The Last Sondheim Musical

Fall of 2017, I took an incredibly interesting History of the Musical class at Southeast. One particular day we were discussing Sondheim's Assassins for a few minutes, and I realized that there was so much more that I wanted to know and discuss than the class period allowed. So when we started talking about final paper topics, I knew exactly what I wanted to write about. It took a couple of weeks and a couple of trips to the library, but I eventually wrote fifteen pages on the historical accuracy, themes, allusions, and tropes. The following is that paper, sans title and formatting, including all my cited sources.

Killing a leader as a political move or statement has been a societal trope throughout recorded history, going back at the very least to Julius Caesar. Assassins and their reasons are as many as the stars, and yet the concept of hating a leader so much or being so desperate for change or attention is remains a compelling cry for help. What is so wrong with their world that these people would go so far as to kill the leader off their nation? What kind of life does it take to create such a killer? Similar ideas and questions were on the minds of Stephen Sondheim and John Weidman in the early 1990’s as they developed their concept musical, Assassins.

The musical follows the historical figures of some notable characters who have attempted or succeeded in killing a United States president. From the infamous John Wilkes Booth right up through JFK’s 1963 assassination that shook the world, the show is a peek into the mindset and psyches of these assassins and their less successful brethren. While the vast majority of the musical’s content is derived from historical accounts and true biographical information, some artistic liberties have been taken for the authors to reinforce their desired themes and ideas, as well as to make the plot run more smoothly.

It seems a bit poetic for Abraham Lincoln’s life to end over and over forever in a theater. The tale is one that any American child learns in school before the third grade: the 16th President of the United States, his country torn by an incredibly bloody Civil War, is shot in the head by actor John Wilkes Booth while watching a play at Ford’s Theater in 1865. Booth escaped and ran for almost two weeks before being killed by the US forces. Historically, it is understood that Booth and his Southern sympathizing accomplices were plotting to abduct Lincoln, but once the war ended and the country was whole again, they all took it further, planning to kill the three top government officials as an act of vengeance for the death of the Confederacy (Richardson).

In the show, Booth is depicted as a man who so deeply hated Lincoln for not only driving the south to succession, but also for abolishing slavery. Booth paints a vivid picture of a man coming unhinged with rage at a leader who he claims has destroyed his country. In his own eyes, Booth was a patriot hero for destroying someone whom he and many others across the nation perceived to be a ruthless tyrant, determined to destroy their economy and way of life. The line, “How the country is not what it was/Where there’s blood in the clover/How the nation can never again/Be the hope it was” is but one of Booth’s lamentations about Lincoln and the Confederacy’s loss of the Civil War (Sondheim). This feels familiar to Trump’s 2016 campaign slogan, “Make America Great Again”—a claim and promise that was never explained or substantiated in any definite way. The theme of scapegoating in the name of not patriotism, but nationalism, is a common denominator between Booth’s reasoning behind his actions and the current fearmongering and themes of white supremacy that we find popping up both repeatedly over the course of history and in today’s politics (Tiersky).

President James Garfield was shot in a train station by a lawyer and preacher named Charles Guiteau, had supposedly supported Garfield through his campaign but changed his tune once he was elected and denied an office in the administration. He claimed that Garfield was quick to forget the men who got him to the presidency once he took the position and that Garfield was destroying the Republican Party, and, by extension, the nation itself; therefore, God told him to kill James Garfield, or so he claimed (Ackerman). His trial set a precedent on what exactly it meant to plead insanity in defense of a crime. Ultimately, he was found to be of sound mind and was convicted of murder and sentenced to hanging (Carlson).

While the musical depicts him mostly as a deeply delusional man, interested only in publicity and notoriety, Guiteau also represents the segment of the population that is characterized by hateful and discriminatory behavior based on what they claim to be the will of God. Examples of this include, but are not limited to, the many protests of the Westboro Baptist Church and the refusal of service to customers on the basis of religious freedom, i.e., the gay marriage wedding cake controversy. While much of this activity is laughably absurd and extreme to most, others firmly believe that they are making the world a better place as intended by a higher power, despite their actions directly going against the most central teaching of Christianity, which is to love your neighbor as yourself.

Enter two men, living difficult lives. They are upset with current events, the state of politics and the world. They reject religion, even the very existence of God. Unable to cope or affect their circumstances in a satisfying way, they each decide to take up arms against their sea of troubles and cut off what they believe to be the head of the snake. Leon Czolgosz and Giuseppe Zangara’s stories are remarkably similar when distilled down, though they came from different times, places, and struggles.

