Wrist-cutting and emotional rock ballads may not be the first things that come to mind when considering President Andrew Jackson’s Indian Wars or Manifest Destiny. However, the Center Theatre Group’s world-premiere musical, “Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson,” proves that emo-rock may provide a very fitting description of Jackson’s presidency.
“Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson” follows Jackson’s life, with surprising historical accuracy, from childhood until after his terms as president. However the show is full of anachronisms in music, dialogue and costuming to provide the modern rock “˜n’ roll interpretation.
Before the show begins, the audience enters a scene in a saloon, complete with cowboys and honky-tonky music echoing from the wooden piano. The only clue that the world is about to radically change is the drum set (complete with an A/J insignia) hidden behind the standing beams on the stage.
Sure enough, Jackson enters in a tight waffle-knit shirt, looking totally out of place in his environment. He casually slumps on the edge of the stage, and begins “Here’s the thing about the Indians.” Suddenly, the sound of electric guitar radiates and the chorus begins belting “Populism, yeah, yeah.” At this point, the audience realizes they’ll have to take historical facts with modern rock.
The costumes switch between contemporary and historical, and sometimes a mix of both. For example, the presidential advisors wear tight pinstripe suits with huge fluffy collars, reminiscent of 19th century garb.
The term “bloody” in the title takes on a double meaning in reference to the show’s protagonist. On the one hand, it is the obvious expletive of angst toward Jackson’s unpredictable and sometimes irritating character.
It also takes on its literal meaning of actual blood. One of the most creative parallels in the show is that between suicidal wrist cutting of the emo-rock generation and the medicinal technique of bleeding in the 18th century.
In a particularly poignant scene after his wife has passed, Jackson falls to his knees and begins cutting his wrists over a bleeding bowl. The graveness of the scene is effectively alleviated with a disco ball and Cher’s “Song for the Lonely” blaring from the sound system.
However, this parallel gets taken a little too far when Jackson and his wife pour blood from their bleeding bowl all over themselves as a metaphorical expression of love. Though the show does boast ridiculous scenes (for example, presidential advisors enter to the song “Spice Up Your Life”), this scene feels confusing and unnecessary. It just looks more like two kids in a red-tinted water fight.
Also, Jackson’s emotional nature becomes increasingly annoying. He whines in what is supposed to be a congressional hearing and other important scenes. No one really wants to see a former president complaining as if he were 3 years old and doesn’t want to do as he’s told, even if he is an emo-rocker.
There is also a narrator who is entirely unnecessary. She enters in a motorized wheelchair, coke-bottle glasses and a hideous sweater, outside of the times in a totally different way. She begins to narrate, and Jackson shoots her in the neck. She proceeds to reenter in various physical states (crawling across the stage, dressed as an angel, etc.) and though the show is unconventional itself, this addition does not fit with either the contemporary version or the historical setting the show is interpreting.
The rock-concert scenes are highly entertaining and full of energy. The overpowering lighting effects are almost blinding, but when reflecting on a night at a rock concert, intense lighting is a pivotal part.
However, as a show that one would expect to end with a high-energy finale, it leaves the audience in a state of contemplation. Jackson makes a speech at Harvard University, and for the first time, the performance becomes about real political issues. It provides a serious reflection on Jackson’s leadership, and it ultimately portrays the president as a real person with problems, not an obsessive tyrant with too much power.
– Suzy Evans
E-mail Evans at sevans@media.ucla.edu.