How seeing Hamilton in London's West End gave me a different view of the musical, and of myself. ♦
Although I was a total history buff as a child—a byproduct of being raised by a father who teaches high school social studies—it was Hamilton’s snappy rhymes and musical numbers that ensured I would know every minute detail about Alexander Hamilton, George Washington, the Schuyler Sisters, and (of course) King George III. My dad secured us tickets to the wildly popular Chicago production when I was a kid, and even now the soundtrack still manages to sneak its way into my Spotify Wrapped … at this point, I can perform the entire musical as a one-woman show, though I have yet to be taken up on this offer. So when I stumbled upon £40 tickets to see the show in London’s West End during my summer of study abroad, I knew it would be hard for me to “say no to this.”
If I’m being completely honest, I initially scrolled past the offer. I’d already seen Hamilton twice in the United States, and with my limited time in London, would it really be necessary for me to see it again? However, after a few minutes had passed, I found myself humming the melody to “You’ll Be Back”—the irony is not lost on me—and the more I thought about it, the more fascinated I became by the idea of Hamilton’s popularity across the pond. As a self-proclaimed Hamilton aficionado, I am all too familiar with the insults and jokes made at the Brits’ expense in the musical. I was actually shocked that there would be any demand among British audiences to see the show, given its subject, and even more surprised to see how few tickets were left for a random Monday night performance.
So I logged back in and bought myself a ticket. To justify my purchase, I considered it part of a social experiment: an American expatriate temporarily living in London goes to an American musical about British tyranny. While I could never throw away “my shot” to listen to ridiculously catchy raps about the American journey toward independence, I was intruigued by the Brits’ eagerness to hear this story, too, and wondered how the musical would go over in front of a British audience.
I showed up to the Victoria Palace Theatre fifteen minutes before the start of the performance, and as I assessed my surroundings in “the room where it happens,” I noticed a few interesting things. First, the line to get in had wrapped around the entire theater (not a complete surprise, given the limited number of tickets available when I made my last-minute purchase). And the show seemed to draw people of all different backgrounds: couples on dates, families enjoying a summer evening, and even some solo attendees (like me). Upon chatting with the couple sitting next to me, I learned that they were pretty unfamiliar with the show; they lived in the London area and figured that Hamilton would be a fun date-night activity.
Our small talk was interrupted when King George III’s voice came over the loudspeaker. I immediately recognized this as the same pre-performance recording that plays in the US, in which the king reminds us about theater etiquette and expectations for his show. However, I don’t remember Americans greeting this announcement with as much laughter or applause as the British crowd did. This reverence for British royalty continued throughout the performance; though Hamilton’s appearance as a character was greeted by applause, I noticed significantly more audience support surrounding King George III’s cameos. When he first came out to sing “You’ll Be Back,” a few audience members gave him a standing ovation. The king is often a fan favorite among American audiences too, but this is mostly because his character is satirized by the lyrics (well, and history). The London production played with this idea; for example, the king ironically overemphasized that he’d “fight the fight and win the war” against the American colonies. Although the Brits didn’t seem to appreciate being called “sweet, submissive subjects,” everyone in the crowd chuckled when the king lamented that he was “fighting with France and with Spain.”
I found myself surprised by the cast’s spot-on American accents, which never wavered throughout the performance, though it did feel a bit odd when the performers used phrases like “our country” and used American political terminology and allusions. It appeared as though the international audience members were also a bit confused by this, and I realized then how much of my country’s history is unfamiliar to British citizens. In Act II, which takes place after the US has won the Revolutionary War, the audience didn’t always seem to understand the politics in the performance. (The couple next to me, for example, was completely unaware of arguments over the Constitution, national treasury, and placement of the US capital.) To reflect this unfamiliarity, the London performance even featured a few lyrical changes: instead of Hamilton’s classic jab that “John Adams doesn’t have a real job anyway,” the British adaptation switched the lyrics to, “vice president isn’t even a real job anyway.”
At intermission, I located the programme stand and purchased one from the attendant, and reading through it I learned a few notable things. First, I discovered that Hamilton has been performed at the Victoria Palace Theatre since 2017, and that the show is still in its original run; in other words, the demand for Hamilton among British audiences has been consistently high for the past six years. Second, I learned that the theater itself is built atop a sewer system that the actual King George III installed in 1761; I couldn’t have invented a more beautiful (or strange) coincidence. Third, the Hamilton cast hails from all over the world, though most of the actors are from either England or the US. Once I discovered this, the spot-on accents made much more sense (though the lead roles were mostly occupied by British actors). Interestingly, the programme also included a historical timeline for audiences to familiarize themselves with American history. After double-checking my American playbills for the show, I realized that this is a feature specifically included in the London programmes, probably to help international audiences follow along with the musical.
For me, the most powerful moment of the performance was the perennial crowd-pleasing lyric, “Immigrants, we get the job done.” After Lafayette sang this classic line, the audience erupted into cheers and applause. It was at this moment that I felt a shared camaraderie in the room, one in which I heard everyone around me proudly celebrating their own heritage. I realized that every person in that theater came from a different background, some from different countries of origin (myself included), and yet we are all were, listening to the story of America’s journey towards independence. Who knew that, 240 years after the American Revolution, citizens from England and the United States would be sitting together in a theater, applauding the result?
My Hamilton “social experiment” in London was beyond successful, beyond insightful, and worth it in every way. The incredible production had managed to “blow us all away,” but what surprised me was the particular pride I’d felt as an American attending the show, and knowing that the audience that night, made up of people from the UK, the United States, and from around the world, had all left the theater feeling “satisfied.”
