Jane Eyre Act 1 (part 2), or "oh misogyny, there you are”

It’s been a rough couple of months. Between Christmas, New Years, and the inauguration of a tyrant, but I’m back. There might be more immediate things to talk about than feminist critiques of art, but art still matters.

Now more than ever.

Quick recap: Jane Eyre, our eponymous heroine, survived an abusive childhood at the hands of her aunt and the boarding school to which she was sent, to rise triumphant like the mythical phoenix into the exalted role of school teacher. Eschewing the endless day to day drudgery of being a school mistress, Jane took leave of her position and took flight to the adventures of being a governess in some distant rural hideaway on the moors.

At least it’s a different set of walls.

Oh hey, last time I forgot to mention that Forgiveness technically meets the Bechdal-Wallace test. Probably because it was only a technicality. Seriously, the musical has twice as many speaking female characters as it does speaking male characters and it still only passes the Bechdal Wallace test on a technicality.

Side Eye Count: 3 (and that’s before we even get back to the musical itself)

Highlights:

Sirens: I really shouldn’t like this son, but I do. I have a really deep and problematic attachment to love songs, and star crossed love songs in particular. Not only that, but this song resonates with the toxic tropes of the misanthropic hero who just needs the love of the right woman to save him (not as much as Secret Soul but I’ll get into that one later). As problematic faves go, this is right up there near the top. I still love it though. Probably because my personal association with the song is entirely outside the context of the musical, but that’s not really an excuse.

Plot Specifics: Jane travels by carriage to Thornfield Hall and we get the haunting Secrets of the House, hinting at dark deeds and mysterious ghostly doings. All the hallmarks of a gothic romance, if you like that sort of thing. I do (obviously), but honestly, it just wasn’t as good as House Upon the Hill (from The Secret Garden, in case you missed that recap). It was a functional introduction, but it just didn’t make my heart sing.

At Thornfield, Jane is greeted by the Housekeeper, Mrs. Fairfax. Her character song, Perfectly Nice, also serves as exposition to give the audience some cultural context and foreshadowing (because it’s a gothic romance, that’s just part of the genre). So, if you’ve watched Upstairs, Downstairs or the more recent Downton Abbey, you already know that, among the servant class, housekeepers, butlers, and governesses were often isolated. They couldn’t mix with the upper crust, but they weren’t really at the same level as the other servants--having the power to promote or fire them at their discretion. And unlike Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Fairfax has no counterpart. Jane’s arrival, gives her the first person in a very long time who is something like an equal, with whom she can have casual conversations--though the age difference makes it more of an Aunt/Niece relationship than one of equals. In the course of this introduction, Mrs. Fairfax sings the praises of Mr. Rochester (who we still have yet to meet) and gives the public version of Adele’s story. Notably, it is Mrs. Fairfax who makes a point that it is unthinkable to have a relationship with Mr. Rochester, as it would be “unfitting one’s class,” both establishing the social norms of the time and foreshadowing Jane’s romantic interest. To be fair, Jane Eyre is the novel that popularized the governess/master romance, so it’s not really all that surprising. Do I need to mention that the whole story about poor orphaned Adele being accepted as Mr. Rochester’s ward simply out the goodness of his heart while on one of his frequent trips out of the country is really obviously fictional? It’s all a lie.

So Jane remains at Thornfield for a time, settling into a routine. In the novel she goes out to post a letter and surprises a rider on the road, who is then thrown from his horse. The rider, misanthropic middle aged man, refuses, then is forced to accept, Jane’s assistance. Naturally, of course, the mysterious stranger is, in fact, Mr. Edward Rochester, her employer. He interviews her properly and were are given the song As Good As You.

I have a lot of feelings about this song, but they’re mostly anger, rage, and eyerolls. Rochester tells Jane the true story of Adele’s origins, and it’s supposed to be an honest but fundamentally sympathetic account to explain his general misanthropy and give an inkling into his supposed heart of gold, but it’s really just an exercise in rampant misogyny.

Here are the facts: during his travels Rochester fell in love with an opera dancer. They became lovers. She got tired of him and left. Later he found her in dire straights with Adele in tow. She tells him that Adele is his and she doesn’t want her, but to tell her that her mother is dead.

That right there is the entire reason he describes women as, “inhuman, worthless / Hard and savage / On the average / Never to be trusted / Completely maladjusted...” Which is really just so much misogynistic bullshit.

