From “Hair” to Here
Clementine Kline ’25
How can the arts be a beacon for political change?
On the morning of November 5, I began my doomscrolling a bit earlier than usual. I came upon a video saying that if anything, one should not vote for Trump so that we don’t have to experience four years of political parodies of “Hair” the musical. At the time, I laughed along—it was a nice bit of comic relief before I continued my anxious scroll. But on the morning of November 6, I found myself listening to “Let the Sunshine In” from “Hair” repeatedly. Although it may feel like the distant past now, “Hair” was the cultural sensation of 1968, equal parts uninhibited ritual of joy and protest against the Vietnam War. Perhaps my listening that morning was out of spite for that video (who are you to tell artists what to do?), perhaps it was to belatedly memorialize the late actor Gavin Creel (star of the 2009 revival), or perhaps “Hair” really was onto something.
I’m not here to preach for the genius of “Hair” (fully titled “Hair: The American Tribal Love-Rock Musical”) in all its hippie, nudist, hallucinogenic glory. That said, the show marked an important shift in the tone of the Broadway musical, putting art as protest on a bigger stage than ever before. Clive Barnes, theater critic for The New York Times when “Hair” opened in 1968, wrote in his review “I think it is simply that it is so likable. So new, so fresh and so unassuming, even in its pretensions.” Maybe that is why so many people seem to have run out of room for “Hair” in their hearts—it is no longer fresh, and what was once unassuming has lost its modesty. Audiences are aware of being fed up with art’s seeming pretension in times of crisis. It’s easy to write it off as a performative medium for expressing political sentiments. But at the same time it has a clear vitality, if not to directly invoke progress, then to unite and to soothe.
Two days before the election, I saw New York City Center’s revival of “Ragtime,” a musical based on the E.L. Doctorow novel of the same name. The show’s discussions of race and sex feel as topical as they did in the early 1900s when the musical is set, and by the end of the performance, all I could hear were sobs. The audience seemed impossibly moved by the art in front of us, and I could tell the cast felt something similar. Leaving the theater, I felt invigorated and inspired—to write, to sing, but most importantly to act on my thoughts. I think that’s where the power of theater lies, in moving people to action. And that is how change is made.