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

	Ruthie Ann Miles. Photo: Joan Marcus.

For their first foray into musical theatre, David Byrne and Fatboy Slim have seized upon the life of former Philippine First Lady Imelda Marcos, she of the vast shoe collection, $5 million shopping tours, and Potemkin village social projects erected to hide a landscape of corruption and murder. It's a gaudy, vulgar, violent tale, costarring Imelda's equally grasping and ruthless husband, Ferdinand; together, they reveled in public display even as they made their enemies disappear. In order to capture the Marcos' tinny glamour, ugly strong-arm techniques, and unappeased narcissism, the songwriters and their director, Alex Timbers, have turned their saga into a disco inferno.

The audience for Here Lies Love mills around the LuEsther Theatre, which has been transformed by the set designer David Korins into a nightclub. Seating, except for a few spots on the second level, has been banished. There are stationary stages at either end of the room and a mobile stage in the middle. There are hanging light sculptures, a planet-sized mirrorball, plenty of moving lights, and projections that include little images of Imelda falling like rain. A DJ, looming over the action, urges us to have a good time, and we're off, watching a nation sing and dance its way into the abyss.

Combining rousing dance numbers and diva-ready ballads with grisly facts (and statements) from the public record, Here Lies Love finds its own distinctively pulpy storytelling approach. Imelda, who dreams of glamour, wins a beauty contest and flees to the big city, where she turns the head of Ferdinand, a prominent war hero. After their marriage, she restyles herself into a Jackie Kennedy figure, providing eye candy for the press while her husband rises in politics. Outwardly serene, she feels trapped in a fraudulent public persona, popping pills to keep up appearances. Later, stung by his adulteries -- especially a scandalous liaison with an actress in Z-grade movies -- she channels her romantic disappointments, forging a new identity for herself as the nation's mother figure. Along the way, there are plenty of stranger-than-fiction details: Only in real life, or perhaps a Jacqueline Susann novel, would Fernando's political rival, Ninoy Aquino, be Imelda's ex-boyfriend, trapping her in a political and emotional triangle, but that's the kind of twist you can expect here.

Never boring for a second, Here Lies Love exploits its club atmosphere for maximum effect, the upbeat, highly danceable tunes laced with irony as these often laughable characters commit capital crimes. (The strenuous choreography is by Annie-B Parson.) 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 shockingly ends in a pool of blood. The finale, "God Draws Straight," a simple trio for guitar and percussion, dispenses with artifice to movingly depict the first few exhilarating moments of freedom after the Marcos regime collapsed. (Tom Gandey and J Pardo supplied additional music.)

Timbers has assembled a gifted and energetic cast to put over this true, yet trashy, tale of democracy deferred. Ruthie Ann Miles is a fabulous Imelda, blossoming into a monster before our very eyes; as a bonus, she's a dead ringer for the real Imelda, and, even in a production generally played at triple-forte levels, she manages some remarkably delicate vocals. The reliably fine Jose Llana, despite his youthful appearance, makes a Ferdinand who is by turns dashing, dignified, and menacing. Also offering solid contributions are Conrad Ricamora as Aquino, who, in an especially bizarre sequence, rejects Imelda because she is too short (!) and Melody Butiu as the childhood friend who, abandoned by Imelda, turns to the media to puncture a few myths about her.

In addition to Korins' thoroughly authentic club décor scheme, Justin Townsend's lighting makes use of automated units -- both incandescent and LED -- to frame the action in garish neon-like colors. 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. I'd be happier if the sound design, by M. L. Dogg and Cody Spencer, was less assaultive, but we are supposed to be in a club, and in any case most of the lyrics are intelligible. (Earplugs are recommended.)

For all of its arresting elements, Here Lies Love -- which is being promoted as the latest thing in musical theatre -- is stuck with one bemusing fact: Andrew Lloyd Webber got there first. "It's disco Evita," my companion said as we left the theatre, a statement that is hard to argue with. Despite the musical's wildly different styles -- and allowing for the fact that the lives of Eva Peron and Imelda Marcos follow very different arcs -- almost all of Here Lies Love's character insights seem borrowed from the earlier work. Both shows feature an attractive nobody who claws her way to the top, dabbling in show business, creating a kind of pop star persona, and posing as a maternal figure while corruption reigns just outside of the camera's lens.

It's true, however, that Here Lies Love is much grittier in its details, its gaze less neutral, and its score more inclined to mockery. Furthermore, there isn't a single moment in Evita as shocking as the end of "Gate 37." But there are many moments when the show seems to be struggling to emerge from the shadow of its predecessor. It's also surprising that Here Lies Love has nothing to say about Imelda's long post-Ferdinand career, including her lengthy trials in the US and her return home, where she has participated in the government for many years.

Then again, given the creative team's lack of experience in musical theatre and the ever-present possibility that it could have turned into a Capeman-style disaster, Here Lies Love succeeds on its own terms, evoking Imelda's immense celebrity appeal while never losing sight of her toxic legacy. It's a tough-minded history lesson that you dance to. What more could you want? -- David Barbour