Dave Malloy is a bit of a madman. I mean that in the best way possible. Who else looks at a 70-page slice of Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace—arguably the most intimidating novel in the history of the written word—and thinks, "Yeah, this needs to be an electropop opera set in a Russian dinner club"?
That’s exactly what happened. Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812 isn't your standard Broadway fare. It doesn't behave like Wicked or The Phantom of the Opera. It’s loud. It’s messy. It’s devastating. If you walked into the Imperial Theatre back in 2017, you weren't just sitting in a chair; you were sitting in the middle of a high-octane, vodka-soaked Russian aristocratic fever dream.
The show is a miracle of adaptation. It takes Volume 2, Part 5 of Tolstoy's tome and turns it into a sung-through spectacle. You’ve got Natasha, a young girl full of hope, waiting for her fiancé to return from the war. Then there’s Anatole, a hedonistic rogue who decides to ruin her life because he’s bored. And Pierre? Pierre is just having a massive existential crisis in the corner. Honestly, same.
The Chaos of the Great Comet of 1812 Musical
People talk about "immersive theater" a lot, but this show actually lived it. When it moved from Ars Nova to a tent in meatpacking to Broadway, it brought the party with it. The actors didn't stay on stage. They ran through the aisles. They handed out pierogies in little cardboard boxes. They shook shakers in your face.
It felt dangerous.
Musically, it’s a total blender. Malloy mixes Russian folk music with indie rock and heavy electronic dance beats. One minute you’re listening to a delicate oboe solo, and the next, the bass is dropping so hard the chandelier shakes. It’s jarring. It’s supposed to be. Life in 1812 Moscow was jarring. One day you’re at the opera, and the next, you’re trying to elope with a married man while your family name goes up in flames.
The opening number, "Prologue," is a stroke of genius. It literally tells the audience: "This is a damn complicated story, so here are the characters and their one defining trait." Anatole is hot. Marya is old-school. Sonya is good. And Pierre? Pierre is "dear, bewildered Pierre." It’s the show’s way of saying, "Don't worry about the 1,200 pages of Russian history you didn't read. Just stay with us."
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The Josh Groban Factor and the Casting Drama
Let's talk about the elephant in the room. Or rather, the bearded guy with the accordion.
When Josh Groban was cast as Pierre, some theater purists scoffed. They thought he was just a "pop-opera" guy. They were wrong. Groban was transformative. He wore a fat suit, messy hair, and projected a soul-crushing loneliness that anchored the entire production. His rendition of "Dust and Ashes" remains one of the most powerful moments in recent Broadway history. It’s a song about a man realizing he’s been dead inside for years and finally wanting to wake up.
But then, the drama happened.
If you follow Broadway Twitter, you remember the summer of 2017. It was a mess. Groban left. Okieriete "Oak" Onaodowan (from Hamilton) took over. Then the producers tried to bring in Mandy Patinkin to boost ticket sales because the numbers were dipping. The optics were terrible. It looked like they were pushing out a Black lead for a white veteran star. The backlash was swift, Patinkin withdrew, and the show closed shortly after.
It was a tragedy. Not the Tolstoy kind, but the industry kind. A show this weird and this beautiful deserved a longer life. It was a victim of a brutal Broadway market that often struggles to sustain shows that don't have a "Disney" logo or a famous movie tie-in.
Why the Music Actually Works
Most musicals have a "pit." Not this one. The band was everywhere. The actors were the band. You’d see a guy playing a cello, then he’d stand up, deliver a line, and start dancing. This creates a specific kind of energy that you can’t replicate with a traditional orchestra tucked away under the stage.
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The song "The Abduction" is a perfect example of this. It’s a frantic, pulsing EDM track that chronicles Anatole’s attempt to steal Natasha away. It feels like a heist. It feels like a rave. It shouldn't work in a period piece about 19th-century Russia, but it does because the emotions are modern. The feeling of making a reckless, stupid, thrilling mistake is universal.
Malloy's lyrics are often ripped directly from the English translation of Tolstoy. This creates a strange, stilted rhythm that feels more "real" than polished musical theater rhyming couplets. When Natasha sings "No One Else," it’s pure, raw longing. When Pierre sings "The Great Comet of 1812" at the very end, it’s a moment of cosmic clarity.
The Set Design Was a Character
Rachel Chavkin, the director (who later won a Tony for Hadestown), is a visionary. She and set designer Mimi Lien turned the theater into a red-velvet bunker. They ripped out the traditional seating. They built runways. They put mirrors everywhere.
This wasn't just for show. It forced the audience to look at each other. You were part of the gossip. When Natasha is being judged by the Moscow elite, you feel the weight of those eyes because you are one of them. You’re sitting right there. You can see the sweat on the actors' faces. You can smell the stage makeup.
It’s an expensive way to do theater. It’s risky. But it’s the only way to capture the scale of Tolstoy’s world. You need that sense of overwhelming "too-much-ness."
The Legacy of the Comet
Even though it closed earlier than it should have, the great comet of 1812 musical changed the landscape. It proved that "difficult" literature could be accessible if you stopped treating it like a museum piece. It paved the way for more experimental scores and non-traditional staging on Broadway.
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You still see its influence today. Whenever a show breaks the fourth wall or uses a wildly anachronistic score, there’s a bit of Malloy in there. The "Comet" cult is real. Fans still trade bootlegs, analyze every synth layer in the cast recording, and organize "Great Comet" themed parties.
There is a deep humanity in the character of Pierre. He is wealthy, educated, and completely miserable. He spends his life looking for meaning in books, in drink, and in the stars. In the end, he finds it in a simple act of kindness toward a disgraced girl. That’s the heart of the show. It’s not the lights or the vodka or the electronic beats. It’s the idea that even when the world is ending—even when Napoleon is at the gates and a literal comet is streaking across the sky—we can still be kind to each other.
How to Experience It Now
Since you can't go to the Imperial Theatre and see it today, you have to get creative.
- Listen to the Original Cast Recording: Don't just shuffle it. Listen from start to finish. Read the lyrics. Try to visualize the movement.
- Watch the "Making of" Content: There are incredible videos online of the cast rehearsals and the set build. It gives you a sense of the technical nightmare (and triumph) that this show was.
- Read the Slice of Tolstoy: Pick up War and Peace. Go to Volume 2, Part 5. It’s surprisingly readable. You’ll see exactly how Malloy translated prose into poetry.
- Look for Regional Productions: Because the show is so unique, regional theaters and colleges love to tackle it. It’s a massive challenge for any tech department, so when a local theater announces they’re doing "Comet," go buy a ticket immediately.
The Great Comet was a flash of light. It burned bright, it confused some people, it moved others to tears, and then it disappeared. But like the actual comet of 1812, it left a mark on everyone who saw it. It reminded us that theater can be anything it wants to be, as long as it has a soul.
Next Steps for Enthusiasts:
If you're looking to dive deeper into the world of Dave Malloy, start by listening to Ghost Quartet. It’s another song-cycle that leans even harder into the experimental, ghost-story vibes. After that, look up the lyrics to "Dust and Ashes" and compare them to Pierre's monologues in the Maude translation of War and Peace. You’ll gain a whole new appreciation for the craft of adaptation. Finally, keep an eye on licensing sites like MTI; if you're a performer or director, seeing the score on paper is a masterclass in modern composition.