From Queer Cinema to Queer Theater: Some Like it Hot takes Broadway

A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of seeing Some Like it Hot on Broadway. Let me begin this review by getting the technicals out of the way. If you're the gambling sort, you're going to want to put your money right here for the Tonys. While still in previews, not a single cast member missed a beat, a note, or a step. It has been some time since I have seen such a seamless live production. Some Like it Hot didn't come to play, it came to win. With 42nd Street flare and a Kinky Boots sensibility, Some Like it Hot brings us right back to the joyous, glamorous excitement of the Golden Age of Musical Theatre with a thoroughly contemporary sense of presence. This musical is a love letter to the glitzy showstopper that does not feel dated. This is particularly noteworthy as the show emulates the comedic timing of its original 50s film counterpart in parts. To not feel dated with all of these particulars is a sign of skill on the part of the writers and director.

The sets? Gorgeous. The costumes? I want to wear all of them. The quality of the singing, dancing, acting? Top shelf. If the show has a weakness, it may be that the songs are not particularly memorable, but when you're in the moment, they're a wallop of good fun and high energy to keep the momentum going. This is a musical where the songs serve the story, not the reverse.

Now that we've gone through the technicals, let's talk about the real elephant in the room: the criticisms and concerns in adapting this particular movie in 2022.

I have seen many reviews so far (here's a link to one in particular) that are very concerned with clarifying for their readers that the musical is a fresh new take on a problematic classic, and that they are doing their own thing that is different (read: better). This comes on the heels of major anti-trans activity across the world, and with the genuine concerns about producing yet another man-in-a-dress comedy (Mrs. Doubtfire being the previous questionable choice) while the queer community is actively trying to combat this particular conservative scaremongering tactic. It is understandable to be concerned, but unwarranted in this case. To say that this new musical is doing something completely different and fresh with source material that should have been kept on the shelf is unfair assessment that both undersells the quality of this particular adaptation and completely misunderstands the original film–a film which was itself radically queer in 1959.

So let's actually talk about Some Like it Hot, the Billy Wilder film. Spoiler warning from this point forward, because we're going to get into it.

Some Like it Hot has often been credited as being the nail in the coffin for the Hayes Code, a set of deeply conservative industry guidelines in place from 1934 - 1968. The Code prevented films from portraying a wide variety of presumed illicit content, such as: drug use, swearing, interracial couples, "white slavery" (but notably not Black slavery), female sexuality and homosexual content. In 1952, the Supreme Court overruled the Hayes Code and removed its legal backing; but in 1959, Some Like it Hot became a box office hit without the Hayes Code seal of approval, and the Code breathed its last dying breath. 

So what makes Some Like it Hot so special? For one, Marilyn Monroe (along with the other girls in the band) are living showgirls who drink, smoke, show off some leg and have sexual appetites. More importantly for this conversation though, Some Like it Hot tangoes with homosexuality and gender diversity with such a thin veil of propriety that it may as well be a cut scene to a train going through a tunnel. I won't go into a full analysis of the queerness of this film here (watch this space for a future blog post that will do just that), but it is important to know that Some Like it Hot is an important work in the queer cinema canon, even though (as far as we know) everyone involved in the making was straight and cis. 

But why is this? Why is this film NOT actually a standard man-in-a-dress comedy, even though it is a major landmark in that particular genre? 

The big concern with man-in-a-dress comedies is that they are very often based on the premise that, in order to win the girl, these men need to deceive women by pretending to be a woman, thus gaining their trust through deceit. In the end, they always defrock and return to their masculine lives. This is the dangerous premise that fires up anti-trans scaremongering. Mrs. Doubtfire, while a classic film starring a beloved actor, is a prime example of this premise. You could also look to films like Silence of the Lambs or Psycho, in which the trope is then "man dresses as a woman for the purpose of doing harm or enacting a patriarchal victory." These are dangerous stories that do more harm than good in 2022. 

Neither of these are the premise of Some Like it Hot. 

