Oh, What a Circus: How Tim Rice helped Andrew Lloyd Webber "bend time"

From Argentina to Biblical Canaan, three narrators fight to shape the myths behind the music

Come hear the people sing at a FREE class on Les Misérables on Tuesday, June 10 at Noon and 7 pm. This is the first of three Les Miz classes (the other two are Members-only) that explore the show from dozens of angles small and large, from the musical’s motifs to its stellar international reception to the show’s sweeping grand themes.

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Shalom, Broadway lovers!

In today’s special Sondheim-focused issue of MARQUEE: The Broadway Maven’s Weekly Blast: A) an essay about time and myth-making in the shows of Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber; B) a YouTube GEM with a perspective on the music of Sunday in the Park with George by Juilliard Prof. Edward Barnes; C) a Broadway Blast about Wicked; D) a quiz about Broadway villains E) a Last Blast about South Pacific.

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ESSAY: If you dismiss the work of Andrew Lloyd Webber as all sappy tunes and spectacle, you may not have seen the sharpest edge of his early work: a structural obsession with legacy. His three greatest collaborations with his initial partner, lyricist Tim Rice, don’t begin “at the beginning.” They open at strange angles: before the family saga starts, with a genealogy in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat; in the middle of a betrayal, with a warning in Jesus Christ Superstar; and after a state funeral, with a lament in Evita. These are not mere storytelling choices. They are narrative power plays. In fact, the most theatrical thing about Joseph, Superstar, and Evita might not be the music at all—it’s the myth each show is fighting to create.

These musicals don’t just tell stories—they claim territory in the realm of memory. Each opens with a narrator who is less an observer than an architect, building a myth from a specific moment in time. Whether it’s the cheerful certainty of a retrospective chronicler, the emotional urgency of a panicked insider, or the biting revisionism of a disillusioned mourner, the narrator’s temporal vantage point becomes a tool of persuasion. They aren’t wondering how the story will end—they’re already shaping how it will be remembered. What unites these three wildly different shows is not just their Biblical or historical scope, but the way they reveal storytelling itself as a battle for meaning. The tension isn’t just what happens. It’s whose version survives.

In Joseph, the myth is presented as fully formed before the story even starts. The Narrator opens not with emotion or conflict, but with a genealogy: “Reuben was the eldest of the children of Israel…” It’s a roll call that feels more ritual than plot, evoking not just biblical lineage but the structure of a family business—“Jacob and Sons”—where legacy is inherited, not earned. Most of the brothers never speak, yet their names are preserved, etched into the myth as tribal founders. The Narrator doesn’t just recount events; she codifies them. The audience isn’t asked to wonder what will happen—we’re told up front who leads (“could be famous”) and who gets remembered (“could be a great success”). The myth is already in motion; the Narrator sings it into permanence. By beginning with a litany of names and adopting a distant, almost omniscient tone, Joseph opens not with a drama, but with a canon

In Jesus Christ Superstar, the myth is still being written—and falling apart in real time. The show begins not with Jesus, but with Judas, already unraveling. “My mind is clearer now,” he insists, though everything that follows proves otherwise. This isn’t a retrospective or a tribute. It’s a warning. Judas sees the myth forming around Jesus and tries to stop it before it solidifies. But even as he narrates, he loses control. He pleads, accuses, analyzes, but the machinery of destiny grinds forward. Unlike Joseph, where the narrator codifies a finished tale, Superstar offers us a narrator inside the crisis—emotionally present but narratively powerless. Judas is desperate to reclaim the version of events he believes in, but the myth is stronger than he is. That tension—between the story unfolding and the myth being born—gives Superstar its tragic energy. We’re not watching a legend retold; we’re watching a man realize he’s already part of one, and that his role has been fixed without his consent.

In Evita, the myth has already won—but not uncontested. The show opens with Eva’s death and a public mourning so elaborate it borders on divine: Latin chants, bowed heads, collective grief. Then Che cuts in—not to mourn, but to question. “Oh what a circus, oh what a show…” he sneers, turning reverence into spectacle. This is myth in the past tense—but still under review. Unlike Joseph, where the narrator cements a legacy, or Superstar, where the narrator fights to prevent one, Evita begins with a myth already calcified and immediately countered. Che narrates not to construct a story, but to deconstruct a symbol. His presence transforms the show into a contest of versions: saint or manipulator, savior or opportunist. Because the audience knows Eva is already entombed—in both marble and memory—the suspense lies not in what she’ll do, but in how her choices will be framed. In Evita, myth isn’t forming or unraveling—it’s being fought over in real time, with the body barely cold.

