Kristen Hadley

Democratic Vistas

Dr. Means

Another National Anthem: The Corruption of the American Dream in Stephen Sondheim‟s Assassins

In their musical Assassins, composer-lyricist Stephen Sondheim and book writer John

Weidman directly confront the construction of the American Dream, the mythical idea that

opportunity and success exist for all citizens of the United States. The musical‟s dreamlike set is

populated by successful and would-be presidential assassins, including John Wilkes Booth and

“Squeaky” Fromme, among others, with whom the audience is forced to sympathize and

identify. In doing so, the audience must also confront their ideas of what makes a person good or

bad, what drives a person to violence, and, ultimately, what America is truly about. These

themes, while well-presented in the original 1990 Off-Broadway production, are most explicit

and effective in the 2004 Broadway revival.

Assassins is presented as a Vaudeville-style revue taking place in a carnival shooting

range. Rather than shoot ducks or targets, however, the participants in the game shoot presidents.

Over the course of the musical, Leon Czolgosz, John Hinckley, Charles Guiteau, Giuseppe

Zangara, Samuel Byck, Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme, Sara Jane Moore, and John Wilkes Booth

intermingle, assassinate presidents, fail at assassinating presidents, and discuss how America has

essentially remained the same throughout each of their lifetimes. The show essentially takes

place in two worlds: the underworld that is the shooting range and the fantasy-reality that is the

“real world” of history. This “real world” is not real as it might be in a history book; history is

twisted and affected by outside characters who obviously were not present at the real events. For

example, Fromme and Moore‟s botched assassination attempts on Gerald Ford are presented

together, whereas in real life they were two separate events. The assassins, when in this fantasy

“real world,” are also vulnerable to the influences of both the Proprietor and the Balladeer, two

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important non-historical characters that represent the conflicting sides of the American

experience. The derealization of the “real world” in Assassins provides for an unsteady

environment where cold-blooded killers and pariahs of American history become sympathetic

figures.

The owner of the shooting range, known only as the Proprietor, provides the assassins

with their guns and urges them to kill their targets. The musical begins with the Proprietor telling

the assassins that the way to cure their various ailments is to shoot a president (“Everybody‟s Got

the Right”). The Proprietor is a solely malevolent figure; he

not only tempts the assassins but insults them when they fail.

He most clearly represents the underworld/limbo inhabited

by the assassins, but the Proprietor may also be seen as a kind

of hyper-realistic, chaos-obsessed character. In contrast with

the Balladeer‟s undying optimism, the Proprietor recognizes

and embraces the effect an assassination can have on a

country. In the song “Another National Anthem” (sung by

Sam Byck in the original production) the Proprietor sings that “there‟s another national

anthem…for those who never win,” which the assassins suggest is “the music…the

screams…the sobs…the drums…the muffled dreams” (Hat 136). The Proprietor repeatedly

promises the assassins that, should they shoot the president, they will receive a prize. Again and

again, the assassins are denied such a prize, until “Another National Anthem,” when, with the

Proprietor‟s aid,they determine that the prize is the chaos that they are able to create. Scott Miller

describes the Proprietor thusly:

The proprietor, who brings together in his shooting gallery assassins from

throughout history, is not just a one-scene character. He is the assassins‟

The Proprietor and Giuseppe Zangara.

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motivation and opportunity. He is America, a land where people are told to follow

an American Dream that does not really exist, that abandons those who fail, a

country where easy access to guns makes killing a simple way to take out an

angry man‟s frustrations. No other industrialized country has a history of

assassination like America‟s because no other country sells its citizens hopes and

dreams that cannot be realized, or makes it so easy for an average citizen to get a

gun. The Proprietor knows each assassin‟s failed dream or unrealized goal, and in

each case, he offers a handgun as remedy. Just as the Emcee in Cabaret

represented the decadence and willing ignorance of the German people, so too the

Proprietor in Assassins represents America throughout its history. (193)

The Proprietor functions as a devilish figure, both the assassins‟ inspiration for their acts and

their hangman. He is mythical and mysterious and

works most effectively as a foil to the Balladeer.