Leon Czolgosz was born to a pair of incredibly impoverished Polish immigrants and began work at a very young age, an incredibly common tale from the late 19th century—think the 1899 newsboys strike from Newsies. He became an incredibly active advocate for the working class, but his activism quickly escalated to fanaticism as he began to follow anarchist and feminist leader Emma Goldman, who he heard speak many times and conversed with on several occasions. She stood for the labor class and perpetuated the idea that true freedom and socioeconomic equality could only come to fruition through the fall of corrupt government (Burrows)—ideas that a radical like Czolgosz welcomed with open arms before approaching William McKinley at the Pan-American Exposition in Buffalo and greeting him with two shots to the abdomen (Salem).

On February 15th 1933, then-President-elect Franklin Delano Roosevelt was giving a speech in Miami when five shots were fired into the crowd, missing the target, but killing at least one bystander, injuring others. The assassination attempt was by a small, asocial man who sought to attack or destroy capitalism by killing the leader of one of the most capitalist countries. Scholars also believe that the attack was revenge for the difficult life that he lived. Italian immigrant Giuseppe Zangara was victim to many illnesses and injuries in addition to the abuse he endured throughout his early childhood, one of which left him with an injured gallbladder that plagued him with pain for the rest of his life—likely the literal “fire in my belly” to which he so often refers in the show (Salem).

In the show, he is portrayed as a nasty, abrasive, man in a Santa suit, but in reality, Samuel Joseph Byck was a mentally ill, judgmental failure who blamed the government for his problems in an effort to make sense of the world. After being denied a small business loan, he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, which he blamed on his dysfunctional marriage. He viewed himself and other impoverished people as having the moral and ethical high ground over the successful. After many years of feeling enraged and inadequate, he attempted to hijack a plane and attempt to crash it into the White House with the goal of killing President Richard Nixon. He was wounded in the process and committed suicide in response before he could get the plane off the ground (Salem). A few times in the show, Sam Byck rants into a voice recorder about his problems with the intent to send them to composer Leonard Bernstein and Richard Nixon himself, which is actually something that he did in reality (Gordon 331).

Obsession and mental illness are wild states of mind that makes people take crazy actions. These actions may be completely illogical, even to those perpetrating them, but still the obsession and compulsion exist. John Hinckley Jr and Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme were both so enamored with the subjects of their obsession that it drove them to near insanity. Their trials brought into question the merits and standards for pleading insanity, furthering a trend initiated by Guiteau’s much earlier trial (Salem).

Hinckley fell in love with actress Jodie Foster after repeatedly seeing her in the 1976 film Taxi Driver. After a few years of quiet obsession, he followed her to Yale and often tried to make contact with her via calls, letters, and even notes slipped under her door. After failing repeatedly to get through to her, he came up with a definitive plan to win her heart: by assassinating the president and becoming famous. On March 30th 1981, Hinckley took a revolver and fired six shots, injuring four people, including President Ronald Reagan, his press secretary, a Secret Service agent, and a local police officer, all of whom survived though some sustained permanent injuries. Hinckley was immediately taken into custody and tried for attempted murder. After the presentation of his letters to Jodie and expert testimony as to his mental health, he was found not guilty by plea of insanity, which sparked a nationwide reform in the guidelines of guilt by reason of insanity (Salem).

Squeaky Fromme, after an unsettling, emotionally distant childhood, met the infamous Charles Manson when she was eighteen and was immediately taken with his intelligence and charisma and fell in with his family’s cult. After Manson’s incarceration in 1969, Squeaky took the reins and led the family forward. She moved around for a few years, spreading the Manson message and committing petty crimes, before walking up to Gerald Ford with a Colt .45 under the guise of an environmental policy complaint. At her trial, she was deemed competent to stand trial, though she ended up defending herself and trying to boycott most of the court proceedings to the point that she had to be carried as she refused to walk. She claimed that the assassination attempt was an act of attention seeking on the behalf of her beloved Charles Manson. The show portrays her as a wide-eyed Charlie Manson fangirl as opposed to the outspoken cult leader that she was up until her conviction (Salem).

Not even a month after Fromme’s attempt of Ford’s life, another woman stepped up to the plate, gun in hand, shot and missed. Sara Jane Moore of San Francisco, mother of four, was fresh off her fifth divorce and looking for her place in the world. She fell in with a food bank-style charity run primarily by liberal groups. Moore, as a previously right wing activist, found herself in somewhat of a political identity crisis as she started to lean more toward the left politically. She worked as a double agent informant for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, pushing deeper into the radical leftist political scene and reporting back to the FBI, as well as tipping off those on whom she informed as to the agency’s interest in them (Laskow).

