Imelda Marcos demands to know, near the end of “Here Lies Love,” why we don’t love her. The unlikely belle of this propulsive and glittering ball, from musicians David Byrne and Fatboy Slim, is perched in the front mezzanine of the radically transformed Broadway Theatre, where the immersive musical opened on Thursday night. The answer to her question seems all too obvious.
In the world of “Here Lies Love” — a title that refers to the convicted former first lady’s desired epitaph — Marcos is addressing the Filipino people, over whom she ruled alongside president-turned-dictator Ferdinand Marcos until they were airlifted out of the country in 1986, after two decades of corruption, scandal and human rights abuses.
To the show’s American audiences, many of whom may be learning of the Marcos’ regime for the first time, the character of Imelda (played by Arielle Jacobs) is not a power-hungry, multidimensional world leader. She is rather a high-gloss glamazon in a vibrant, infectious and surface-skimming summation of Philippine history — one that distracts from disturbing details with seductive beats and eye-popping dazzle.
No wonder the production, directed by Alex Timbers (“Moulin Rouge”), is such an extreme sensory feat, unlike any attempted before on Broadway. Ground-floor seats have been removed in David Korins’ total-makeover set design; patrons who opt to stay on their feet maneuver around a rotating, cross-shaped runway that ferries actors between peripheral platforms. Second-level seating offers a ringside view for the first few rows, though audiences in the cavernous rear mezzanine are far flung, especially from the recessed proscenium. Discotheque lighting by Justin Townsend is a whirligig of Barbie-pinks and tropical blues.
Imelda’s affection for beauty and love are espoused early in the score (which features additional music by Tom Gandey and José Luis Pardo), in anthems suffused with romantic nostalgia. A small-town beauty queen with an eager heart, Imelda heads to Manila, where she has a brief fling with the future opposition leader Ninoy Aquino (Conrad Ricamora, on charm offensive) before being swept into a rapid engagement to the young senator Marcos (Jose Llana, all simmer and swagger), eventually adding a touch of elegance to his presidential campaign. (A historical overview inserted in the program serves as a thorough plot summary.)
Byrne and Fatboy Slim’s sung-through score is the star of the 90-minute production, a hypnotic churn of synth beats, funky rhythms and pop momentum that aims squarely for the pelvis. Those not already gyrating around the orchestra may welcome occasional commands from the hype man and DJ (Moses Villarama) to rise up and raise the roof. Still, the show suffers from its decision to forgo live instrumentals for recorded tracks, a move that sparked controversy and a compromise with the musicians’ union. Despite sporadic accompaniment by hand-held drums and an acoustic finale, the score’s sizzle and innovation feel dampened and held at distance, even at rock-concert volume.
The ingenuity that Bryne demonstrated in “American Utopia,” an astute compilation of existing hits into a treatise on democracy, is unevenly expressed here. Though their dynamic musicianship is undeniable, it’s hardly clear what the creators make of the Marcos’ fraught legacy. According to the script, many of the show’s lyrics are drawn from its historical figures’ public remarks. But the Marcos’ words have been artfully assembled here without a coherent or critical point of view about their politics or public personas. The pair’s duplicity and alleged wrongdoings are distilled into mere headlines, in projection design by Peter Nigrini.
If there is a censorious edge to the show’s depiction of Imelda, it’s tough to discern through the wistful, rose-tinted lens it applies to her coming of age and its trippy, kaleidoscopic treatment of her rise to power. There’s a precedent in Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber’s “Evita” for giving a dictator’s wife the pop-rock treatment. But “Here Lies Love” banks on brevity and formal innovation, forgoing scripted scenes at the expense of factual details and character development.
Jacobs gives a lovely performance as Imelda, but does not compensate in charisma what the role lacks in depth. Others who seem more worthy of sympathy include the unseen dead victims of the Marcos’ mostly unspecified crimes, and the Aquinos — Ricamora’s speak-truth-to-power Ninoy, and his mother, Aurora, played in an arresting 11-o’clock cameo by Lea Salonga (a co-producer on the show and Tony winner for “Miss Saigon”), delivering a haunting ode to her assassinated son.
There is a welcome air of celebration around “Here Lies Love” as an unprecedented showcase of Filipino culture. But glorifying its subject is an uneasy proposition that the production hasn’t managed to reconcile. In the years since “Here Lies Love” was originally produced off Broadway at the Public Theater in 2013, Imelda’s son, Bongbong Marcos, has been elected president amid controversy over his attempts to rehabilitate the family name. America, too, has since fallen under the shadow of a strongman of relentless ego.
A brief coda aims to suggest that the show is conscious of this geopolitical context — that its mirrorball rave has been a warning all along. But if audiences at “Here Lies Love” are meant to represent the body politic, what does it mean that this descent into fascism feels like such a blast?
