Bounded Yet Infinite: What Groundhog Day: the Musical Means to Me
Ok, so am posting this here as well! I know that this blog contains a lot of me discussing how the show has mirrored and helped me alter my journey with depression, but I want to say right up front that Groundhog Day: The Musical is a creation of pure hope, fun, and joy.
The entire cast is unified in and clearly believes in the message and meaning of the show, and they all come together to create a slightly different, always marvelous Punxsutawney, PA every night. They are all stars, individually and in constellations. Andy Karl portrays Phil Connors' growth through so many stages of distance, engagement, disdain, despair, hope, and acceptance, all while pulling off a dizzying amount of physical stagecraft. This is a performance that must be seen to be believed. Of course I cry a lot at the show, but I also haven't laughed this hard at a show in years. You have four more chances to see it before it closes on Sunday, September 17th. GO!!
****
An origin
On September 16th, 2016, Jim and I were in London on one of our first real vacations in many years. We'd taken the trip for the express purpose of seeing Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, but I also noticed that we'd arrive just before the new Groundhog Day musical closed in London. As most people who know me can attest, Broadway and theater are a huge part of my life, so I'll always see new musicals, and I'd recently been so in love with Andy Karl's brilliant physical comedy in On the 20th Century. I almost didn't float it by Jim, as he's usually not much of a musicals fan, but he loves Tim Minchin's music and world views, and we both loved the movie, and he was totally up for trying it -- in the spirit of vacation spontaneity if nothing else.
Thank the universe for this night.
Slightly jetlagged still, I was mesmerized by what I saw at the Old Vic that night, and could barely take it all in. The show went by so quickly, and I was marveling at the stage magic and the brilliant mix of humor, of distance and empathy, and before I knew it we'd been through Phil Connors' journey, and I all wanted to do was see it again. I wish we could have seen it again in London!
A refrain
I was so happy it was coming to Broadway, and between September and when I saw it again in March, I often found myself singing what I could remember of the townspeople's refrain: tomorrow, there will be sun....and if not tomorrow, perhaps the day after.
It wasn't lost on me that this is similar to phrases I have told myself, have clung to, have written on scraps of paper and worn in lockets to keep myself going for one day more, for another, for another, even in the midst of the heaviest spells of my depression, those times when its gravity feels impossible to escape. You won't always feel this way.
So when I was able to see the show again, I thrilled to hear these words, and follow the story more closely, to see the parts of Phil's journey that had expanded or contracted, to see how the narrative and voices had shifted from London. I was in love. I was (and am) that annoying person in the first bloom of love who cannot shut up about their significant other -- talking about to everyone I knew, to people I didn't know, recommending the show to tourists, to strangers on message boards.
A realization
Although I often return to shows I like, Groundhog Day is that rare show I've seen into the double digits (and WELL into those double digits), and it was probably my 5th or 6th time seeing Groundhog Day: The Musical that I really began to break open in places I had fused myself shut, seams I had hastily patched back together in order to just get through my life, to do my work, to function. After a first and harrowing fall into clinical depression in my late teens, I've built ways of coping; I monitor and medicate the depression, but there are always those moments when it feels like you'll never feel good again.
After the whirl of confusion and hilarity that is Act 1, there is a moment in One Day, the Act 1 finale, where Phil just gives up and is swept up into his never ending day, and the brilliance of Andy Karl's physical acting here, the use of the turntables, the remarkable ensemble cast coming in with their message of the hope they still have....all clicked together for me as a representation of how easy it is to let yourself just get swept under by the pull of that tide, to go through the motions, to smile for the camera once again even as you're dying inside.
An allegory
Act 2 of Groundhog Day has become for me a full allegory of my journey through depression as an adult, my own secular Pilgrim's Progress. Phil, sitting on a bench on the cold & leaden & forever day, trying to explain to Rita what he is feeling, this sense that he will never feel any other way again...followed quickly by him telling her no one can help him...echoed so many conversations I've had in my life.
