I had a peculiar experience shortly after turning thirteen years-old. My uncle Bob was the epitome of class and cool in my mind. He lived in New York City with his artist boyfriend and knew about a world of culture that I only had the vaguest ideas about. As a birthday treat, Bob offered to take me to what would be my first Broadway show, a performance of Show Boat. As we drove into the city though, I was increasingly perturbed by the signs plastered all over town for Big: The Musical. What the hell was the point of that? Big was perfectly fine as a movie! I couldn’t conceive of a single reason why this perfectly charming story needed inexplicable dance numbers crammed into it. Ever since, I’ve been very much at odds with adapting works of art to other formats. It is, by and large, a pointless endeavor with rare positive results.
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