Cast List: Kermilton – An American Muppet Musical

Every generation has its “what if?” moment.

“What if Shakespeare wrote a sequel to Hamlet?”

“What if Sondheim scored Succession?”

“What if Lin-Manuel Miranda was… covered in felt?”

That last one, friends, is the foundation of Kermilton: An American Muppet Musical — the reimagining of Hamilton nobody asked for but everyone instantly realizes they need.

Because, really — if you take a step back — Hamilton is already a Muppet story.

A band of misfits changing the world through song?

A green underdog who believes in something bigger than himself?

A diva pig with uncontainable energy and a dangerous vibrato?

It writes itself.

Kermit the Frog as Alexander Kermilton

There’s a reason this whole production exists — and it’s him.

Kermit is Alexander Hamilton. The original ambitious idealist. A literal swamp immigrant who made his way from bayou to Broadway by sheer willpower and banjo. The guy’s built his career on optimism and exhaustion — same as Hamilton.

Imagine him pacing across the stage in a powdered wig, singing, “I am not throwing away my shot!” and then, in that gentle Midwestern tone:

“…Heh. Well, maybe just one.”

He’s earnest. He’s overwhelmed. He’s trying to keep a puppet ensemble from collapsing at any given moment.

He’s the heart of the revolution and the backstage chaos.

Kermit isn’t playing Hamilton — Hamilton is lucky to play Kermit.

Aaron Burr – Constantine (or a Human Wildcard)

Now this is where things get Shakespearean.

Aaron Burr could go two ways.

Option one: Constantine.

The jealous, slightly sociopathic Kermit doppelgänger whose defining characteristic is almost being Kermit. He’s smooth, calculated, and obsessed with being liked — everything Burr embodies.

Leslie Odom Jr.’s Burr is one of the finest musical theatre performances ever captured. So imagine Constantine trying to replicate that with the emotional range of a Soviet action figure. It’s tragic genius.

He’d be performing his jealousy in the same voice as the frog who outshines him. That’s art.

Option two: a human — someone suave, someone with Tony-winner energy. Andrew Rannells? Too self-aware. Billy Porter? Possibly transcendent. Either way, the duality works: the human who can sing circles around the Muppets but still can’t touch their soul.

The final duel practically writes itself:

“You never be real frog, Kermy.”

Bang. Curtain. Existential devastation.

George Washington – Sam the Eagle or Rowlf the Dog

This is the argument every Muppet fan has at brunch.

Most assume George Washington should be Sam the Eagle.

He’s the definition of “founding father energy” — stoic, patriotic, morally constipated. When Sam sings “One Last Time,” it would sound less like farewell and more like a civic PSA.

But there’s a soulful argument for Rowlf the Dog.

He’s loyal, wise, piano-bound, and one of the original Muppets — he’s been around since before Sesame Street was a twinkle in Jim Henson’s eye.

Rowlf would bring pathos. You’d feel the weight of leadership in his slow, gravelly drawl:

“Teach them how to say goodbye… arf.”

Rowlf gives us empathy. Sam gives us order.

Which is America, in a nutshell.

Miss Piggy as Pigliza Schuyler

Here’s where I differ from the crowd.

Every casual fan says, “Oh, Piggy should play Angelica! She’s glamorous! She’s bold! She belts!”

But I’ve never loved separating Kermit and Piggy in Muppet media. They’re co-dependent art. They’re peanut butter and jazz hands.

Piggy as Pigliza makes emotional and comedic sense. She’s the grounded center. The wife who somehow puts up with a frog who writes 81 letters a day and still finds time to tap dance.

And the pathos? Imagine Piggy’s “Burn.” The slow removal of satin gloves as she sings about betrayal, ending with a karate chop heard round the world. Chef’s kiss.

Peggy Schuyler / Maria Reynolds – Beaker, Camilla, or Janice

This is chaos casting — and that’s the point.

Picture Beaker in the corner of “The Schuyler Sisters” going:

“Mee mee mee… Angelica, Eliza, aaaaand—MEEP!”