The show portrays her as somewhat of a bumbling idiot—fumbling with her purse, accidentally firing her gun, bringing her child to the assassination—which could be simply for comic relief, but more likely is a hyperbolic representation of her internal identity crisis and the idea that an indecisive housewife could make an attempt on the life of the president. Additionally, her motive has always been suspect that she was trying to prove herself to her new liberal lifestyle, though she herself admitted in a 2015 interview that many around the San Francisco area were expressing distaste at Ford’s presidency to the point of tossing around the idea of assassination. Moore claims to have taken that idea and run with it in the interest of the greater good. Specifically, she was willing to sacrifice herself, a self-proclaimed “nobody,” instead of someone important taking the shot.

The show depicts a friendship and collaboration between Fromme and Moore. Their dynamic is interesting because they were the first two women in history to make attempts on the president, a task that had for almost a full century been reserved for only men (Laskow). Their shared scenes allow their personalities to shine through and characterize themselves in a way that would not be possible with their overbearing male counterparts. While their attempts were weeks apart in different cities, the show depicts them as a team effort between the two women, likely to give their internal monologues a reason to be verbal and as another form of comic relief. Combining their stories also saves on runtime, especially as, unlike the infamous John Wilkes Booth and Lee Harvey Oswald, their actual crimes are less important to the plot than their thoughts and personalities.

The other most infamous American assassin is one Lee Harvey Oswald, who on November 22nd 1963, fired three shots into the passing presidential motorcade, killing President John F. Kennedy. The act was caught on footage which was then aired on national television, making it the most public and visible assassination in American history. Oswald temporarily evaded police before being taken into custody, where he was shot the next morning by an entrepreneur named Jack Ruby. The lesser known parts of Lee Harvey Oswald’s life included a lonely childhood with a neglectful single mother, which likely led to depression later in life. During the Red Scare, he came across some communist propaganda that made him grow to hate capitalism. He served in the Marines, and later moved to the Soviet Union for a few years before moving back to the States. While the Warren Commission concluded that Oswald acted alone, much of the American public believed—and still believes—that there was some kind of conspiracy, especially considering Oswald was then killed (Salem).

Sherman Edwards and Peter Stone wrote in their 1969 musical, 1776, “Treason is a charge invented by winners as an excuse for hanging the losers.” The idea that history is written by the winners and the privileged is a common theme and point of contention in all forms of art, as well as the ongoing fight for human rights. While the idea has been criticized by the privileged as ungrateful whining, the fight has yielded real, thought limited, results in the form of justice and rights for the marginalized and oppressed. Freedom for slaves, women’s suffrage, and civil rights are all successful examples of these results. Active opposition to these movements on the basis of their own belief system perpetuates the idea that, as actor Tom Hiddleston once said in reference to one of his roles, “every villain is a hero in his own mind.” Leon Czolgosz, for example, believed that he was actively helping the working class by putting an end to a political leader who favored and served only the rich. Likewise, John Wilkes Booth, from his elitist, Confederate-sympathizing point of view, believed he was avenging an entire nation.

Sondheim’s philosophy of music includes the idea that content dictates form. In this particular work, much of the music takes the form of marches and folk songs, but Sodheim goes on to incorporate genres and styles from all eras as a means of effectively denoting setting without using dialogue. “The Ballad of Booth” is a sort of folk story song, where “Another National Anthem” is a rousing march, reminiscent of John Phillip Sousa. The popular patriotic tune “Hail to the Chief” makes an appearance, which is both contextually appropriate as well as historically accurate as to the actual scene of when Roosevelt was shot (Horowitz 67). The show takes shape in the form of a combination revue, vaudeville, and classic musical comedy. The plot is incredibly conceptual to the point that the story is so much more about the human condition and, specifically, how the American human condition might differ from the rest of the world. The preface to the libretto puts forth librettist John Weidman’s idea that primary theme of Assassins is to dispel the myth that these people are somehow different and separated from everyone else. The show is meant to inspire a sense of unconventional patriotism that acknowledges the nation’s flaws and continues to love it anyway. This specific flavor on unconventional patriotism is a lingering prevention against the toxic, resentful nationalism that we see currently sweeping across America—nationalism that is often billed and disguised as strong patriotism (Tiersky).

