Posted October 01, 2024 in
Broadway is what dreams are made of. Especially the dreams of renowned plastic surgeon Ron Friedman.
Everyone is chasing a dream.
My 9-year-old dreams of a better world where children control their own candy destinies, free from the prison of chores and dental hygiene. Dallas will always dream of being cooler than Austin despite constantly saying, “Who’s Austin? Never heard of her. We have a Loro, too. Whatever.” Elon Musk dreamed of being the first man to shoot a car into the sky and then leave it there, because it’s not littering if it’s outer space.
For Ron Friedman, the dream is simple: he’s just a plastic surgeon in Dallas, writing a musical about the history of breast implants that he dreams will be the next Hamilton.
Friedman has been writing songs since he was a kid. All he’s ever known for sure is that he’s an artist. Everyone in his orbit fully supports him in this crazy endeavor, even though their eyebrows are thrown into a state of confusion and surprise whenever he talks about a new song lyric. He might ask, “Is the lyric ‘It’s déjà boob all over again’ too much—or is it not enough?” His friends shake their heads in disbelief, but they pull for him like you root for Anthony Michael Hall any time he’s on the screen. So far, Friedman has thrown $30,000 into the production of cleaVage: The Front Story, recording songs, hiring actors. It’s not just the money he has put at risk. There’s his reputation to consider. Maybe his marriage. Musical theater can be a dangerous business, and he’s going at it without any experience and without any safety ropes.
Friedman’s life is just like Free Solo. For boobs.