In which our intrepid Pulitzer winner and his cast reimagine the opening number of Hamilton to be about Sweeney Todd, Fleet Street’s worst hairdresser.

It almost — almost — makes me wish everyone would use the Tonys to reinterpret each other’s musicals. Nobody does a loving ribbing of its own quite like Broadway. That’s why, for my money, the Tonys are the best award show of the bunch. The Globes are drunk and weird and trying to be everything to everyone. The Grammys are bloated. The Oscars are tortured, do nothing to celebrate the medium in a true way, and only seem to care about setting ratings records. No other show celebrates its medium as respectfully, yet with such a mischievous sense of humor, as the Tonys. And nominations come out next week, I believe…

Tags: Hamilton