When I was mulling over how to pair up the 2025-2026 season movies turned musicals I wanted to write about, I went mostly by vibes. Do Beaches and Dog Day Afternoon, either the original films or their adaptations, have anything in common? Not by any stretch of the imagination, but combining them made as much sense as anything else. This week, however, there is a method to my madness. With the Tony Awards fast approaching, I figured I might as well talk about what I consider to be the two frontrunners for Best Musical. (I’m not an awards prognosticator, and the great Helen Shaw has a different opinion on the top contenders. When in doubt, trust Helen.)

Nevertheless, I’m focusing on The Lost Boys and Schmigadoon!, the latter of which is, of course, based on a TV show and not a movie. Don’t force me to reiterate how loosely I interpret the parameters of this series. I did take some time to think about how many other musicals are based on television, and it’s certainly a much shorter list than musicals based on movies. Setting aside tourist-friendly shows like The Office! A Musical Parody, there’s the SpongeBob SquarePants musical and my dear departed Smash. But did you know there is also an Alfred Hitchcock Presents musical that premiered last year? Now you do.

I digress. Here’s your requisite reminder—

Note: I am always in favor of seeing live theater. I also love movies, but they are no substitute for the theatrical experience—whether they’re a pro-shot, an adaptation of a stage musical, or the inspiration for a play. This “movie or musical?” exercise is simply a way of trying to organize my thoughts about the abundance of theater options, and should only be taken as seriously as you feel like taking it.

Schmigadoon!

I will never get over the fact that we were robbed of Schmigadoon! Season 3. The season was fully written! Cinco Paul and his team did 25 new songs for it! It was going to be called Into the Schmoods! And look, the series—a richly detailed and thrillingly specific parody of different eras of the Broadway musical—was always going to be niche, and I’m sure the viewership numbers were nowhere near where they needed to be. But I wanted more Schmigadoon!, damn it, and I was especially intrigued by the prospect of the show satirizing the ‘80s and ‘90s. None of this has anything to do with Schmigadoon! the stage musical, except for the fact that when I first learned the property had been adapted, I hoped that meant we were at last getting the third season.

I’ll go ahead and spoil it right now—that is not what the Broadway production of Schmigadoon! is. The show is, in fact, a fairly straightforward adaptation of the first season of the series, a parody of Golden Age musicals like Oklahoma!, Carousel, Brigadoon, and The Music Man, among others. Not all the songs from the show have made it to the stage, and there’s enough new music to have earned Cinco Paul a Best Score nomination. (I’m a little dubious on that point, but I think Schmigadoon! deserves to be honored widely, so I’ll let it slide.) The story itself is intact, with New Yorkers Josh (Alex Brightman) and Melissa (Sara Chase) wandering into the mystical, musical town of Schmigadoon and cycling through familiar theatrical plots, rediscovering their love for each other in the process.

As much as I still want to see Into the Schmoods—in literally any format, I’m not picky!—I’m really delighted by the version of Schmigadoon! the musical that we got. The original series worked surprisingly well given the difficulties of stretching the story and songs out to a full season of television, but I think the stage iteration might work even better. In a weak season for musicals overall, I was surprisingly charmed by the warm nostalgia of Schmigadoon!, and the way the musical (like the show before it) lets in just enough sincerity. For something based on (forgive me) IP and heavily indebted to the shows it satirizes, it still feels winningly fresh and distinctive. More of this, please. And then, yes, if it’s not too much trouble, Season 3.

TV show or musical: Going into this I wasn’t sure where I’d ultimately land, but I’m gonna give it to the stage musical. Which is not a mark against the TV show, an achievement in its own right. I just think the musical is doing something pretty magical at a time when Broadway desperately needs it.

The Lost Boys

Vampire musicals have traditionally not thrived on Broadway, whether because it’s hard to strike the right tone or because it’s nearly impossible to sing with fangs in. (It’s worth noting that the 1931 Dracula is actually adapted from the stage play, but that’s neither here nor there.) With that in mind, I approached The Lost Boys with some trepidation, while also acknowledging that it makes more sense for a musical than a host of other vampire films. It’s scary but goofy, sincere but camp, timeless but aggressively ‘80s. These are qualities I believe translate well to the stage, even without the involvement of Dianne Wiest.