The Balladeer, present only in the “real

world” until the barrier breaks in “Another National

Anthem,” is a representation of American optimism

and the perseverance of the American dream. He is

portrayed as a kind of all-American folk singer who

torments and reminds the assassins that, though

their acts may disrupt daily life for a moment, it is

“only for a day” and that, though it “hurts a

while…soon the country‟s back where it belongs” (Hat 120). The Balladeer‟s optimism is a

naïve one; he believes in the country‟s power to persevere and to get itself back together.

According to Miller,

the Balladeer represents the American people, eager to oversimplify, happy to see

things in black and white. Good is very good and bad is very bad. Americans

want to believe that Booth could not have had legitimate complaints against

Abraham Lincoln—he was one of our greatest presidents. The Balladeer‟s inane

theme-park optimism in every scene…becomes more transparent as the evening

wears on and we get to know the assassins. By the time we get to “Another

The assassins convince the Balladeer/Oswald to

assassinate President Kennedy.

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National Anthem,” the playing field has been levelled. (193)

It is important to note that the Balladeer‟s philosophy is not one based on preventing

assassination, but rather one based on rebuilding after an assassination occurs. The Balladeer

presents no solutions for avoiding assassination or fixing whatever it is in the country that sparks

a person to assassinate a president. His essentially childlike enthusiasm about America‟s ability

to heal itself after a tragedy leads to his downfall; at the end of “Another National Anthem” he is

overtaken by the assassins and plunged into their world. In the 2005 production, he not only

becomes a part of their world, but becomes of them: in the scene immediately following

“Another National Anthem,” the actor playing the Balladeer now plays the role of Lee Harvey

Oswald and is convinced by the other assassins not to commit suicide but instead kill President

John F. Kennedy. The assassins tell the Balladeer-Oswald that by killing Kennedy, their past acts

are made legitimate and their future acts are made possible. John Hinckley even goes so far as to

ask Oswald for an autograph (Assassins 98). Obviously, Oswald shoots Kennedy, and as he turns

away from the window to face the audience, shots from the Zapruder film are projected onto his

white t-shirt. His caving-in to the demands of the assassins parallels the corruption and ultimate

failure of his unrealistic, too-idealistic American dream.

Assassins suggests that an American dream that does not take into account the possibility

of failure is in itself a dream that will eventually fail. Furthermore, the assassins are deeply

offended and even betrayed by the promise given by the American dream—the idea that the

country cannot reject its citizens, that it provides opportunity and safety for each person, that a

person can be who they truly are without fear of discrimination. Through various songs and

vignettes, the assassins show that this is not the case. In the opening song, “Everybody‟s Got the

Right,” the Proprietor and John Wilkes Booth sing of their ideal America:

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Everybody‟s got the right

To be happy

Say, “Enough!”

It‟s not as tough

as it seems.

Don‟t be scared you won‟t prevail,

Everybody‟s free to fail.

No one can be put in jail

For his dreams.

(Hat 115)

Obviously, the America that Booth and the other Assassins inhabit is not the one spoken of in

“Everybody‟s Got the Right.” In the next scene, Booth is hiding out in a barn after assassinating

President Lincoln, attempting to write down his version of events in a diary. He and the

Balladeer sing “The Ballad of Booth,” wherein the Balladeer belittles Booth for believing that he

could “write the rules and…right the wrongs” (Hat 120). Despite Booth‟s explanation of just

why he killed Lincoln—Lincoln “ruthlessly provoked a war between the States which cost some

six hundred thousand of [Booth‟s] countrymen their lives,” “silenced his critics in the North by

hurling them into prison without benefit of charge or trial” (Assassins 18), and “killed [Booth‟s]

country” (Hat 120)—the Balladeer claims that “It wasn‟t Lincoln…[Booth‟d] merely had a slew

of bad reviews” (Hat 119). Booth pleads with the Balladeer to tell his story and make it the

historical truth, but after Booth shoots himself, the Balladeer takes the diary Booth has been

writing in and burns the pages. The Balladeer does recognize the influence Booth has on the

other assassins to come:

Damn you, Johnny!

