Hamilton — Local services in New York

Honestly I couldn’t understand half of the story line because of the quick spoken word/ rap was a bit gobbled at points, which was a shame. I feel for those with English as a second language. I would not recommend if you don’t have a very strong hold of the English language. Opera is one thing but this play doesn’t change the scenery enough to understand the story line unless you understand what they are saying. Also, they use actors several times for totally different characters which makes the story sometimes confusing. You continue to try to figure out who the person is playing. Also if you’re not a rap fan, you’ll miss a lot. there are songs using by DMX and biggie, and several others. I missed most of them. And casting is off from the norm, perhaps this is part of Mirandas influence? But some of the age differences are strange. The actress who plays Hamiltons wife- is wildly talented- seemed much older than Hamilton in this iteration. Also someone played her father but looked like it could be her son? Strange casting only because it became hard to keep up sometimes. Apart from the show, so many people eating and kicking your chair repeatedly making it difficult to be able to fully concentrate. Also so many scratchy potato chip wrappers and One person was actually eating something with peanut butter. Why? Are we really starving at a Broadway play? Would anyone die if eating wasn’t allowed? Why are we eating at a Broadway play? It’s not the movie theatre. It’s AWFUL. No class having to hear and smell and sit so close to someone chowing down. These tickets were insanely expensive. Honestly I wish I hadn’t spent the money. Wonderful concept but not worth the hype. Save your time and money. Or just go to The lion king, wildly entertaining and imaginative and impressive. But Hamilton, sorry, but, eh. I’ve heard this from others in the Broadway community too. They’re just afraid...

As someone who’s long been aboard the Hamilton train—singing along on road trips, quoting it mid-conversation, and maybe crying over “It’s Quiet Uptown” more times than I care to admit—I finally saw it live. Let me just say: Disney+ didn’t lie, but seeing it in person is an entirely different, electrifying experience.

The moment the first notes hit, the energy in the room shifted. The music didn’t just play—it reverberated. You feel it in your chest, in your bones, in your tear ducts (which, in my case, were working overtime). The choreography was even sharper in person, the lighting richer, the pacing tighter. There’s a visceral charge that no screen can replicate. Hamilton live is a masterclass in controlled chaos—every word, movement, and beat meticulously placed, yet filled with emotion that feels alive and unrehearsed.

Now, let’s talk seating—or rather, the perils of perspective. I was seated toward the back of the theatre, where you get the occasional thrill of seeing someone’s head instead of a duel. It’s a big theatre, and yes, the view was less than ideal at times. But somehow… it didn’t matter. The staging is so dynamic and the storytelling so powerful, I would happily sit back there again (and again, and again). Truly, I could see Hamilton from the parking lot and still walk away weeping and applauding like I’d just witnessed history.

There’s a reason Hamilton became a cultural juggernaut, and seeing it live reminds you why. It’s not just the clever lyrics or the genre-bending music. It’s the story—about ambition, legacy, love, loss—and the way it’s told: fast, fierce, and filled with humanity.

In short: if you’ve watched it online and wondered if the in-person experience is worth it, the answer is yes. A thousand times yes. Even from the nosebleeds, it’s unforgettable. History has its eyes on Hamilton—and...

Let this serve as a public account, a cautionary dispatch to any soul who dares enter the hallowed halls of the Richard Rodgers Theatre expecting glory—and finds instead discomfort, deafening torment, and indignity.

I entered with expectation befitting the name etched in stone above the threshold: Richard Rodgers, a titan of American song. Within awaited Hamilton, a marvel of modern stagecraft, an ode to the very founding breath of our republic. And yet, I declare: never have I seen liberty so constrained as in the confines of Row CC.

To be seated in the front row of this establishment is not to watch a performance, but to endure it. One is wedged tightly in the corner like forgotten parchment, afforded no room for legs, dignity, or breath. And most shamefully—most egregiously—a speaker of monstrous volume is positioned so close, it could well have been engineered by the British to silence rebellion. Ten minutes of exposure and I was afflicted with an affliction of the ears so violent, I feared the permanent loss of hearing.

The theater's remedy? Earplugs. As if stuffing wax in one’s ears could undo the architectural failings of a house that treats its patrons as afterthoughts.

To the proprietors I say: shame! You parade your production like a triumph of the American stage, yet seat your guests as if they were stowaways in the hold of a frigate. The lottery, that great equalizer of access, offers no knowledge of these ignoble seats—only the illusion of fortune, which dissolves swiftly upon contact with reality.

Thus, let it be known: the Richard Rodgers Theatre, for all its Broadway pedigree, has corners where art is not exalted but punished. I left not inspired, but aggrieved. I entered a patriot; I exited with tinnitus.

May future revolutionaries beware.

Yours in truth and...