Side Eye Count: 4 (already, and we’re only a few lines into the song)

So let’s start with his relationship with the opera dancer. No matter how he tries to spin it as being blinded by love, it was most definitely not a relationship of equals. A nobleman with a significant income with an opera dancer, whose only asset is her sexual attractiveness (this is the 18th century, performance artists were considered to be only barely more respectable than sex workers). Such a relationship was always going to be transactional. By any objective measure (wealth, social status, future prospects) all the power in their relationship was his. How long until he tired of her (and based on his own description of his behavior in the novel, he would have)?

Side Eye Count: 5 (I regret that I have only one side eye to give)

Then there’s his depiction of her “abandonment” of Adele, ugh! Of course, a child would have made it less likely for her to acquire patrons, but given that she lacked other options, what other choice did she have? And leaving her with a wealthy man who would have the resources to care for her? Instead of the penniless existence she was already living? Obviously, that was the only reasonable choice for the child. Of course, Rochester takes it as another sign of the vileness of women, but his privilege (along pretty much any axis you care to name: wealth, social status, sex) blinds him to their perspective.

Side Eye Count: 6 (seriously, Rochester, stop. My eyes are starting to hurt)

Shortly afterwards, there is a fire. In Rochester’s bedroom. His bed curtains are set on fire. No, that’s not an erotic euphemism (though I really wish it was). Jane arrives in time to put them out with a bucket of water (no really, this whole scene would have been so much less problematic if the fire was a sexual metaphor).

This event brings to light to obvious attraction between Rochester and Jane. Naturally, Rochester attempts to dissuade Jane from further pursuit while appearing unable to release her hand. This naturally only serves to fan the flame of Jane’s interest--what is this, a guidebook for grooming behavior for sexual predators? Maybe I’m being too harsh here, but Rochester really is the spiritual ancestor of this rash of novels about billionaire men who emotionally and sexually abuse their subordinates (see Fifty Shades of Grey). On the surface, Rochester falls in the same category of rich misanthropes as Mr. Darcy (and those, I have fewer issues with). But Darcy learns how to be a better, more empathetic human being, and doesn’t win Elizabeth’s affection until he proves it. Rochester is just terrible for most of the rest of the musical.

Jane eventually escapes to the safety of her room--but she cannot escape the dangerous leanings of her heart! (sorry, I just couldn’t resist) And this is where we get Secret Soul. Typically, I’m all about star crossed love songs (see Sirens in highlights) but I have very negative feelings about this song. Certainly Jane is her own person and knows her own mind, but we’re also talking about a very experienced man and a very sheltered younger woman. And then there’s the “Don’t Stand So Close to Me”/”Young Girl (get out of my mind)” creepster set up. In any modern day relationship the power differential (age/inexperience, employer/employee, high social status/low social status, take your pick, they’re all problematic) would make this whole thing icky. On the other hand, the age difference was standard for the time period (modern ethical anachronisms and all that) and the mixed social status/employer/employee relationship is the thing cliches are made of. I might even be convinced to give those elements a pass (I certainly did for the novel and numerous film adaptations) but just as troublesome is the underlying gender essentialism in the lyrics. As the woman, it’s Jane’s job to weather his anger and do the emotional labor to draw him out of whatever dark emotional place he’s found himself. This is seriously no healthy. “He’s not really angry, he’s just covering up his emotions, he’s really a nice guy…” It’s like the script for every abusive relationship ever. The fact that Rochester comes in towards the end to express himself and reaffirm his decision not to pursue the relationship with Jane that he wants makes it a little better, but still deeply problematic.

Side Eye Count: 7 (Rochester, stop being a creepster)

In the wake of this near romantic encounter (spurred on by some late night arson, let’s not forget, since it’s a plot point that will become relevant later) Rochester invites some people of his own social status over. Including the beautiful and notably single Blanche Ingram. I want to devote some deeper analysis to Blanche later, but for now what you need to know is that she’s selfish and mostly interested in Rochester for his money. Yes, that’s awfully superficial and neither the novel or the musical is particularly kind to Blanche. Her character song, Finer Things, is pretty much a celebration of wealth and shallow classism--though, to be fair, those would be the things people of her social class would be judged by in that era, so Blanche would simply have been a produce of her time.

In the novel, Rochester invites Jane along for reasons unknown. I can’t decide whether it’s an attempt to make her seem unappealing to him in comparison to Blanche or simply emotional abuse. Given his later behavior, I’m leaning towards the latter, but that could just be me being uncharitable.