You paved the way

For other madmen

To make us pay.

Lots of madmen

Have had their say—

But only for a day.

(Hat 120)

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But he again speaks of the perseverance of American history and the people‟s ability to rebuild.

Listen to the stories,

Hear it in the songs.

Angry men don‟t write the rules,

And guns don‟t right the wrongs.

Hurts a while, but soon the country‟s

Back where it belongs,

And that‟s the truth.

Still and all,

Damn you, Booth!

(Hat 120)

Though Barbara Means Fraser suggests that the audience is meant to identify with the Balladeer

as it “is essential to guide the audience through the malaise ahead,” the audience may initially

distrust the Balladeer (and rightly so) as he spews shallow, clichéd phrases and begins to sound

less like a person and more like a failing politician (244).

In the scene immediately following “The Ballad of Booth,” the assassins are gathered

together. John Hinckley knocks over a bottle and Leon Czolgosz, who works in a bottle factory,

begins to yell at him. He curses Hinckley‟s sense of entitlement, telling Hinckley that, if he

breaks the bottle, somebody will have to make another one. Czolgosz goes on to describe the

awful working conditions of the factory, how the bottles burn his hands through his gloves and

how he has been scarred by falling glass. Charles Guiteau tells Czolgosz that he should get

another job, as “this is America! The Land of Opportunity!” (Assassins 27). Czolgosz, the son of

poor immigrants, exclaims “Opportunity for who?! (Indicating Hinckley) For him?! For you?!

(He seizes the bottle) This is only opportunity for me! This! Only this!” (Assassins 27).

Czolgosz‟ pronunciation of how America has betrayed him segues nicely into the following

scene, wherein Giuseppe Zangara, an Italian immigrant, attempts to assassinate President

Franklin Delano Roosevelt and instead kills Chicago mayor Anton Cermak. A group of tourists

sing the song “How I Saved Roosevelt,” a jaunty march set to Sousa‟s “El Capitan,” which, not

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coincidentally, was the song playing when Roosevelt‟s motorcade entered the park. While the

tourists sing of FDR‟s greatness and how happy they are to have kept Zangara from shooting

him, they also characterize Zangara as a crazed foreigner. Zangara, who has been strapped into

the electric chair by none other than the Proprietor, explains that he would have killed Roosevelt,

Hoover, or anyone else because of how the rich slighted him when he was younger. Perhaps the

most frightening incident in this song, however, comes after one of the tourists suggests that the

would-be assassin was “some left-wing foreigner” (Hat 125). Zangara protests:

No left!

You think I am left?

No left, no right,

No anything!

Only American!

Zangara have nothing,

No luck, no girl,

Zangara no smart, no school,

But Zangara no foreign tool,

Zangara American!

American nothing!

(Hat 125)

The tourists are quick to characterize Zangara as a foreigner because, like the Balladeer, they are

too afraid to admit that an American might be critical of his own country. They also fear that the

American dream they crave and likely seek might be an illusion. Zangara is perhaps the best

example of how the American dream has been a betrayal. Like Czolgosz, Zangara was promised

opportunity, equality, and respect in America. He was given none. As Zangara is fatally

electrocuted, the bystanders sing of just how lucky America is that they were there. Zangara is

forgotten, given not so much as a photographer at his execution.

After Zangara is wheeled off the stage, he is replaced by Leon Czolgosz, who listens to

Emma Goldman giving a speech from offstage while he bandages his wounds from his day‟s

work at the factory. After her speech, Czolgosz approaches Emma Goldman and confesses that

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he is in love with her. She admits that she does not have time to be in love with him, but gives

him what she can—a pamphlet on “her idea of social justice. Of a world in which men are not

merely created equal but allowed to live that way” (Assassins 39). In the next scene, Czolgosz

contemplates the ideas as he examines a gun. This is “Gun Song,” a barbershop quartet featuring

Czolgosz, Booth, Charles Guiteau, and Sara Jane Moore. Initially, Czolgosz thinks about the

hard working conditions of the men who make the gun, but Booth swoops in to remind him that

All you have to do

Is move your little finger,

Move your little finger and--

You can change the world.