Almost everyone born before 1996 remembers where they were and what they were doing on September 11th 2001 when they heard about the four separate but coordinated terrorist attacks on American soil within two hours. It was a national tragedy for which there is still no comparison. Similarly, people who were alive at the time of the Kennedy assassination can remember where they were and what they were doing when they heard news of his death. Likewise, those present at historic events can often remember them vividly. This history from direct sources becomes a priceless witness account, a history written not by the winners or the losers, but the bystanders (Horowitz 67). This point of view shows through in the songs “How I Saved Roosevelt,” and “Something Just Broke.” The former is a barrage of characters claiming their fifteen minutes after having maybe prevented Zangara from succeeding in his attempt, while the latter paints a poignant picture of a nation, moments after breaking from tragedy. The song starts out referring to Kennedy, but as it progresses, expands to encompass Lincoln, McKinley, Garfield, and even reactions to hearing that Reagan had been shot (Sondheim). The trope brings the rest of the world into the story in an otherwise mostly isolated story that tends to take place outside a realm of reality. The juxtaposition of this melancholy, mourning patriotism in an otherwise radically nationalist and unconventionally patriotic show is eye-opening to an unsuspecting audience. Irene Sankoff and David Hein have a similar bystander trope throughout their 2013 musical Come from Away, which chronicles the displaced passengers stranded in Newfoundland, Canada, after the United States airspace was closed in response to the 9/11 attacks. Their show inspires a sense of Canadian patriotism and sense of a global community remarkably similar to Assassins despite the incredible difference in subject matter.

Booth, when talking to Lee, trying to convince him to shoot Kennedy, says, “Attention must be paid,” and he goes on the compare Oswald to Willy Loman from of Death of a Salesman. Both shows delve deeply into the difference between the idea and the reality of the American Dream. Booth uses the reference to talk Lee out of committing suicide and to convince him to do something more meaningful with his existence, specifically, to shoot Kennedy instead of himself. He resists the idea initially, but the assassins convince him that he will make a difference, that attention will indeed be paid. They name more American assassins—Arthur Bremer, Sirhan Sirhan, James Earl Ray—to further drive home how strongly he will be remembered. Twisted as it is, the comparison is a continuation of the Death of a Salesman reference, as Willy also longs to be remembered, though not for an act of domestic terror. Oswald is indifferent as for what he is remembered, just so long as he is (Sondheim).

Arthur Miller references aside, the entire show, at its heart, is about the American Dream and its failings. The “American Dream” has been this abstract, unattainable idea, unique to different people at different times. It often involves ownership of land, various freedoms including religion and speech, and livable wealth. The man who coined the term in the 1930s, James Truslow Adams, asserts that the true meaning is “that dream of a land in which life should be better and fuller and richer for everyone, with opportunity for each according to ability or achievement (Ştiuliuc).” By that definition, the American Dream has technically never existed at all, but still people chase the wealth, property and happiness that they understand will come if they only achieve this dream. Assassins delves into the darker side of this dream, the failures, and the oppressed. Byck’s constant failures, his businesses, marriage, and protests among them, led him to blame the president on the failure of his personal American Dream. Hinckley, in contrast, having failed at school and to win the heart of the woman he loves, attempts Ronald Regan’s life in hopes that attention will be paid and his life will turn around. Likewise, in “Another National Anthem,” the Balladeer, outright states that “You can choose/What to be/From a mailman to a President,” which plays into the implication that the American Dream is not limited to conventional success. As Andre Bishop writes in the Preface to the libretto, “Any kid can grow up to be President; any kid can grow up to be his killer.”

The finale of the show, the reprise of “Everybody’s Got the Right,” is quite different than the opening song of the same title. The opening features a persuasive Proprietor who tempts the assassins by volunteering to solve all their specific problems, such as poverty, loneliness, oppression, and ineptitude, with, to quote yet another iconic show, “a flicker of pressure right there on the trigger” (Menken). The reprise features optimistic lyrics, including “Don’t stay man/Life’s not as bad/As it seems,” which seems to praise the American Dream, but instead could be an encouragement to find other solutions and keep working toward the goal. The song could be a direct instruction, a relatable omen to persuade the audience to keep pushing forward instead of giving up of taking too desperate of measures. “If you keep your/Goal in sight/You can climb/To any height” is an operative line. Keeping eyes on the metaphorical prize is key to achievement, and this number shows character development in people who only two scenes earlier were screaming, “Where’s my prize?” and spitefully lamenting the failure of the American Dream.

In the song “Another National Anthem,” all of the assassins talk about their reasons. Some of them are political, some are superficial, most are self-serving, others are in the interest of the supposed greater good, but all of them lead back to this idea that their lives were not whole and that killing the president would somehow help with that. The Balladeer sings, “It didn’t mean a nickel/You just shed a little blood/And a lot of people shed a lot of tears.” He outright forces them to face their flaws and failures (Gordon 333). The assassins, unsurprisingly, react with anger and cynicism. The Balladeer continues a song that is hopeful, reminding them that their bitterness and actions were not the solution to their problems for which they were hoping, but the assassins are fighting back. They take his peaceful gesture and reasoning and twist it into a frenzied rage of persistence, forcibly silencing him and driving him from the stage. John Weidman asserts the idea that all of these characters are unified by these alienating, isolating feelings of inadequacy paired with a dangerous and persistent sense of entitlement (Sondheim).

