Can ambitious art remain connected to its audience?
It seems that the recipe for a musical’s success is simple.
You need a few tunes that the audience will still be humming on their way home.
A few songs that will make it onto the radio.
A few choruses that will stick in the memory.
Stephen Sondheim decided to do exactly the opposite.
Throughout his life, he created musicals that were admired more than they were sung.
His music was sometimes complex. Not always easy. Not always accessible.
And yet many critics consider him to be the most important musical theatre composer of the 20th century. He is often described as the man who revolutionised American musical theatre.
How is this possible?
Perhaps this is because Sondheim did not set out to write hit songs.
He sought to tell stories about people.
Born in 1930, the composer began his career as the lyricist for the legendary musical *est Side Story, with music by Leonard Bernstein. He later went on to create his own works, which have taken their place in the history of musical theatre.
The best known of these remains Sweeney Todd.
It’s hard to imagine a subject less suited to a musical. It’s the story of a London barber who, after years of unjust imprisonment, returns to seek revenge. He kills his customers, and their bodies end up in the pies sold by his accomplice. It sounds more like a Gothic horror story than the sort of material you’d expect for an evening of singing.
And yet it was precisely this dark musical that became one of Sondheim’s greatest achievements.
Interestingly, those who analyse his music point out something quite unusual. Sweeney Todd lacks the simple, catchy melodies we usually associate with musicals. Instead, it features complex musical structures, numerous duets, trios and quartets, choral parts, and music that serves the drama of the story.
This is where Sondheim’s real story begins.
Most artists dream of audiences leaving the theatre humming their songs.
He wanted them to leave with food for thought.
He was interested in the psychology of his characters, their fears, obsessions and desires. Even the actors playing his characters emphasised that it was not enough simply to portray them. You have to understand them. Jacenty Jędrusik, who played Sweeney Todd, said that the key to this character lay not in his demonic nature, but in his humanity and in the attempt to understand a man destroyed by a thirst for revenge.
Perhaps that is precisely why Sondheim’s works are so difficult to categorise unequivocally.
Some see them as musicals.
Others see them as operas.
Still others see them as psychological dramas with music.
The director of the Polish production of Sweeney Todd himself described the work as a multi-layered musical drama that straddles the line between musical theatre and opera, drawing inspiration from surrealism, expressionism and the European theatrical tradition.
And yet, despite all this artistic complexity, Sondheim did not remain a niche artist.
He has won nine Tony Awards, thirteen Drama Desk Awards, six Laurence Olivier Awards, a Pulitzer Prize and an Oscar for the song Sooner or Later (I Always Get My Man), written for the film Dick Tracy. His songs have been performed by artists including Barbra Streisand, Judy Collins, Madonna and Liza Minnelli.
But this raises a far more interesting question than Sondheim's biography itself.
Does art really have to be accessible to win over an audience?
The modern world often suggests that it does.
That everything should be immediately understandable.
Fast.
Simple.
Easy to consume.
Sondheim’s work, however, reminds us of something else.
Some works do not captivate us from the very first encounter. The British philosopher Roger Scruton pointed out that the most valuable aesthetic experiences are often not immediate. Some meanings are revealed gradually, requiring time, attention and patience. The same is true of friendship, love or understanding another person – things of real value are rarely gained straight away. Just as not every book is an adventure novel, not every musical has to be a collection of hit songs.
Sometimes art is not meant to be hummed.
Sometimes it asks us to stop and pay attention.
And perhaps that is precisely why Stephen Sondheim remains one of the most important figures in musical theatre.
Not because he wrote melodies that are easy to remember.
But because he created stories that are hard to forget.
The Italian writer and philosopher Umberto Eco wrote about the so-called ‘open work’. According to him, some works do not provide ready-made answers. They compel the audience to help create meaning, to ask questions and to form their own interpretations. Perhaps this is precisely why Sondheim’s work continues to fascinate successive generations of audiences. It does not provide easy answers. It leaves room for reflection.
In fact, Stephen Sondheim’s story is part of a much older debate.
This debate resurfaces in every era and in every art form.
Should a work of art be, above all, enjoyable?
Should it provide entertainment?
Or is its purpose to provoke thought, ask uncomfortable questions and challenge the audience?
Some artists choose the first path. They create works that are easily accessible, immediately comprehensible, and provide the viewer with instant gratification.
Others choose the more difficult path.
They risk being misunderstood.
They accept that not everyone will admire them.
But they believe that art can be more than just entertainment.
It can be an encounter with something new.
It can broaden our view of the world.
It can change the way we think about ourselves.
Sondheim belonged precisely to this second group.
He didn’t give up on melody because he was unable to write hit songs. Quite the opposite. His songs frequently made it onto the charts, were performed by the biggest names on the American music scene, and he won an Oscar for the song Sooner or Later.
It seems, however, that he was interested in something more than just instant popularity.
He wanted to create works that would be remembered not because they are easy to hum along to, but because they are hard to forget.
Perhaps, however, truly great art does not lie in choosing one of these paths. The British philosopher Roger Scruton observed that a distinctive feature of many American composers was their ability to build bridges between high culture and popular culture. It was not a question of simplifying art or confining it to an elitist ivory tower. Rather, it was about creating works that remain ambitious whilst still being able to move a wide audience. Perhaps this is precisely why Sondheim’s work is so fascinating. His musicals do not sacrifice intellectual depth, yet they never lose touch with real people.
Philosophers of aesthetics have long pointed out that art is not merely a source of pleasure. Its purpose may also be to broaden our experience. Through art, we are able, for a moment, to see the world through someone else’s eyes and to experience their fears, desires and hopes. Perhaps this is precisely why the most significant works remain with us long after a performance, a book or a concert has ended.
So perhaps the question is not:
Should art be easy or difficult?
Perhaps another question is more important:
After meeting a work of art, are we truly the same as before?
If the answer is ‘no’, perhaps the art has already fulfilled its most important purpose.
