Why Don’t Sequels to Musicals Work?

by Chris Peterson

Broadway loves a good hit. But for some reason, it has never figured out how to make a hit again. Sequels on stage almost always fall flat — critically, commercially, or both. And no matter how beloved the original may be, lightning rarely strikes twice when it comes to musicals.

Part of the problem is that the very structure of a musical is often built for closure. By the time the curtain falls, the characters have grown, the plot has resolved, and the music has done its job of lifting us to catharsis. There’s just not a lot left to say. Trying to revisit those same characters in a new show often feels like an unnecessary encore. And in theatre, there’s nothing more awkward than an encore no one asked for.

It also doesn’t help that most sequels feel like they're chasing a brand instead of deepening a story. Annie Warbucks, Love Never Dies, Bring Back Birdie — all examples of sequels that tried to recapture magic by clinging to name recognition. Instead, they reminded us how special the originals were, and how unnecessary a continuation could be.

Bring Back Birdie is one of the more infamous examples. A sequel to Bye Bye Birdie that opened on Broadway in 1981, it closed after just four performances. The original had a fresh, fun, and cheeky tone that captured the moment. The sequel tried to move the characters into the 1980s and make a statement about aging rock stars. But the energy was gone, the score was forgettable, and audiences had moved on.

Love Never Dies was Andrew Lloyd Webber’s attempt to extend The Phantom of the Opera into a second act of love, loss, and a circus in Coney Island. It looked beautiful and had some lovely songs, but critics(including myself) pounced on the plot holes and the inconsistent character development. Phantom fans were divided. And despite multiple rewrites and redesigns, it never made it to Broadway.

Then there are the sequel-like shows that try to create spiritual successors. Side Show was never a massive hit, but the revival came with a completely new book and structure, trying to fix what didn’t work the first time. It flopped again. The Best Little Whorehouse Goes Public kept the spirit of the original but relocated the story to Las Vegas, losing the intimacy and charm that had worked before.

Even Stephen Schwartz, who wrote the megahit Wicked, has flirted with the idea of a sequel, but so far it’s never come to life. And maybe that’s smart. Maybe part of the longevity of a show like Wicked or Rent or Hamilton is that we don’t know what happens next. We’re left to wonder, to imagine, to hold the final notes in our heads as the house lights come up.

Musicals rely on discovery. When a show hits, it’s often because it gave us something we hadn’t seen or heard before. A sequel can’t offer that same surprise. It’s burdened by expectation, tethered to a score and a story we already know. That nostalgia might sell a few tickets, but it rarely builds the kind of buzz a new property can.

Maybe theatre just isn’t built for sequels. Maybe we love these characters most because we only get them once. Maybe the magic of a Broadway show is that it ends. And maybe we should just let it.