Rochester also has a visitor by the name of Mr. Mason, a nervous sort of man with seeming no connection with the rest of his guests. Sometime after everyone is abed, Jane discovers Rochester giving medical attention to a bleeding Mr. Mason. There are tantalizing references to a “her” and then Rochester and Jane are alone together again. Here we get The Pledge where Rochester references some great sin in his past and Jane, continuing to do all of the emotional labor in this relationship, comforts him. I’m not saying Rochester doesn’t have some damn good reasons to feel despair and want to leave his life behind him (if you’ve read the book you know what I’m talking about). But encouraging the interest of a young, inexperienced woman who doesn’t know the whole story is a really poor substitute for counseling.

Side Eye Count: 8 (my eyes!)

This leads directly into the Act I climax song, Sirens, which I still love despite being deeply problematic--for pretty much the same reasons that Secret Soul was problematic, so I recognize my hypocrisy here. At least Sirens is a duet with equal time given to both players in this relationship (as opposed to Secret Soul, which was almost entirely Jane angsting over her attraction). We also get another tantalizing glimpse of the mysterious figure who set the fire and injured Mr. Mason.

If you’ve read the book, you already know that this is Bertha. Rochester’s wife.

Dun dun dun.

Next up: Jane Eyre Act II or Jane, you can do better than either of them

Jane Eyre, Act 1 (part 1), or my fave is problematic

I have a lot of...mixed feelings about this musical. On one hand, Jane Eyre is one of my favorite novels ever. It is the standard against which I judge all other gothic romance. I own two different print versions, the graphic novelization, and at least three different TV and film adaptations (for the record, my favorite was the 2006 TV mini-series). And I have a lot of love for the musical itself, which got me interested in musicals as an art form (rather than just common pieces of popular culture--like Phantom or Le Miz or Rent--which I was expected to be aware of). Plus, it has a number of songs on my “never going to NOT listen to and sing along with” playlist. On the other hand, while Jane Eyre might have been progressive for its time, it’s time was two centuries ago. It has serious issues with regards to benevolent sexism, gender essentialism, classism, ableism (particularly with regards to mental illness), and cultural supremacy. And, unlike other musical adaptations (props to the Secret Garden!), this musical doesn’t really do much to address or ameliorate those issues.

So while I do love Jane Eyre, I still spend about half of the musical giving it the side eye.

Overview: Jane Eyre is sort of the prototypical gothic romance. A worthy but mistreated orphan who grows up to inherit a great fortune, a house haunted by madness and memories, the forbidden love between a governess and the master of the house, Jane Eyre has it all.

As with the Secret Garden, Jane Eyre is based on a novel, and I’ll be making notes of significant changes as we go, rather than waiting for the adaptation corner. I’ll also be splitting this up a little more than usual. The musical tried to cram most of the novel into two acts, and Jane Eyre is more of a three act book--Jane’s childhood, her time at Thornfield, and the conclusion. So I’ll be splitting this one up in much the same way.

Besides, there’s a lot to unpack in the first few songs.

Highlights:

The Graveyard/Sweet Liberty: The musical does a lot of paired songs that transition directly into each other, and this is my favorite. The first half (the Graveyard) is the transition from Young Jane to adult Jane and I love how smoothly they worked in the transition between actresses midsong. I also like how Jane basically tells life to do its worst as a challenge as it moves directly into Sweet Liberty, which is everything I could want from a feminist theme song (if only the rest of the musical lived up to its potential, but that’s a later argument). It takes the gender essentialist tropes of the 19th century and tells them to go to hell. It points out that women have the same interests, desires, and capacity as men while declaringthat Jane will reach out to claim all life has to offer for herself.

I’m never going to not sing this one in my car (which is probably why it’s better that I don’t carpool).

Plot Specifics: The musical opens with a third person retrospective sung by Jane (the Orphan), the eponymous heroine. She is an orphan in the care of her aunt, Mrs. Reed--who is herself a widow with three children (the musical reduces this number to one). The Orphan makes Jane out to be a passive recipient of abuse, with only a doll for friendship. In the book, however, Jane is pert and feisty. Though faced with abuse and cruelty, she rebels instead of passively wishing for freedom. This is the first of many side eyes I am giving the musical. Mrs. Reed, who considers Jane’s demands for justice to be evidence of lying, sends her to a boarding school: Lowood School, run by Mr. Brocklehurst. It’s not clear from the musical what precipitates this change, but it could simply be cruelty (Mrs. Reed is that sort of person).

