Guardian critic Michael Billington reflects on the popular success of Les Miserables and tries to do what must be one of the hardest things for any critic: explain why so many people like something that you don’t.
The first-night reviews of Les Miz were famously dismissive. Although carefully avoiding quoting from his own, Mr. Billington digs up an example from The Sunday Telegraph’s Francis King which, he says, can explain the show’s success: “a lurid Victorian melodrama produced with Victorian lavishness”.
Now, as a first-night reaction, that’s fine. But, really, when you’ve had 25 years to think about it you should really be able to come up with a better explanation than Victorian melodrama. And why should that be such an obvious formula for a hit musical anyway? You can imagine the pitch: “OK, I’ve got a three and a half hour melodrama based on a 19th Century French novel. I know, I know – it’s too long, too old and the French don’t do musicals, right? But, hey, it’s all in the Victoriana, baby”.
As critical appraisal, this doesn’t rub. So what else?
“Victor Hugo's novel wrestles with all kinds of big themes: social injustice, redemption through love, the power of providence. On stage all this is boiled down to the triumph of a good man, Jean Valjean, over the cop who relentlessly pursues him.”
Obviously it’s going to be “boiled down”. That’s always the case from page (and, oh my, there are a lot of pages) to stage. The question is whether you think these “big themes” have been distilled to their essence or dumbed down to the point of cliche. That’s a matter of opinion. But you’ll still find the “big themes” presented in the musical. The power of providence? Valjean sings to God for the protection of a dying Marius (“God on high, Bring Him Home”). Redemption through love? The ghostly reappearance of Fantine at Valjean’s death (“To love another person is to see the face of God”). Social injustice? Er, that would the point of all those actors in raggedy costumes pretending to be cockney down-and-outs (“Look Down, Look Down, the beggars at your feet”).
As for good man vs. bad cop, once again, the writers’ intentions are more complicated. Les Miz has a clear moral compass but, at the same time, it’s not the simplistic morality of Victorian melodrama. It’s much more New Testament-y. The “hero” is a convicted criminal and the “villain” is the embodiment of legal authority. It’s not stock goodies versus baddies but a conflict between a spiritual ethic and a rigid legalistic one.
You may think that all this noble intention is traduced to banal sentimentality in the execution. That’s fine. But at least give the creators credit for their ambition. They didn’t ignore the “big themes” or the moral complexities. That, it could be argued, may even be one of the reasons for the show’s success. But such an argument would also require the critic to have a somewhat higher estimation of the audience:
“And any notion that the show provides a searching account of the social oppression that led to the 1832 uprisings was scotched by a poll taken during the Broadway run, when a majority of theatregoers said they thought it all took place during the French revolution.”I’d like to see a poll of an audience at Hamlet tell me which century that play’s set in. That doesn’t make the audience stupid. Generally an audience can accept a piece of theatre for what it is rather than what it ain’t and t’ain’t nobody mistaking Les Miz for a history lesson. If anything it’s closer to fairy tale.
So, any further insights?
“What I find intriguing is that we think we live in a very cool, smart, cynical age. Yet, when the chips are down, what we really crave is a contest of good and evil, and lashings of spectacle.”
Ah yes, “spectacle”. The last refuge of a musical theatre critic. Nothing to do with the minor things like book, music or lyrics. Nope, all you really need’s a strobe light and a big pretend barricade. That’ll do it. What’s glaringly missing from Mr. Billington’s piece is some kind of acknowledgement of the writers. Yes, Les Miz is sentimental, but it’s also very skillfully written.
Let me take one example. “Bring Him Home” is a great bit of songwriting. (Claude-Michel Shonberg wrote the music, but crediting the lyricist is a bit trickier. Alain Boubil wrote the original French lyrics, the poet James Fenton wrote the first, rejected draft. But it was Herbert Kretzmer who was brought in to rewrite the final draft and I suspect he was the biggest influence).
The tune begins with a big octave leap that takes the singer into a head voice. That’s important. Valjean is the hero. Up to this point he has demonstrated that he is strong, resourceful and brave. But then we get that octave leap and everything changes. The voice is thin, quiet and fragile. This is a hero reduced to helplessness. The tune tells us that with one musical interval.
Good news for the composer; nightmare for the lyricist. The A section has 4 lines. The first three are set to a series of 3-note phrases and so require short 3-syllable phrases. And those syllables are on long high notes so that means a lot of open vowel sounds. The last line gets six syllables. So that’s a total of four lines with 16 syllables to get your meaning across. Oh, and don’t forget the rhymes on the second and third lines. This is trickier than a Haiku the result is admirable:
“God on high
Hear my prayer
In my need
You have always been there"
It nothing on the page. It’s never going to win any poetry prizes (which is why I suspect it’s more Herbert Kretzmer’s than James Fenton’s). But, as musical theatre goes, this is very skillful writing. The music expresses the character; the lyric compliments and allows for that expression. The story goes that the first time “Bring Him Home” was heard during run-throughs, a hush went through the theatre as everyone turned to listen. That’s still happening today.
Now I don’t expect any West End critic to like any particular show. But I would expect them to look a little deeper when discussing what has been a West End fixture for quarter of a century. To dismiss Les Miz with snippy comments about Victorian melodrama, spectacle and dumb audience members is the critical equivalent of sticking two fingers in your ears and shouting “I can’t hear you!”. It’s most unbecoming.
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