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OWNERS (VLASTNÍCI)

A co-op board meeting turns to the absurdly ridiculous in Jiří Havelka’s Owners

OWNERS (AKA THE OWNERS) (VLASTNÍCI) (Jiří Havelka, 2019)
Quad Cinema
34 West 13th St. between Fifth & Sixth Aves.
August 18-24
212-255-2243
quadcinema.com

Best. Co-op. Meeting. Ever.

If you’re considering joining your co-op board or just moving into a co-op, you need to first watch Jiří Havelka’s absurdist darker-than-dark comedy, Owners. Nearly the entire ninety-minute film, Havelka’s impressive debut, takes place in a community room in an apartment complex in Prague, where the board is meeting to discuss various important, and not-so-important, issues. The exacting proceedings turn into a kind of residential Twelve Angry Men, except in this case everybody is guilty of something.

Each of the characters sitting around the long, rectangular table come to the meeting with their own baggage, much of which gets unceremoniously unpacked. The chairperson is Mrs. Zahrádková (Tereza Ramba), who has three young children and has only the sincerest intentions to improve everyone’s living conditions by fixing the attic, installing an elevator, putting in safety bars, and making other necessary changes. She is accompanied by her husband, Mr. Zahrádka (Vojtech Kotek), who, after some debate — nearly everything, no matter how mundane, requires deliberation and a vote — is okayed to take the minutes.

Ms. Horváthová (Dagmar Havlová) has a lot to say about noise, water consumption, and pigeons. The virulently anti-elevator Mrs. Procházková (Pavla Tomicová) is subletting space to a group of handsome young African students and is joined by her “administrator,” Mr. Novák (Ondrej Malý), a mysterious jack of all trades who apparently has a company that can perform any task the co-op requires.

Mrs. Procházková (Pavla Tomicová) knows exactly what she wants, and doesn’t, in hilarious dark comedy

The stern Mrs. Roubícková (Klára Melísková) makes sure the HOA guidelines are strictly adhered to. The somewhat simple-minded Mr. Svec (David Novotný) is sitting in for his elderly mother, who is ill; he seems more concerned with the cake Mr. Zahrádka made and the bottle of Honey Jack than the numerous disputes. People can’t stop bringing up the sexual orientation of Mr. Nitranský (Andrej Polák), who threatens to sue.

At one end of the table are the well-dressed Cermák twins (Krystof Hádek and Stanislav Majer), attending their first meeting as they decide what to do with the their recently deceased father’s apartment and apparently have connections that can help the co-op with any legal or financial matters. At the other end of the table is the unkempt Mr. Kubát (Jirí Lábus), who refuses to approve any changes whatsoever, preferring the ways things were done under Socialism. In a far corner, one of Mr. Kubát’s tenants, Mr. Sokol (Ladislav Trojan), sits quietly, reading a book, saying nothing.

Near the door is a new couple, Mr. Bernásek (Jirí Cerný) and his pregnant wife, Mrs. Bernásková (Marie Sawa), who look on incredulously without commenting, wondering what the hell they have gotten themselves into. But nobody is allowed to leave; “You’re on the attendance sheet,” Mrs. Roubícková yells whenever anyone tries to exit the madness.

“Does the word solidarity mean anything to you?” Mr. Nitranský asks facetiously.

“Look, this is a ridiculous comedy,” Mr. Kubát says, just about the only statement no one argues with.

Written and directed by playwright, actor, presenter, and theater director Havelka based on his play The Society of Owners (Condominium), Owners is about much more than the power that comes with home ownership. It’s a brutally cynical parable of the political situation in the Czech Republic and the world, as liberals, conservatives, moderates, and extremists fight over the smallest details, resulting in little if anything getting accomplished and making no one happy but the anarchists. It’s like a divisive conversation on social media, with no hope of ever changing anyone’s mind.

“I want something to finally happen or the building will rot away before our eyes,” Mrs. Zahrádková declares, but no one is listening.

Havelka tackles sexuality, race, gender, age, health care, greed, ethics, and more in the film, which was shot in ten days with two cameras by cinematographer Martin Žiaran. Havelka and editor Otakar Šenovský occasionally insert blink-and-you’ll-miss-them snippets of apartment interiors and little problems that represent the crumbling infrastructure of democracy. Anežka Straková’s set design features a large print of Frans Snyders’s seventeenth-century Deer Hunt, a painting of dogs tearing apart a deer that adds a surprise touch of humor that made me bark out loud with laughter.