I’ve loved The Lost Boys since high school. It’s a movie that first came into my life as a reference point for the vampire makeup on Buffy, but that I quickly grew attached to as its own thing. As someone who grew up with Batman Forever and Batman & Robin, it wasn’t my first introduction to Joel Schumacher, but it made an instant impression as horror that was stylish and not-so-subtly queer. Having revisited the movie multiple times as an adult, I can see its flaws, including some wonky pacing and flat characterization. And yet, I appreciate the way it boldly introduced a new vampire mythology and ethos that proved to be massively influential over the next several decades. Also, again, Dianne Wiest.

But how does The Lost Boys work as a musical? Mostly really well! It’s an adaptation that hews closely to the film in more ways than expected—yes, the oiled-up saxophone player is included—with some smart changes. Lucy, played here by Shoshana Bean, is fleshed out and given more to do, an appealing notion for the Lost Boys fans who are no longer teens themselves. The show also pushes the queer subtext into text (even if director Michael Arden has downplayed that a bit). If I’m honest, though, what works best for me about the stage production is the flying. I realize that probably sounds trite, but it’s a feat of staging and aerial choreography, and it provides the exact kind of theatrical experience you can’t get from a movie. Even when you can see the wires, people flying and singing onstage is cool as hell, and frankly, we should be doing more of it.

Movie or musical: My loyalty to Schumacher means I can’t bring myself to choose anything over The Lost Boys the movie. At the same time, I do think the musical is great fun, and a much more thoughtfully conceived and executed movie-to-musical adaptation than the standard fare. See both, if you can!

The dead speak! My feelings about The Rise of Skywalker aside (it’s bad), I do sort of feel like every opening crawl should begin that way. And now, as I continue my ongoing series on movies adapted into musicals—and sometimes plays, and also sometimes, I fudge the details of which came first—I’m including a musical that closed today. Do I feel bad about that? Yes, mostly in the sense that I meant to write this sooner, and also because it’s sad when any show closes and puts a bunch of people out of work. But I wasn’t going to not talk about it and ultimately, I come to bury Beaches, not to praise her.

When last we gathered for this exercise where I compare musicals to the films that inspired them while proclaiming which you should see—and often doing the very Libra thing of saying “both!”—I covered Death Becomes Her (RIP, soon), Real Women Have Curves (RIP, quite a while ago), and Heathers (still going strong!). The 2025-2026 season offered an impressive array of adaptations to discuss this way, so it only made sense to keep going. (Weirdly, only two jukebox shows, and I didn’t even get to see Mamma Mia!, which defies criticism anyway.) Unless I change my mind, which is always possible, I’ll be doing these in batches of two going forward. We’re starting with a pair of shows that have nothing in common. One isn’t a musical at all! You’re welcome for staying on format.

Once again, a reminder—

Note: I am always in favor of seeing live theater. I also love movies, but they are no substitute for the theatrical experience—whether they’re a pro-shot, an adaptation of a stage musical, or the inspiration for a play. This “movie or musical?” exercise is simply a way of trying to organize my thoughts about the abundance of theater options, and should only be taken as seriously as you feel like taking it.

Beaches

I think you probably need to grow up with the movie Beaches to get the full effect. I watched it for the first time shortly before seeing the musical. (The musical is actually based on the novel and not the movie, but it has “Wind Beneath My Wings,” and I wasn’t going to read a whole book.) As much as I love a weepie, the film didn’t do a whole lot for me. C.C. and Hillary’s friendship never makes a ton of sense, and they seem to spend more time fighting than bonding. Bette Midler gets much more to do than Barbara Hershey, whose death is so inevitable that it doesn’t carry enough weight. And, as is so often my complaint with everything, it needs more Lainie Kazan. Sure, I squeezed out a single tear (thank you, “Wind Beneath My Wings”), but I was largely unmoved.

