In just the past couple of weeks, race-conscious casting has been at the heart of theater conversations. We saw Cynthia Erivo’s groundbreaking turn as Jesus in the Hollywood Bowl’s Jesus Christ Superstar, and celebrated the 10-year anniversary of Hamilton, a show built on Lin-Manuel Miranda’s deliberate choice to cast America’s founding fathers with actors of color.
Then came the controversy. The Tony-winning Maybe Happy Ending, set in South Korea, features Darren Criss—who is half Filipino and half white—as Oliver, a retired and obsolete Helperbot. Criss will soon be leaving the role, with white Jewish actor Andrew Barth Feldman being cast as his replacement. It’s worth noting that Feldman is the boyfriend of Helen J Shen, who plays the other Helperbot Claire—a real-life connection that mirrors the show’s message of universal love. But that chemistry hasn’t shielded the production from backlash. This casting change has ignited heated debates about representation, identity, and notably how much we honor a creator’s vision in their own work.
It got me thinking about the Beetlejuice First National Tour, which I am currently traveling with. Just like MHE, the role of Otho was originated on Broadway by an Asian-American actor, Kelvin Moon Loh. But when the tour launched, a white Jewish actor took over, and now I’ve stepped into the role myself. But unlike MHE, there was no fallout or adverse reaction to this pivot in casting.
Curious, I asked my friend and fellow ensemble member Kenway Kua for his perspective. “When I saw the show, it was nice to see an Asian guy onstage in a featured role. That definitely informed my thoughts when I auditioned,” he told me. Kenway read for Otho and other parts, but as callbacks progressed, it became clear he was being considered more for the dancing ensemble—a track he has performed every night with exceptional energy and skill. As for Otho, he was matter-of-fact: “I didn’t have any strong feelings about Otho being cast white. Funny is funny. I also don’t know how many Asian men auditioned for Beetlejuice.”
This points to a bigger truth about casting in general. Kua, like many Asian American, Native Hawaiian, and Pacific Islander (AANHPI) actors, often finds himself as the only one in a cast. “For most of the tour, I was the token Asian in the Netherworld (cast, crew, musicians) and I was happy to represent. I’ve spent most of my career as the token, and one is better than none.” Still, he believes any of the leading or featured roles could be played by an Asian American actor. “And it’s wonderful every time I get to see Emilia [Tagliani] play Lydia.”
That same sense of joy surrounded Maybe Happy Ending, which proudly marketed itself as a Korean musical—with one of its writers being Korean and featuring an all-Asian cast, except for the white male crooner role. Since its November 2024 opening, the show steadily built an audience and then won six Tony Awards, marking a major milestone for Asian representation on Broadway. But that very success is part of why the casting change sparked so much disappointment and anger. Asian-American actors, journalists, and organizations have issued passionate statements condemning the Maybe Happy Ending casting decision — sentiments captured well by Kua: “It’s disheartening and hurtful having an AANHPI actor play the leading man love interest, win the highest award in our industry, and be immediately replaced by a white, Jewish man.”
As history shows, casting debates on Broadway are nothing new. When Pearl Bailey, a Black singer and actress, took over the role of Dolly Levi in Hello, Dolly! in 1967 with an all-Black cast, it was hailed as groundbreaking—landing Bailey on the cover of LIFE and earning her a special Tony Award. But even within the Black theater community, not everyone was on board. Frederick O’Neal, the first Black president of Actors’ Equity, told The New York Times, “Having an all-Negro cast — or an all-Jewish or all-Chinese one, for that matter — is not the idea at all… Of course, Negroes need the work…But we are sacrificing our principles for a few bucks.” his words revealed a crucial tension: the need for performing opportunity versus a commitment to long-term equality. Even some white critics echoed discomfort and needlessly wondered if it might lead to an all-white Porgy and Bess. (Which of course, it did not.)
Decades later, Miss Saigon sparked fierce backlash when British actor Jonathan Pryce was cast to reprise his Eurasian character from the London production, where he used prosthetics and makeup to look Asian. This led to fierce backlash and protests, with Actors Equity even blocking Pryce from the show initially. However, Pryce’s eventual Tony win only deepened cultural wounds.
More recently, in 2017, Natasha, Pierre & The Great Comet of 1812 faced turmoil when Black actor Okieriete Onaodowan, who had replaced Josh Groban, was set to be replaced by Mandy Patinkin to boost ticket sales. The backlash was swift, Patinkin withdrew, and the show closed a month later—leaving many to question whether the protest, however well-intentioned, ended up unfairly punishing the production itself.
