, I cannot wait to see it again soon, and with that being said - I’m off to have a silent, dramatic, angsty solo montage to Satisfied on my commute home.

Mr Miranda, you are so incomprehensibly talented.

Please continue to “blow us all away”.

💛

talk about just how exceptional Manacled by @senlinyu is as a) a tributing farewell to its departure from AO3 and b) a highly anticipated welcome to the year it gets revised and published as its own novel.

Simply put, this is a work of art.

From its sociopolitical relevance to its intricate plot line, the depth of character exploration is outstanding.

Contextualising the plot in its timeframe of publish and acclaim creates a new level of relatable kinship born from trauma - I am of course referring to COVID. Hermione’s thankless sacrifices pay a dejecting homage to the healthcare industry and many a health worker whose endless hardships have been, are and will likely continue to be overlooked, undermined and even condemned. Manacled’s political relevance during the pandemic brings an element of profound injustice, leaving a lingering impression of emotional depletion amongst many readers.

This is not a novella - its length probably rousing one of the most universal initial reactions from most. This being said, all the unwanted “it’s too slow” canaries need their larynxes taken out permanently. The pace is perfect, the length is perfect. It takes a lot of time to establish loneliness, isolation and monotony - just some of the themes crucial to the story. Encouraging rushing Draco and Hermione’s transition from bitter ex-classmates to twin flames is asinine. THIS is how a slow burn is done - agonisingly, deliberately and intentionally.

Now, how much will your therapist invoice me if I bring up all of the heartbreak we are so desperately trying to recover from again? Everything that occurs in this story does so out of cuttingly bittersweet sentiment at best and psychosis-inducing devastation at worst. Hermione and Draco both suffer so overwhelmingly - both individually, together and because of one another.

Hermione’s isolation, her emotional distance to everyone else around her, the constant violation and degradation she faces, the physical harm and torture inflicted upon her, her demonisation, the disrespect she has no choice but to endure - it’s all so endlessly cruel. And then we have Draco - bully, Death Eater, General, High Reeve, serial killer, lost soul, grieving son, wounded child fated to never recover. Together, their trauma surpasses depths truly unimaginable.

Spectacular writing can be clearly identified when one is rendered incognisant of the reality around them when engrossed in a world and its characters… this is me unfailingly every time I read Manacled.

The idea to combine the plot of The Handmaid’s Tale within the world of Harry Potter, in a The Man in the High Castle-esque dystopian universe is just ingenious. Executing such mastery so phenomenally during baby nap time breaks is just extraordinary.

This is not a story for the faint hearted. This is not a story of sides. This isn’t even really a story of a happily ever after. Manacled isn’t to be read, mulled over mildly and then neatly tucked back into a shelf to never be revisited. It is to be poured over, obsessed with, bewitched by, explored endlessly, rediscovered, relentlessly analysed and forever thought about.

Whether you’re invested in this franchise or not, Manacled’s complexity, depth and duality is unequivocally sublime.

Hands capable of sadistic demolition are the same patiently nurturing. The unwavering spirit of heralding heroism leads a stubborn path to deathly desolation. Pure intentions of healing and care breed visceral endeavours to annihilate and decimate.

Everything we know to be understood needs to be rethought, reworked and reworded. War renders morals and ethics to dust, and yet, despite all, love - whatever that means, in whatever capacity - wins.

A colossal note of gratitude to @senlinyuwrites on blessing us with such a masterpiece, and congratulations again for Alchemised - as much as Healer Granger and High Reeve Draco are in my heart forever, I cannot wait to officially meet Helena and Kaine 🩶

The inspiration to write this review is a 4am breakdown right after a spontaneous one-sitting reread of this tragic treasure.

As someone who grew up swimming comfortably in the waters of queer storytelling, The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid had to originally stand at the back of a very long line, out of policy. Instead of waiting around, she scanned through the queue and proceeded to march confidently to the front - head held high - claiming her spot and stubbornly remaining unmovable since.