At this point, many of you have stopped reading this newsletter, satisfied with the knowledge that I am a monster. I would just suggest that Beaches is a “you had to be there” movie, meaning I completely understand why it has so many fans, even if I’m not among them. Besides, not forming an attachment to the film made me more open to a musical that offers a different take on the material, with a story closer to Iris Rainer Dart’s novel. Indeed, the stage adaptation of Beaches, with a book by Dart and the late Thom Thomas, follows the characters of Cee Cee (note the spelling) and Bertie (not Hillary), and while it is also about friendship and stardom and death, the details will be largely new to those who haven’t read the original. Unfortunately, I’m not sure fealty to the source material is what Beaches needed. Everything about this production feels shockingly dated. At the risk of sounding ageist, perhaps some new voices would have helped here.

As it stands, the book is by an 82-year-old novelist and a playwright who died, over a decade ago, at 80, with music by 93-year-old Mike Stoller. Do you know what Stoller previously wrote? “Hound Dog.” “Yakety Yak.” “Jailhouse Rock.” So yes, it’s not really a surprise that the whole show feels dusty. (Dart’s responsible for the lyrics, and they are hilariously literal.) Nothing about Beaches seems updated for a modern audience, and there’s nothing that makes it more worthwhile than the novel or the movie, not to get ahead of myself. The one exception is Jessica Vosk, whose powerhouse performance as Cee Cee is certainly the best thing about the musical. Sadly, that’s not enough to justify spending two-and-a-half-hours looking at a set that’s a couple piles of plastic sand and projections.

Movie or musical: I subtly tipped my hand to this already, but Beaches the musical is not worth seeing. And that’s a moot point, since it’s now closed. (It’s going on tour, though!) I’ve also made it clear that I don’t think the film is all that good either, but you can’t really argue with Bette Midler or that soundtrack.

Dog Day Afternoon

Wait, they made a Dog Day Afternoon musical? No, they didn’t. But as in the past, I am stretching the confines of this series so I can cover something I want to cover. In this case, that is Stephen Adly Guirgis’ adaptation of the Sidney Lumet classic Dog Day Afternoon. Adapting anything as revered as the 1975 film is a daunting prospect, one that allegedly caused some real behind-the-scenes conflict. It’s not really a movie begging for a new theatrical take, so I’m pretty sure this production exists mostly as an excuse to put Jon Bernthal and Ebon Moss-Bachrach onstage together. Which is a noble pursuit, as far as I’m concerned, even though I have not seen a single episode of the sandwich show.

Part of the drama surrounding this particular adaptation was about the tone, and I can sort of see where the rehearsal room concern was coming from. The play Dog Day Afternoon is notably funnier than the film, and has moments of slapstick, especially early on, that turn it into a broader comedy than I think was intended. At the same time, the movie is also quite funny, and a live theater audience is primed to be more reactive, which means you’re going to hear a fair amount of laughter at basically everything. Critics were hard on the play overall, and not just for the questionable tone. I can acknowledge that most of the changes made to this story are superfluous, and that coming at it from a modern perspective hasn’t done much to update the parts of Dog Day Afternoon that haven’t aged as well. The character of Leon, while played by a trans-nonbinary actor, still reflects an early ‘70s perception of gender identity, without allowing much space for how a 2026 audience can understand her.

Where Dog Day Afternoon won me over, however, was the act break, as Sonny gets the crowd assembled outside the bank to chant “Attica!” Watching the audience slowly join in, while also cheering for “fuck the NYPD,” was a genuinely thrilling theatrical moment, and something that can only be achieved through live theater. Was I getting more enjoyment out of it because we were sitting in front of a cop who had been clapping at all the wrong moments through the first act? Absolutely I was, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Schadenfreude is also part of the magic of theater! As much as I can see the faults with Dog Day Afternoon as an adaptation and a standalone production—including the fact that Moss-Bachrach’s Sal is a little too scary to make the ending hit the way it should—the play is delivering something distinctive, and also Jessica Hecht.