The film begins and ends in elegant splendor with, respectively, Jan Dismas Zelenka’s Baroque compositions De profundis and Sub olea pacis: Melodrama de Sancto Wenceslao, which translates to “Under the Olive Tree of Peace and the Palm Tree of Virtue the Crown of Bohemia Splendidly Shines Before the Whole World: Melodrama to Saint Wenceslaus.”

You won’t find any olive tree of peace or palm tree of virtue in this co-op, but you will find a hilarious cast of characters who, frighteningly, are often too close for comfort.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]

HOOP DREAMS: FLEX / THE HALF-GOD OF RAINFALL

Starra Jones (Erica Matthews) and Sidney Brown (Tamera Tomakili) face off against each other in Candrice Jones’s Flex (photo by Marc J. Franklin)

FLEX
Lincoln Center Theater at the Mitzi E. Newhouse
150 West 65th St. between Broadway & Amsterdam Ave.
Through August 20
www.lct.org/shows/flex

“Being a fan is like having a religion,” Matt says in Rajiv Joseph’s King James, a play that ran this spring at MTC at New York City Center about two Cleveland men who bond over their mutual love of hoops star LeBron James, perhaps the greatest player of all time.

Here in New York, basketball itself is a religion. Fans continue to worship the Knicks and pack Madison Square Garden even though the team has won only one playoff series in ten years and has not taken home a championship in half a century; the city went into mourning when former All-Star MVP center Willis Reed died this past March at the age of eighty. Across the East River, the Nets have been in turmoil since they moved to Brooklyn in 2012, going through superstars at the Barclays Center like Halloween candy, with nothing to show for it.

Meanwhile, for those paying attention, the other team at Barclays, the New York Liberty, is having its best season since the Women’s National Basketball Association started in 1997, in serious contention for its first league title.

Basketball lies at the heart of two current dramas in Manhattan, one worthy of a championship, the other, well, in need of significant rebuilding; both conclude their seasons on August 20.

At Lincoln Center’s Mitzi E. Newhouse, Candrice Jones’s Flex is a fast-paced and exciting play set in rural Arkansas in 1998, where five seventeen-year-old Black women on the team known as the Lady Train are preparing for their next big game. Shooting guard Sidney Brown (Tamera Tomakili) is being scouted by major colleges. Point guard Starra Jones (Erica Matthews) is a ball hog jealous of the attention Sidney is getting. Power forward Cherise Howard (Ciara Monique) believes they all need to be cleansed and offers to baptize everyone. Center Donna Cunningham (Renita Lewis) is the most grounded and caring of the tight-knit group. And shooting guard April Jenkins (Brittany Bellizeare) is pregnant but wants to keep playing, despite the strong objections of coach Francine Pace (Christiana Clark).

Matt Saunders’s primary set consists of half a court, with the rim affixed on the top of a barn garage. The floor is actually parquet but we’re told it’s dirt. At the beginning, all five players appear to be with child, but following practice, four of them take out fake pregnant belly prosthetics. It’s a funny moment that instantly shows their camaraderie and support for one another.

The narrative is divided into four quarters, just like a basketball game. The cast displays its skills right from the opening tip-off, getting into a rhythm. “My first buzzer beater ever! / I finally know I’m just as good as you! / No more Plainnole, Arkansas, dirt courts for me, Mama! / No more dust in my eyes, my ankles, my fingernails. / I’m gonna win regionals, then state,” Starra says to her late mother, who gave up bball for the army. “Ain’t no way you gonna believe this. / But, scouts are coming here, to Plainnole. / You said by the time I got older. / There’d be a girls’ NBA. / You were right. / I’m going to the WNBA.”

Starra’s selfishness leads to major problems when the teammates hang out one night at Sidney’s house, discussing Michael Jordan, sexual abuse, abortion, condoms, and boxers vs. briefs. Soon they’re in an ingeniously designed car, singing Aaliyah’s “Are You That Somebody,” each of them highlighting individual lines that are particularly meaningful, which include “I’ve been holdin’ back this secret from you / I probably shouldn’t tell it, but / But if I, if I let you know / You can’t tell nobody, I’m talkin’ ’bout nobody.” Secrets keep coming out — or teeter around the rim — as the state tournament approaches and the game plan might involve benching several starting players.

