The recent death of the master of musical theatre Stephen Sondheim touched musical theatre lovers. PHOTO CREDIT: nytimes.com
Dear Mr. Sondheim, how do I even begin?
When I heard of his passing on Nov. 26, I was shocked. The death of a 91-year-old man typically wouldn’t be so shocking, but this was Stephen Sondheim.
I’ve joked around with friends for years about how he must be immortal. Just the night before, I watched “Tick, Tick… Boom” (for the second time that week), eager to share with my brother and his girlfriend the fun fact about how Sondheim himself had rewritten and recorded the voicemail that plays towards the end of the film.
So, when I first learned of the news via Twitter, shock was the only proper word to describe my reaction.
I have felt the impact of Stephen Sondheim’s work in a way that’s felt very personal, but of course, practically every single theatre musical lover feels similarly. In a career that spanned almost 65 years, Sondheim became known as a master of musical theatre, and perhaps the greatest composer-lyricist to lend work to Broadway’s stages.
He has certainly always been the greatest in my mind, ever since I heard the opening “I wish” in the prologue of “Into the Woods.” I watched the PBS recording of my favorite musical, “Sunday in the Park With George,” on repeat for days one summer. I own multiple Sondheim books; have seen countless documentaries, movie adaptations of his works and staged productions; music from his various cast albums has consistently appeared in Spotify Wrapped. It’s safe to say that I love Sondheim and his work, and I always will.
Yet, as I searched his name on Twitter and saw beautiful tweets and tributes rolling in, I found myself at a loss for words, and I wasn’t the only one.
As Twitter user intoanewlife put it, “how do you write so many profound words about grief and love and loss and spend a lifetime helping people navigate their own and then leave so many people just utterly unable to put into words what you meant.”
So, I did what I’ve done so often when I feel overwhelmed or sad or angry or happy or in need of comfort. I turned to his music and his words and let them do the talking for me.
I was struck, not for the first time, by a moment in “Move On,” in which George sings, “I’ve nothing to say / Well, nothing that’s not been said” to which Dot replies, “Said by you, though George.”
Much ink has been spilled on Sondheim and his legacy, his impact, his genius and I’ve written about it before as well. Yet, when I listened to Mandy Patinkin and Bernadette Peters sing his gorgeous music, I felt overcome with a need to write something myself.
So, I spoke to my loved ones who loved him as well, and I gave myself 24 hours before I sat down to write this letter to a man who I never really knew and never knew me, but changed my life all the same. In the theatre community, it’s known that if you write Stephen Sondheim, he will write back. Obviously, that can no longer be the case.
I still have so much more to say and not enough words to say it, so for now, I’ll leave it at this: Thank you, Mr. Sondheim.