Tick Tick…Boom! and John Lennon By the Sea

Tick Tick…Boom!, based on the musical by the same name, follows the life and story of Jonathan Larson, a struggling playwright and aspiring composer in New York City. I didn’t know much about Larson, having only seen the film adaptation of Rent, yet I found myself relating to the creative angst so beautifully portrayed by Andrew Garfield in this film. The struggle to produce under time pressure (and pressure in general), seeing beauty in the ordinary things of this life, like coffee on a Sunday, and the untimely composition of an idea during a tender moment.

As someone who has expressed themselves through various art forms, I found myself feeling with Larson’s inner longings—to be known not just known by the ones who would accept almost anything we have to offer, but to be known by the ones we look up to, by those who need hope again, or by those who we might mold and change for the better.

Like Larson, many artists and writers pour themselves into their work, often losing themselves and those they hold dear in the process. They feel this thing inside their bones, that this was the thing they were made to do—to dance, or sing, or write, or rhyme. It’s the thing that brings them their greatest joys and greatest pains—but losing that spark, that proverbial song that needs to sing forth would mean losing their very being.  

Larson, after almost the full length of the film—after heartache and loss, tears and triumph—catches a break. And the night before his play was set to premiere on Broadway, he dies. Thirty-six years old. An undiagnosed, rare, genetic disorder. He never saw his show performed under those lights, with that kind of reception, or the multiple Tony awards that would soon come after.

And it was in this moment of realization and sorrow for the things that would never be, I was brought back to a scene from another film, Yesterday.[1] Yesterday follows a similar struggling artist, Jack, who is given the chance to perform the songs of the Beatles as if they had never written or sung them. Success, fame, and recognition, everything he ever wanted is his now. And when Jack comes to his breaking point, he decides to visit the least famous person he can find, an ordinary John Lennon. Not the John Lennon who wrote hits and performed in front of millions, just John Lennon who lives alone, draws simple sketches and drinks coffee by the sea.

Jack observes this version of Lennon as unsuccessful—no awards or gold records—yet this is not how John views his own story. His life was full of love and fighting for the things and people he loved, and to him, his life was a success—it was worthwhile, it was art.

I think a lot about fame, about big numbers and being known. I think about how fame drains people of their humanity, how we both lift too high and diminish the humanness of famous ones, and how fame can cause us to forget the simple pleasures and joys of this life. Many artists from the past, like Jonathan, have only dreamt of what it might feel like for many to view his work—his heart song—and be in awe, to shed a tear and or go on forever changed. And while Rent became known and recognized wildly, there are still stories untold from its impact and beauty.

Perhaps we artists wonder if fame, or a version of it, is around the corner. One more book for the masses, one more painting for the gallery wall, or one more song for the consumer. We craft out of love, yes, and sometimes we craft out of hoping that this is the one. The one that reaches higher than we ever dreamed, the one that proves our worth, or the one that settles our soul.

And in this fight that has both gain and death, I am pausing to consider John Lennon by the sea. To wonder at the simple, albeit still hard, life of ordinary, unknown work and artistry. John Lennon by the sea is worth just as much as Beatlemania John Lennon.

Many of us won’t go on to be Beatlemania John Lennon and I want you to know there is just as much dignity and worth in the small sketches and cups of coffee you share in the small of your home as there is on the stage.

There is beauty in the ordinary keys that I press now, in the sunlight that streams in through the windows of this 100-year-old house—to be tucked away, continuing to craft and delight in the everyday things of this life.

May you know that there is value in your ordinary, everyday work. No matter who sees or knows, no matter how big the stage or wide your reach. The beauty you bring forth matters.

[1] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0ONU_H0EjIg