The Art of Musicals

For many, dancing and singing while rearranging the furniture for the next scene seems unrealistic, but musicals have never aimed for realism. They aim to evoke emotions in us. Certain feelings are too complex to portray through simple dialogue. In doing so, musicals defy gravity in their representation of reality. Musicals are not created to just entertain; they highlight how societies dreamed, feared, and hoped. Throughout the eras, they act as a capsule for the historical sentiments they carry through their melodies and dance numbers. 

When people wanted to tell a story, they couldn’t always leave their writings in the pages of books. To ensure their stories get heard, they had to bring them to the streets. Musicals flourished way before Broadway was established. It flourished when the majority of literate people were men in positions of power. The stage, the scenes, and the setup worked as a medium for the common folk to raise their voices against those in power. The melodious songs, which were portrayed as simple evening entertainment, carried a deeper meaning if you read between the lines. Musicals are a byproduct of various traditions. Operas conveyed stories through music, incorporating songs, poetry, staging, and costumes. The performers were singers first and actors second; dance was secondary. But by the mid-nineteenth century, a light-hearted version of opera, known as operetta, was getting popular. This made room for the incorporation of various other themes and styles, thus paving the way for early musicals. In 1927, the musical Show Boat made history as it was one of the first musicals to have been performed on Broadway that utilised songs, dances and dialogue in unity to tell a story. Vaudeville is a theatre form that was popularised in North America. The word itself is believed to come from the French term ‘voix de ville’, meaning ‘voice of the city’. It introduced a variety-based entertainment that fused song, dance, comedy and small dramatic acts. This placed importance on audience engagement. Folk storytelling and theatre used music, rhythm, repetition, and communal performance to pass down history, morals, and social values among the local communities. Early cinema and the rise of silent films played a critical role in shaping musicals. With no dialogue, the message was sent across through exaggerated expressions and movements, and the placement of actors and props on the screen. Together, these forms contributed to the musical’s hybrid nature, where stories resonate across class and culture.

Musicals were accessible and not a high-class indulgence. Musical performers weren’t jesters appointed to entertain the elites. When the media was heavily censored to put the elites in a good light, the theatre domes were what brought the suppressed struggles of the marginalised communities into the limelight. For people pushed to the edges by class, gender, sexuality, or race, the musical stage became a place where heightened emotion and nonconformity were celebrated. When homosexuality was criminalised, musical theatre became a site of coded storytelling. Characters that felt out of place and led double lives resonated with the queer audience. Representation for people of colour was both progressive and regressive. Musicals have always given other races, particularly through music rooted in Black traditions such as jazz, blues, and gospel. However, there were setbacks. People of colour were often typecast, forcing them into roles that reinforced stereotypes and catered to a narrative meant for white audiences. Seating was also segregated. People of colour were only sold the seats in the upper balcony, far from the stage; these seats were in the peanut gallery. 

In Goa, we have tiatrs; our own version of musicals. Started by Lucazinho Ribeiro in 1892 with ‘Italian Bhurgo’, tiatrs have acted as a creative outlet for Goans to address cultural, political, and religious issues. Rather than having a mic glued to their faces, the tiatrists cleverly position themselves in front of the printed backdrops to make sure their voices get caught on the standing and hanging mics. For musicals elsewhere, the actors sing during the scenes, having the songs act as their dialogue to further the plot. But in tiatrs, the acting and singing alternate. We see songs used as cutscenes between the acts. Though the kantaram (songs) rarely relate to the plot, they carry messages to the general public, centred around the issues in society at the time they were written. There is little to no integration of dancing in the performances. Often, the little moves are limited to the comic relief characters, where the choreography is planned for giggles rather than emotional depth. Tiatrs aren’t just musicals with a Konkani script; they have an entirely different structure. Some may even argue whether they can be classified as musicals. The art of musical storytelling, as tiatrs have demonstrated, has evolved across cultures.

Musicals have never asked us to believe that people naturally burst into song while rearranging furniture. They ask us to believe that we are seen. That some emotions are too heavy, too forbidden, or too vulnerable to be spoken plainly. When words fail, music steps in. And when realism is silenced, melodies will carry the truth forward. Throughout history, musicals emerged wherever voices were restricted: by censorship, by class, by law, or by fear. They became shelters for the unsayable. Art forms like tiatr remind us that musical storytelling is not confined to Broadway or Western traditions. It reshapes itself to suit its people, their politics, and their worries. They endure not because they defy reality, but because they understand it. They capture how people dreamed, feared, and hoped in moments when speaking plainly was not an option. Without a song or a dance, stories survive, but with them, they thrive.

“Without a song or a dance, what are we?” - Sophie from Mamma Mia