Let me take you back to 2013, what many remember as the golden era of YouTube, when slightly problematic ( actually, mostly problematic) song parodies seemed inescapable. The formula usually went something like this:
- Pick a new and trendy song ( usually made by a woman)
- Somehow make it racially offensive or just…offensive
- Have a Man dress up in drag
- Maybe mention Kanye
It was a formula that made people, frankly, famous as f*ck. Bart Baker had the parodies, Wasabi Productions had the skits, and then there was Todrick Hall, the internet’s self-appointed triple threat, Broadway’s favorite YouTube alumnus, and a man who has never met a pop culture moment he couldn’t somehow make about himself. If you were Black, queer, and/or into theatre, chances are you knew the name. And if you were all three? Well, you definitely knew who he was.
Todrick Hall, our leading man, began his ascent to internet stardom after appearing on American Idol in 2010. But while the show gave him his first taste of national attention, YouTube gave him something arguably more valuable: a platform, a camera, and an audience willing to watch him turn their childhoods into full-blown musical productions.
Hall became especially known for his Disney parodies and musical reimaginings, pairing familiar stories with pop music, elaborate choreography, and casts large enough to make you wonder whether the entire internet had been called to rehearsal. Projects like “Beauty and the Beat”, his urban-fantasy reworking of Beauty and the Beast featuring a mashup of Disney songs and pop hits, helped cement his reputation as YouTube’s resident musical-theatre enthusiast with a flair for spectacle.
But despite his image, there have always been… issues surrounding Todrick Hall. Like, in true Vine and 2010s fashion, he had some interesting portrayals of race and gender expression, existing in the same realm as King Bach and other Viners of similar standing. A lot of his jokes centered on his identity, and as a fan of his when I was younger, it never truly clicked for me that having an entire skit parodying The Hunger Games but making it about fat Black people wanting chicken, being loud, and having ridiculous names was… certainly a choice. It existed in the same realm as Tre Melvin’s infamous Watermelondrea.
Looking back, it’s hard not to side-eye some of these portrayals and wonder how we collectively let certain things slide just because they were packaged as comedy.
So you might be wondering… well, girl, we’ve been there, done that. We talk about this ALL the time, and you’re right! We listen, and we do judge. But revisiting those videos raises a question for me: When does making jokes about your own community start reinforcing the stereotypes against it? There’s plenty to be said about how Todrick played into the token Black gay boy of his time, pandering to the people who thought the real world was Glee (a show Todrick also embarrassingly auditioned for on YouTube, calling for Ryan Murphy to make him the token Black boy on his show, but… whateverrrr).
But this was Todrick of ye olden days… Surely, he’s grown since then. I’m sure he’s changed and no longer panders to his race and sexuality for a quick buck. Right???? RIGHT???
Well, the conversation around his musical, MIDNIGHT, has me asking that question all over again.
Some Black Theatregoers have criticised the production’s treatment of slavery, race and sexuality. And, baby, choices were made.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2NMgK26O4Ss , https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HdunebX64Qo
Now, before I continue, if you REALLY, in your heart of hearts, wanted to see this show… I’m sorry, beloved, but…
SPOILERS AHEAD.
I haven’t seen the full production myself. My reaction is based on the audience reviews and clips linked throughout this piece, rather than a firsthand viewing. Those accounts describe MIDNIGHT as a musical that places an interracial romance within a story about slavery. And that premise alone leaves me with questions about how the show handles power and consent. And to absolutely NO ONE’S surprise, the initial reviews for this musical were actually quite positive, with many white liberal theatregoers hailing the show as revolutionary. This, of course, led more Black creatives to flock to the theatre to see what all the fuss was about, only to leave with… very different responses.
Now, for a little more context, MIDNIGHT is a three-hour, sung-through musical that follows Rael, an enslaved Black man who catches the eye of a white man named Richard. What follows is a romance set against the backdrop of slavery, with Rael eventually developing a relationship with Richard while his Black wife, Lily Rose, is pregnant. And if you’re already raising an eyebrow, trust me, we’re just getting started.
Among the criticisms raised by Black theatregoers is the show’s portrayal of Rael’s relationship with Richard. Throughout the story, Richard teaches Rael how to swim, read, and write, a dynamic people have criticised for the way it positions Rael in relation to Richard within the relationship, and while the show eventually introduces a role reversal in which Black people become enslavers and white people become enslaved, that decision raises another question for me: What are we supposed to take away from the reversal?
Because here’s the thing: a story about slavery can absolutely be told through musical theatre. My issue isn’t that a Black artist has chosen to explore a painful chapter of our history, nor does every production about slavery need to be a three-hour history lesson. But when you’re choosing to tell a story about slavery, interracial intimacy, and the unequal power that shapes those relationships, there has to be something more substantial happening beneath the surface than simply flipping the racial dynamics and calling it revolutionary.
For me, a reversal only becomes meaningful when it reveals something about the original power structure. What does this one tell us about racism, ownership, or freedom?
And according to Black theatregoers who have spoken out, the role reversal doesn’t exactly solve the problem. Critics have also taken issue with the way the white characters begin performing exaggerated caricatures associated with Black culture once the power dynamic switches, including musical performances that imitate Black vocal styles and characters reminiscent of old minstrel stereotypes. So now we’re left asking whether the production is actually interrogating these stereotypes or simply recycling them with a different coat of paint.
One Black theatre enthusiast who reviewed the production described the experience as three hours of Black trauma, while making a point to praise the cast’s vocal and dancing abilities. And that’s an important distinction here: criticism of the material doesn’t automatically mean criticism of the performers bringing it to life. You can have an incredibly talented cast delivering phenomenal performances and still question the story they’ve been asked to tell.
And perhaps that’s the biggest issue with MIDNIGHT. It’s not simply that Todrick chose to write a story about slavery or explore an interracial relationship. It’s that the criticism raises the possibility of Black suffering becoming a spectacle without enough attention to the people experiencing it. The question of consent deserves particular care. A romance involving an enslaved person cannot be separated from the conditions limiting that person’s freedom. I want to know how the story acknowledges those limits, rather than treating romantic desire as proof of bodily autonomy.
And Hall has responded to criticism.
Responding to one Black theatregoer’s review, he thanked her for her honesty, acknowledged that MIDNIGHT would be controversial, and pointed to Broadway’s endless jukebox musicals and revivals to explain his interest in creating something different. But girl, being different and being thoughtful are two entirely different things. That explanation doesn’t resolve my concern about how the story handles slavery and consent. Originality is a starting point; it doesn’t settle the criticism.
I think the real heartbreak here is that there are other stories I want to see receive this kind of creative investment, too. Stories that give black characters room for joy, complexity, and possibility beyond suffering. That doesn’t mean artists should stop exploring slavery. It means those stories deserve more than the assumption that difficult subject matter automatically makes a work profound.
That’s what makes the discussion around MIDNIGHT so frustrating. When I look back at Todrick’s earlier career and then consider these audience criticisms, I find myself returning to the same concern about stereotypes and spectacle. And while I can’t speak to Todrick’s intentions, I can question what these creative choices accomplish and whose perspectives they center. Based on what I’ve seen and read, I’m unconvinced that reversing the racial hierarchy is enough to meaningfully examine it. At some point, being different isn’t enough. You have to ask yourself what you’re actually bringing to the table, and whether the people whose stories you’re telling are getting anything out of it, too.
Simply put: It’s a no for me.