That’s Not Right!

That’s not right!

One of my favorite Broadway musicals and stories ever existed is definitely Matilda. Broadway, which I went to yesterday, has an amazing way of making everything seem so super magical to you. However, and I know that many agree with me on this, Matilda had some qualities that made everything seem like it was created by someone’s super powers.

Power. Even the actress who played Matilda, a nine year old girl, had one of the most beautiful voices I had ever heard. It had some kind strength and power in it that almost made me week in the knees and wanted me to scream with joy.
As well as the singing by small children, most no older than ten, the scenery displayed something of quiet, almost unforgivable power. It didn’t shout or claim anything, but yet stood there in peaceful glory. It was, in fact, probably comparable to Mona Lisa’s smile- something that will keep people wondering for years to come.
Finally, the lights were something of a power miracle. For instance, when the children rebel the Trunchbull and Chokey, light rays were used to create an illusion of imprisonment and harsh reality. It was both amazing and not easy.

Irony, Boldness, and Humor.

I chose looks over books. That’s why I look better than you.

That was a line that is probably my mom’s new motto, if you reversed it to “books over looks”. It was said by Matilda’s mother upon Ms.Honey’s visit to Matilda’s house in effort to meet the girl’s parents. Matilda’s mother, an almost exact portray of the modern (usually stereotyped), TV-obsessed American, wears a spazzy outfit of a bell skirt with clashy sparkles and a pink dancing blouse. You immediately get an opinion of her in the first opening scene, where she is in the hospital, 9 months pregnant. The doctor, a life-obsessed kind of man, is excited about her being about to give birth. The mother, on the other hand, wants to go to her international dance competition. The doctor tells her to look at herself; and she in turn proclaims, “Am I fat?” The doctor, in an almost teasing sort of way, says, “You’re 9 months pregnant.” She immediately wails, “Is there anything I can do? Drugs, alcohol, tablets, or anything like that?”

The father is a different story. When he first meets his new daughter, he looks at her, and says, after close inspection, “Where is my son’s thingy? Don’t boys always have their thingy?” He makes a cylindrical shape with his hands, while the audience cracks up. Later on, he fails to recognize that Matilda is a girl, and always calls her son.

The brother, Mike, is no better- throughout the musical, he seems to only know two words. He sports a sweater that says “genius” on the front, and wears a baseball cap that looks like a construction helmet.

In response to Matilda’s early reading abilities, the mother and father decide, “This is simply not done at her age. She must be stupid!

And then again, even the most frightening scenes in the musical have irony, boldness, and an easy humor that kept me on the edge of my seat- constantly.

The magic. The mischief. “Matilda” has an ongoing sense of suspense, brought out by the easy thrill, magic, and mischief. The magic of the scenery, the magic of the words- and most of all, the sense of inspiration that they give you. I wasn’t the only one who was moved. Many others were simply entranced, not looking away once, the way I did. The songs had some kind of swing to them that made everyone want to sing along, clap their hands, swing to the beat. It was magic. There is no other name for it.

On it is, to the mischief that was so well played out: Matilda dumping root coloring into her father’s hair gel, Matilda putting super glue into her father’s hat, and the list goes on. It seemed to me that nothing ever stopped- there was always, always, something being played out that made people struggle to hold in their smiles. The mischief that made people laugh along, wanting to scream and shout. It was amazing.

And, finally: the joy. I don’t want to say much more about “Matilda”, since I am so amazing at spoilers. However, you can always feel something within the depths of the musical. In the words, in the actions. In the phases. It’s there, and it never leaves.

The feeling is joy. Joy for being there, and being part of the ever lasting story.

All the way, all the way to the grand finale.

Partially written in response to


6 thoughts on “That’s Not Right!

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