Hamilton isn’t the only musical concerned with “who lives, who dies, who tells your story.” Decades earlier, Joseph, Superstar, and Evita opened with The Narrator, Judas, and Che not just recounting events, but shaping how they’d be remembered. Whether myth is being sung into being (Joseph), resisted in real time (Superstar), or contested after the fact (Evita), Rice and Lloyd Webber knew telling is never neutral. These aren’t just musicals about heroes. They’re about who gets to tell the story—and what gets left out.

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BROADWAY MAVEN YouTube GEM: The Pulitzer-prize winning Sunday in the Park with George by Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine has a particularly sophisticated and nuanced score. In this video drawn from a recent Sondheim Academy class for The Broadway Maven, Juilliard Prof. Edward Barnes explores the musical pointillism and musical impressionism in the score, and ends on a surprising, near-mystical assertion: some people hear musical notes as specific colors, with significant consensus as to which color goes with which piano key. It's a remarkable presentation.

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BROADWAY BLAST: In Wicked, Elphaba sings in "The Wizard and I", "'Cause once you're with the Wizard / No one thinks you're strange / No father is not proud of you," believing that the Wizard will give her the acceptance she’s always craved. What she doesn’t realize is just how ironic her wish is—she longs for a proud father, and she’s unknowingly singing about the very man who is (spoiler alert) her real father.

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QUIZ: Name the Broadway show with each of these villains. Answers at the end of the issue (below the Last Blast)

1. Bill Sikes

2. Judge Turpin

3. Jud Fry

4. Lord Farquaad

5. Miss Hannigan

6. Miss Trunchbull

7. Orin Scrivello

8. Scar

9. Ursula

10. Velma Von Tussle

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PITCH DAY: Later this year, The Broadway Maven will be hosting a “pitch day” where MARQUEE subscribers will be able to present their show ideas to a panel of experts for feedback. I’m planning to have at least one Tony winner on the panel. Presentations could be anything between a rough idea for a show to a completed plot with a prepared song. So far, two MARQUEE subscribers have signed up: the co-creator of a 15-minute musical about Egyptian cats and a project its author calls “Annie meets Frozen.” We have room for about 3-4 more presenters. If you are interested in participating in the pitch day (which will take place in August or September) please contact David at DavidBenkof@gmail.com.

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Great news! First-time Members who join The Broadway Maven can get 30 days FREE at the link below. Normally $18, a one-month Membership comes with invitations to 5-15 classes and other expert-led Broadway experiences. In the case of the next 30 days, that means four meetings of The Broadway Institute, one meeting of Sondheim Academy (Pastiche in Sondheim), two classes on Les Misérables, and the Tonys Watch Party. Cancel at any time, or continue exploring Broadway with this vibrant educational community. It’s your home for Broadway appreciation.

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Note: A full calendar of upcoming classes is always available at TheBroadwayMaven.com.

• Monday, May 26 Noon and 7 pm ET The Broadway Institute (21st century) (Members only)

• Tuesday, May 27 Noon ET Sondheim Academy: Pastiche in Sondheim (Members only)

• Monday, June 2 - Tuesday June 3 NO CLASS — SHAVUOT (Jewish festival)

• Sunday, June 8 Tonys Watch Party (Members only) including an in-person gathering in St. Louis (Membership not required)

• Monday, June 9 Noon and 7 pm ET The Broadway Institute (Sondheim) (Members only)

• Tuesday, June 10 Noon and 7 pm ET Les Misérables part one (FREE, register here)

• Monday, June 16 Noon and 7 pm ET The Broadway Institute (Jewish Broadway) (Members only)

• Tuesday, June 17 Noon and 7 pm ET Les Misérables part two (Members only)

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LAST BLAST: In South Pacific, Nellie Forbush sings like someone whose thoughts can’t keep up with her feelings. Her imagery is folksy and odd—“corny as Kansas in August,” “as normal as blueberry pie.” But that last phrase wasn’t pulled from a popular saying. Hammerstein made it up. He gave Nellie a voice that felt familiar even when it was completely original. That’s the genius of the song: it sounds like a woman speaking from the heart, not a lyricist reaching for poetry. And in South Pacific's world of doubt and danger, Nellie’s song stands out—not because it’s perfect, but because it sounds exactly like her.

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ANSWERS TO QUIZ: 1. Oliver! 2. Sweeney Todd 3. Oklahoma! 4. Shrek: The Musical 5. Annie 6. Matilda 7. Little Shop of Horrors 8. The Lion King 9. The Little Mermaid 10. Hairspray

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The Broadway Maven is a vibrant educational community that helps its members think more deeply about musical theater. Every month, members may attend 5-15 expert-led classes and innovative Broadway experiences, all for just $18. We also foster enthusiasm for Broadway through the FREE weekly Substack newsletter MARQUEE and host an expansive YouTube channel. It's your home for Broadway appreciation. Contact The Broadway Maven at DavidBenkof@gmail.com.