Simba

When I was seventeen, I fell in love. Not with a dashingly handsome Adonis of a man...still waiting on that asshole to show up. But with a movie. A movie, that quite frankly today, is saving my life. It's gonna sound silly, but as you can tell from the title of this blog, indeed the movie of which I speak, is none other than The Lion King.

I saw it with a bunch of friends. We were starting our senior year and you couldn't tell us shit. I've always had a fascination and profound love of all Disney animated films going back to when Mommy took me to see Sleeping Beauty at the Rialto in downtown Westfield, NJ. So it was a foregone conclusion that I was gonna see this newest release. I can't lie, the fact that it was set in Africa made me excited that finally there would be some black characters (little did I know The Princess and the Frog was on its way--anti climactic as that was, it was something. Don't get me started). So I watched eagerly with my coming-to-the-end-of-all-things-high-school friends and kinda laughed and joked my way through the experience. Even through the "almost grown" jokes we told, it was clear this movie was getting inside of me. It was moving me. I had to go back and watch it again by myself, so as I wasn't driving yet, I went back with my Mom. And oh. my. God. The genius of it hit me so squarely and unleashed a tidal wave of emotions emanating from within my soul. It was simply the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen; and the most transcendent film of my life.

Funny that an animated Disney film would be that for me, but it was. When I heard they were making it into a musical Broadway show however, like many, I was doubtful it would work. But thank God for Julie Taymor. It was quickly revered as a theatrical tour de force. A masterpiece. I'd wanted to see it for years, but it wasn't until 2004 that Mommy surprised me with tickets for my birthday. As we were each other's plus one's, we sat in the silence of the Minkoff Theatre with joyful anticipation. And when it started...oh. My. GOD!

Right about now, you're asking why am I talking about The Lion King? I found myself on a very weird musical theatre journey this past Thanksgiving holiday. I went to Tennessee again to enjoy my second major holiday without my mother. And I let my fingers do the roaming. Initially, I was looking for all things Les Miserables, cause it just celebrated its 25th anniversary (and I totally love that show!). So looking for different versions of that musical led me to look up other musical soundtracks I love and that led me to the original Broadway recording of The Lion King. As I listened to the songs, I fell in love all over again with the world of the story. And memories of me and Mommy at the movies and at the theatre came vividly back to life. And I remembered how much we both loved the story of this lil lion cub Simba (we even named our stray black cat Simba. He was a pistol). How fierce he was, and the fact that he kinda marched to his own tune, and was kinda spoiled, but so deeply loved. And how much he loved his father. And how the play enriched the religious and secular ideas of the original story and wove them together in a visually stunning tapestry. And then just like that I remembered...didn't one of the guys who played the adult Simba kill himself? I wondered if it was the same guy I was listening to on the CD. And I was overtaken by extreme sadness when I discovered it was.

His name was Jason Raize and he killed himself the same year, the same month, that I first saw the show that made him famous, at least for a while anyway. So I listened some more to try and hear his story through his voice. And then I heard "Endless Night"--Simba's song of despair at the loss of his father. A young man's anger and confusion at having been left alone by the father he trusted to always be there to guide him. To love him. And I have to tell you, I've been transfixed by Jason and The Lion King ever since, and all over again. Suddenly the tale of this woefully talented young man, and that of a scared young lion cub resonated so profoundly within me. In a way, I feel like I am Simba. I lost the one person who ever meant anything to me. The one I trusted and loved the best. And since her passing, I have often felt alone, confused, and uncertain of who I am. How do I make her proud, and can she see me? She made promises to me too of being there. Certainly Mommy was too pragmatic to tell me she'd live forever, and I'm not stupid enough to think she would, but she definitely let it be known that she'd always be with me to teach me what I needed to learn in life. And now I feel abandoned and forgotten. And that part of me that existed with her wants to hide out. Just disappear and become someone or something else.

And listening to this guy sing a song that encompasses all of that, I was so touched by his voice because he understood it all and managed to make those feelings come across so effortlessly. I marveled at his talent. And I realized that part of me knew him also. I became so disappointed and saddened by his suicide. I was consumed with finding out all I could about why he'd done it. Why would this 28 yr old star of one of the most successful Broadway shows, a goodwill ambassador who was still working and getting ready to release a CD (I think I read that somewhere) take his own life in a house somewhere in Australia? I'd read that one account claimed he'd been dealing with some personal turmoils for the past two years before he committed suicide. Even as I obsessed about the why, I slowly realized I knew the dark inside him that caused him to end his life. I'd felt it once before and know how powerful it is. And the why didn't seem to matter so much anymore. I know that when it kisses you, you have to fight like hell to pull yourself back from the brink. It's easy for those who've never danced with the devil to say about those who have and who've lost, that they're weak or selfish. Perhaps. But they're also tired and aggrieved. And it's constant. And there's no end, so all you see in front of you, behind you, around you is blackness. Pain. That same swirling abyss that snuffed out his light, almost caused me to extinguish mine years ago. But it was Mommy that saved me. Well, honestly, I saved myself cause if I didn't want to I wouldn't be here. And truth be told, that same devil has resurfaced and flirts with me at times now. The only thing that keeps me from taking up with my old, familiar dance partner, is spending eternity with Mommy's foot up my ass.

There's a line in Simba's musical soliloquy (in the play) that says, "...I know that the night must end/and that the sun will rise/I know that the clouds must clear/and that the sun will shine.../". Whatever his demons...whether he questioned his talent, or was dealing with issues of being adopted (as some sights stated), or issues about his sexual identity (nothing claimed this but a young guy in musical theatre in NYC, not too far outta bounds)...whatever they were, why couldn't he listen to the words of the song he sang and immortalized with calm serenity and know too, that one day his night would end.

This is weird to say, but The Lion King (both movie and musical) have turned out to be very therapeutic for me as I traverse this new life landscape without my mother. I saw it for the first time since she died this past Sunday and cried the whole way through. And laughed. And remembered her laughing and crying too. I listen to Jason Raize a lot on this CD as both an honoring of the gifts he so beautifully possessed and selflessly shared with us, and a way to draw strength from those words. I know my night will end and the sun will rise again. Thank you Jason. Thank you Simba.