Side Eye Count: 1

In Children of God, we learn that Mr. Brocklehurst is the worst sort of religious authoritarian, blaming children for their own circumstances. The sort of person who says, “God wouldn’t have made you orphans if you didn’t deserve it” and uses social stigma to punish perceived infractions. Lowood itself is no model of education. The children are threatened with corporal punishment for audible breathing and given food that, not only is undesirable, but not actually identifiable as food. The book itself goes into more detail about the abuses at Lowood, as Jane is both stigmatized by the staff for being a liar (according to Mrs. Reed, which is sufficient evidence for Mr. Brocklehurst) and targeted by the other students (who find it convenient to blame her for their infractions knowing that she will not be believed, having been labeled a liar).

In this swamp of abuse and despair, Jane finds a friend, Helen Burns. Helen is older, sickly, and more philosophical about her fate. An example of the “too good for this world” trope, Helen sings about how revenge is useless and there’s no point in fighting against oppression (Forgiveness). In fact, she suggests that doing so is actively harmful.

Naturally, Helen dies of consumption, but the subsequent investigation into her death prompts significant reforms of Lowood.

I always (always) give the musical a side-eye when Forgiveness comes up. First off, can we talk about how the “too good for this world” trope is almost universally applied to women? Remember Meg from Little Women? Helen Burns falls into the same category. Yeah. Way to reinforce unrealistic gender roles on women and girls. Certainly there’s the argument that Charlotte Bronte wrote Helen as a tribute to her sister who died of consumption. And there’s no argument that consumption (now better known as TB) was a serious problem for that time period. But there’s no reason for that trope to persist in fiction today. We’ll talk about gender essentialism and that madonna/whore binary later, now I want to talk about fridging. The fridging trope is when a character (almost always female) dies for the express purpose of movingthe main character’s (almost always male) story forward without agency or regard to their own story. Helen is fridged to bring Jane to a religious epiphany (certainly Jane never once questions her faith after the Graveyard), which, I would argue, is largely due to Helen’s influence. At least that is how it is presented in the book and the musical doesn’t really make any case for Jane’s strong faith (which will definitely come up again).

Side Eye Count: 2

Time passes and the reforms at Lowood are sufficient that Jane agrees to become a teacher there--not that she really has anywhere else to go (the Graveyard). As much as I love this song, it doesn’t actually contribute much to the plot, serving mostly as a transition from child Jane to adult Jane. Well, this is really the only song where Jane questions her faith and why her deity has punctuated his judgement with sorrow (in the form of Helen’s death) rather than mercy. But it’s brief, and it leads directly to Sweet Liberty.

So teaching at Lowood is insufficiently interesting to keep Jane’s interest, so she applies to become a governess elsewhere. I wrote about why I like Sweet Liberty in the highlights, but it bears elaboration and contextualizing. Up until this point, Jane has been constrained by her family and her school--and not always to her liking. This is really the first time she chooses her fate for herself, breaking custom and convention to take her life in a different direction than the one expected of her. Jane has a point that women are not nearly as free as men to choose their own fates. They were restricted by the social structures of the time to be teachers, nurses, housekeepers, or wives--and poverty limited those choices even further. Even today, women have fewer options than men (though more than i Jane’s time) and are constrained by social expectation rather than allowing their interests or talents to define their roles.

Practically, Jane does not expect to simply change careers or be welcomed into society with open arms. Instead she plays to her strengths and applies to become a governess. Her application is accepted by a Mrs. Fairfax at Thornfield Hall, which begins the plot proper. And that’s where we’ll leave off.

Next Up: Jane Eyre Act 1 (part 2), or “oh misogyny, there you are”

If/Then (Act II) or that...was not what I was expecting

So quick recap: If/Then is the story of Elizabeth as she navigates through the trials and tribulations of life and relationships. It follows a split timeline format, separating the two into the “Liz” timeline and the “Beth” timeline, establishing a contrast by setting up the situations in parallel.

The booklet indicates a different song order for a live performance than appears on the soundtrack (which led to some confusion when I listened in the car). For the purposes of plot clarity, I’ll be going by the book indicated order, but know that the soundtrack has a different song order (which may cause some confusion).