Rather than being a "man dresses up as a woman to get the girl" story, Some Like it Hot is a situational comedy in which two men end up in unusual circumstances to save their own skins (dressing as women to escape the mob), and come out the other end as fundamentally different people. The man-in-a-dress aspect of this premise is a catalyst towards that change (not dissimilar to the premise of Kinky Boots), rather than a tool towards victory. In the case of Joe/Josephine (played by Tony Curtis in the film and by Christian Borle in the musical), the romance with Sugar (Marilyn Monroe/Adrianna Hicks) isn't fostered or encouraged by the lie of being Josephine but hindered by it, and most of his flirting is done in a secondary male disguise as Junior, the millionaire heir to Shell Oil. Josephine is not after Sugar, and Sugar isn't fooled into loving Josephine, but Junior. By the end of the story, Joe realizes that he's been a scoundrel, and thinks Sugar deserves better than him. 

I know what you're thinking. How is that substantially different? How does that make Some Like it Hot a queer film? The answer is...it doesn't. If Some Like it Hot were just about Joe then it would belong on the shelf with the rest, even if drag-aspect isn't in itself the manipulative act. Joe isn't the star of this film, and neither is Marilyn Monroe. The star of this film is Jack Lemmon as Jerry/Daphne (played by the magnificent J. Harrison Ghee in the musical). In the film, Jerry does actually start off as a presumed-straight man ogling and attempting to seduce the women with whom he suddenly has access (an element of the character that the musical wisely omits). It is midway through the film when all of this changes. When Jerry (dressed as Daphne) himself begins to catch the interest of another man, Jerry and Daphne begin to bleed together. Through a series of deeply queer encounters with Osgood, Jerry's previous bad behaviour becomes itself a farce through the actualization of Daphne. Jerry's sexuality and his gender identity are thrown into question. This Twelfth-Night-esque escapade of gender confusion and sexuality awareness is what makes Some Like it Hot a foundational queer film, and what threw the Hayes Code under the bus. It is Jerry/Daphne and Osgood who keep this film fresh and the subject relevant. Some Like it Hot is, at its core, a comedy about change and becoming a better version of yourself.

But you didn't come here for a history lesson about Some Like it Hot, you came here for a review of the new musical, so let's come back around to adaptation, and the brilliance of this one. 

Adaptation is a difficult business. When you make an adaptation, you at once need to both be referential to the original source material and make it uniquely yours. Adaptations that stray too far away from the original source material will attract the ire of fans and will very often (though not always) miss the elements that make the original great in the first place. Adaptations that stick too close to the original either suffer from not adjusting to their new medium (a film and a book do not tell stories in the same way) or fail to stand out as significant works of art in their own right. The reason I take issue with the critique that this new Some Like it Hot musical is a completely new take on a classic is because that statement is a disservice to the skill behind this adaptation. 

I was excited when I sat down in the theater, but also quite nervous. I love Some Like it Hot, and there is very little that I would change about it. I was worried that this musical wouldn't live up to its source material. My worries were unfounded, and I walked out of the theater grinning from ear to ear, buzzing to see it again. What makes this adaptation sing is that it has masterfully balanced being the same story, but making it unique and fresh for a 2022 audience. It is truly an update that gives the story more depth. One of the greatest sins of adaptation is, in my opinion, the red pen. It is infinitely tempting to correct, edit, and change the things you don't like about a story to make it fit your vision of how the story should be. While there were a few corrections (such as dropping Jerry's hound dog approach in the first half of the story), I don't believe that the creators of this musical took a red pen to the story. Rather, I would say that they took a "Yes, And" approach. Every change that was made to the story served to give the characters more depth rather than change the characters themselves. Yes, this is the character, And here's a little bit more to make them richer for it. 

Making Daphne/Jerry and Sugar Black instead of white added depth to their circumstances and was a logical refresh to add diversity to a story about jazz musicians. More depth was added to Sugar's story by giving her a Hollywood dream, which brought some justice to Marilyn Monroe's part in the role (Marilyn notably fought back against being just a dumb blonde as Sugar). Making Junior a scriptwriter instead of a random millionaire contributed to this narrative rather than being a somewhat random aside. Every change and addition streamlined the story for the stage and made each character more three-dimensional in the process. To both streamline and add padding is no easy feat, and should be applauded. 

