Skip to main content

Jennifer Holliday: "Dreamgirls"

 Many are writing about Jennifer Holliday (Tony Awards, 2021). 


"She sounds great."

"That was a Judy Garland-level transaction between singer and audience."

"That was an actual performance, not just two celebrities looking happy to reunite and sing an abridged ditty from 2002...."

But what happens in Holliday's big song? The speaker learns that her dude is leaving her. Though there is ample evidence to the contrary, the speaker says, "You're the best man I've ever known!" She won't go. She appeals to history: "We're part of the same place....We both have the same blood, same mind...." The speaker puts her own weakness on the table: "I don't wanna be free."

Everything builds to a simple, direct, explosive bridge: "Tear down the mountains. Yell, scream, and shout. You can say what you want. I'm not walking out...."

In the actual Broadway production, Effie falls to her knees, and as she sobs, the remaining Dreamgirls appear in the background; they have re-packaged Effie's rant as a top-ten breezy bop. "Love, love me BABY! Love, love me DARLING!" And Act One ends.

So many people claim to want to see depictions of "strength" on stage, or in front of the camera--but Effie is a portrait of weakness (among other things). That's what makes her so exciting and so difficult to turn away from. The main thrust of her song is wrong. She *doesn't* make this guy love her. (But she does rebound, and she invents a new career in Act Two.)

It's always a pleasure to see personal change in a story. "Something has changed within me....Something is not the same...." "I have been changed for good."

"Dreamgirls" gives us one ugly, spellbinding, uncomfortable moment of change.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

  When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

 Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...