Highlights:

The Moment Explodes - confession time, this is the first Act II song that I really attached to--enough that I always listen to it when it comes up and I always sing along to it. Which, I’ve got to say, is a little awkward while I’m driving in heavy rain--not the best song for that. It’s powerful in a rising sense of anticipation and dread, without ever letting that climax come to fruition. Maybe I’m just more of an epic drama sort of person?

Love While You Can - I have...complicated feelings about this song. On one hand, I live it! It’s singable (well, as long as you aren’t actually expecting me to hit any notes--I’d like to blame my driving, but really I can’t sing) and I love the sentiment. On the other hand, it’s contextually problematic in ways that I’ll address later. Yeah, it’s complicated.

Always Starting Over - This is another song that I always listen to (I told you Act II had more singable songs). I love the message that we can move forward and that nothing is set in stone until after it’s done.

Plot Specifics: When we last saw Liz and Beth, they’d already become very different people. Certainly, some of their circumstances were similar on a surface level, but any cursory examination of context dispels that notion right quick. So Liz is in a committed relationship with Josh, a military surgeon she met in Central Park and decided to go on a blind date with in Act I. Beth is in a codependent romantic relationship with her friend Lucas. Both Liz and Beth found themselves unexpectedly pregnant and had been proposed to by Josh and Lucas respectively. Notably, Liz informed Josh about her pregnancy, whereas Beth did not tell Lucas. I talked about these two relationships at length in Act I review, but sufficed to say that Liz is in a much healthier place than Beth.

So let’s just dive in. Act II opens with This Day/Walking By A Wedding which is really the same song but with wildly different circumstances for Beth and Liz. This is the first crossover song where their lives are wildly different, and it shows.

Beth starts the song with the wistful, melancholy Walking By A Wedding, describing the circumstances of a park wedding from the outside. Circumstances that, of course, she is familiar with, having been married once before. Also notable is that she’s singing (and presumably walking) alone. Oh, and according to the booklet, she is noticeably no longer pregnant. Quick switch to This Day which is a happy, fun ensemble song. A pregnant Liz is getting married to Josh. We have a brief aside to Kate and Anne, who are happily planning their own wedding, and then back to Beth. Beth is still wistful about not being in a situation where a wedding was possible (or even advisable), but I don’t feel that it reaches the point of regret. Wherever she is emotionally, Beth doesn’t want to take back any of her decisions, she just seems to wish the outcome could be different. And back to Liz who is reveling in wedded bliss. The song makes clear that she hasn’t forgotten the difficult events that brought her here, but also that she thinks they were worth it.

Josh gets the next song with Hey Kid and if there’s any more honest song about impending fatherhood, I haven’t heard it. From the length of the labor to the tiny screaming human to the blended cocktail of love and fear and joy and hope and terror, that was pretty much my experience of new fatherhood. I was a hot mess. Other fathers might have a different experience, but Hey Kid brought all those memories back up to the surface.

The soundtrack places Some Other Me here, but narratively, next we get Lucas and David in a light hearted romance song with Best Worst Mistake. You’ll remember (or maybe you won’t, since this is ridiculously late) that Liz timeline Lucas moved in with his romantic partner David back in Surprise.

(Kudos to the writers for giving Bisexual Lucas two different and equally valid relationships with two different genders.)

Lucas and David are doing childcare for Liz and Josh--the booklet implies that this is not a regular thing, so it might be more along the lines of babysitting, but I’m not sure--and they start discussing their relationship. Lucas, continuing the trend we saw in Surprise, is reluctant to say the L-word to describe their relationship (a definite difference from Beth timeline Lucas who rushed into it right from the get go). David gently calls him out on it. Or not so gently, really, but given that they’ve been in a committed relationship for more than a year, David’s pointed commentary isn’t all that misplaced. Bonus though for the romantic love song being with a same-sex couple and double bonus for the focus of their song being on their actual relationship rather than the fact that they’re GSD.

