You want to get ahead?
Fools who run their mouths off wind up dead
Aaron Burr, Sir lyrics by Lin-Manuel Miranda

“I’m king of the world.”
Years ago someone (and I wish I could remember who) said America is the kind of place where people cheer you as you enter the triumphant gates, and then throw rocks at you when you pass through to the other side. In a click bait generation, that kind of behavior is amplified.
That is as a sweeping generalization we love to see the musician, athlete, actor, politician, whatever rise up from obscurity and make a name for themselves for some super accomplishment. Then once they’ve received enough adoration, it’s like some evil emperor hits a button to sink the ship.
When I started this blog in January of 2008, Diablo Cody was the darling of the media as people ate up the story of a Midwestern screenwriter who wrote the indie hit Juno. But right around the time she collected her Oscar she crossed through to the other side of the triumphant gates and there was a huge backlash against her. And that rise and fall happened in less than 12 months.
I’ve seen it over and over again in my lifetime. In college, I remember talking to a friend about a favorite indie band of hers and she said, “Oh, I don’t like them anymore.” I asked what changed her mind and she said, “They got too popular.” Lesson learned.
Some superstars crash and burn on their own, but others we just get tired of. I think the recent backlash of Hamilton creator Lin-Manuel Miranda is yet another layer of scorn in the age of social media. If you read the three day old Rolling Stone article by E.J. Dickson ”Why Generation Z Turned on Lin-Manual Miranda” you can get caught up on backlash Miranda is experiencing. (Maybe he can call Diablo Cody for advice.)
This is a screenwriting blog so I’m looking at Hamilton from a creative perspective, rather than looking for places to stab it. But I will say to those critiquing Miranda’s choices something I learned long ago from a professor:
“You can’t say everything all the time, or you end up saying nothing.”
—Richard Pratt
Every dramatic writer taking on writing about a historical character has to make choices on what to leave in and what to leave out. To boil the life of any noteworthy person into a two or three hour play or movie is mighty task. Not to mention one that will be engaging enough for producers and studios to develop and fund and that audiences will want to support and be entertained by.
When Aaron Sorkin was asked about creative choices he made in writing The Social Network and Steve Jobs, Sorkin pointed out that he was making a painting, not a photograph. For the sake of time, composite characters were created, timelines shifted around, and liberties taken with dialogue (because, to quote Hamilton, the writer wasn’t “in the room where it happened.”)
Sorkin condensed Steve Jobs’ 56 years on this earth into just three days. He didn’t even touch on Jobs’ involvement in Pixar which could probably be its own 10 part limited series on Netflix. Reportedly, when Apple co-founder Steve Wozniak saw the movie Steve Jobs he said, “None of that happened, but it’s all true.”
Sorkin used three days in Jobs life to construct an emotional truth. A painting, not a photography. An impression, not a documentary. And he used mythical language to explain the three acts he used: the king dethroned, the king in exile, and the return of the king. Brilliant.
I don’t know enough about the life of Alexander Hamilton to know what did and didn’t happen, but I know that Miranda did lean on Ron Chernow’s book Alexander Hamilton as the guide for his remix on the life of Hamilton. From what I’ve read, Miranda hit the key signposts pretty well. And admits where he deviated for dramatic purposes. (Hamilton didn’t hit a bursar.)
Obviously, most of the people represented in the multi-racial cast were white in real life. And even back in 1776 they didn’t talk in rhyme. It’s like Miranda says from the start, if you can accept this construct then we can do business.
In the second song of Hamilton (Aaron Burr, Sir) Hamilton meets Burr and then ends up having a beer with Burr, John Lauren, Hercules Mulligan (best name ever), and Marquis de Lafayette is not a meeting that happened in real life, but that was his posse. The purpose of that scene/song is to show Hamilton as a young ambitious man without a track to run on. But then he connects with some likeminded men.
If Hamilton and his band of brothers had of lived in the 1990s instead of during the American Revolution you might find them hanging out at the local Fight Club.
“We’re the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War’s a spiritual war… our Great Depression is our lives.”
Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt)
Aaron Burr, Sir sets up perfectly Hamilton’s I Want song (My Shot) that we’ll look at in my next post.
P.S. There is one line in Aaron Burr, Sir that I found particularly interesting. Hamilton says, “I wish there was a war, Then we could prove that we’re worth more than anyone bargained for.” There have been very few periods in recorded world history where humans aren’t at war. I heard on NPR a while back that at any given time there are 200 civil wars going on in the world. And that doesn’t include office politics, home owner associations, or people on TikTok. Makes you question human nature, doesn’t it? There is a direct connection with Alexander Hamilton wanting to go to war in 1776 to make a name for himself and the characters in The Hurt Locker. There seems to be a pull to be where the action is rather than wandering the aisles of the grocery store looking for Captain Crunch. Rodney King’s “Can we all just get along?” is one if the most profound questions in history.
Related post:
Aaron Sorkin on ‘Steve Jobs’ and Screenwriting vs. Journalism