Idina Menzel has been capturing sapphic attention on Broadway for decades. As bisexual performance artist Maureen in Rent she exasperated girlfriend Joanne and became a root for a generation of queer theatre kids. And as the original Elphaba in Wicked she gave Galinda the Good gay panic and inspired outsiders to defy gravity. It’s only fitting then that Redwood, her return to Broadway after more than a decade, would cast her as a dyke. But is the show itself worthy of Menzel’s lesbian legacy?
Conceived by Menzel, along with writer/director Tina Landau, Redwood is about a woman named Jesse (Menzel) who leaves behind her wife (De’Adre Aziza) and art gallery in NYC to drive across the country and be with the redwood trees. There she meets two scientists, the open-hearted hippie Finn (Michael Park) and the serious-minded Becca (Khaila Wilcoxon). Jesse arrives in northern California mere weeks before the one year anniversary of the death of her son (Zachary Noah Piser) and she processes her grief through her newfound connection to the trees.
The appeal of this material is understandable for Menzel who is given the opportunity to show big emotions and sing a plethora of big songs. It’s also understandable for Landau who leans into the stagecraft of a giant redwood at center stage and a series of illusion-creating screens that add to its magnificence. But the dramatic potential of a woman in a tree is limited and rather than leaning into this challenge by committing to the musical’s unconventional nature, Landau’s script pads the show with haphazard flashbacks, subplots, and equal parts baffling and boring dramatic turns.
The third time Jesse wants to impose on Becca and Finn’s work, Becca says she feels like she’s trapped in her own personal Groundhog Day. Jesse wants to do something, Finn says yes, Becca says no, they argue, and eventually Finn and Jesse get their way. Commenting on this pattern doesn’t make it any less tedious for Becca nor for the audience. The only dramatic questions of the show are whether Jesse will return to her wife and whether Finn and Becca will continue humoring Jesse’s tree-climbing pursuits. There is no development of these questions throughout the show — at least until the end — but rather the same conversations happening again and again.
The first time Jesse asks to climb, she suggests she could work for Finn and Becca. This would stretch the bounds of believability but not as much as what they eventually allow this woman, not attached to their work, to do on their watch. I wonder why Landau didn’t allow them to say yes and stretch the timeline so the work could evolve and last a summer. For me, it’s less about making the narrative more believable, but rather grounding the characters and choosing internal conflict over poorly done external conflict.
Similar problems arise in the show’s flashbacks. While De’Adre Aziza as Jesse’s wife Mel is one of the show’s standout performers, the brief flashback of the two meeting and a more extended flashback of one of Jesse’s birthdays do more telling than showing when it comes to Jesse’s relationship with her wife and son. The birthday flashback is especially grating with a rap from the son teaching us nothing about who he was or anything about the family dynamic. The rap is so embarrassing that it calls into question how old he’s supposed to be in this moment. (10? It’s cute. 18? It’s mortifying.) The show would have been better served by letting him remain a vague ghost if they weren’t going to give him a personality other than bad at rapping.
Telling instead of showing is how the entire play operates. For example, Becca very randomly gives a speech about how safety helmets aren’t made for Black hair as a way of addressing racism in the worlds of science and the outdoors. I’d be more interested in the show addressing its own biases in reducing this Black character into a foil for its white lead’s spiritual journey. Becca’s reservations about Jesse are very justified and yet somehow her character arc is learning that she’s not right all the time? We’re supposed to question why this Black scientist won’t coddle and befriend a white woman who is hanging around when she’s just trying to do her job. This ends up being a perfect microcosm of the ways so much liberal art has failed in recent years in its attempts at inclusivity. Explicit lines or speeches about oppression are included, but the characters with the most marginalized identities still aren’t allowed to be fully developed, real people.
There have been a lot of great musicals over the years with middling books. And with this vocal talent, one might wonder if the failures of the script are secondary to the power of the music. Unfortunately, the music by Kate Diaz, with lyrics by Diaz and Landau, is as inconsistent as the show itself. Some of the numbers are wonderful, allowing the full-scope of Menzel’s talent to be on display, as well as providing noteworthy moments for the excellent supporting cast. It’s neither the catchiest nor most complex musical theatre around, but it suits the performers and the theatricality of the set. And yet certain numbers fall short even of this. Considering the show was created for Menzel, I don’t understand how several of the songs seem to be working against her. It doesn’t help that one of the worst offenders is the show’s opener.
It’s been over a decade since Fun Home and I’d love nothing more than for Broadway to receive its next great original lesbian musical. Alas, Redwood is a missed opportunity to tell a meaningful story about grief, about nature preservation, and about a lesbian relationship. All it has is its stagecraft, its cast, and the relief of a runtime under two hours.
Redwood is now playing on Broadway.
There is no development of these questions throughout the show — at least until the end — but rather the same conversations happening again and again.
Ow–
Good description.
This is how a lot of content by not so good female authors feels.