Comparison Corner: Lucas is a study in relationship extremes. Beth timeline Lucas is a needy, clingy, codependent sort of partner and Liz timeline Lucas is commitment adverse. Remember back in Act I where I said Lucas avoided the harmful bisexual tropes? Yeah. But they also managed to hit the prevalent male relationship tropes along the way. Beth timeline Lucas is the guy who thinks, “if I just love her enough, she’ll love me back.” A trope consistently reinforced by our media, but relationships don’t actually work that way and kudos to the writers for pointing that out. Liz timeline Lucas, on the other hand, is the stereotypical commitmentphobic male which is both more and less problematic. More, because it should be okay for a person to commit to their partner to whatever degree they feel comfortable and not be pressured into a more intense relationship than they feel ready for. Less, because Lucas and David actually talk through their relationship issues which is a relative rarity in fiction--though an absolutely necessary part of real relationships. Obviously, I like Liz timeline Lucas better, but I do appreciate the nuanced approach the writers gave to Beth timeline Lucas.

Musicals (and other works of fiction) tend to follow certain narrative arcs. Broadly, lives either get better by overcoming a series of progressively more difficult challenges or they get worse as life takes its toll. If/Then Act II is no exception, despite having two separate narrative threads to weave. Beth hit her low point in Walking by a Wedding, but This Day was a major high point for Liz, which means that she’s due for misfortune. I’m telling you this because I Hate You is not a positive song and you deserve some warning.

So back to Liz and Josh. Some time has passed since Hey Kid and they now have two children. Their lives are relatively stable when Josh gets recalled to active duty (he was an army surgeon, if you recall). Liz doesn’t want him to go and I Hate You is a raw and honest look at her emotions. Some people are cut out to be army spouses, people who can stay home and be supportive while their spouse walks into a war zone. That’s...not Liz. She’s angry and hurt and terrified. She doesn’t want him to go, despite his assurances, because she’s scared. But she also has an image of herself as independent and self-sufficient and she just wants him to go so she can hurt without anyone seeing and get over it--like ripping off a band aid. If this were a traditional story this would lead to an epiphany where Liz realizes that she does love him, just in time for him to come home and be met with open arms. This, however, is If/Then, a story that at least attempts to show how life really goes. Of course, Liz gets her epiphany. She realizes that she both loves and needs Josh, just in time to get The Letter. The one every military spouse dreads. The one that says that their spouse has been killed in action. Liz, needless to say, does not take it well. She definitely has some complex emotions, grief, yes, but also anger andguilt. Eventually there is a sort of acceptance, but no real healing.

And on that note, we go back to Beth.

Well, actually we go to a crossover song (You Learn to Live Without), but we have to go over what happened with Beth first. So sometime between Act I and Act II Beth had an abortion without telling Lucas. Did everyone get that Needless to say, they are no longer an item. And I have mixed feelings about the whole thing. Did I think their relationship was deeply unhealthy? Yes. And did I think Beth timeline Lucas was a big part of that? Yes. And do I think Beth had every right to get an abortion when she didn’t want a child? Yes. But (and here’s the sticky wicket) I ALSO think she should have told Lucas. Not given him a chance or let him talk her out of it. Nope. Beth is an adult and knows her own mind. The decision, beginning and end, was hers to make. That being said, when you’re in a relationship, you have a duty to inform your partner about big, life altering decisions. You don’t have to give them a say in those decisions if you don’t want to, but you should at least tell them.

Okay, so back to the plot. A lot happened, apparently, in dialogue that isn’t present on the CD. So somewhere between Act I and Act II, Beth’s assistant, Elena (she had a few lines in the ensemble songs and played her part in Surprise convincing Beth to choose her own happiness, but no songs to herself) decided to put her career on the back burner and have children. A decision which Beth feels leaves her in the lurch. So, You Learn to Live Without is both a crossover song and a time lapse montage song for Liz and Beth. Liz, of course, is learning to live without Josh and raise their two sons alone. She’s still struggling with her grief as she watches them grow older and lets Josh’s last few physical items go. Beth, on the flipside, is also struggling to live without a partner (both professionally and romantically) and, while some of those are bridges she burned herself, that doesn’t make her any less lonely. In either case, both  are unhappy--for wildly different reasons, but still unhappy.

Comparison Corner: On one hand, this plays into the “Doomed by Fate” trope so common in split timeline stories (though that could be more of an outgrowth of the science fiction/fantasy genre where it mostly appears). On the other, that seems disrespectful to Beth and Liz’s real pain. People, even successful people, are lonely and their success is often of little comfort during the wee, small hours. And people who have lost partners still struggle on, their grief is equally real. There is no hierarchy of pain--though some might argue differently--both lonliness and grief are valid and real and painful.