Why should you be blue

When you‟ve your little finger?

Prove how just a little finger

Can—

Change the world.

(Hat 126-7)

As Charles Guiteau cakewalks in, Czolgosz murmurs “I hate this gun” (Hat 127). Guiteau, ever

the optimist, sings of the greatness of a gun:

What a wonder is a gun!

What a versatile invention!

First of all, when you‟ve a gun—

At this point, the music pauses, and Guiteau cocks his gun and slowly pans it over the entire

audience, grinning. Not only does this make the audience uneasy, it also forces the audience to

confront the fact that the characters they are laughing at and being entertained by are murderers.

Everybody pays attention!

When you think what must be done,

Think of all that it can do:

Remove a scoundrel,

Unite a party,

Preserve the union,

Promote the sales of my book,

Insure my future,

My niche in history,

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And then the world will see

That I am not a man to overlook!

(Hat 127)

The three men begin singing together; Czolgosz

seems to have decided that there are good things

about a gun. In a world where a poor man has no

power, a gun can empower him. When the faults

of presidents are forgotten, (the assassins believe)

an act of extreme violence can bring them to the

forefront. Sara Jane Moore, who attempted to

assassinate Gerald Ford, stumbles in, digging

through her giant purse in search of her gun. She sings

You can make a state—

Ment—…

With a gun.

Even if you fail.

It tells „em who you are,

Where you stand.

(Hat 127)

They repeat the “little finger” refrain, pulling the triggers of their guns to make a rhythmic

„click.‟ The men‟s guns click; Moore‟s gun goes off—“Shit, I shot it…” (Hat 127). Everyone

exits, save Czolgosz, who remains onstage examining his gun and singing:

A gun kills many men before it‟s done,

Hundreds,

Long before you shoot the gun:

Men in the mines,

And in the steel mills,

Men at machines,

Who died for what?

Something to buy,

A watch, a shoe, a gun,

A “thing” to make the bosses richer,

Guiteau, Booth, Czolgosz, and Moore sing “Gun Song”

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But

A gun claims many men before it‟s done.

Just one…

More…

(Hat 127)

Czolgosz puts his gun in his pocket and the stage shifts to the Temple of Music at the 1901 Pan-

American Exposition in Buffalo, New York. The Balladeer enters and begins to sing “The Ballad

of Czolgosz.” Interestingly, Czolgosz does not sing a line of this song, as compared with Booth

and Guiteau who each sing some of their respective ballads. The Balladeer emphasizes

Czolgosz‟ quiet nature, his life as an American

worker, the opportunities presented to him.

Most importantly, the Balladeer repeats the

phrase “In the USA you can work your way to

the head of the line,” an ironic statement given

that, at the song‟s conclusion, Czolgosz makes

his way to the front of the line to meet

President McKinley and assassinates him (Hat 129). (It is worth noting here that the

handkerchief with which Czolgosz wraps his gun is provided to him by the Proprietor.) The

majority of the song is sung by the Balladeer, but a few lines in the middle of the ballad are sung

by the fairgoers, who wonder why anyone would “want to kill a man of good will like Big Bill”

(Hat 130). Czolgosz, obviously, intends to kill “Big Bill” because he has offered no solutions for

the devastating poverty encountered by so many Americans of the day. As a poor man, Czolgosz

has essentially no power, but by buying a gun and killing the most powerful man in the country,

he seizes some power and is able to further propagate his anarchist views.

Czolgosz and the Balladeer at the Pan-American Exposition.

