At first I was ready to make this modern-AU, but then I was like “screw this, let’s go for canon-era”
I know it’s not realistic, but I totally want them to do actual musicals. In the 1830s. (”it’s. a. MUSICAL.”). People are like “so, it’s an Opera then?”, confused, when les amis distribute pamphlets about their play, some critics laugh at them, some scorn them, and when the play finally starts, the parisians (lower, middle, and even some high-class later) LOVE IT. They’re crazy about it. Les amis become “stars.”
This whole adventure begins because, as it turns out, Bahorel is an actor when he’s not in law school, that is to say, all the time. Their small little group, barely born, had already almost been caught by the police almost twice; Courfeyrac, who wasn’t that bad at giving lines either, said that night to Combeferre and Enjolras: “I think I have a very serious idea, my friends.”
Enjolras, as it turns out, is really good at writing subplots subtle enough to pass censure while conveying a lot of political and revolutionary messages. What he’s less good at is writing, you know, entertaining, funny songs, and lighter, more personal storylines for his characters. Bossuet, Joly, Feuilly and Courfeyrac work on that. Combeferre writes the music.
“We’ll need to hire actresses,” Bahorel says pensively, staring at their script. “What?” Enjolras asks, blinking. “Women,” Bahorel tell him, and when Enjolras frowns slightly, Combeferre says “Enjolras, we talked about this” and Bahorel laughs and says “don’t worry, chief, I know just the right women for our play.” (enters our favourite ladies)
There’s one person missing for a role; Enjolras regrets that Courfeyrac’s friend, Marius, has not come to a rehearsal since Combeferre rebutted him a bit harshly. “I’m here!” says Grantaire. “You?” Enjolras exclaims, skeptical. “Yes, me! I am not a complete sot; I am capable of reciting lines” (etc. etc. Enjolras says alright; Grantaire comes to preen in his pretty red costume) (he’s drunk and misses his cue when he has to play) (Enjolras, who usually stays backstage, fills up the role for him. He had already the costume on.)
The theater is tragically closed after the 7th of June 1832. It reopens almost a year later; it was bought by the Baron and the Baroness Pontmercy.
[Alexander Hamilton: Draft of the “Reynolds Pamphlet”] Some conversation ensued which made it quickly apparent that other than pecuniary consolation would not be unacceptable. It required a harder heart than mine to refuse it to a pretty woman Beauty in distress.
why is that last sentence not in the final version, hamilton. it would have been the absolute worst thing you ever published
As General David Cobb wrote General Henry Knox after he had read the Reynolds Pamphlet, “Hamilton is fallen for the present, but if he fornicates with every female in the cities of New York and Philadelphia he will rise again, for purity of character, after a period of political existence, is not necessary for public patronage.“
Jacob Katz Cogan: The Reynolds Affair and the Politics of Character (1996)
Just a few (hopefully brief) thoughts on Hamilton after having listened to it a few times through.
I love how they treat ambiguity, both moral and historical.
I like how they treated Alexander Hamilton’s infidelity, everything surrounding the Reynolds Pamphlet. I don’t feel that they excused what he did, or portrayed him as the victim. I also really like how they led into the Reynolds Pamphlet being published. It’s all consistent with the characterization, and fit into themes they’d been building on for the entire play.
I also like how they don’t shy away from the fact that we don’t know what happened in the room with Hamilton, Jefferson, and Madison. Not only don’t they shy away from it, they make it a theme and return to it. I love it.
I love how I at different point want to smack both Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr. I’m certainly not a Revolutionary era expert, so I don’t know if the character portrayals are accurate, but I adore how Lin-Manuel Miranda does not canonize Hamilton and demonize Burr. They’re each sometimes right and sometimes wrong. It may skew a little in Hamilton’s favor purely in terms of the two of them, but…it’s his play.
Every time I listen to this (I’m up to 4 or 5 times, I’m starting to lose track), the gunshots that punctuate a few key songs hurt a little more. Also every time anyone says that Hamilton does anything like he’s running out of time.
Every song by King George III cracks me the hell up.
But the cabinet meeting rap battles between Hamilton and Jefferson might be my favorite thing. So great.
When you have a chance, could I request a scenario where the group chances upon a music hall, and you end up singing for them (Pre-Z you sang professionally). Plenty of boyfriend 10k fluff please :3
IT’S FINALLY HERE, I HOPE I DID GOOD ON THE FLUFF IDK MAN BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!! (also i used outlaws by david lambert as the song, because one of you guys sent that along with a fic request and i loved it so if you were the anon who requested the ‘10k comforts reader in the time of loss’, you’re great!)