In an interview, Christian Borle said their version of Some Like it Hot is still the same story, to which J. Harrison Ghee followed up that it was also uniquely their version of it. Both of these sentiments are true, and that is a difficult thing to achieve. The fact that this balance has been struck makes it a masterwork of adaptation.

Moreover, J. Harrison Ghee's performance is spectacular as Jerry/Daphne. The most substantial refresh to the story is to have this character unabashedly and clearly accept their gender fluidity with a showstopper song and a cheering ovation. When the New Yorker reviewed this show, they referred to this change as "splic[ing] old-school fun with contemporary gender politics". Aside from the somewhat patronizing and obviously click-baity nature of that description (which drew the expected ire from commenters on Twitter), it also is fundamentally untrue. There is nothing uniquely contemporary about Some Like it Hot's gender politics, because Daphne's queerness is intrinsic to the source material. It wasn't created for the musical. What is contemporary and fresh in this case is that we now have the language to express said gender politics with dignity and respect. What this new Some Like it Hot has done is take an already (some might say quietly) queer work that toyed with gender in 1959 and say the quiet part out loud. This is the finest example of a “Yes, And” approach that the musical has to offer. Yes, this is exactly who Jerry/Daphne always was, And now we're going to make that explicitly clear. 

This is the Jerry/Daphne that queer viewers of the original film have always loved, now brought to life. I cannot express how grateful I am for the fun and joy in J. Harrison Ghee’s performance. Ghee’s Daphne is genuine and real without losing a single beat of comedic timing. Daphne is the breath of fresh air that we need in this horrible year where we as trans people have been put under constant surveillance​​. Some Like it Hot allows us to have fun, and we so desperately need it. 

Billy Wilder said that 1959 wasn't ready for what happens after the ending, but 2022 is. In 1959, both Jack Lemmon and Joe E. Brown portrayed Daphne and Osgood’s relationship as something fundamentally positive, both playful and sexy. In 2022, we can take what we already had in 1959 to its logical conclusion, and finally allow Daphne that security she wanted so damn badly. 

I always think about this movie in terms of its ending. It has the perfect ending, no other movie can compare. Still, I always thought that in a modernization, the only thing to change is for Osgood, instead of delivering a punchline, to just say "you're perfect". The ending of this show is different, and it's not the exact same scene-by-scene play-by-play story, but it is perfect. You really are perfect.

We Will Be Consumed When Love Explodes! A Thank You to Lena Hall

 

Image courtesy of Theaterboys

Saturday night at the Belasco Theater, sometime around 11 PM, Lena Hall tugged the earpiece from her ear and let it hang discarded around her neck.  This minuscule moment, a pause before the next verse of her solo number The Long Grift, is burned into my memory.  Reflected on her face with her ear free of reverb was the fact that Lena Hall and Yitzhak were both all-in, with nothing left to hold back.  In a freeze frame of time, it embodied the performance in its entirety, from start to finish.  In that one distinct action, Lena Hall was raw and ready to release everything she had left inside of herself.  

Ms. Hall, who has been playing Yitzhak for the last year in Hedwig and the Angry Inch, is a force to be reckoned with.  The role of Yitzhak, the husband, back-up singer, and roadie for Genderqueer Punk Rock star Hedwig Robinson, is one with minimal dialogue, but the role carries a whopping half of the show's emotional weight.  It is a role that requires a dedication to physical labor and dramatic background acting as well as the vocal chops to hit the powerhouse notes of Whitney Houston while still maintaining the heavy gravel akin to the stylings of Tom Waits.  The show belongs to Hedwig, the title character, and to John Cameron Mitchell, the original Hedwig and current actor in the role.  Hedwig is the star, but for this one night the stage did not belong to Hedwig. The night belonged entirely to Yitzhak.

