I finally saw Hamilton at the Orpheum Theater in San Francisco last week.
How was it?
In a word. . .
Totally worthy of the instant and robust standing ovation it received.
The thing about Hamilton is that it is so perfect, so extraordinary, so amazing that it ALMOST SEEMS MAGICAL.
As in the inspiration for this musical to exist surely must’ve come from a higher power, so incredible it is.
I went with Barbara.
Barbara, who listened to the ENTIRE UNABRIDGED biography of Alexander Hamilton over the last three weeks BEFORE we went to see Hamilton.
Barbara, who listened to the Hamilton soundtrack so many times she memorized all the words.
Barbara, who brought a box of tissues to the musical because SHE KNEW SHE’D BE EMOTIONAL.
From the first note, I was captivated.
Sitting on the edge of my seat.
I loved it from start to finish.
And now, even I am singing the songs to myself as I go about my day.
“How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in the Caribbean by providence, impoverished, in squalor grow up to be a hero and a scholar?”
And as Barbara puts it, “worth selling a kidney to get the money to see it.”