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Following this, Samuel Byck, dressed in a Santa suit, sits on a park bench and rants into a

tape-recorder. He is recording a message to be sent to Leonard Bernstein, whom Byck sees as

one of the few people able to keep him from crashing a plane into the White House. This

monologue is primarily played for comedy; Byck‟s rants become far more important in the

second half of the musical.

The next scene finds us in John Hinckley‟s rumpus room, where the Proprietor has just

given Hinckley his guitar. “Squeaky” Fromme is also present, and she harasses Hinckley for his

obsession with child star Jodie Foster. The two sing the duet “Unworthy of Your Love” together;

Hinckley addresses Jodie Foster while Fromme sings to Charles Manson. The song is relatively

unimportant in respect to the musical‟s treatment of the American dream, but it does provide for

an interesting twist on the typical romantic musical duet.

After being romantically rejected by Sara Jane Moore, Charles Guiteau shoots President

James Garfield. When the lights come up after this, Guiteau stands in front of the gallows,

singing “I Am Going to the Lordy,” a song he actually historically composed on the morning of

his execution and sang prior to his hanging. The Balladeer enters shortly thereafter and launches

into “The Ballad of Guiteau,” wherein he extols Guiteau‟s optimism and perseverance. If anyone

in the musical truly embodies the American spirit, it is Guiteau. It is only fitting, then, that he is

likely clinically insane. Between the verses the Balladeer sings, Guiteau chimes in with his own

chorus as he cakewalks up the steps to the gallows. Even on the day of his execution, Guiteau

sings,

Wait till you see tomorrow,

Tomorrow you‟ll get your reward!

You can be sad

Or you can be President.

Look on the bright side…

(Hat 131)

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Obviously, there will be no tomorrow for Guiteau, but he hangs on to the hope that “[he] could

be pardoned, [he] could be President,” and continues on his way to his death (Hat 131). Guiteau

also takes great pleasure in knowing that he is a great media sensation—“You are the lightning

and you‟re news!” (Hat 131). When he finally reaches the hangman‟s noose (who is,

unsurprisingly, also portrayed by the Proprietor) his frantic optimism grinds to a halt. He reprises

his song “I Am Going to the Lordy”—

I am going to the Lordy,

I am so glad!

I am going to the Lordy,

I am so glad!

I have unified my party,

I have saved my country.

I shall be remembered!

I am going to the Lordy!

(Hat 134)

Guiteau is clearly delusional; his party was never unified and he certainly did not “save the

country.” The typical American has never heard Guiteau‟s name (although that may be more a

product of his assassinating a forgotten and forgettable president). Still, the Balladeer and

Guiteau have the following musical exchange (the Balladeer‟s lines are italicized; Guiteau‟s are

not.)

Look on the bright side,

Not on the sad side,

Inside the bad side

Something’s good!

This is your golden

Opportunity:

You’ve been a preacher—

Yes, I have!

You’ve been an author—

Yes, I have!

You’ve been a killer—

Yes, I have!

You could be an angel—

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Yes, I could!

Just wait until tomorrow,

Tomorrow they’ll all climb aboard!

What if you never

Got to be President?

You’ll be remembered—

Trust in tomorrow—

(together) And the Lord!

(Hat 134)

The Proprietor/hangman pulls the trapdoor lever and Guiteau falls, the last note still ringing out

in the theatre. The Balladeer‟s lines in the previous exchange should likely be interpreted as

sarcastic; his earlier songs suggest that he does not truly believe the assassins will be

remembered. He almost certainly does not believe that “tomorrow they‟ll all climb aboard.” It is

clear in this scene and song, however, that the Balladeer‟s optimism is faltering. Guiteau became

something of a celebrity during the process of his trial. The Balladeer does not want to believe

that such a killer could ever be revered or found entertaining by the American public, and yet he

is—both by the people of his day, and by the audience watching the musical.

