The Emotional Evolution of Les Mis

I'm suffering today from the after-birthday blues, particularly because my BFF was in town for the Birthday Palooza Weekend, and ever since depositing her at the airport yesterday, I've been reminded that 1) I'm sort of all alone here in the Cleve, and 2) it is no longer my birthday. But I suppose in times like these one must get by on the memories left by good times and the gratitude that said good times even happened in the first place. Look for a detailed account of the Birthday Palooza Weekend in the coming days, but for now I'll focus on a single topic: Les Mis.

Les Mis was on the Birthday Palooza Weekend agenda, and I'd been doing a lot of pondering about it over the weeks prior. I'd listen to the CDs in the car and find myself tearing up (sometimes the tears actually spilled over) on my morning commute. Not to say Les Mis isn't a moving show, because it absolutely is, but there's been a bit of an emotional evolution for me over the years when it comes to this particular musical.

When I first "found out" about Les Mis, I was in junior high, and as our choir class learned and performed a medley of songs from the show (oh, the horror), it made us feel special to be privy to things like songs and storyline. The few. The proud. The cultured. Not that any of us even knew the storyline. All we knew was there was this girl who loved this boy but he didn't love her back. Worse, he fell in love with another girl. Right in front of her. It was simply too tragic for our adolescent souls. To us, Eponine instantly became the most tragic and beloved character in the world. To me, she became the role I most wanted to play someday...you know, when I inevitably became a star on Broadway. Even when my Dad took my sister and me to see it later that same year, I still didn't get it and wondered why Dad was reduced to a blubbery heap almost as soon as the overture started.

Not to say Eponine doesn't get her props these days, because she does. As Friday night proved, On My Own is still met with rapturous applause. Partly because the girl can usually belt like nobody's business. But perhaps mostly because there's not a girl who can't relate. But coming back to Les Mis now after a several-year absence, I've been surprised how inconsequential Eponine's plight seems, comparatively speaking. Now I'm much more moved by the bigger picture, by the struggles of the people...the people who will not be slaves again. It's so emotional, so inspiring, so simultaneously heart-breaking that I found my chest nearly convulsing during One Day More. And don't even get me started on the ending. I was in pieces. Fantine's circumstances are so much more unfortunate than Eponine's, and even Javert moves me now more than Eponine does. Sure, he needs more spirit of the law in him, but he's just trying to do what he thinks is right. And the 'Stars' refrain that plays as he jumps off the bridge? That is STILL too tragic for my adolescent soul. Even for my real-person soul. Leave it to me to be a sucker for the one everybody hates. Anyway, the point is, there are much more important issues going on, much more to the story than my junior high choir class could have comprehended at the time.

Having said that, did I cry on Friday when Eponine died? Like a baby. Maybe I will never outgrow my adolescent soul. And maybe men will never stop falling for breathtakingly beautiful girls they barely know.

.