Tony-nominated director Lileana Blain-Cruz (Fefu and Her Friends, Anatomy of a Suicide) guides the action like a masterful basketball coach, smoothly transitioning between offense and defense, knowing exactly who should have the ball at any given moment. The play is in constant motion, leaving no time for slacking. In a brilliant move, the stage crew dress like referees, adding humor and referencing how the players are too often being judged.

While it’s about a lot more than just basketball, Jones doesn’t overplay the metaphors, keeping her eyes on the rock as the action heats up. Mika Eubanks’s costumes range from sweats, shorts, and T-shirts to snazzy uniforms, with Adam Honoré’s lighting and Palmer Hefferan’s sound contributing to the overall tension.

The title refers specifically to a play run by the five players on the court, but it also evokes the Brooklyn street dance known as flexing, a word used for boasting or expressing oneself, and the standard dictionary meaning, to bend, intimating that the teammates have to be flexible if they want to succeed.

The cast, which also features Eboni Edwards as the sixth member of the Lady Train, comes together like a successful team with a legitimate shot at the crown. They face serious issues at school and at home, with boyfriends, girlfriends, and relatives, and with race and religion, but the more they work together, the more their goals are within reach, but it’s going to take more than a buzzer-beating three-pointer for them to win in the game of life.

Demi (Mister Fitzgerald) leads his team on the Battle Field in Inua Ellams’s The Half-God of Rainfall (photo by Joan Marcus)

THE HALF-GOD OF RAINFALL
New York Theatre Workshop
79 East Fourth St. between Second & Third Aves.
Through August 20
www.nytw.org

Over at New York Theatre Workshop, Inua Ellams’s The Half-God of Rainfall features seven characters on a floor of dirt and mulch, constructed around the game of basketball while being about much more, although precisely what gets garbled like a stalled offense and a defense with too many holes.

The ninety-minute play, a melding of Greek and Yoruba mythology told as an epic poem in chapters, opens with the fine cast introducing themselves, a dose of reality that immediately blurs the fantasy that follows. At the center is Demi (Mister Fitzgerald), a demigod born to Zeus (Michael Laurence) and the mortal Modúpé (Jennifer Mogbock). Observing the proceedings are the River Goddess Osún (Patrice Johnson Chevannes), Sàngó, an Orisha God of Thunder (Jason Bowen), Hera, the Goddess of Marriage, Women, and Family (Kelley Curran), the Orisha Gods Òrúnmilà and Elégba (Lizan Mitchell), and other mythical figures. Because his father is Zeus, the young Demi, called the Town Crier because of his propensity to rain down tears, is banned from playing basketball, which in this world represents war.

Mortals play on a makeshift court known as the Battle Field — “where generals were honored and mere soldiers crushed” — built with telephone poles, tires, fishing nets, and charcoal. “Basketball was more than sport; the boys were obsessed,” Elégba says. “They played with a righteous thirst,” Hera adds. Sàngó: “There were parries, thrusts . . .” Elégba: “shields and shots . . .” Zeus: “strategies and tactics . . .” Osún: “land won and lost . . .” Modúpé: “duels fought . . .” Hera: “ball like a missile . . .” Zeus: “targets locked.”

When Demi surprisingly reveals a remarkable shooting acumen, everyone begins to view him differently. But Demi’s prowess leads to both an NBA contract as well as disagreements among the Gods and a war that takes place with weapons, not a round ball.

Similarly to the young women in Flex, the young men in Rainfall engage in trash-talking and worship Michael Jordan; among the same issues that are brought up are sexual assault, prayer, and competition that extends beyond the court. Whereas the women see basketball as a way to improve their lot in life and form a close group, in Rainfall “Hera rolled her eyes at how mortal Gods could be, how like men to reduce disputes down to sporting feats, but it was done: the stakes, awful, the route to run.”

Characters in Rainfall shift between dialogue and narration, often in the same speech, so it can become confusing whether they’re talking to the audience or the other Gods and mortals. Too much of the action is described instead of playing out on the court, turning the show into a kind of staged reading. Riccardo Hernández’s set contains scrims on three sides where Tal Yarden projects abstract and concrete images that only add to the perplexity. Linda Cho’s costumes and the props at times feel more like cosplay than serious theater.