This scene is followed by a humorous one in which Fromme and Moore finally attempt

their assassination of President Gerald Ford. It does not go smoothly. Moore accidentally shoots

her dog and brings her son along to the assassination and threatens him with a gun. The bullets

all fall out of Moore and Fromme‟s guns and the President trips over them, telling the ladies to

be careful. Ford never even realizes that he may be in danger. As the President departs, Moore

and Fromme throw the bullets at him, shouting “Bang!” ( Assassins 75). Moore and Fromme fail

at their one real goal.

The next scene is a crucial one. Byck is again ranting into his tape-recorder, this time as a

message for President Nixon. He talks about lies, how America is falling apart:

We need to believe, to trust like little kids, that someone wants what‟s best for us,

that someone‟s looking out for us. That someone loves us. Do they? No. They lie

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to us! They lie about what‟s right, they lie about what‟s wrong, they lie about the

fuckin‟ hamburgers! And when we realize they‟re lying, really realize it in our

gut, then we get scared. Then we get terrified. Like children waking in the dark,

we don‟t know where we are. “I had a bad dream! Mommy! Daddy! Sammy had a

nightmare!” And daddy comes and takes me in his arms and says, “It‟s O.K.,

Sammy. Daddy‟s here. I love you, kid. Your mommy doesn‟t, but I do.” And

mommy comes and holds me tight and says, “I‟ve got you, Bubala. I‟m here for

you. Your daddy isn‟t, but I am.” …And then where are we? Who do we believe?

What do we do?! We do what we have to do. We kill the President. (Assassins 77)

Byck is specifically speaking about the lies told by both the Republican and Democratic parties,

but his sentiments could well be applied to the situations of any of the assassins. They all feel

lied to, betrayed by the country they once believed in, and feel that the only way to remedy this

is to kill the President. It is the only way to make their voices heard.

After Byck makes his final recording, the song “Another National Anthem” begins. This

is perhaps the most important song in the entire musical. It is the final explanation of the

assassins‟ motivations, as well as the ultimate downfall of the Balladeer. The song starts with

each assassin stating why they did what they did. Byck then begins muttering “Where‟s my

prize?...I want my prize…Don‟t I get a prize?...I deserve a fucking prize!” (Hat 135). The other

assassins chime in with “They promised me a prize…What about my prize?...I want my prize!”

and Byck shouts “Nobody would listen!” (Hat 135). The Balladeer suddenly appears and sings,

lighthearted as usual,

And it didn‟t mean a nickel,

You just shed a little blood,

And a lot of people shed a lot of tears.

Yes you made a little moment

And you stirred a little mud,

But it didn‟t fix the stomach

And you‟ve drunk your final Bud,

And it didn‟t help the workers

And it didn‟t heal the country

And it didn‟t make them listen

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And they never said, “We‟re sorry”—

(Hat 135)

Angry, the assassins respond that it‟s “never gonna happen” and they‟re “never gonna get the

prize” (Hat 135). Here, the assassins are at their most disillusioned with the country, and

rightfully so. The America the Balladeer has promised them is a lie, and he continues to lie to

them in his next section:

I just heard

On the news

Where the mailman won the lottery.

Goes to show:

When you lose,

What you do is try again.

You can be

What you choose,

From a mailman to a President.

There are prizes all around you,

If you‟re wise enough to see:

The delivery boy‟s on Wall Street,

And the usherette‟s a rock star—

(Hat 135)

The assassins divide into two groups and sing that “someone‟s gonna listen” (Hat 136). With the

Proprietor‟s help, they sing of “the other national anthem” and

finally silence the Balladeer, who still insists “that the country‟s

built on dreams” and that the assassins are forgetting “how quick it

heals” (Hat 136). The assassins force the Balladeer offstage. They

do not care if the country is built on dreams, or if the country heals

quickly. The country has never been for them what it has been for

the Balladeer. The country has never been that way for anyone.

They reclaim the Balladeer‟s ideas, however, in the final section

of the song: The assassins sing “Another National Anthem.”

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Like the other national anthem

Says to each and every fan:

If you can‟t do what you want to,

Then you do the things you can.

You‟ve got to try again!

