Here Lies Love

When I saw Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812 in 2017, it was only my sixth-or-so Broadway show ever. Call me green, but after that I was convinced it was peak theatre. I mean, how do you improve on that? The immersion and cult of personality behind the show shook me to my core, even while Hamilton was still fresh in the zeitgeist. Nothing would top it, and nothing could. Yet, Comet, as incredible and critically-acclaimed as it was, was an uphill battle behind the scenes. It completely gutted and transformed the Imperial during its stay, contained lush costumes and lighting design, had to put a multi-Grammy-winning singer-songwriter first up on the payroll, AND was neighbors with its much cheaper-to-produce-and-easier-to-understand awards rival. It was a huge gamble, and the Okierte Onadowan controversy only added fuel to its Sisiphian fire. Comet would have been a success if and only if it could manage to stay afloat for years, just to recoup. It was un-tourable, un-movable, and a hard sell. When it closed just months after losing nearly all of its Tony categories, it felt like more than the end of a great show. It felt like the flame of outlandish, budget-free creativity on Broadway had been extinguished. The next batches of shows over the years, while sometimes quite good, never quite reached that level, likely in fear of losing this gamble. The pandemic only added more nails to the coffin. I suppose it is a business, after all.

Let me preface all of the following with this: it’s valid to both take issue with the perceived glorification of the Marcoses, yet also to understand this show more deeply as an art form that does villainize - or at least promotes education of - a pair of actual authoritarians. Art like this is supposed to create discussion. Art can even be, and is arguably better when it is, controversial. It’s easy to come to certain conclusions about the tone of this show on paper: it’s written by two white men, the only actual content of the show that is available are songs most recently recorded in 2013 (which omit the few, but crucial non-singing parts), and even Imelda herself finds the show “flattering”. (Who’s to say if she’s actually seen it; someone of her shallowness probably just thinks it’s great to be on Broadway.)

One of the key selling points of this production was the immense focus on casting an all-Filipino cast to tell the story, which was a beautiful choice both for representation and as a non-Filipino viewer. Arielle Jacobs’ (Imelda) naivete at the start convincingly manifests into a corrupt vanity, a haunting transformation that becomes all the more disturbing by the finale. Joining her in star power is the scene-stealing Conrad Ricamora (Ninoy Aquino), whose bright white appearances and friendly demeanor foils the dark superficiality of the Marcoses. My only real complaint is that he’s not in it enough, especially with how enjoyable his songs like “Child of the Philippines” and “Fabulous One” are. Imelda’s husband, Jose Llana’s Ferdinand, is stern and controlling underneath his crackly, yet magnetic, facade. You may be clapping along, cheering even, but these performances don’t fool you into sympathizing. These are dictators and politicians, who overtook their own country and robbed it blind. The cast knows this and treads the line deftly between pride in their country and scorn at the powers who are in charge.10/10

I can’t even begin to fathom the budget for this thing. The star of the show -- David Korin’s otherworldly transformation of the Broadway Theatre into a pulsating discotheque -- is actually unbelievable. You really have to search for details to remind you that this isn’t what it’s supposed to look like, like looking far up into the nave to see a faint silhouette of the neoclassical 1920s proscenium arch that frames where the stage usually is. Even looking towards the audience, which above the dance floor is normal balcony seats, there are lighting effects and fog that obscures the antiquated aesthetic well. This level of immersion is a 10/10 on its own, but lucky for us it does not stop there. Annie-B Parson’s choreography, of which you are a part no matter the seat, is fun and exciting, if not pitifully cute at times. Granted, the entire show takes place in the mid-late 20th century, so this gets reflected well when it needs to. There are plenty of opportunities for you to dance, whether goaded on and instructed by the DJ during electric numbers or if you just feel like doing it. (I absolutely did.) Coupled with the movement are exciting costumes by Clint Ramos, from patterned 50s swimsuits and frilly pageant dresses to Studio 54-inspired harpies and Evita-esque white regal gowns (Jacobs’ favorite apparently, she told us at the stage door). These are bridged together by dazzling costume changes, including several that I was totally surprised by how they pulled off. The show also relies heavily on projections and screens -- and yes, I hate screens as a set choice, but everything else has so much poured into it that it’s quite tasteful. The only thing they project like this is contextual information, like who’s who and certain dates and times. They clearly aren’t meant to carry the setting on its back like I have seen before, because there are plenty of practical effects and stage props as well…including times when they’re mixed, such as one instance where a character sings during a news conference while a camera follows him in the audience, broadcasting the both of them all over the theater (I’d stay towards the back if you don’t want to interact). Alex Timbers must have had quite some challenge figuring out how to direct something like this, but pulled it off incredibly, and the sum of these parts makes for a generational theater experience. In 2017, Rachel Chavkin lost the Best Director of a Musical Tony, despite similar strides in immersive theater on Broadway; HLL10/10 will certainly be nominated by the time 2024’s ceremony comes around. I just hope the Wing doesn’t make the same mistake.

Program design is a warm fuschia gradient background, with an exploding mirror ball and a bubbly neon “Here Lies Love” on the front. It doesn’t quite tell you about the plot, an element I know I like to riff on in DC, but I don’t actually care this time. The plot is secondary to the experience. Thus, the cover indicating something akin to an explosive disco is absolutely correct. Pre-show “staging” varies wildly depending on your point of view, but as I was on the floor, I’ll cover that. You walk into the theater entrance from the very normal-looking theatre lobby, drop off any bags at a free coat check, and then mozy through a dark, foggy hallway illuminated by strips of neon into “Club Millennium”, the pulsing nightclub in which the show is set. There’s a live DJ (Moses Villarama) spinning house music and a 42-inch disco ball spinning on the center stage. Like Comet10/10 before it, walking into this for the first time is something unreal. The set design, which starts as an island stage and a main stage amongst the audience, also sets you up for interaction because you aren’t sure where the action is going to happen. Surprise: it’s everywhere!