In the Dickens classic, Christ redeems capitalism
One year in the late-Nineties or early-2000s, when I was around 10 years old, my mom and grandma dressed me up and swept me into the city, through the doors of the grand Pabst Theater. This is where I first learned the term “nosebleeds,” as we ascended a gilded staircase to our seats at the tippy top of the balcony.
We were there to see the Milwaukee Repertory Theater’s annual rendition of A Christmas Carol, as we would do nearly every year into the future. The Pabst is a stunning venue, the kind of place that makes you think your town is special, though as I got older, I realized just about every American city has its own version of the Pabst: a local magnate’s eponymous temple to the arts, built with spoils from the Industrial Revolution.
This makes it the perfect home for Charles Dickens. In the mid-19th century, as A Christmas Carol debuted, Milwaukee was a grand city in the style of Chicago, infused with German culture and European elegance. The city’s prosperity, however, often did not extend to the laborers who produced the wealth. Humbug!
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