Matthew Murphy
Alanis Morissette’s Jagged Little Pill, an album just a few birthdays away from the dreaded 3-0, is a record whose themes of anger, angst, sexuality and growing up, spoke to millions of people.
I was never one of those people. The height of its popularity precedes my birth, and I’m now stuck between the two age demographics of the musical adaptation, sitting squarely between the teenagers and the parents who grew up with the music. I was worried that the show would split the difference, leaving me with nothing to hold on to.
That turned out to be the least of my worries.
The show, whose National Tour has stopped at Washington D.C.’s National Theatre for the next two weeks, follows a Connecticut Christmas card family, the Healys. Mom Mary Jane (played by comedian Heidi Blickenstaff, who does her best work in the show in her silliest moments) is recovering from a terrible car accident by taking more than her prescribed amount of pills, eventually buying drugs on the street to fill her need. Dad Steve (Chris Hoch) is a workaholic who spends some of his 60 billable hours a week watching hardcore pornography. Son Nick (Dillon Klena, following in the footsteps of his brother Derek, who originated the role) just got accepted into Harvard, but feels like all he’s done is live his parents’ dreams and not his own. Daughter Frankie (Lauren Chanel) is finding her identity, questioning her sexuality, and trying to carve out her place in her family (she’s Black and adopted by the white Healys) and the world.
And that’s just the focus of the family’s A-plot. The show goes on to tackle gender conformity, sexual assault, and many other hot-button issues in a list of plot devices that would make a week of Days of Our Lives blush.
The show pretends that it’s above your average jukebox musical, implying that its dark themes and moody songs put it above the Mamma Mias and Jersey Boys of the world. It is, however, just as reverse-engineered. Mom is named Mary Jane because of the album’s ‘MJ’. Frankie must be a runaway so they could use the song ‘Unprodigal Daughter’. Mom and Dad visit a marriage counselor because of the album’s 11th track, ‘Not the Doctor’. These often result in the lyrics being tweaked (or often just left as complete nonsense) to fit the show they’ve created.
Diablo Cody’s book is so sloppy that it throws around B-plots without regard to creating a character or actually addressing these serious issues, instead using characters as mouthpieces for songs.
This is most apparent when it comes to the character Bella (Allison Sheppard). She is not introduced, not given any character development, and not even distinguished among the ensemble, until she’s raped.
Introducing a young female character with the sole purpose of her being raped is a move so amateurish, the Dramatists Guild should reconsider membership. But here she is. And all that we know about her is that she’s young, pretty, and now a sexual violence survivor. It comes completely out of the blue almost an hour into the show.
One of the most shattering things that can happen to a young woman, (1 out of every 6 American women has been the victim of an attempted or completed rape, according to RAINN) is sloppily used as a B-plot for a minor character, so that that the main characters can learn something about themselves.
A few scenes after her revealing monologue, what can only be described as a ‘rape ballet’ is reenacted and performed to the song ‘Predator’. It’s difficult to hear and even more difficult to see and I’m not sure that the phone number and website URLs to RAINN and A Call to Men found in 6-point type on page 17 of the Playbill, sandwiched between legal info about theatrical unions and rehearsal spaces, is enough to undo some damage that may be done.
How do they follow up on these traumatic images? Well, they blow the roof off the place with a fan favorite, ‘You Oughta Know’, which practically begs for a standing ovation and for you to forget what you just watched.
Matthew Murphy
The voice behind that song, Jade McLeod (they/them), is one of the few highlights of the show. They sound exactly like Alanis Morissette (which came first, the chicken or the egg?), and their versions of both that song and ‘Hand in My Pocket’ play well to those who want their experience to be more of an Alanis concert, more Jersey Boys than Next to Normal.
When Bella confronts Nick (whose witness statement turned every one from a skeptic to a believer), she says to him, ‘Why wasn’t it enough for me to say it? You get the be the hero. Like always. Because of who you are, because of what you look like … they believe you.’ The show is staring at its own problems in a mirror and completely misses the point in an act of ignorance that rivals the previous two hours.
That is, of course, the true nail in the coffin for the show, as everything gets wrapped up nicely for the suburban family we’re supposed to root for. Mary Jane goes to rehab. She and Steve fix their relationship in couple’s counseling. Nick takes a gap year before his time at Harvard to find himself. Frankie mends all of her relationships. They sing ‘You Learn’ to close out the show, a song so catchy and so liked that you’re meant to excuse the inattentively picture-perfect conclusion.
But you know who doesn’t get that happily ever after? Bella. We don’t find out what happens to her and her life. Her rapist is sent to trial (where Nick gets to be the hero who testifies against him), but criminal justice does not equate to justice. What’s happened to her cannot be undone.
What’s been done to her by this creative team cannot be undone either. Their carelessness, their inability to see the point staring right back at them, and their insistence on cramming in a world’s worth of social issues, cannot be undone with poster-board phrases like ‘I BELIEVE SURVIVORS’ and ‘TEACH CONSENT’ carried by the ensemble. As they give characters and performers with the least meat on the bone the most powerful things to say, it’s representative of the exact thing that they’re missing: that those without a voice are the ones we should spend the most time listening to. Instead, we follow a well-to-do family, with the money and resources to afford Harvard and rehab and therapy.
They’ve done a disservice to those they’re pretending to highlight. Their preaching to the choir, whether that’s Alanis fans or the white liberals who attend the theatre or anyone in between, is tone-deaf. It’s hurtful. It’s deceitful. We were lied to when they told us that they cared. If they cared, they would’ve done more than this.
Jagged Little Pill runs about 2 hours 30 minutes with one intermission. Recommended for ages 14 and up. This production contains strong language, adult themes, drug use, and moments of sexual violence that some may find triggering. Jagged Little Pill addresses many topics of contemporary life, including sexual assault, opiate addiction, transracial adoption, gender and LGBTQIA+ identity, marriage struggles and mental health.
Jagged Little Pill runs through March 26 at Washington DC’s National Theatre. Other cities on the schedule include Chicago, Hartford, Tampa, Greenville, Buffalo, Boston and more. Visit the official website for more information. Use our Ticketmaster link to purchase tickets.
Jagged Little Pill – National Tour
Jagged Little Pill Musical
Check our Ticketmaster link for ticket availability.
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