Like they say—

You‟ve got to keep on trying…

Every day—

Until you get a prize…

Until you get a prize…

Until you‟re heard…

Mustn‟t get discouraged…

Spread the word…

Mustn‟t give up hope…

Up to you—

Don‟t say—

—What you choose…

—It‟s never gonna happen…

Spread the word…

You can always get a prize…

You can always get your dream…

Sure, the mailman won the lottery…

(Hat 137)

Simply put, their dreams differ from the Balladeer‟s. And, unlike the Balladeer, the assassins are

(in some cases) actually able to achieve their dreams—killing the President. After this, Booth

and the other assassins take to the Texas Schoolbook Depository and persuade Lee Harvey

Oswald—played by the Balladeer—to assassinate President Kennedy. They tell Oswald that his

act is necessary in order to make their acts worthwhile. In frantic

Italian translated by the other assassins, Zangara tells Oswald that

“through [Oswald] and [Oswald‟s] act, [the other assassins] are

revived and given meaning…[they] are reborn, through [Oswald]”

(Assassins 100). They sing the short song “Family,” wherein the

assassins tell Oswald that they are his family. It ends with a quotation

of “Gun Song”—“All you have to do is squeeze your little finger.

The Zapruder film is projected

onto Oswald’s shirt.

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Squeeze your little finger…You can change the wor—” cut off by Oswald‟s gunshot (Hat 138).

The lights go dark and the music stops for a moment before returning louder and more

triumphant than before. Oswald turns to face the audience and shots from the Zapruder film are

projected on his white t-shirt. His act is done; the assassins are now a true force of history.

The assassins leave the stage and, in the 2004 production, are replaced by various

American citizens who sing the anomalous song “Something Just Broke.” In this song, the

citizens talk about how they felt upon learning that the President had been shot. The song does

not truly fit with the rest of the musical; in the original production, the Kennedy assassination

transitions directly into the final reprise of “Everybody‟s Got the Right.” It is confusing as to

why the assassins allow the citizens to take over the stage and add a kind of forced warmth to the

musical. Perhaps written to evoke emotion and remind the audience that they are the real heroes

of the story—they are the ones who help America to rebuild after tragedy—“Something Just

Broke” falls flat and softens the sheer brutality of the previous scene. More often than not,

“Something Just Broke” feels like false hope; it is unlikely that this group of assassins would

allow a group of sad Americans to steal their show.

Finally, the assassins reappear after the citizens leave and reprise the opening song

“Everybody‟s Got the Right” (Hat 142). Proud of their acts and having reclaimed America, the

assassins, now including Oswald, proclaim,

Everybody‟s got the right

To some sunshine.

Not the sun,

But maybe one of its beams…

Rich man, poor man, black or white,

Everybody gets a bite,

Everybody just hold tight

To your dreams.

Everybody‟s got the right…

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To their dreams.

(Hat 142-3)

They raise their guns and fire into the audience. Over the course of the musical, the assassins

have questioned the idea of the American dream and America itself, as have the audience

members. Ultimately, they expose the American dream to be a lie told by the Balladeers of

society; the assassins claim the Proprietor‟s America, living in it and loving it. In the Proprietor‟s

America, everyone truly does have the right to their dreams.

“Everybody’s Got the Right”

Hadley 19

Works Cited

Fraser, Barbara Means. "Revisiting Greece: The Sondheim Chorus." Stephen Sondheim: A

Casebook. Ed. Joanne Gordon. New York: Garland Pub., 1997. 223-49. Print.

Miller, Scott. "Assassins and the Concept Musical." Stephen Sondheim: A Casebook. Ed. Joanne

Gordon. New York: Garland Pub., 1997. 187-204. Print.

Sondheim, Stephen, and John Weidman. Assassins. New York: Theatre Communications Group,

1991. Print.

Sondheim, Stephen. Look, I Made a Hat: Collected Lyrics (1981-2011) with Attendant

Comments, Amplifications, Dogmas, Harangues, Digressions, Anecdotes and Miscellany.

New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2011. Print.