The thirty-eight-year-old Ellams, who was born in Nigeria and raised there and in England and Ireland, has been playing basketball since he was twelve; he is also a Marvel Comics enthusiast and has written books and performed solo shows. He stuffs too much into The Half-God of Rainfall, which also has problems with its timeline as it ventures between the ancient and the present, particularly when Sàngó mentions which other real-life all-stars are demigods. (How many people in the audience are likely to know who Clyde Drexler is?)

From start to finish, Flex shows that it’s got game, effectively executing its strategy with an expert balance of humor and sincerity as it sets its sights on its championship goals. The Half-God of Rainfall is all over the place, in desperate need of a tactical blueprint if it wants to have a shot at possibly making the playoffs.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]

CHARLES BUKOWSKI MEMORIAL READING

Who: Kat Georges, Peter Carlaftes, Jennifer Blowdryer, Puma Perl, Michael Puzzo, Danny Shot, Richard Vetere, George Wallace, more
What: Annual tribute to Charles Bukowski
Where: The Bitter End, 147 Bleecker St. between Thompson & La Guardia
When: Wednesday, August 16, $10, 6:00
Why: “What sort of cultural hangover keeps Charles Bukowski in print and popular more than twenty years after his death?” S. A. Griffin asks in his Three Rooms Press essay “Charles Bukowski: Dean of Another Academy.” “In light of the fact that a good portion of what has been published since his passing in 1994 may not be the man’s best work, along with some heavy editing at times, why does Charles Bukowski remain relevant well into the 21st century?” The sixteenth annual Charles Bukowski Memorial Reading takes place August 16 at 6:00 at the Bitter End in Greenwich Village in honor of what would have been the 103rd birthday of the author of such books as Pulp, Factotum, Post Office, On Cats, and Love Is a Dog from Hell, with tribute readings by musician and storyteller Jennifer Blowdryer, poets S. A. Griffin, Puma Perl, Danny Shot, and George Wallace, and playwrights Richard Vetere and Michael Puzzo, hosted by Kat Georges and Peter Carlaftes of Three Rooms Press. Bukowski, who died in 1994 at the age of seventy-three, will be celebrated through poetry, oral history, rare videos, and live performances, with a special look at what he might have thought about ChatGPT, dating apps, legalized marijuana, and other contemporary issues. As a bonus, books, CDs, DVDs, and other prizes will be given away.

ALEXA MEADE: WONDERLAND DREAMS

Alexa Meade paints Hailee Kaleem Wright, Eden Espinosa, and Brian Stokes Mitchell at Wonderland Dreams (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

WONDERLAND DREAMS
529 Fifth Ave. between Forty-Third & Forty-Fourth Sts.
Wednesday – Monday through September 10, $33.50-$44.50
www.wonderlanddreams.com
online slideshow

If you’re looking for that elusive rabbit hole to bring respite to your harried life — and we’re not talking about the proverbial rabbit hole but something more akin to the real deal — then you can’t go wrong with Wonderland Dreams.

Washington, DC–born installation artist Alexa Meade has transformed a 26,000-square-foot midtown space into an immersive version of Lewis Carroll’s classic nineteenth-century novels, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass. Thankfully, it’s nothing like the overhyped shows in which works by such artists as Vincent van Gogh, Claude Monet, and Gustav Klimt “come to life,” morphing in projections on the floor, walls, ceilings, and mirrored sculptures.

Everyone is invited to paint their own acrylic flowers at Wonderland Dreams (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

For Wonderland Dreams, Meade and her team hand-painted every inch of the space; as you walk, crawl, or glide through the many rooms, you’ll encounter fanciful chairs and couches, giant mushrooms and flowers, tiny houses, an inviting keyhole, a large chess set and playing cards, a hedge maze, a carousel horse, a swirling tea party, out-of-sync clocks, empty picture frames, and photographs and portraits of celebrities whose bodies Meade has painted on. Everything can be touched, handled, and ridden on; essentially, it’s a gigantic playhouse for kids and adults. Be sure to pick up 3D glasses to enhance your experience in several cool rooms, and stop by the café and the gift shop for bonus surprises, even if you’re not seeking to eat, drink, or buy anything.

