Everyone involved in theatre vows that they are not that kind of theatre kid. Statistically speaking, someone’s got to be lying – but, after being involved in several after-show parties here in Oxford, I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s all of us. We profess that we do not break out into showtunes, that we used to love Hamilton (when we were 14), but now it’s cringe, outdated, overrated. But, as soon as everyone’s in the same room, and fuelled by one or two glasses of cheap wine, you’ll hear Lin-Manuel Miranda’s whiny desperation over the JBL speaker sooner than you can say ‘My Shot’.
We make fun of ourselves, it’s true – like with anything, a profession of too much interest or knowledge comes across as obsession, and nobody wants to be a BRBOC (Big Rachel Berry on Campus). There is, however, no sense of competition or showing-off at the cast parties I’ve been to – we aren’t belting Hadestown to emphasise that we can hit those notes (often, we can’t). Instead, it’s a shared space of talented people embracing something otherwise confined to rehearsal rooms or (to our neighbours’ dismay) bedrooms. The sense of joy that comes from singing showtunes is not a signification of a limited, bizarre taste in music; I know for a fact that my theatre friends have incredibly diverse music tastes, and many would have no trace of this interest on their Spotify Wrapped. The moderation, I believe, is what makes the music hit so hard. Hearing a song you first heard at age 14 on a shaky ‘slime tutorial’ activates a part of the brain powered by nostalgia, and a recognition of fellow-feeling allows a release of inhibitions (or reservations about one’s singing voice). While Bridge has converted nostalgic 2000s music into generic DJ-slop, spoiling the magic of early Taylor Swift by fading ‘Love Story’ into a generic oontz-oontz beat before she can even hit ‘Marry me Juliet’, the scarcity of showtunes in clubs and in everyday life makes the Cast Party a space where theatre lovers who seldom publicly admit to their ‘cringe’ interests can share a love for these songs in a non-judgemental and exuberant environment.
Moreover, these songs are literally written to be emotional — the unfiltered desperation of Ben Platt ‘Waving Through a Window’ can be almost rendered more powerful when translated to a drunken lament, particularly when your performance is being amplified by the emotions, and beautiful backing vocals, of those around you. I have heard perfect four-part harmonies in houses in Jericho and JCRs, and seen replicated choreography of West End quality under the glow of communal kitchens.
I understand why I’ve seen videos mocking this exact concept, expressing fear at being trapped in a room full of theatre kids singing their hearts out at decibels previously not thought possible for human vocal cords. I would be terrified as an outsider too, and these videos do often get a laugh from me, in a rueful, self-aggrandising way. However, at its core it is the happiness of shared experience, the recognition that these people grew up just like you, and continue to delight in the emotion of theatre. Finding a community is half the battle of university life, and the Cast Party feels like a microcosm of that moment of recognition in another person. It happens elsewhere too – I’ve heard that the O2’s Emo Night has a similar resonance for people whose teen years had a more gloomy musical shade than mine. After all is said and done, there’s nothing that makes me feel as free from thoughts of cringe as the catharsis of a group belting session. The Cast Party is what happens when authenticity takes centre stage, and for that reason I’ll never hold back when Les Mis blasts on aux – I will sing along to ‘One Day More’ like I’m the orchestrator of the Paris Uprising myself.