I can’t recall ever having been in a room more filled with love than that theater.  The seats and standing room were filled with people who wanted to wish Lena Hall the very best, to see her final performance and to be with her in this experience.  The show was more than just a show; it was a party in her name.  Love poured out from the audience with every standing ovation after standing ovation, character and fourth wall were broken on occasion and built right back up with love as adoration with the building blocks of improvisation.  The caustic relationship between Hedwig and Yitzhak, one built on a volatile combination of jealousy, love, and violent self-doubt soared above and beyond the usual (and always moving) battle between two bare and frustrated forces.  For all the love that the audience gave unto Lena Hall, John Cameron Mitchell and Hedwig multiplied it by thousands.  There was an intimacy to the performance, with the looks given to one another, to touches and lingering hands and softer than usual quips of tongue.  Watching as well as being in the theater surrounded by trembling fans was to be in Hedwig’s oven, with love reverberating around us like the sound of Lou Reed on American Forces Radio against the walls.  Watching Lena Hall’s face as she acted her way through, fighting off tears and tearing her throat out with powerful vocals was an experience in empathetic transcendence.  This was a show, above all, not just about watching the details but also about feeling them in our bones.  

Hedwig and the Angry Inch is an experience to be had more than once.  As of Lena Hall’s last show, I have seen the show three times.  That would be less than some, and more than others.   I wasn’t lucky enough to catch the train before John Cameron Mitchell put the wig back on his head, and I never saw how Lena played off of the other actors.  I came to this show fresh, wet behind the ears in relation to this particular piece of musical theater history and not knowing exactly what to expect, aside from what the general populace had told me.  The moment in time was, for me, one of personal upheaval, and I needed something to carry me through.  There had been too much death in my life recently, too much striving half-heartedly for out of focus goals.  I was tired, grasping at straws.  Most importantly I think, I needed a distraction.  John Cameron Mitchell as Hedwig is himself a transcendent, but there was something different about Yitzhak.  I was more than moved, I was shaken.  I recognized myself in Yitzhak, and I attribute that entirely to Lena Hall’s performance.  Lena Hall and Yitzhak helped me come to terms with my own gender fluidity in a way that I had not yet done before, through her mannerisms and her dedication to presenting both masculine and feminine elements of the character.  What’s more, I empathized deeply with Yitzhak’s plight of playing second fiddle, with the frustration and adoration both simultaneously exuded by Lena’s performance.  I understood Yitzhak’s loving anger and sadness intimately, with his desire to be loving at odds with his need for self-actualization.  Lena Hall’s performance as Yitzhak touched something inside of me and, most importantly, shook me awake.  I was inspired again, to write, to draw, to create, and to reflect on the creation of others.  Hedwig and the Angry Inch was what I needed in that moment, and Yitzhak stood firmly relatable like an island in a storm.  

For this wave of passion and inspiration, I want to thank Ms. Lena Hall for her art.  

I don’t believe any of this would have been possible without her sheer talent for embodying another human being.  So often in musical theater, an actor has to be chosen who is perhaps a better singer than an actor, or the reverse, for a more dramatic role.  Lena Hall was able to not only play the part, but to become it with a raw passion and untempered vocal fury.  Off stage and on; she engulfed herself in the role, playing the part as if she were wearing a second skin, even when she didn’t have to.  Her performance as Yitzhak read like an act of love in itself.  I spent hours watching YouTube videos and tracking her Yitzogram hashtag because I needed something with which to relate.  She tackled the role of Yitzhak, with its minimal dialogue and maximum emotional impact, with a dedication often reserved for Oscar contenders or singers destined to join the 27 club.  I cannot speak to having been moved by Hedwig and the Angry Inch at a young age like so many others, but I can speak to it now, in my adulthood, and to being moved by Lena Hall.  

Thank you, Lena Hall, for the inspiration, and for the unrelenting passion of your work.  Thank you for shining like the brightest star.  Your dedication to your craft and your winning personality have guaranteed another long-term fan.  Thank you, for everything.

And all the strange rock and rollers

You know you're doing all right

So hold on to each other

You gotta hold on tonight

And you're shining

Like the brightest stars

A transmission

              On the midnight radio