In July, I attended Broadway Night, during which stars Eden Espinosa (Wicked, Rent), two-time Tony winner Brian Stokes Mitchell (Man of La Mancha, Kiss Me, Kate), and Hailee Kaleem Wright (Six, Paradise Square) donned black-and-white jumpsuits and then, standing in a full-length empty frame, were painted all over by Meade, who is currently the artist-in-residence at the Perimeter Institute for Theoretical Physics in Waterloo, Ontario; the actors held the palette as Meade covered every bit of their skin, including their faces, necks, hands, and wrists. They then posed in the frame, individually and together, as if the paintings were, well, coming to life. The next Broadway Night is August 21, with guests to be announced; the Grand Finale closing party is set for September 9.

Every room holds a different surprise in Wonderland Dreams (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

There are various places where visitors are encouraged to put on masks, hats, coats, and other props for further immersion into the world of Alice, the Mad Hatter, the Cheshire Cat, the Red Queen, the White Rabbit, the Caterpillar, and Tweedledum and Tweedledee. In the back is a studio where you can paint an acrylic flower and add it to the wall. There’s also the family-friendly Mad Hatter’s Adventure on Saturday and Sunday mornings at ten.

“If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense,” Alice says in the first book.

As Meade reveals in Wonderland Dreams, there’s nothing wrong with that.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]

UPTOWN SERIES: TOROS

Frank Wood plays an ailing golden retriever in Danny Tejera’s Toros (photo by Joan Marcus)

TOROS
Second Stage Theater Uptown, McGinn/Cazale Theater
2162 Broadway at Seventy-Sixth St.
Through August 13, $60-$75
2st.com/shows/toros

Three twentysomething friends who attended the same international grade school in Madrid reconnect in Danny Tejera’s beguilingly quirky and unpredictable Toros. Juan (Juan Castano) is a wannabe DJ who works on his music in the garage. Toro (Abubakr Ali) has just returned from an unhappy stint in New York City. And the free-spirited Andrea (b) teaches kindergarten when she’s not rolling joints. All three live at home as they try to figure out what they want to do with their lives, spending their evenings drinking, smoking, going to clubs, and hoping there is something better out there.

All the while, Juan’s ailing, elderly golden retriever, Tica (Frank Wood), is curled up in her bed at the front corner of the stage. Throughout the show, she adjusts her positions, lets out small snores, howls, and barks, and moves awkwardly across the floor, her ancient bones wasting away. The dog soldiers on but is a constant reminder that everyone is eventually going to die, and it might be ugly and painful.

The bullheaded Juan — “toro” means bull in Spanish — is a nasty guy who is mean to Toro, unable to say anything kind. Toro is a lost soul who can’t decide whether he wants to be with his friends or be alone. Andrea is the only one of the trio who has a firm grasp of who she is, although the recent tragic death of her sister has her reevaluating her future. Another death impacts the way they interact with themselves and the world.

Tejera (Scary Faces Happy Faces) and director Gaye Taylor Upchurch (Wish You Were Here, Animal) don’t make it easy for the audience at Second Stage’s McGinn/Cazale Theater, but only in the best ways. Each of the characters has serious flaws and does things that they can’t take back even if they wanted to. The dialogue, which is mostly in English with occasional Spanish, crackles with unexpected lines.

Toro (Abubakr Ali) scratches Tica (Frank Wood) while Juan (Juan Castano) tends to his music in Toros (photo by Joan Marcus)

Set designer Arnulfo Maldonado has crafted an intricate and realistic garage, complete with a fancy car under a white sheet, gardening equipment, and a bathroom that continually overflows. Curiously, there is a wall of plants and trees right outside the garage, which would prevent the car from pulling out into the driveway; perhaps it’s meant to imply that the characters are trapped. (Juan and Toro work for Juan’s father’s real estate company, finding houses for others as they are still stuck living with their parents.)

On the subway home, we heard a few people who had been at the show questioning that scenic choice as well — the designer achieved a thought-provoking response, as do the unique writing, acting, and direction. I’ve seldom been on a train coming home from the theater with as many lively discussions going on.

Castano (A Parallelogram, Transfers), b (American (Tele)Visions, Unprincess Non-Bride), and Ali (We Live in Cairo, Kiss) are terrific as childhood friends who don’t necessarily have much in common anymore, but Wood steals the show as Tica, who is onstage nearly the entire smoothly paced ninety minutes. “Tica” can be translated as ethics, which is something that Juan can learn a lot about.