Movie or musical: I mean. Movie, obviously. I’ll defend Dog Day Afternoon the play insofar as I liked it more than most critics, but I’m not going to pretend it comes anywhere close to the 1975 film. Still, the performances are good, the act break is dynamic, and again, I’m happiest when Jessica Hecht is employed.

To the surprise of no one, I arrived at Masquerade already in a state. I don’t respond well to dress codes — not out of any resistance to authority, but because I essentially wear the same thing every day, and I don’t have all that many options to choose from. The immersive Phantom of the Opera revival (Sleep No More but make it Andrew Lloyd Webber) requires “formal or cocktail attire,” with black, white, and silver the only acceptable colors. Five minutes before I planned on leaving my apartment, I realized that my dress shirt was actually navy blue, and I spiraled about being turned away at the door — or worse, finding myself draped in a heavy cloak, which is apparently the fate of those who don’t abide by the rules. I cycled through five different shirts before finally settling on something less formal but closer to black, and by the time I arrived at the venue, I was even sweatier and more anxious than usual. The thought of putting on a masquerade mask (another requirement!) filled me with added dread. We were off to a great start!

As I soon learned, Masquerade is a bit more relaxed than they would have you believe, though there were certainly several people in our group who had gone full black tie. My companion and I were among the few who had brought our own masks, and I ended up using the complimentary mask they offered instead, simply because it was easier to wear over my glasses. (It was so tight that it squeezed my glasses into my face and triggered a sinus headache, but compared to the pain the Phantom endured, my suffering is nothing.) I felt calmer once we entered the venue, a combination of seeing how loosely several others had interpreted the dress code and the highly effective AC. Would the Paris Opera House in the 19th century have been as pleasantly chilly inside? Probably not, but I always value comfort over authenticity. I’ve seen Phantom of the Opera and had done a tiny bit of research about Masquerade beforehand — if I’m being honest, I read a several-page document I downloaded from Reddit — so I sort of knew what to expect. Beyond that, my intention was to go with the flow and embrace the experience. Immersive theater works best when you treat it like improv and “yes, and” everything you encounter. Release your inhibitions, feel the rain on your skin, etc.

That was my intention, anyway. Mere minutes into Masquerade, I feared I’d made a huge mistake when Madame Giry started instructing us all on how to sing and dance to the title song. The former wasn’t really a problem — I obviously knew the lyrics already, and I was perfectly willing to lip-sync for my life instead of actually producing sound. But the dancing truly shook me. Just how much coordination would be required over the course of the evening? I watched the very simple steps she demonstrated, studied the people around me who seemed to catch on instantly, and still managed to botch it. I had never had a problem distinguishing right from left until I was suddenly asked to turn in one direction and went the other way around. I can’t stress enough how little any of this matters. It’s dark in there, and no one is paying much attention to the non-actors. But it was hard to shake the feeling that I’d somehow already failed at Masquerade. You better believe I was hiding my face so the world would never find me!

Looking back, I can say with some relief that the beginning of Masquerade — the only real moment of active participation required — was the low point of the experience. (Or at least tied for the low point. “Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again” takes place in a room without AC, and I was begging Christine to overcome her daddy issues so we could move on to Don Juan Triumphant.) Unlike Sleep No More and other similar shows, which allow a little more audience independence, Masquerade is a mostly linear retelling of The Phantom of the Opera (the musical, but also, bizarrely, the Joel Schumacher movie) that takes you along from scene to scene and song to song. If you were to attend the show more than once, the only real variation you’d likely see would be the cast — there are multiple staggered performances happening concurrently, with the principals changing — and your individual perspective. Depending on where you end up sitting or standing in each room, you can have a substantially different view of the performance. And yes, you might occasionally get handed a letter by the Phantom or receive a kiss on the cheek from Carlotta, but that has no real bearing on the show as a whole.

