By JK Clarke . . .
Musicals that take place during revolutions or periods of historic social upheaval tend to not only be compelling to audiences but have a fairly good track record. Think Les Miz . . . or Hamilton . . . or Fiddler on the Roof. So, even though your first reaction may very well be skeptical when you hear that Here Lies Love is a pop/rock musical about the Philippines’ notorious politician/first lady Imelda Marcos, on deeper reflection it should come as no great surprise that the show is both vibrantly entertaining and profoundly moving. It also doesn’t hurt that the music and lyrics were written by rock/new wave/punk legend David Byrne (founder of The Talking Heads) and indie rock/electronica icon Fat Boy Slim (formerly of The Housemartins). These brilliant musicians have teamed up to deliver a riveting story about Marcos and the havoc she wreaked on the Philippines through graft, theft, corruption and possibly assassination.
Originally produced at the Public Theater in 2013-2014 (and directed then, as now, by the very capable Alex Timbers), Here Lies Love has descended on Broadway in dramatic fashion: with the near-complete transformation of the mundane Broadway Theatre into a theater/disco of Studio 54 proportions. Those not deigning or desiring to stand for the 90-minute run-time are seated in mezzanine seats that rise far up through the back of the theater, while a handful of audience members sit in two rows of “floor seats” that run the length of the dance floor, one level up. The show essentially gets underway upon entering the theater. The “standees” in the disco are surrounded by mini-stages and “ushers” (hipsters with stylish pink jumpsuits and orange batons, like those used by aircraft marshallers) who periodically move them to various parts of the room, allowing for stages to be rotated, or for characters to pass through the throngs. The staging spectacle alone—with scenic design by David Korins, lighting by Justin Townsend and projection design (with video screens virtually everywhere in the theater space)—is a must-see experience. Clint Ramos’ neat, period-perfect costumes (sometimes black and white, sometimes vibrant primary colors) complement the space, set and projections perfectly.
The story follows a classic boy-meets-girl, boy-rejects-girl, girl-marries-future-president, girl-loots-national-treasury, girl-angrily-has-ex-exiled-then-assassinated format. Operatic, or Shakespearean in its dramatic arcs, it is constructed in a beautifully subversive manner as a sung-through performance. Opening with a young Imelda Marcos (Arielle Jacobs) singing of her youth (in which she self-ascribes—these lyrics are largely cribbed from her own statements over the years— a sort of saintliness) in the Philippine province of Leyte, singing, “Here Lies Love,” one of the less compelling, excessively pop songs in the bunch—its hook too sugary and a bit ear-wormy, which makes it easier to dislike her from the very start. The songs improve dramatically as the show goes on, especially those sung by other characters. Imelda goes on to win a beauty contest as a teen, meets and romances future politician and nemesis Ninoy Aquino (Conrad Ricamora) who ultimately dumps her, then meets and falls in love and marries (in “Eleven Days”) budding politico and future president and, ultimately, dictator Ferdinand Marcos (Jose Llana).
A starry-eyed idealist suddenly exploited by the powerful Marcos, there’s a moment when we start to feel a little sympathy for the naive Imelda, who is plied with pills and told how to act, dress and behave for the Machiavellian politician, in a plaintive lament (“He Taught Me”), resulting in something of a nervous breakdown. But she ultimately slips easily into her new lifestyle and embraces the riches and luxury. (It should be noted here that Byrne wisely declines to even mention the too-often highlighted matter of Imelda’s vast collection of designer footwear.) And there begins the descent into disreputable and amoral behavior, which ultimately leads to tragedy and a subsequent people’s revolution.
Still enduring the effects of 19th-century colonization (looting, exploitation, etc.) by both Spain and the United States, the Philippines suffered from epic poverty in the post-World War II era, when Marcos began his rise to power. Following a typical pattern, Imelda indulged in the trappings of wealth: international jet-setting, hob-nobbing with Jackie O., and, eventually, wild nights out at Studio 54. Political opponents in the Senate, led by her ex, Ninoy Aquino (a terrific Conrad Ricamora), went on the attack against the Marcoses, Imelda in particular. Ninoy’s, “The Fabulous One (I’m ‘A Rise Up)” is a powerful number in the tradition of early Byrne songs (like “Life During Wartime”), with spoken and shouted lyrics, “I have risen! At the risk of her fury!” a syncopated, percussion and guitar-driven energetic club grind (which you may find yourself humming later) that propels the plot forward at a frantic pace. This is the point of no return, and the song sets it off with excited certainty, as the floor audience jumps, jumps, jumps.
Rather than reconcile, the Marcos regime retaliates against the resistance with Martial Law (“Order 1081”) and by imprisoning Acquino for seven years, then exiling him to the United States (“Seven Years”). His return, upon hearing of Ferdinand’s ill health, results in one the most shocking political assassinations the world has ever witnessed (it was captured on film).
No spoilers here, this is all part of the historical record, but if you plan to see the show, it may behoove you to brush up if you’re not familiar with the assassination and subsequent People Power Revolution, which forced the Marcoses to flee the country under the protection of President Ronald Reagan, a close ally. Here, the Revolution is kicked off by a gorgeous ballad, “Just Ask the Flowers,” featuring heavy John Lennon-esque piano chords and actual words spoken by Nimoy’s mother, Aurora (played by the exceptional Lea Salonga who will be in the role through August 13), in which she emotionally describes his lifelong desire to lead the people, “I wanna be a drummer, mom.” It’s an overpowering funeral oration that rivals Mark Antony’s, “I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him,” (Julius Caesar, III ii) call to arms. The beloved Salonga, known as “The Pride of the Philippines,” puts in the type of emotional and heartfelt performance that could only come from someone who lived through it. Bring a kleenex.
The show’s coda, “God Draws Straight,” with lyrics derived from oral testimony of participants witnessing the aftermath of the People Power Revolution, is a somber, but emotional anthem of faith, hope and forgiveness (values integral to a devoutly Catholic nation), “God draws straight, but with crooked lines,” and ends with watching the “choppers” taking the Marcoses into exile. Here Lies Love is a history lesson wrapped in a tale of broken hearts and presented as engaging songs. It’s a fine alternative to traditional Broadway that’s likely to attract the younger audiences that the theater community desperately needs. If it succeeds, expect to see a lot more similarly crafted musicals in the coming years.
Here Lies Love. Open Run at the Broadway Theatre (1681 Broadway, between West 52nd and 53rd Streets). www.herelieslovebroadway.com
Photo Credit (all photos): Billy Bustamante, Matthew Murphy and Evan Zimmerman