There is enough depth and exploration of themes in this book to put the Grand Canyon to shame.

Between identity, sexuality and carefully curated facades, it is immediately established that not is all as it seems with anything in this story. Hollywood is infamous for its smoke and mirrors but these elaborate archetypes are created long before the cameras start rolling. They begin in a dingy apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, New York City amidst poverty, grief and the gritty determination to escape the dooming inevitability of infinite abuse.

Evelyn’s self discovery, repression, disguising, acceptance and exploration of her own identity are not at all linear, rather tumultuous and disorderly. The sacrifice she makes in abandoning her Cuban heritage, and in turn her mother, is the same painful decision Rose makes in Titanic, to let go of Jack’s hands in order to alert the leaving boat. It is made purely on instinct to survive, no matter how difficult. Similarly, keeping Celia’s romantic significance quiet and marrying man after man to deceive the public is a decision made for fundamental benefit, despite the immanent suffering.

Celia and Evelyn are branded into my heart forever, all that they are - the good, the bad and the very ugly.

Such love blooming in an era of a world working tirelessly for their damnation could hardly conclude in a healthy dynamic. As a result, their toxicity was heart-wrenching to witness - Celia’s resentment of the space her lover’s bisexuality held for her self-declared inadequacy. Celia’s stark invalidation of Evelyn’s bisexuality, reducing her to the societal labels of objectification. In turn, Evelyn’s air of superiority around the fact that she could still be “normal enough to like men,” though harsh, a scalding truth. Celia’s intolerability of what Evelyn’s becoming of a mother meant by society’s standards. Celia’s misplaced sense of delusional self-righteousness that was firmly planted in fantasy and Evelyn’s bitter pessimism deep-rooted from the brutality of her childhood experiences. Both of their sense of pride, jealousy and ego cost them over a decade apart - time they couldn’t afford to lose.

The essence of so many of these characters thrive in the greyscale of their morality, which is my favourite aspect of this book.

Behind Evelyn’s bold stance of a manipulative, self-serving statuette peeps out a kind, self-aware girl seeking love, family and belonging. Celia’s good-girl-next-door exterior melts quickly under the flames of tribulation to reveal an insecure mess that can only find ease through directing vicious jabs at her nearest and dearest. James’s righteous family man image turns out to be hollow armour to protect his betrayal and the adulterous acts he commits in the name of love, self-expression and repressed identity. All of these actions, whilst unflattering, are deeply understandable and so very human.

The other notable relationship in this book is Evelyn and Harry’s bond. Unconditional friendship, loyalty and trust within the cinematic industry is about as plausible as polar bears in the rainforest. Their unequivocal support for one another, especially in the later years is quite remarkable. They stay each other’s constants through thick and thin, making him unquestionably the best of the husbands.

Despite the magnitude of loss and grief in this book, the small rays of light beam through in the form of closure - the fact that Evelyn Herrera lingered under the brass blonde bob all those years, patiently dormant, waiting to be acknowledged again. To be revived and cherished. Celia finally correcting herself on Evelyn’s bisexuality and the two of them spending Celia’s last few years together blissfully. Evelyn being able to say goodbye to Harry. Monique learning the truth about her father’s death and innocence.

Bittersweet? Unbearably so.

Closure, nonetheless? Absolutely.

Learning of Elizabeth Taylor’s scandalous tell-all at the end of her life being the muse of this book’s plot takes all of the characters in one hand, the story into the other and plunges them both into such an odd realm of intangible reality - probable enough, relatable enough.

Saying goodbye to these characters I grew to love so dearly was gutting. The thought of them all happily reunited now brings a sense of begrudging comfort.

As for me, my “devastating luxury of panic” consists of a lot of tears, watching various TikTok edits and consuming a plethora of fan art until I can conjure the mental strength to withstand another visit.

Here’s to an endless cycle of heartwarming heartbreak - may I never escape 💚🧡

fanart credit photo 1: @/tasia.m.s. on Instagram