None of this is meant to be read as criticism! While I’m sure there are those who would love something truly immersive — imagine the thrill of pulling off the Phantom’s mask, or getting crushed by a chandelier — I actually appreciated that Masquerade really is just Phantom of the Opera up close and personal. The parts of the show that worked best for me were the parts that work best on the stage, this time performed mere feet away. We had a particularly good vantage point for “Music of the Night,” and my senses were absolutely abandoning their defenses. It’s a counter-intuitive approach to an ‘80s mega-musical, not to mention the maximalism of the film adaptation, but the newfound intimacy lets you see Phantom as it’s never been seen before. Does it make the show better? I don’t know if I’d go that far. But it certainly makes the show different, and given that the Broadway production ran for 35 years and nearly 14,000 performances, the novelty is welcome.

There are also moments that approach camp in a way I found extremely pleasing. Without giving too much away, these include descending into the Phantom’s lair on an escalator, touring said lair and noting the Halloween Horror Nights-esque decor, and Christine getting caressed by phantom (Phantom?) hands emerging from the bed. And how could I forget the added scene of young Erik being terrorized as a carnival attraction, presented here alongside other freaks? (Their terminology, not mine!) I couldn’t help but notice that the fire eater seemed to have some sort of Jared Leto Joker aesthetic going on, including “HARLEY QUINN” tattooed across his chest. While that may be the sort of thing that would take some audience members out of 1881 Paris, I have never felt more locked in. The same held true for the subsequent scene of Madame Giry comforting baby Phantom by singing “Learn to Be Lonely,” a song written for the Schumacher film so that ALW could get another Oscar (he lost to a song from The Motorcycle Diaries) and Minnie Driver could be allowed to perform in her range instead of being dubbed by a soprano. Masquerade is ultimately very silly, and frankly, so is The Phantom of the Opera. No need to pretend otherwise!

I may never be the target audience for immersive theater. When Daniel Radcliffe wandered the audience looking for willing participants before Every Brilliant Thing, I decided I would pretend I only spoke Italian if approached. (Didn’t come up, and also I could have just politely declined, but such was the state of my anxiety.) When I attended Death of a Salesman and was seated in the front row, right up against the stairs leading to the stage, I became briefly concerned that I would somehow be a part of the action. (Again, a non-issue, though when the family climbed the steps in front of us for — spoiler alert — Willy Loman’s funeral, I was tempted to join them. Attention must be paid!) But I think Masquerade is a genuinely exciting way to experience a show that you’ve likely seen (or at least heard) before. It’s innovative without ever being overwhelming, and it’s the kind of theatrical experience you’ll want to talk about with friends, or even write about for your newsletter. Plus, you can learn from my mistakes and avoid any unnecessary panic over the dress code or the brief bit of singing and dancing at the beginning. I might just advise you to lightly practice turning right or left before attending.

Buy tickets for Masquerade here.

Well, here we are again, if you can believe it—and I think you can. It’s time to close out last season and dip into the next one with a final breakdown of the musicals adapted from films. (Here’s a link to Part 3, just in case you didn’t see me write things about Sunset Boulevard that have lost me friends and subscribers.) Because I’ve been dragging my feet on this a bit, one of the shows in question has already closed. On the plus side, I’m inclined to be slightly more gracious than I would have been otherwise!

In a broader sense, I’ve been thinking a lot about the merits of comparing these musicals to their source material. On the one hand, it’s inevitable, not to mention warranted, given that most of these shows exist because of perceived audience familiarity with the original films. But one of the musicals I’ll be discussing below is a show I love deeply while also recognizing the ways it lacks the edge of the film that inspired it. I’ll get into it when we get there, and thankfully I’ve allowed myself the cop-out answer of “both” when deciding between the movie or musical, but I do want to reiterate that I appreciate the stark differences in these mediums. There is always going to be an act of translation that happens when a film is adapted for the stage, and that may require losing elements that I love about the movie, simply because they’re impossible to pull off in a theatrical context.