The absolute brilliance of the scene that follows, in "If I Had My Time Again," is watching how Phil agrees to go along with Rita even though he doesn't believe that she can help him. This is some brilliant physical acting yet again, with the amazing Barrett Doss' optimistic (but realistic) Rita putting down the clipboard she often carries like a shield against Phil and throwing herself into the spirit of the day, and Phil plodding along at first in her footsteps. When you don't believe you can feel better, it's hard just to take that first step. I love and identify so much with that experience where someone is telling you things to be happy about (Rita's explanations of how she could use her time again) versus what you're actually thinking in your head (Phil's explanations of his time, all of which I take as internal monologue.
In the slow motion moments, magically staged on a tilt a whirl, where we see him finally begin to really see what she is trying to express, there are no words at all, and no words are needed...which is also so powerful because it's a moment when Phil's own armor of clever words and set banter (he never seems too lost to remember to say thanks for watching) have fallen away.
A message
The final message that I carry with me, expressed in the finale of "Seeing You," is not that everything will be perfect, but that it's ok that everything is not. Maybe tomorrow there won't be sun, but perhaps there will be the day after. It's ok. Stop and look around you and see and love and try and experience. Phil's final weather broadcast, where he talks about all of our possibilities, boundless yet infinite, like a 12 hour clock, echoes that message. Life is going to go on, and you will go on, and you can try and explore, still, even as an adult ...and I think that message gets said far less frequently than it should. I've picked up more regular writing practice again as a result of this show, and I know so many others who have returned to or reinvigorated their artistic, professional, personal passions because of this show.
A final note (blast from the past)
One last observation I have to add is how much this show specifically addressed (for me) a very Gen X experience. A main note of our generation, for both good and bad, is sarcasm, is keeping an ironic distance, of never really showing full emotions. I remember that, as a teenager, one of the things that marked me as such a nerd was less what I liked and more how deeply I liked it. Phil begins the show with this barrier of sarcasm, a sardonic counterpoint to the residents of and visitors to Punx, PA, who are unashamed in their love of the town, of the day. Part of what Phil needed to learn, and that the show tells us, is that it is okay to love something with your whole heart, and to show it.
A thank you
So, to everyone involved in Groundhog Day: The Musical, let me say: I love you, with all my heart. And to my dear C.O., who made this journey even more special with her love&friendship.
Thank you for what you have given me.
The entire cast is unified in and clearly believes in the message and meaning of the show, and they all come together to create a slightly different, always marvelous Punxsutawney, PA every night. They are all stars, individually and in constellations. Andy Karl portrays Phil Connors' growth through so many stages of distance, engagement, disdain, despair, hope, and acceptance, all while pulling off a dizzying amount of physical stagecraft. This is a performance that must be seen to be believed. Of course I cry a lot at the show, but I also haven't laughed this hard at a show in years. You have four more chances to see it before it closes on Sunday, September 17th. GO!!
****
An origin
On September 16th, 2016, Jim and I were in London on one of our first real vacations in many years. We'd taken the trip for the express purpose of seeing Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, but I also noticed that we'd arrive just before the new Groundhog Day musical closed in London. As most people who know me can attest, Broadway and theater are a huge part of my life, so I'll always see new musicals, and I'd recently been so in love with Andy Karl's brilliant physical comedy in On the 20th Century. I almost didn't float it by Jim, as he's usually not much of a musicals fan, but he loves Tim Minchin's music and world views, and we both loved the movie, and he was totally up for trying it -- in the spirit of vacation spontaneity if nothing else.
Thank the universe for this night.
Slightly jetlagged still, I was mesmerized by what I saw at the Old Vic that night, and could barely take it all in. The show went by so quickly, and I was marveling at the stage magic and the brilliant mix of humor, of distance and empathy, and before I knew it we'd been through Phil Connors' journey, and I all wanted to do was see it again. I wish we could have seen it again in London!
A refrain
I was so happy it was coming to Broadway, and between September and when I saw it again in March, I often found myself singing what I could remember of the townspeople's refrain: tomorrow, there will be sun....and if not tomorrow, perhaps the day after.
It wasn't lost on me that this is similar to phrases I have told myself, have clung to, have written on scraps of paper and worn in lockets to keep myself going for one day more, for another, for another, even in the midst of the heaviest spells of my depression, those times when its gravity feels impossible to escape. You won't always feel this way.
