Few shows can match the raw power and musical complexity of Les Mis.
Les Misérables, Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Schönberg’s mega-musical adaptation of Victor Hugo’s classic novel, is a show about many things: love and loss, hate and joy, war and justice, rebellion and order.
But at its core, the show is about redemption, about how a petty thief can go on to better the lives of many. How out of fear and repression, one man can bring hope and meaning to a broken world. How out of death and disease, a family can be born. No man is an island, and no man is so far gone that he cannot be saved.
As Jean Valjean, the man at the center of it all, sings in the finale, “To love another person is to see the face of God.”
It took me a while, however, to realize just how profoundly spiritual the show is. Every time I go back and revisit the groundbreaking musical — be it at a local production, the latest national tour or the 25th anniversary concert recorded in London — I learn something new about the characters, the music and myself.
And with Tom Hooper’s (The King’s Speech) film adaptation set to hit theaters this Christmas, I find myself once again diving into Boublil and Schönberg’s masterwork, eagerly looking for what new treasures I can glean from this dense tapestry of a musical.
The first time I saw Les Mis, I was blown away by the special effects and stage combat, amazed that singing and dancing could exist onstage alongside bloody battle scenes and tragic deaths. I was obsessed with Enjolras and Gavroche — these were kids singing about fighting, not love. Musicals didn’t have to be dainty, I realized. Belting could be badass.
When I saw the show as an older, more wizened musical theater snob, it was the singing that stole the focus. The completely sung show blends opera, traditional musical theater and electro-rock in a way that is utterly revolutionary. This mishmash of styles allows for incredible vocal performances. From the piercing high note of “Who Am I” to the plaintive balladry of “On My Own,” Les Mis is rife with opportunities for singers to show off.
Take the act one finale, “One Day More,” a sweeping epic that weaves half a dozen characters and their respective musical motifs into one cathartic, rousing sound. Like the “Tonight” quintet from Stephen Sondheim’s West Side Story, this is a classic example of a musical theater troupe, with every plot line converging at once. But where “Tonight” does this through one overarching melodic structure, Les Mis blends the operatic soar of Valjean’s theme with that of the guttural, more rock-influenced Javert, eventually building into a rousing march that also weaves in a lovers’ ballad and a thief’s menacing waltz. Like the rest of the show, the tune is complex and dense yet emotionally satisfying, a chance for messy, real emotions to be probed in a glossy, precision-crafted song.
The older I get, the more I realize this is a show that’s meant to be lived, not performed. For all its gorgeous music and flashy vocal flourishes, Les Mis loses something when it’s sanitized or overly pretty. For all its beauty, this is a show about deeply troubled, very human characters. It is this juxtaposition — between artifice and openness, beauty and pain, music and life — that keeps Les Mis feeling so fresh and relevant.
Les Mis is one of the longest running shows of all time. Over more than a quarter of a century, it has been translated into several different languages and produced all over the world. It’s breaking into film and already building Oscar buzz. Perhaps even more famous now than its literary source, the musical is beloved by millions.
But for all its bombast and spectacle, it is a story deeply concerned with individuals and their shared humanity. Though a popular piece with deeply universal themes, it means something different to everyone who sees it. And when I line up for the film on Christmas Day, I can’t wait to see what Boublil and Schönberg’s beautiful score has to show me next.
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