I mean, there’s a reason I continue to include this disclaimer on every post in this series—

Note: I am always in favor of seeing live theater. I also love movies, but they are no substitute for the theatrical experience—whether they’re a pro-shot, an adaptation of a stage musical, or the inspiration for a play. This “movie or musical?” exercise is simply a way of trying to organize my thoughts about the abundance of theater options, and should only be taken as seriously as you feel like taking it.

Anyway, that’s probably enough preemptive apologizing. Let’s get on with it.

Death Becomes Her

I’ve seen 1992’s Death Becomes Her countless times over the years, but every time I revisit it, I come to the same conclusion: Sometimes a perfect movie can also be deeply flawed. I will always have so much nostalgia for the film, one of my earliest exposures to body horror and diva worship. Watching it objectively as an adult, however, I can acknowledge where it falls short, namely that it’s less a cohesive narrative and more a collection of set pieces that show off some very exciting effects work. Ultimately, I don’t care much. The effects really are exceptional, Isabella Rossellini is iconic, and wonky pacing is actually queer. (This is a theory I’ve been spouting for years now, most recently on my podcast. Just go with it.)

With that in mind, I approached the musical with the expected trepidation. How does a special effects showcase work onstage? The answer, blessedly, is really well, provided the effects are still quite good. Yes, this is live theater, so you can’t turn someone’s head all the way around or put a hole in their stomach in the exact same way. Really all that means is a bit more suspension of disbelief, and part of the fun of Death Becomes Her the musical is seeing how they work around the medium’s constraints. There are some ingenious choices made that rival Zemeckis’ creativity.

But the effects, however impressive, are far from the sole selling point of the show. I was pleasantly surprised by how much Death Becomes Her pulls from the movie while also being its own thing. Marco Pennette’s laugh-out-loud book includes just enough allusions to the original, but is filled to the brim with new jokes. That’s a blessing, especially if you’ve seen several movie-to-musical adaptations that regurgitate the movie script in the hope of easy applause. (Depressingly, it usually works!) Then there’s Julia Mattison and Noel Carey’s score, so often an afterthought in this kind of show, which instead manages to be as biting and distinctive as the book—not to mention catchy enough to inspire multiple TikTok trends.

Movie or musical: Here comes the cop-out! In my defense, this is so clearly a case where both the film and the show succeed on their own merits. I haven’t even mentioned Megan Hilty and Jennifer Simard, both of whom deliver performances that would be enough to justify the musical’s existence. So yeah, see the movie, see the show, be grateful both exist.

Real Women Have Curves

The movie Real Women Have Curves will always have a special place in my heart, both because it’s really good and because it’s the first movie I reviewed for my high school paper. (Not to get too in the weeds here, but our adviser wouldn’t let us do movie reviews unless there was a local connection, and Ana goes to my high school at the start of the movie, which turned out to be enough.) When I watched it recently, I found that it still holds up quite well, thanks in large part to the performances from America Ferrera and Lupe Ontiveros, and a surprisingly thorny script that avoids the kind of easy resolution you might expect to find in this kind of coming-of-age movie.

Obviously I want to be a little more delicate than usual when talking about the musical adaptation, because it closed in June after coming up empty-handed at the Tonys. (Justice for the perpetually underrated Justina Machado!) On the surface, I understood why the show was happening—this is not a movie that was necessarily crying out to be musicalized, but it makes sense when you consider how much of the film is about characters struggling to express themselves and be heard. No better way to do that than through song! The show’s creative team opted to reconceive it as a period piece, not of the early 2000s when the movie is set, but instead of 1987. Though not inherently a bad choice, it’s a little odd given how much the musical wants to focus on the plight of undocumented immigrants. While it’s a good reminder of how cruel and carceral this country has always been, I wonder if the bravery to do something set in the present day would have added a sense of urgency that Real Women Have Curves the musical lacked.

To me, the biggest problem of the show is one that is sort of inherent to adapting films to the stage—at least if you’re going for mainstream success. (I’ll get into this more below.) The musical sands down the edges of the movie, so that while it does add more on the harsh reality of the textile factory’s undocumented workers, it also flattens the dynamic between Ana and her mother, Carmen. Even as Carmen takes digs at her daughter’s weight, the character gets softened, so that (spoiler alert) she gives her blessing to Ana at the end, and the two embrace. I completely understand why the musical didn’t want to mimic the film on this front, but the lack of resolution in the movie makes for a bittersweet ending that’s one of the most interesting things about it.

