Midnight

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As you glance down the program credits of Midnight, the sometimes awesome, sometimes tiresome, new musical in the large—but not quite large enough—space at Off Broadway’s Daryl Roth Theatre, you notice the following: one of its two lead producers is Todrick Hall, its book, music, and lyrics are by Todrick Hall, the first name among its twelve principal players is Todrick Hall, and its director and choreographer are Todrick Hall. Hall, who has done several Broadway shows and gained a huge reputation doing videos on YouTube, was kind enough to distribute the show’s other creative to specialists in scenic, costume, sound, and hair/wig design, among other areas. Considering the talent with which he carries out his own tasks, he could probably have done everything else as well.

Midnight, while far from matching its quality, reminds us of Hamilton as a serious, sung-through musical dealing with fundamental cracks in the American historical landscape, especially with regard to race and sexuality. Hall, a Lin-Manuel Miranda manqué with boundless potential, has created an ambitious, original work—not based on any previous source although some of its tropes are familiar—set in the Deep South during the Civil War. In it, he plays an enslaved man named Darail (Rail, for short) because he was born at midnight by the railroad.

With a cast of 20, including nine swings, this is a more elaborate production than normally seen Off Broadway, so it presumably has eyes on an uptown move. It was developed in workshops in London last year and this. Its present production is its North American premiere.

Way too long at two hours and 55 minutes, it is still greedy enough for approval to have the entire company line up during the curtain calls to sing a coda called “After Midnight,” keeping the standing “o” preview audience on its video-recording feet for several additional minutes. It adds to the time you’re in the sold-out theater, but the voices are so glorious you feel guilty for wanting to catch your train.

Hall’s score covers many bases, one source citing gospel, R&B, pop, rock, folk, opera, and traditional musical theater. However, of the 35 songs, too many are strongly rhythmic, their lyrics rhymed, their emotions fervid, and their spirit anthemic. You listen, engaged, then quickly forget one song as you hear its successor, like a string of 11 o’clock numbers sung one or two hours early. The lyrics, with their frequent slant rhymes, like “anticipated,” “devastated” and “annihilated” are generally more simplistic than specifically expository, and you have to piece the narrative together from the mimic action and an occasional verbal disclosure.

Further, as miked by sound designer Lawrence Schober, the singing is almost always at full volume, often mashing the words, especially when the chorus participates. Given the vagueness of many lyrics, I’m not sure even surtitles would help other than to point out how vacuous the words often are. In the end, you remember the robust spirit of the performance more than the substance of what’s being said. Subtlety, and even humor, is in short supply, the show being staged with such perpetual drive that, for all its pyrotechnics, it too rarely touches your heart. Perhaps a separate director and choreographer could resolve these issues and finesse the promising material for more tonal variety.

The central structure follows six Black and six white characters whose relationships cross the boundaries of race, class, and inherited social position. In act one, lasting an hour and 40 minutes, Rail and Lily Rose (Charlotte Odusanya) become lovers. Rail’s white owner is Charlotte (Autumn Hurlbert), for whose two daughters—the pretty Scarlet (Kennedy Caughell), and plain Violet (Bella Coppola)—she seeks husbands at a fancy ball. Her brother is the wicked Sylvester (Ciaràn McCarthy), who killed Rail’s father. Scarlet becomes interested in the handsome Richard (Jeremy Beloate), a wealthy neighbor. He’s the brother of Harry (Jimmy Brewer), who wears a military uniform and, for unexplained reasons, carries a crutch. Offering background choral chitchat are Squeak (Sidney DuPont), Ethel (Ayana George), and Horace (Dwayne DuPont), a Black trio apparently in Charlotte’s employ, whose provenance escapes me, although they help to throw satirical shade at the whites.

Despite being publicly insulted by Rail, the racially blind Richard, raised by a Black woman, hires him to help build his new house, creating an integrated household, to the disapproval of other whites. Richard and Scarlet get engaged, and Lily Rose is carrying Rail’s child, but, as Richard teaches Rail to read, they spontaneously kiss, the start of an unthinkable relationship. Guilt-ridden midnight trysts commence. Scarlet is suspicious of Richard’s fidelity, and confronts him, while Rail is attacked by Harry, compelling the characters to confront the prejudices separating them.

 

I’ll say of act two only that its chief interest derives from its unexpected twist on its predecessor, seeking a metaphorical way of commenting on its theme of bigotry by employing a “photo-negative” plot device, in which the Blacks play whites and vice versa. This allows for intriguing theatrical moments but also serves to turn the show toward didacticism.

Morgan Large’s set design greets us at the start with a huge overhead clock facing down, capable of being lowered and raised, its Roman numerals eventually used to tick off the time to midnight. The number twelve, we will learn, as in the number of principal characters, is threaded through the lyrics to assume meaningful allusions. Also hanging from the flies, adorning tailors’ dummies, are most of the chief characters’ costumes, which soon descend so the actors can don them as we watch. The image can’t help but remind us of lynchings, and, indeed, someone nearly meets his fate that way at one point.

Hall keeps the action moving with highly stylized choreographic movements and tableaux, twirling his choral players about in dark, swirling capes, holding small lanterns in their hands, moving in perfectly executed patterns on a revolving stage, and striking poses precisely timed to countless cues from Jake DeGroot’s complexly conceived lighting plot. Both DeGroot’s lighting and Beck Jones’s exquisite take on the period costumes—especially a sequence in which they’re vertically split into black and white halves—show great promise as contenders for award nominations.

Nomination-worthy performances are everywhere, from Hall to Ayana George to Jeremy Beloate to Charlotte Odusanya, and so many others, each with pipes of near operatic power combined with thespian adroitness. For undisclosed reasons probably related to the mid-play racial switch, the actors in act two are unidentified by character in the program and therefore will have to remain so here, talented as they are.

The verdict: Midnight is memorable for its thoughtful theme, unusually powerful vocal ensemble, its engaging (if repetitious) score, imaginative staging, and visual delights. However, its length is excessive, its lyrics unmemorable, its historicity unreliable, its characters pasteboard, and its situations implausible. If it moves, it will definitely need tightening and maybe some additional help from creatives not named Todrick Hall.

Midnight (through November 8, 2026)

Daryl Roth Theatre, 101 E. 15^th Street, Manhattan

For tickets, visit https://www.telecharge.com/Midnight-Tickets

Running time: two hours and 55 minutes with one intermission