So when I was able to see the show again, I thrilled to hear these words, and follow the story more closely, to see the parts of Phil's journey that had expanded or contracted, to see how the narrative and voices had shifted from London. I was in love. I was (and am) that annoying person in the first bloom of love who cannot shut up about their significant other -- talking about to everyone I knew, to people I didn't know, recommending the show to tourists, to strangers on message boards.
A realization
Although I often return to shows I like, Groundhog Day is that rare show I've seen into the double digits (and WELL into those double digits), and it was probably my 5th or 6th time seeing Groundhog Day: The Musical that I really began to break open in places I had fused myself shut, seams I had hastily patched back together in order to just get through my life, to do my work, to function. After a first and harrowing fall into clinical depression in my late teens, I've built ways of coping; I monitor and medicate the depression, but there are always those moments when it feels like you'll never feel good again.
After the whirl of confusion and hilarity that is Act 1, there is a moment in One Day, the Act 1 finale, where Phil just gives up and is swept up into his never ending day, and the brilliance of Andy Karl's physical acting here, the use of the turntables, the remarkable ensemble cast coming in with their message of the hope they still have....all clicked together for me as a representation of how easy it is to let yourself just get swept under by the pull of that tide, to go through the motions, to smile for the camera once again even as you're dying inside.
An allegory
Act 2 of Groundhog Day has become for me a full allegory of my journey through depression as an adult, my own secular Pilgrim's Progress. Phil, sitting on a bench on the cold & leaden & forever day, trying to explain to Rita what he is feeling, this sense that he will never feel any other way again...followed quickly by him telling her no one can help him...echoed so many conversations I've had in my life.
The absolute brilliance of the scene that follows, in "If I Had My Time Again," is watching how Phil agrees to go along with Rita even though he doesn't believe that she can help him. This is some brilliant physical acting yet again, with the amazing Barrett Doss' optimistic (but realistic) Rita putting down the clipboard she often carries like a shield against Phil and throwing herself into the spirit of the day, and Phil plodding along at first in her footsteps. When you don't believe you can feel better, it's hard just to take that first step. I love and identify so much with that experience where someone is telling you things to be happy about (Rita's explanations of how she could use her time again) versus what you're actually thinking in your head (Phil's explanations of his time, all of which I take as internal monologue.
In the slow motion moments, magically staged on a tilt a whirl, where we see him finally begin to really see what she is trying to express, there are no words at all, and no words are needed...which is also so powerful because it's a moment when Phil's own armor of clever words and set banter (he never seems too lost to remember to say thanks for watching) have fallen away.
A message
The final message that I carry with me, expressed in the finale of "Seeing You," is not that everything will be perfect, but that it's ok that everything is not. Maybe tomorrow there won't be sun, but perhaps there will be the day after. It's ok. Stop and look around you and see and love and try and experience. Phil's final weather broadcast, where he talks about all of our possibilities, boundless yet infinite, like a 12 hour clock, echoes that message. Life is going to go on, and you will go on, and you can try and explore, still, even as an adult ...and I think that message gets said far less frequently than it should. I've picked up more regular writing practice again as a result of this show, and I know so many others who have returned to or reinvigorated their artistic, professional, personal passions because of this show.
A final note (blast from the past)
One last observation I have to add is how much this show specifically addressed (for me) a very Gen X experience. A main note of our generation, for both good and bad, is sarcasm, is keeping an ironic distance, of never really showing full emotions. I remember that, as a teenager, one of the things that marked me as such a nerd was less what I liked and more how deeply I liked it. Phil begins the show with this barrier of sarcasm, a sardonic counterpoint to the residents of and visitors to Punx, PA, who are unashamed in their love of the town, of the day. Part of what Phil needed to learn, and that the show tells us, is that it is okay to love something with your whole heart, and to show it.
A thank you
So, to everyone involved in Groundhog Day: The Musical, let me say: I love you, with all my heart. And to my dear C.O., who made this journey even more special with her love&friendship.
Thank you for what you have given me.