Movie or musical: Well, one is currently streaming and the other has closed, so the choice has already been made for you. Look, there was a lot to like about the musical, and I wish it had held on for a little longer, but the more Broadway-friendly treatment of the story and the forgettable score were not enough to match what the film offers.

Heathers

I’m not going to keep you in suspense here: I love Heathers the movie and I love Heathers the musical. But as I’ve been weaving throughout this post, the adaptation does speak to the way there are necessary sacrifices to be made when bringing a film to the stage—and that’s particularly true when the film in question is a pitch-black comedy and distinctly of its time. It’s not that Heathers hasn’t aged well, because it’s as biting and funny now as it was in 1988. It’s that the culture has changed, often in unfortunate ways, so a movie about teens killing each other feels much less like the heightened reality that writer Daniel Waters and director Michael Lehmann were going for. (See also: the perpetually troubled Heathers TV show, which had episodes pulled, delayed, and recut amid repeated real-life incidents of teenage violence.)

The musical, to its credit, does not sanitize everything. In adapting the source material, Laurence O’Keefe and Kevin Murphy can’t avoid the basic plot points of the story, even if J.D. now reads more school shooter than in the movie. It still has an undercurrent of nastiness, and some of the film’s slurs even survive intact. But yes, this is a musical, and though there are certainly plenty of examples of musicals with unhappy endings, audiences generally prefer to go out on a high note, or at least with a glimmer of hope. (Can a bummer show like Floyd Collins, for example, ever be a true hit?) And so, Heathers the musical not only gives us Veronica reconciling with Martha, but also embracing the remaining Heathers and ostensibly ending high school bullying with the cheerful “Seventeen (Reprise).” It’s a safer ending, and for fans of the movie, it shouldn’t work. And yet!

There is so much to love about Heathers onstage that you can forgive the way it goes a little easier on its characters and opts for a moment of grace in the end. For me, the score is far and away the reason this show works. These songs are so infectious, so funny, and so indebted to the satirical edge of the film that it’s impossible not to fall for the musical. The New World Stages production is my third time seeing Heathers (I saw the original production back in 2014, and the U.K. production in 2022), and despite some song differences over the years, it’s the same delightful show as always. That’s not to sell short the current cast, who are all really good, but rather to acknowledge that Heathers is fantastic and solidly entertaining in all its iterations, and should probably always be running off-Broadway.

Movie or musical: You already know the answer is both. I will say that while I think everyone should see Heathers the movie, the musical might be a better entry point for more sensitive preteens. (Given the age of the audience when I attended, I’m apparently not alone in that assessment.) But both are, in their own way, essential.

Will we ever exit the age of the jukebox musical? Probably not. There are several successful jukebox shows from seasons past still running on Broadway: & Juliet, Moulin Rouge!, MJ, Hell’s Kitchen. Familiar IP is familiar IP—it’s the reason why the even bigger trend these days is musicals (and plays) adapted from movies. Thankfully, the two jukebox shows from this past season that are still running are both ones I can recommend unreservedly. Perhaps this subgenre is simply getting better! Or maybe we just lucked out when it comes to the last 2024-2025 Broadway season jukebox musicals still standing.

Before I refresh you on my patented (not actually patented, but don’t steal) scoring rubric, a word on two shows that closed. It didn’t feel fair to break them down here, mostly because they’re long gone and I have… mixed things to say. (Here’s where I’d insert the Simpsons “stop, stop, he’s already dead!” GIF if I knew how to do that on Substack.) At the same time, I think they’re worth mentioning.