Or Camilla the Chicken, clucking through “Say No to This.” The comedic potential of a seductive poultry ballad cannot be overstated.

If you want musical integrity, Janice works too.

She’d saunter in, guitar in hand, and say, “Like, no to this, fer sure.”

Dr. Teeth as her scandalized husband? Electric Mayhem meets infidelity. It’s camp theatre gold.

Marquise de Swedish Chef (Lafayette/Jefferson)

This is a lock.

“Guns and Ships”? In fake Swedish?

It’s already the funniest idea in the history of comedy.

Picture the verse:

“Bork de Yorktown, avec la boork-boork-boork!”

and somehow, we’d all understand every word.

Then in Act II, he returns as Swedish Chefferson, swaggering in with a ladle instead of a cane, debating Kermit in rhyme while flambéing a rack of lamb mid-verse.

It’s everything Jefferson ever wanted to be — pompous, flamboyant, and entirely incomprehensible.

Hercules Mulligan – Cookie Monster

The energy is identical.

Big voice, booming presence, zero subtlety, crumbs everywhere.

Every grunt, every battle cry, every “best box” becomes “best bocks!” — with crumbs flying into the mezzanine.

Then, Act II arrives: he’s reborn as Cookie Monstison, the sensitive, politically awakened version of himself, reading “The Federalist Papers” between snacks.

A revolution never tasted so good.

Samuel Seabury – Elmo

Annoying.

High-pitched.

Unshakably polite.

When Elmo politely sings about obedience to the Crown while being heckled by Kermit, we’ll finally get the confrontation America deserves.

General Lee – Animal

This one needs no explanation.

He’d just scream “LEE!” for 32 bars while throwing cymbals at the orchestra pit.

Standing ovation.

John Laurens – Gonzo / Philip Hamilton – Robin the Frog

A pairing made in heaven and heartbreak.

Gonzo as Laurens makes perfect sense — the passionate, loyal idealist who loves his friends to the point of self-destruction. He’s brave, chaotic, and probably writes poetry about chickens.

Robin as Philip, meanwhile, would break hearts everywhere.

He’s sweet, pure, hopeful — a tiny frog singing “Stay Alive (Reprise)” is the sort of emotional warfare that gets Tony buzz.

You’d hear sniffles in the audience before the gunshot even goes off.

King George III – Fozzie Bear

Inspired.

The costume alone: a giant crown slipping over his fuzzy ears, cape dragging, little giggle before every lyric.

Fozzie as King George III turns every breakup ballad into a stand-up routine:

“You’ll be back! Wocka wocka!”

He’d absolutely overstay his welcome, sing all three reprises, and still come back for a fourth bow because he misread the call sheet.

The balance of deranged monarchy and vaudeville timing? Perfection.

The Human Element – Leslie Odom Jr. and Renée Elise Goldsberry

The Muppets always include one or two humans to anchor the madness.

In Kermilton, those anchors are Leslie Odom Jr. (playing “Leslie Odom Jr.”) and Renée Elise Goldsberry reprising Angelica.

Renée becomes the lone voice of reason in a world of felt. Her “Satisfied” would bring down the house — elegant, fierce, surrounded by puppets falling over each other trying to match her key change.

Leslie, meanwhile, navigates the chaos with the grace of a man who’s been here before — singing duets with Kermit, scolding Constantine, and occasionally breaking the fourth wall to ask the lighting tech, “Is this… canon?”

And somewhere we have Mr. Miranda as the Piragua Guy (just because it would be funny to have him play that role in every movie musical he wrote).

It’s meta-musical bliss.

Kermilton isn’t parody. It’s prophecy.

Because, really — Hamilton is about resilience, hope, and the relentless pursuit of meaning in a world that never quite understands you.

The Muppets have been doing that since 1955.

They’ve always been America’s chorus of chaos and optimism — proof that artistry and absurdity can coexist.

So yes, give me Kermit rapping about revolution, Piggy belting through heartbreak, Swedish Chef dropping bars in gibberish, and Gonzo dying for friendship.

That’s theatre.

That’s legacy.

That’s Kermilton.

That’s The Muppets