Todrick Hall has never been an entertainer who believes in doing anything small. From elaborate music videos to Broadway productions, the singer, choreographer and internet personality has built a career around spectacle. But his latest theatrical project, Midnight, raises questions that go far beyond its production value.
The new Off-Broadway musical, which officially opened October 15 at New York’s Daryl Roth Theatre, centers on a forbidden romantic relationship between an enslaved Black man and a wealthy white man in the American South during the 19th century.
Hall wrote, directed, choreographed and stars in the production, which features a 28-member company and a musical score combining gospel, R&B, pop, rock and traditional musical theater.
While the production has earned praise for its music, performances and ambitious staging, its premise raises a troubling question: Can a story about slavery, racial oppression and forbidden love meaningfully explore those subjects without romanticizing the power imbalance at the center of the relationship?
And perhaps more importantly, is this really the kind of representation Black queer audiences have been waiting for?
A Love Story Built on an Unequal Foundation
According to the production’s official description, Midnight follows 12 interconnected characters, six Black and six white, as they navigate love, prejudice, identity and personal transformation.
Its central message encourages audiences to imagine what their lives might look like if they had been born into someone else’s circumstances.
On paper, the concept sounds like an exploration of empathy. However, the historical setting complicates that message considerably.
Slavery was not simply a matter of people being assigned different social roles. It was an institution built on the ownership, exploitation and violent control of human beings.
A wealthy white man and an enslaved Black man living in the same society did not merely experience different levels of privilege. One existed within a system that legally denied the other basic freedom and autonomy.
That distinction matters, particularly when romance becomes the vehicle for exploring their relationship.
A relationship involving an enslaved person cannot be separated from questions of coercion, consent, survival and power. Even when affection is portrayed as genuine, the circumstances surrounding that affection are fundamentally unequal.
The challenge for Midnight is whether it fully confronts that reality or allows the emotional appeal of its love story to overshadow it.
When Spectacle Threatens to Overwhelm the Subject
Professional reviews have highlighted another concern: the production’s elaborate theatrical style sometimes clashes with the gravity of its subject matter.
A review published by New York Theatre Guide praised the cast, choreography and memorable songs but questioned the decision to incorporate flashy theatrical effects into scenes depicting plantation violence.
The review specifically raised concerns about the use of strobe lighting during a scene in which Hall’s character, Rail, is beaten.
That criticism speaks to a larger problem with historical entertainment.
There is a difference between using theatrical techniques to communicate the brutality of slavery and transforming that brutality into a visually impressive production number.
Black suffering has been depicted in American entertainment for generations. From historical dramas to prestige television, audiences have repeatedly been asked to watch enslaved people endure violence, humiliation and exploitation.
The issue is not that these stories should never be told. It is whether the storytelling offers something meaningful beyond another polished depiction of trauma.
For a production as ambitious as Midnight, impressive choreography and powerful vocals are not enough to answer that question.
Black Gay Stories Deserve Better Than Another Plantation Narrative
There is also an important cultural dimension to the conversation.
Stories centered on Black gay men remain underrepresented in mainstream theater, particularly productions with substantial financial backing and elaborate staging.
Hall’s decision to place a Black queer character at the center of a major musical is significant. His willingness to develop original material rather than simply reinterpret an existing Broadway property deserves recognition.
But representation alone does not make a production culturally responsible.
Black queer audiences can celebrate greater visibility while questioning the stories being used to achieve it.
Why must a Black gay love story unfold against the backdrop of enslavement? Why does the relationship need to involve a wealthy white man connected to the plantation system? And what does that choice communicate about whose love is considered powerful or worthy of theatrical attention?
Black gay men have rich histories of love, community, resilience, ambition and joy that exist far beyond slavery and racial trauma.
There are countless untold stories about Black queer relationships, families and communities that do not require a plantation as their backdrop.
Yet here we are, watching another production use one of the darkest periods in American history as the foundation for a romantic narrative.
Those creative decisions do not automatically make Midnight offensive. They do, however, demand more than a catchy soundtrack and a message about overcoming differences.
Critics Are Divided Over Whether the Musical Succeeds
Not every critic has interpreted the production negatively.
Writing for Slant Magazine, Dan Rubins praised Hall’s ambitious approach, particularly a second-act storytelling device that challenges the audience’s understanding of the characters and their circumstances.
Rubins argued that the production’s unconventional structure and treatment of racial identity make it an unusually inventive theatrical experiment.
However, even that favorable review acknowledged the dangers of using slavery as a fairy-tale metaphor, especially in a production depicting beatings, murders and family separation.
Other critics have been less forgiving.
TheaterMania described the production as visually dazzling but overstuffed, while Culture Sauce praised its musical potential but questioned whether Hall’s numerous creative responsibilities ultimately weakened the finished product.
The mixed reviews suggest that Midnight is neither the unquestionable triumph its promotional material might imply nor a production that can be dismissed solely because its premise makes people uncomfortable.
Its ambitions are substantial. So are its shortcomings.
Racism Was Never Just a Failure to Understand One Another
Perhaps the most questionable aspect of Midnight is its central philosophical message.
The production asks audiences to consider how their perspectives might change if they had been born into someone else’s circumstances.
Empathy is important, but racism and slavery were not simply failures of individuals to understand one another.
They were systems of power maintained through laws, economic interests, violence and institutional authority.
The danger of reducing those realities to a lesson about seeing life through another person’s eyes is that it risks presenting oppression as a misunderstanding rather than an intentional structure.
A slaveholder did not need to experience enslavement personally to recognize that owning another human being was wrong.
And an enslaved Black man did not need a romantic relationship with a wealthy white man to understand the humanity of people living outside his circumstances.
That is where the production’s message deserves particularly close scrutiny.
Does Every Black Love Story Need to Come With Trauma?
Ultimately, Midnight represents both the promise and the risks of Hall’s artistic ambition.
He has created a large-scale original musical that gives Black performers and queer storytelling a prominent theatrical platform. Its cast has earned considerable praise, and even critical reviews acknowledge the strength of its music and performances.
But artistic ambition does not automatically translate into thoughtful historical commentary.
There is a legitimate difference between challenging audiences with uncomfortable material and asking them to overlook uncomfortable implications because the production is entertaining.
The question is not whether Todrick Hall has the right to tell this story. He does.
The question is why, with so many possibilities available for Black queer storytelling, this particular romance needed to take place on a plantation.
Black gay men have spent generations fighting to be seen as fully human, fully deserving of love and fully capable of existing outside the stereotypes and suffering that have historically defined their representation.
Surely, there is room for more stories about Black gay men falling in love without slavery, servitude or a wealthy white love interest being central to the plot.
Midnight may ultimately find an audience that embraces its combination of fantasy, romance and historical revisionism. Others may find that its attempt to transform slavery into a universal lesson about empathy minimizes the very power structures it seeks to explore.
Both reactions deserve consideration.
Black queer stories deserve major stages, ambitious budgets and creative freedom. But representation should be about expanding the possibilities of who we get to be, not continually returning us to the circumstances in which our humanity was denied.
Todrick Hall has every right to tell the story he wants.
And audiences have every right to ask why this was the story he chose.
Midnight is scheduled to run at the Daryl Roth Theatre in New York through November 8, 2026.
This article is cultural commentary based on the production’s published synopsis and professional reviews, not an independent firsthand review of a performance.