So, in brief and sans rubric, A Wonderful World - The Louis Armstrong Musical mostly felt as overstuffed to me as its title. What made it worth seeing was the lead performance by James Monroe Iglehart, well deserving of the show’s sole Tony nomination. The musical biopic has been done to death at this point, and there was nothing new about the take here, but I’m glad I got to see Iglehart do it. Then there’s Swept Away, a show I admired more than I enjoyed. The Avett Brothers score was lovely, and I appreciated how dark the book got—I am always here for an ethical debate on cannibalism in a musical—but it never quite cohered for me. I wish it had found an audience, in large part because I want more weird and challenging shows. Also, in a season with far too many screens for my liking, I do have to shout out the gorgeous set design.

But on to the main (albeit abbreviated) event, the scoring of the two jukebox shows from last season you can still see. As a reminder, here’s how the rubric works—

Originality of story: Is there something that feels fresh about this story, or is it just telling an artist’s story and falling back on all the most familiar tropes? (X/10)

Preponderance of bops: I don’t think this needs any explanation. How many bops are there? Are they of a high quality? It’s subjective, but I’m right. (X/10)

Integration of music: Are the songs entirely diegetic, and if so, do they still work to move the story forward? If people are breaking into song, does it feel labored? (X/10)

Musical self-awareness: The worst jukebox musicals take themselves (and the artists they’re celebrating) way too seriously. Are we having any fun with the material? Are tongues firmly planted in cheeks? (X/10)

Audience self-awareness: Does the audience know they are seeing a live performance? The more they sing along, the lower this score is. Whether or not it’s fair to blame that on the show, I’m going to. (X/10)

Total score: X/50

Buena Vista Social Club

Originality of story: Although the show is based on the album of the same name (and might owe a bit of inspiration to the 1999 Wim Wenders documentary), the story is entirely original. It’s also weighed down with predictable tropes, so I can only give partial credit here. (6/10)

Preponderance of bops: The impeccably performed score of Buena Vista Social Club is by far the best thing about it. The second time I went, I largely ignored the book and just paid attention to the songs, and that was a much better experience. “Candela” goes so hard. (9/10)

Integration of music: This is a tough one to score, because the songs are all diegetic, and I wouldn’t say they really move the story forward (with some exceptions). I’m still inclined to be generous, though, given how much the music is the centerpiece of the experience. (8/10)

Musical self-awareness: Yes, the show takes itself very seriously, but it’s with a level of respect that feels appropriate given the subject matter. And there is at least an acknowledgment that the bulk of the story is completely made up, which counts as self-awareness to me. (7/10)

Audience self-awareness: I didn’t hear anyone singing along, but I did see several audience members giving themselves over to the music and having the time of their lives. What more can you ask for, really? (9/10)

Total score: 39/50

Buena Vista Social Club is running at the Schoenfeld Theatre. Buy tickets here.

Just in Time

Originality of story: I was worried that Just in Time would follow the typical structure of the bio-musical, so I was delighted when the show started and Jonathan Groff was playing himself. It’s a smart deconstruction of the format, even if it does eventually end up in familiar terrain. (7/10)

Preponderance of bops: Did you know I love Bobby Darin? Why was I the last person to find out? But really, there are so many songs that absolutely crush, including the biggies like “Splish Splash” and “Mack the Knife.” Gracie Lawrence doing “Who’s Sorry Now” is also a highlight. (9/10)

Integration of music: Many of the songs are diegetic, but they do move the story along, with the aforementioned “Who’s Sorry Now” punctuating Connie Francis and Bobby Darin’s breakup, for example. The non-diegetic numbers are a little less successful. (7/10)

Musical self-awareness: I think we’ve all grown somewhat fatigued by shows going meta, but the reason this one works as well as it does is that it’s commenting on the jukebox genre while also embracing sincerity. To me, it’s the perfect blend. (9/10)

Audience self-awareness: Another thing many of us would like to move on from? Immersive entertainment. And yet, Alex Timbers continue to strike the right balance. The audience is part of the show here, but never in a way that feels intrusive—or encourages them to loudly sing along. (9/10)

Total score: 41/50

Just in Time is running at the Circle in the Square Theatre. Buy tickets here.