Then Beth goes on a business trip where the plane goes down (The Moment Explodes). She comes out of it alright, but the near death experience has brought her a fresh perspective on life and she decides to call Lucas, giving us Some Other Me (for some reason the soundtrack places Some Other Me immediately after Hey Kid, which was really confusing until I read the booklet). So this is Beth and Lucas’s (sort of) reconciliation song. They aren’t getting back together (which is fine with me, because their romantic relationship was deeply unhealthy), but at least they’re talking again (see I told you I liked Liz timeline Lucas better). The song itself plays on the whole premise of the musical, exploring various, exponentially different ways their lives could have gone. But in the end, each life is complete and separate (like Beth and Liz) and everyone has to live their own life. It’s sad and wistful, but communication is the beginning of healing. Maybe Beth and Lucas aren’t a couple any longer, but perhaps they can salvage their friendship. And that’s no small thing.

So, brief plot interlude...in the blog not the musical. If you were watching this on stage, you’d probably know this already, but the musical takes place over years and in that time relationships change and evolve. Some people split up and some people find other partners. The point being, none of these changes are wrong if you have open, honest, mutual communication with your partner(s) and everyone’s needs are being met.

That’s...not the case with Kate and Anne. Anne has an affair and Kate--who is all about cosmic signs and destiny and fate--decides on divorce. Here, Beth, still fresh from her epiphany in The Moment Explodes, comes in with Love While You Can. As I mentioned before, I have very mixed feelings about this song! On one hand I love the message and the song itself. This is another one that I always listen to and sing along with. On the other hand…”Straight Savior Girl Saves Lesbian Relationship with well timed advice” is a tough pill to swallow. Especially since Liz timeline Kate and Anne do split up. It’s like their relationship can’t survive without Beth to put things in perspective. What I’m trying to say is that, while I think the song is great in isolation, it’s contextually problematic. Oh, but hey, it does pass the Bechdel-Wallace test. At least two named female characters talking about something other than a man. So net win? Seriously, my fave is problematic.

So this is where Steven--you know “the one who got away” in Act I--shows back up. He’s divorced now, and wants to pick things up where he and Beth left off--both professionally and romantically. He even tosses in a nice reprise of Map of New York where he demonstrates how well he knows Beth by pointing out her faults and...ugh. Just ugh. Maybe I’m missing some critical context by not hearing the speaking parts of the musical, I don’t know, but Steven is the worst. I mean Josh and Lucas aren’t perfect, but Lucas comes across as an entitled opportunist. I mean, where has this guy been in the years since he decided he couldn’t cheat on his wife? And now, years later, he thinks he can just pick things up where he left off? Beth isn’t the same person now as she was then--years and some difficult life experiences will do that--and she turns him down on both counts. As I type this, I realize that I’m not really being fair to Stephen. After all the reason I’m sympathetic to Beth is that I’ve listened to her struggles. It’s possible that Seven has had his own invisible struggles to deal with that I’m not recognizing.

And back to Liz, who we left off in...not a great place. Certainly, she was learning to cope without Josh, and she was beginning to manage her grief, but the healing was most definitely in the early stages. In comes David (Liz timeline Lucas’s husband) with What Would You Do? Like Some Other Me this is a fourth wall breaking song that looks at how our choices might be different if we knew how they would turn out. And it’s a tough question: do you give up on years of joy when you know for certain that they will end in tears? Not just the possibility--that’s always present--but the certianty that tragedy will come. It’s a difficult question, but Liz answers it with Always Starting Over. This one starts off by picking up the melody from I Hate You and the complicated grief/anger/depression emotional cocktail Liz is still feeling. But she’s made great strides since then in processing her grief. While she’s not “over it” (whatever that means), she’s ready to move forward and go on to the next thing.

And so, naturally we close with a reprise of What If? With Liz accepting a job from Stephen and Beth going off to meet Lucas and Kate, and running into an Army doctor named Josh…

Comparison Corner: Can we talk about that ending? I mean, okay, I et what they were going for, coming full circle and al that but really?! The whole musical was about how little choices can make big, unexpected changes and throughout Beth and Liz were different people--even when the songs were the same, they were in wildly different contexts and circumstances. And choices mattered because fate was what each of us made of it. So the writers decided to undercut that entire message by putting Beth on Liz’s path and vice versa? Oh, certainly, they’re different people now and bound to make different choices, but still. It’s been weeks and I’m still not sure what to make of that ending.

Final Score: C+ (fun, but not awe inspiring)

Next Up: Jane Eyre Act I or My Fave is Problematic