Activism, Teenage Rebellion, and Alt-Rock in “Jagged Little Pill”

There’s a popular notion that “jukebox musicals” (musicals written only using existing music by a particular artist), lack the depth, complexity, and impact of the typical Broadway or off-Broadway musical. The American Repertory Theater’s “Jagged Little Pill” at Loeb Drama Center in Cambridge, Massachusetts destroys that assumption. The stage adaptation of Alanis Morissette’s iconic album of the same name keeps the raw, heartfelt tone of the original album while adding a deeper, political context that shows how timeless the songs really are.

The show incorporates 22 of Morissette’s songs, including all 12 of the tracks from the eponymous 1995 album. Most of Morissette’s rock ballads are reborn through Tom Kitt’s arrangements to make sense in the musical theater context. “Hand In My Pocket,” for example, becomes a queer love ballad for main characters Jo (Lauren Patten) and Frankie (Celia Gooding).

The production is remarkably engaging. The powerfully reimagined solos and duets ground the show, while the mostly serious script is scattered with sitcom-like humor to keep the show’s attitude hopeful and endearing.

Even the most likable characters have their dark moments, like college-obsessed soccer mom Mary Jane (Elizabeth Stanley) turning on the people close to her, Nick (Derek Klena) taking too long to stand up against an appalling crime committed by his best friend, or Frankie cheating on her girlfriend Jo. Still, it’s impossible not to become quickly and inescapably attached to the characters (with the exception of Brock Turner-type high school rapist, Andrew, played by Logan Hart).

What sets “Jagged Little Pill” apart is its political vision. The storyline paints a vivid image of a white, rich, suburban neighborhood, and all the ways in which universal issues of race, gender, sexuality, environmental politics, college pressure, teenage rebellion, and political activism manifest there. The story is ultimately centered around the events following the rape of Jo and Frankie’s best friend Bella (Kathryn Gallagher) by Frankie’s brother’s best friend Andrew. It’s chilling how familiar the story is: teenagers get drunk, a girl gets separated from her friends and passes out, and a rich, white, seemingly invincible boy rapes her.

When the deeply traumatized victim speaks out, she’s dismissed as a liar and accused of being at fault for her own assault. Meanwhile, other members of the community deal with their own personal lives. Nick breaks under the pressure to achieve that his family puts on him. Frankie fights with her mother and works through the daily challenges of being a black, adopted girl in a rich, white school. Jo agonizes over their mother’s refusal to accept their genderqueer identity. Mary Jane copes with a secret drug addiction that only grows as her marriage deteriorates. As these subplots grow and overlap, it becomes more and more vivid to the audience that everyone’s individual pressures are linked together. Ultimately, everything comes down to Bella’s case and her recovery, forcing the entire cast to grapple with what it means to actually do what’s right and to be forgiven.

One of the show’s strengths is the nuanced dialogue. Lifelike instants—like a white girl at school putting her hands in Frankie’s hair without asking permission, or a doctor bluntly asking Mary Jane’s husband Steve (Sean Allan Krill) what he thinks an “addict” looks like, when he angrily says that his wife couldn’t possibly be one—ground the show in reality.

The album “Jagged Little Pill,” and Alanis Morissette herself, are, for many, defined by “You Oughta Know”: the outraged, passionate, universal breakup song. Unlike the rest of the show, this powerhouse solo piece (performed by Jo, with the ensemble as backup towards the end), mimics a rock concert, from the lighting to the choreography, so that the audience briefly feels like they’re at one of Morissette’s shows in the ‘90s. It still fits in with the rest of the show, which is a far cry from Morissette’s actual life. The idea behind the song stays the same, too—a reclaiming of strength and dignity and a proclamation of existence and survival, belted at a recent ex suddenly in a new relationship. The song, and Patten’s performance of it, has become a selling point for the show, receiving a (well-deserved) standing ovation in every performance.

When I went to see “Jagged Little Pill” in Cambridge, I remember walking out feeling that I was in an entirely different environment from the one I’d walked into just hours earlier. An unspoken bond had formed through shared experience among the audience members. There was an electricity in the air, and a sense of hope and clarity. It’s not just the universal themes written into the script and expressed honestly and engagingly by the cast that made it happen. It was, at the heart of the show, Morrissette’s music that reached people. And for an album written by a teenager in the ‘90s, it’s looking pretty clear that those songs are more relevant necessary than ever.