Contrast all this with Hamilton. Lin-Manuel Miranda made race-conscious casting the heartbeat of his story. His authorial intent was clear, and the theater community has fiercely protected and supported that vision. Which raises the question: if we honor Miranda’s vision so firmly, should we also honor the intentions of Maybe Happy Ending’s creators—whose intentions when it came to race were just as deliberate?
In their joint statement about this casting decision, lyricist Hue Park and composer Will Aronson made clear their vision for Maybe Happy Ending: their lead characters are robots, designed to be universal rather than tied to any specific race. They said they wanted to create a show that would become “part of the American musical theatre canon—a modern-day Fantasticks, able to be comfortably performed by anyone, anywhere.” Months ago, before this casting controversy, Aronson told Playbill, “It would be very depressing if we were writing a story about a person going through a really bad breakup or losing a friend. We felt the alienating device of having them be robots allowed us to engage with this in an exciting way, and a more heart-opening way.” And Park added, “We get to witness these human-like robots learning the meaning of life, basically.”
The show’s workshops have reflected that openness to casting, featuring performers like Denée Benton, Corey Cott, and Hailey Kilgore—none of whom are AANHPI. When it came time to cast for Broadway, the breakdowns clearly stated that “any ethnicity” could audition for any role. Even the robots’ names—Claire and Oliver—were chosen to sound universal, not specifically Korean. As Park explained, “We went with English names because we thought they were almost like pets for the owners.” Even so, Kua and others have pushed back against such explanations. Kua told me, “Commenting that the role is a robot (therefore specific race or ethnicity isn’t required) is missing the entire point of the controversy.”
And what about Darren Criss himself? He’s been seen as “conventionally Caucasian” for most of his career. But through the year he’s been pretty honest about how complicated his racial identity feels to him. Back in a 2018 Vulture interview, when asked if he considered himself Asian-American, he said, “No. I think that’d be unfair. I think that’d sound like I’m reaching for the minority card on a college application.” He added, “I’m half-Filipino but I don’t look like it… I just look like a Caucasian guy, which is nice. I’ve got the multi-ethnic thing going on.” Then a couple years later he was more reflective in People when he highlighted that identity is personal and and not always easy to label or define. “Anyone who is biracial can attest to this: No matter how much or how little they look like their respective mix, it’s a constant work in progress… Just because people don’t see it, doesn’t make it any less real to me.”
Broadway itself is kind of a “work in progress” too. There have definitely been steps forward in recent years to to address its own shortcomings in storytelling and casting. But that doesn’t erase how real the feelings of underrepresentation and exclusion still are for many AANHPI performers and audiences. As Kua puts it, the disagreement over casting Feldman “isn’t about talent, offstage romance, or stunt casting. This is about positive representation, visibility, and opportunity representation.” And this push and pull between honoring identity and the flexibility of casting was something Japanese-born actress Diana Huey experienced firsthand. She understudied Claire in the US premiere of Maybe Happy Ending and was also the first Asian-American to play Ariel in the US National Tour of The Little Mermaid. Diana shared what it was like facing criticism for her casting:
“When I auditioned for Mermaid, I was just excited to get to sing ‘Part of Your World’ with a live accompanist—I didn’t think I had a real chance because I’m Asian. Looking back on that now, that thought makes me so sad. No one should feel like they aren’t enough because of the color of their skin or the shape of their eyes or any factor outside of who they are.”
But does Huey’s heartfelt statement apply equally to Andrew Barth Feldman? Will protests greet Feldman when he begins his nine-week run as Oliver? My biggest concern is that this casting dispute risks damaging a show that has been a beacon of innovation and sincere storytelling. Could this controversy lead to lower ticket sales or even force an early closing, like what happened to Great Comet? Does having a white actor in a show so clearly rooted in Korean culture suddenly make it less Korean? Or diminish the emotional journey of Oliver and his relationship with Claire? If the production continues with Feldman into the winter months, I’ll be curious to see how they cast future Olivers—and Claire as well. Because here’s the reality: these issues are complicated and not going away anytime soon.
Identity is layered and personal, experienced differently by every performer and audience member. Theater is a living, evolving space shaped by a collaboration of many voices, not just one. We need to step back and consider the bigger picture. Personal feelings about a role or a show are valid, but they shouldn’t be the final word on how that story is told or received by others. If we hold space for creators, performers, and audiences alike, we can honor the pain and progress while also protecting the art itself—which is what ultimately brings us together.
Main Image: Shen & Criss - Photo by Matthew Murphy and Evan Zimmerman
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This post was last modified on August 13, 2025 8:30 pm