Preview: 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.

It’s 2010, two years before Comet arrives off-Broadway in the tent with a then-unknown Philippa Soo and Amber Gray, among others. In comes two British guys (David “Baltimore County Legend” Byrne and Fatboy Slim, you may have heard of them) with a karaoke-influenced concept album about Imelda Marcos, the dictatress who has influenced the Philippine Political Machine for six decades. It was an intriguing prospect, and made its way to the Public as a staged musical in 2013 where it got warm reviews and is praised for its immersion and uniquely intimate atmosphere. Here Lies Love, as the project was called, then has some stints in London in 2014 (getting a few Olivier noms along the way) and Seattle in 2017. After the similarly staged Comet died, a Broadway run was out of the cards entirely.

So now it’s 2023. Broadway has been reopened for two seasons by this point, but things are still in much worse shape than in 2019. Between inflation, recessions, lower tourist numbers, the things we’re getting on Broadway these days are lower-key, inexpensive musicals like Kimberly Akimbo or bonafide touring machines like New York, New York or Shucked.

Suddenly, enter: Here Lies Love. again. Awaking from a six-year dormancy out of nowhere to suddenly remove more than half of the 1800 physical seats from the voluminous Broadway Theatre to turn it into an immersive glowing discotheque, with a mostly unknown all-Filipino cast. This, with a problematic focal character, and controversial relations with the Broadway musician’s union to boot, is the perfect storm to be something spectacular: either in critical, public and fiscal acclaim, or a smoldering dumpster fire that never lives up to expectations.

Now that’s a gamble.

Book/Music: 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.)

Properly seeing the show dispels many of these concerns, or at least it did for me. Beyond the multi-screened displays around the lobby that explain a firm context behind who these people actually were, the book does not sugarcoat the atrocities inflicted upon the Philippine people, especially during the darker final third; gunshots, violence, stark lighting and sudden shock value effects disrupt the groove that the show so elaborately sets up, and by the finale, it’s all been figuratively torn down, the main cast replaced by an acoustic ensemble. I, as someone who knew nothing about the Marcoses, walked out not thinking these were valiant people to be respected, but were specters of violence and corruption, severely disconnected from their populace. In essence, the karaokified glamor of Here Lies Love illustrates this brilliantly. Treating the story of their iron fist as a frivolous club outing made a lot more sense to me in the moment than it did on paper. What convinced me that this was the right move was the absolute deluge of Filipinos, and Filipino-Americans, that I interacted with both in the audience and at the stage door. It goes without saying: not one of them liked the Marcoses. They were either directly or indirectly impacted by them, and knew they were a scourge on their country. Yet, they found the show deeply compelling and validating. Beyond seeing their own culture dominate a Broadway show like this, the message being one of community and solidarity with the people of the Philippines resonated to immense degrees. Like something Spiderverse does for Black boys around America, the song-and-dance-loving culture of the Philippines has been represented with great care, it seems. This is what representation is all about.

The other thing to address is the show’s embroiled battle with Local 802, the Broadway musician’s union. For the uninitiated: the show’s producers had planned to open the show with no live musicians. Take a guess how that went. The agreement that hastily came along then promised that the show would employ twelve (12) live musicians; the argument to not include them at all was based on the notion that it’s a “karaoke” musical, and so the pre-recorded music would fit this theme. Rightfully, they were included, but it’s not quite apparent until the final number when several cast members play instruments on stage. The score admittedly does have more than a tinge of EDM that would make live musicians seem impractical for some pieces, but it’s not impossible. Plenty of the songs have lots of room for more instrumentation, and 12 seems very conservative for what could be a larger band given the diversity of music. It may be a disco pop musical but it frays out to Disney-esque ballads, Broadway anthems, and Hamilton-y raps more often than not. In fact, this arrangement makes for an incredibly strong musical outing. By halfway through, I was convinced that each track was scientifically designed to be the catchiest earworms you’ll find on Broadway this decade. Admittedly, I’m a little biased (I love disco and house music) and the lyrics are not exactly the most sophisticated a lot of the time. But the translation of this story, to this music, all representing the rise and fall of a very superficial power couple contrasted to our own decaying society, was exactly the way to go. I just hope they release a new recording with deeper orchestrations, as the one that’s currently out is much more pared down compared to what it’s become today. 10/10

Acting: 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

Production: 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; HLL will certainly be nominated by the time 2024’s ceremony comes around. I just hope the Wing doesn’t make the same mistake. 10/10

VisDev: 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 Comet 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! 10/10

VERDICT: Here Lies Love is a masterpiece of immersive theatre, spinning together a powerful tale of national struggle with a sublime disco-influenced score and simply incredible stagecraft.

40/40 (100%)

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