Inadequate and entitled are both buzzwords often applied to an entire generation of people who were basically fetuses at the time this show was written. These now grown adults are constantly labeled as whining “snowflakes” who want everything handed to them, who have utter contempt for hard work and persistence. Like Czolgosz over one hundred years ago, these young people want fair wages, equal treatment, and basic human rights. Like Zangara, they have medical problems—problems that nowadays are a prescription for bankruptcy. Countless, like Sam Byck, feel betrayed and outraged. They are angry at their government for abandoning them in favor of the infamous 1%. Some, like Guiteau and Fromme, believe too much in what they cannot necessarily see or prove, sometimes even to a fault. A few, like Booth, fly Confederate flags and resent their supposed oppression. Many, like Lee Harvey Oswald, are depressed, socially isolated, and just looking to find a place in the world. Most, like Sara Jane Moore, are trying to figure out where they’re coming from and have somewhere to go.

Born in 1995, 1895 or 1835, these people are really not so different after all. This does not necessarily mean that the solution to our problems is aiming a gun at the 45th President of the United States. In fact, it means quite the opposite. Violence was not a solution that worked for them nor will it work for us. As our liberties are threatened and stripped of us, we must remain strong. We must remain constantly vigilant. We must learn from the mistakes of those who came before us as we work together to build a better society together.

Stephen Sondheim and John Weidman did not set out to write a political statement with some nice marches in it. They found an idea, and they experimented and played with it until it was ready for an audience. That audience was a small group for a limited run and eventually saw a brief revival a decade or so later, but did not have any remarkable societal impact like we saw with shows like Jesus Christ Superstar or Hamilton. Small as those audiences were, however, they understood, and it changed them, as good art does, just as it could change us if only we let it (Sondheim). With the current state of our nation, it may be time for another revival.

Works Cited

Ackerman, Kenneth D. Dark Horse: the Surprise Election and Political Murder of President James A. Garfield. Viral History Press, LLC, 2011.

Burrows, Paul. "Apostle of Anarchy: Emma Goldman's First Visit to Winnipeg in 1907." Manitoba History, no. 57, Feb. 2008, pp. 2-15. EBSCOhost.

Camerota, Alisyn, and Sara Jane Moore. “Why She Tried to Kill the President.” CNN, 22 Sept. 2015.

Carlson, Peter. "Alexander Graham Bell Scans James Garfield." American History, vol. 50, no. 6, Feb. 2016, pp. 14-16.

Gordon, Joanne Lesley. Art Isn't Easy: the Theater of Stephen Sondheim. Updated ed., Da Capo Press, 1992. pp. 317-338.

Horowitz, Mark Eden. “Assassins.” Sondheim on Music, 2nd ed., Scarecrow Press Inc, 2010, pp. 57–79.

Hunt, Peter H., director. 1776. Columbia Pictures, 1972.

Laskow, Sarah. “A 45-Year-Old Mom and a Manson Girl Both Tried to Kill Gerald Ford.” Atlas Obscura, Atlas Obscura, 3 June 2015, www.atlasobscura.com/articles/female-assassins-sara-jane-moore-and-lynette-fromme-gerald-ford.

Menken, Alan, and Howard Ashman. Little Shop of Horrors. 1982.

Miller, Arthur. Death of a Salesman. Penguin Books, 1996.

Richardson, Sarah. "John Wilkes Booth: Celebrity Assassin." Civil War Times, vol. 54, no. 3, June 2015, pp. 31-33. EBSCOhost.

Salem Press. American Villains. Salem Press, 2008. Magill's Choice. EBSCOhost.

Sankoff, Irene, and David Hein. Come from Away. 12 June 2017, New York City, Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre. Digital video.

Ştiuliuc, Diana. "The American Dream as the Cultural Expression of North American Identity." Philologica Jassyensia, vol. 7, no. 2, Dec. 2011, pp. 363-370. EBSCOhost.

Sondheim, Stephen, and John Weidman. Assassins. Theatre Communications Group, 1991.

Tiersky, Ronald. “Nationalism vs. Patriotism.” The Washington Post, WP Company, 23 Feb. 2014, www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/nationalism-vs-patriotism/2014/02/23/9129 d43a-9afc-11e3-8112-52fdf646027b_story.html?utm_term=.2ff8ca0562a7.

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