a year ago today, i saw hadestown on broadway for the first time. i didn’t know what to expect beyond what i vaguely remembered from high school latin about orpheus and eurydice. i just remember being so excited, more excited than i’d been for anything in a long time. i skipped a meeting to make sure i got to the theatre with enough time to really take everything in. before the show started, i was standing in the merch line and i got a text from the bentleys that their baby had been born that afternoon- her name was eloise. as i took my seat, i remember tearing up, thinking about how wonderful it was that there were still so many new, pure things coming into the world.
when the show started, i was immediately pulled in. i couldn’t even pick one thing to be blown away by- the set, the fates’ harmonies, amber gray, patrick page’s voice being deeper than i thought was humanly possible. i cried when the walls came apart in wait for me, and i didn’t even know why. it was just beautiful.
“why we build the wall” was when the audience shifted from being a room full of random theatre patrons to a community coming together to witness art. we had watched orpheus and eurydice fall in love as hades and persephone fell out of it, we’d seen her give up her life and orpheus risk everything to go find her. by intermission, i was so invested in the humanity of the story that it’s impossible not to feel the applause, laughter, and crying of everyone around you.
act two flew by (and in all the times i’ve seen it, i still think it goes unbelievably fast). i felt the whole theatre inhale when hades sings back the la la la la la la la in epic iii at that point, i felt so hopeful in what hermes had said at the top of the show- maybe it will turn out this time.
and of course, it did not. as much as i saw it coming, i was still utterly shocked. the exact moment eurydice turns is something i will never forget- the deep inhale from the audience and the next minute feeling like there is no air left in the room.
thankfully, the show doesn’t end there and leave everyone feeling hopeless. i was sitting on the edge of my seat with my hands clinging onto the armrests when i heard for the first time what has become my favorite of anaïs mitchell’s gorgeous lyrics: here’s the thing, to know how it ends and still begin to sing it again as if it might turn out this time. i think that could be the point of the whole thing. the odds are almost always stacked against it, but you have to try.
the last time i saw the show was in february. the solitary walk from the kerr to the 50thst. station as the words of “we raise our cups” still rang in my ears had become so familiar and comforting at that point. i remember thinking “how lucky am i to live in a world where i can just go see hadestown anytime i feel alone.” maybe this isn’t true right now, but i know it will be one day soon.
spring will come again.
