Hamilton is THE great work of the past decade and perhaps of the century that will transcend far beyond its mere existence on stage.
It’s a watered-down, Bohemian Rhapsody-ied La Vie en Rose.
It’s such a joy to find something that hits you in all the right spots and to realize how it’s affecting you, isn’t it?
This is how hard I’ve been hit by Franchise Fatigue: instead of watching Spider-Man: Far From Home this weekend, I opted to catch up on Rocket Raccoon’s directorial debut.
It doesn’t beat you over the head with how the songs came to be. You can just watch Paul McCartney’s Carpool Karaoke if you want that.
Dexter Fletcher, glad you saved all your tricks while recovering that other one. Rocketman really is something special.
See, I don’t automatically like all musicals! I just… automatically put them on my “I’m going to watch that” list.
I personally prefer the biopics that aren’t afraid to show the hard truths of their subject, but of course, that isn’t always what the average moviegoer pays tickets to see.
This movie didn’t quite sweep me up in the way Queen itself does, but I left feeling strangely satisfied and in awe of the scale of their success as well as deeply reminiscent of how much their music has endured.
Two hours and 30 minutes of soundtracks you probably know, played live by Hans and Friends, against a screen that looks like it’s playing the graphics from Ye Olde Windows Media Player.