Theatre in Review: Here Lies Love (The Public Theater)

Featuring the most strikingly original musical staging I've seen in years, Here Lies Love has returned to the Public, this time in an open-ended commercial run. David Byrne and Fatboy Slim have converted the gaudy, vulgar, violent story of Imelda Marcos--fashion plate, social butterfly, and dictator's helpmate--into a 90-minute disco inferno. In director Alex Timbers' exciting staging concept, LuEsther Hall has been converted into a dance club with limited seating on the second floor. The room is dominated by lighting sculptures, an enormous mirrorball, and mobile staging units; a set of crowd-control specialists moves the standing audience members around as the space is reconfigured time and again. A DJ, looming above us, urges us to party on as the Marcoses embezzle vast amounts of money, hobnob with celebrities, and make their enemies disappear.

It was a masterstroke of imagination to see that the Marcos saga, a pulpy history lesson loaded with sex, betrayal, and tacky, Dynasty-style glamour, is the stuff of pop culture, best conveyed using a disco-flavored score and dance-heavy staging in a party-all-night atmosphere. (For all its charms, Evita, the show's most obvious antecedent, lacks such a perfect fit between style and subject matter.) The musical's through line is the education, and corruption, of Imelda. A poor girl from the provinces, smarting from the rejection of the politician Ninoy Aquino, she heads for Manila, where she turns Ferdinand Marcos' head just as he is using his war hero status to launch a political career. They become the country's ultimate power couple, reveling in her role as a Jackie Kennedy figure to her people. Deep down, however, she knows something is amiss, especially as Ferdinand becomes embroiled in a series of adulteries and sex scandals. Popping pills like a Jacqueline Susann heroine, Imelda becomes ever more remote even as she forges a new identity as the nation's mother figure, joining her husband as they loot the government's coffers. Meanwhile, Aquino mounts a vigorous opposition, allowing Imelda to take revenge on the man who jilted her via imprisonment and exile.

Really, it's the stuff of an Aaron Spelling soap opera, except that its consequences were often deadly, and it is compellingly told via a cycle of powerful, highly danceable songs. Imelda is introduced in the title tune, a sentimental piece of self-justification that nevertheless seduces with its catchy melody and fatalistic, astonishingly self-regarding, lyrics. ("I know that when my number's up/When I am called by God above/Don't have my name inscribed in stone?/Just say Here Lies Love.") "Eleven Days," detailing the whirlwind Imelda-Ferdinand courtship, has an equally insinuating melody. "Why Don't You Love Me," delivered by an outraged Imelda, is the blackly comic lament of a diva who sees her fans turning against her. Aquino has a lovely ballad, "Gate 37," about his return from exile, which ends shockingly. The finale, "God Draws Straight," a simple trio for guitar and percussion, dispenses with all show business artifice to movingly depict the first few exhilarating moments of freedom after the Marcos regime collapsed. (Tom Gandey and J Pardo supplied additional music.)

The returning principal cast members give remarkably assured performances. Ruthie Ann Miles traces Imelda's development from innocent country waif to dead-eyed power diva in fabulous fashion, providing some notably delicate vocals along the way. Despite his youthful appearance, Jose Llana's Ferdinand is by turns dashing, dignified, and menacing. Conrad Ricamora shines as Aquino, a canny politician who gains in stature when he stands alone against the Marcoses. Melody Butiu is touching as the childhood friend who, abandoned by Imelda, turns to the media to puncture a few myths about her.

Paced by Annie-B Parson's strenuous choreography, Here Lies Love turns its tawdry story into an almost indecently entertaining experience. Everything about the production is stylish. David Korins' club scheme is a fascinating example of a designer thinking creatively about the use of space; he transforms the room repeatedly, bisecting it at different points and conjuring an extensive set of risers for the finale. Justin Townsend's lighting makes use of automated units--both incandescent and LED--to frame the action in garish neon-like color; he underlines the story's biggest moments with flamboyant chase and strobe effects. Peter Nigrini's projections, including photos, newsreel footage, transcripts of recorded conversations, and black-and-white television broadcasts, seemingly fill every space of the theatre, creating a flood of imagery that reflects the Marcos' impact on their country's consciousness. The sound design, by M. L. Dogg and Cody Spencer, feels improved from last year's staging, especially in terms of intelligibility. You might still think about bringing earplugs, however, as the noise level is sometimes quite high.

What is especially evident on a second visit is how, for all its flash, Here Lies Love is a moving tale of a woman first corrupted, then blindsided, by history. The show never loses sight of the crimes committed by the Marcoses, and when, at the end, all the glitter is stripped away for ordinary citizens of the Philippines to describe the joy they feel at recovering their country, you might find yourself with a few tears in your eyes.

The notion of a disco musical about Imelda Marcos may have provoked a few snickers when first announced, but it's clear from the first note that its creators know what they're about. Byrne and Fatboy Slim bring a new, and welcome, musical sensibility, and Timbers once again demonstrates that he is that rare thing, a great showman. They have galvanized their talented collaborators into creating something highly memorable: a mordant tale of corruption and loss that is also a deeply joyful experience .--David Barbour