Word count: 960 words
“Can someone please tell me why we’re in a university again?” Murphy demands, his drawl becoming thicker in his boredom, as he dramatically sits in the lounge seats of the university’s main hall. Mack simply rolls his eyes and flips through abandoned pamphlets on the school’s hockey programs, you guessed he misses the normalcy of skating on the rink. There’s certainly no blaming him, you missed the drama plays at your acting studio as well, especially musical theatre. What you wouldn’t give to go back and attend another session of singing lessons you had used to dread with a passion.
Suddenly, a voice calls out your name from the other side of the room, barely concealed excitement and mischief hidden under the tone of his voice. In a flash, 10K was right behind you, pressing a lean body against your back and covering your eyes with gloved hands. The boy only chuckled at your distressed yell, tensing his arms as you attempt to bat them away but 10K quickly leans down to whisper, “Come with me, I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“Uh, your last surprise ended up in literal flames, 10K.”
“You said you wouldn’t bring that up anymore,” He huffs in exasperation, warm breaths breezing past my cheeks, “But this one is so much better than your previous surprise, no fires involved, I promise.”
You might as well humor him, you thought to yourself, dropping any resistance, “Alright then, lead the way, potato bomber.”
The only response you were graced with was another exasperated groan but you were just thankful that 10K was still a gentleman about leading a blinded you into wherever this surprise was and not purposefully misleading you into walls or furniture. Your head suddenly smacks into a high shelf and you grunt in pain, reaching your hand back to slap at 10K’s head. Laughing, he apologizes, “No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, don’t hit me. Wait, stop, we’re here now.”
Your stomach hits the floor in nervous anticipation, the smells of old varnished wood and moisture in the air fills your nose. Slowly, you grip 10K by his hands and remove them from your eyes, gasping at what you saw. It was a music hall, a small one at that, but it might as well have been similar to what you think people felt when they finally arrive in Mecca. Awe fills your chest and you turn to gape at a grinning 10K who offered a broken microphone to you, explaining, “I remember you told me once about how you took singing lessons and sang in professional musicals before the world went bad, and I was kind of hoping, if you don’t mind, if you could sing again? For me?”
The cautious hope that brimmed in his eyes melted you, as if your knees weren’t already jello under his attention. Eagerly, you nodded and took the mic from him as well as his hand, dragging him center stage and facing each other. You clear your throat nervously, but let the anxiety of performing again roll off of you as 10K smiles softly in ecouragement, hands still intertwined with yours.
Love, love, love is my crime
So baby come catch me and let’s do the time.
The small smile 10K wore on his face morphed into a full blown smile as you begin to sing the song, vocals warming up from years of disuse. Caught up in the moment, you step a little more forward to shorten the distance between the both of you and 10K meets you halfway, the goofy smile still lingering on his face as you transition into the chorus. Your voice bouncing around the walls of the music hall, and silently, you can’t help but admire the acoustics of the place.
I think we might be outlaws,
I think we might be in love
‘Cause I’m all out of reasons, like seasons
Winter, summer, fall.
Vaguely, you hear the double doors to the hall open and the sounds of the rest of the group trudging in but there wasn’t anything, not even a horde of Zs, could have taken away this moment from the both of you. Lean, calloused fingers found their way on your face, sweeping stray hairs from obscuring your eyes. 10K was no longer smiling, simply shifting an intense gaze between your eyes and hesitantly to your lips as you sing the last parts of the chorus. You weren’t afraid to say that you had rushed the end in anticipation.
They’re all washed up.
If you’re still way over there, maybe slide on in by my side,
‘Cause I’m just an outlaw, wanted if you want me.
I love you everyday and every night.
At this point, 10K and you were barely a few inches apart, breaths intermingling with each other. His breath hitches as you slowly lick your dry, chapped lips, and blood rushes to your face. Doc’s cheering voice floats through from the back of the hall, filling the spaces, “What are you waiting for, kid? Kiss the damn girl!”
10K’s head snaps towards the rest of the group, heat crawling up his neck and face, stepping away in slight embarrassment. Sighing, you roll your eyes, dropping the mic onto the floor carelessly and taking the initiative. On the toes of your feet, you rise and simply peck him on the cheeks, ignoring the disappointed groans from the group (mostly Doc). 10K shakes his head at you, still grinning, but drops down from the stage with a heavy thud. You sit on the edge of the stage, 10K holds his hands around your waist gently and helps you down, whispering when you wrap your arms around his shoulders for support, “I really hope you’ll sing for me more.”