“All the things people usually want: money, or fame, or — raising a family or doing social work — I was just like, none of that seems that great or useful anyway, you know?” Toro says. “And — I just sort of like, stopped believing in reality. . . . Like, it just seemed like, no matter what I saw in front of me, it was all so obviously performed.”

There’s nothing obvious about the wonderfully performed Toros.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]

HERE LIES LOVE

Imelda (Arielle Jacobs) and Ferdinand Marcos (Jose Llana) dance their way to power in Here Lies Love (photo by Billy Bustamante, Matthew Murphy, and Evan Zimmerman)

HERE LIES LOVE
Broadway Theatre
1681 Broadway at 53rd St.
Tuesday – Sunday through September 3, $49 – $299
herelieslovebroadway.com

“Why don’t you love me?” Imelda Marcos (Arielle Jacobs) asks in Here Lies Love, the fast-paced extravaganza thrilling audiences at the reconfigured Broadway Theatre. Obviously, she hasn’t been paying attention, too obsessed with greed, corruption, and power.

Here Lies Love started out as a 2010 concept album about Marcos by former Talking Heads leader David Byrne and musician and DJ Fatboy Slim, featuring Tori Amos, Steve Earle, Martha Wainwright, Natalie Merchant, Florence Welch, Cyndi Lauper, Nellie McKay, and others. The full-on show opened at the Public’s LuEsther Hall in 2013, when I called it “a spectacular, must-see event, an immersive, endlessly creative theatrical experience.” It’s still all that and more.

Set designer David Korins has ripped out most of the seats in the theater, so hundreds of people gather on the floor, where large rectangular platforms (nearly four feet high) are pushed around by stagehands while other crew members guide the audience like airplane safety ground handlers so revelers don’t get smushed. There are a few mezzanine rows on two sides of the theater; at one end there are two dozen rows of more traditional balcony seating, while at the other is the main stage. In the center of the room is a giant disco ball, evoking Marcos’s New York City penthouse, where she had one installed over a dance floor, and Studio 54, where she liked to party with celebrities.

Throughout the ninety-minute show, Peter Nigrini projects archival news footage, sociopolitical information, images of Johanna Poethig, Vicente Clemente, and Presco Tabios’s 1986 Lakas Samabayanan (“People’s Power”) mural, and live action, documenting Imelda’s determined rise from a poor childhood by winning a local beauty contest and moving to Manila, meeting and falling in love with the ambitious Ferdinand Marcos (Jose Llana), a military veteran and lawyer with major political aspirations.

Soon she’s swept into a life of position and wealth, although her public statements seem touchingly ingenuous. “The most important things are love and beauty. / It doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor. / To prosper and to fly — / a basic human right. / The feeling in your heart that you’re secure,” she sings in the opening title number. “Is it a sin to love too much? Is it a sin to care? / I do it all for you. / How can it be unfair?” Most of the lyrics are taken directly from interviews, films, and public statements made by the characters; “here lies love,” for example, is the phrase Imelda wants engraved on her tombstone.

The Marcoses’ rise to power is being challenged by reformer Ninoy Aquino (Conrad Ricamora), a provincial mayor and governor who briefly dated Imelda before becoming a senator who correctly predicted what she and Ferdinand would do to the Philippines. “Out ev’ry night in New York and Paris / Champagne and dancing — while back here at home / People barely surviving — they’re living in shanties! / Our country’s in trouble — but the party goes on!” he declares, earning himself the top spot on their long list of enemies.

Here Lies Love follows the story of Imelda Marcos (Arielle Jacobs) through music and dance (photo by Billy Bustamante, Matthew Murphy, and Evan Zimmerman)

Another sad observer of Imelda’s transformation into an egotistical despot is her childhood friend Estrella Cumpas (Melody Butiu), who in some ways represents both the audience and the people of the Philippines. Once wealth and power come her way, Imelda quickly dumps Estrella. In one of the most touching scenes in the show, Estrella watches Imelda on her wedding day, but she is kept on the other side of a gate. Estrella is intent on standing by her friend as long as she can, explaining, “I know that you are in there somewhere / Letters get misplaced in the mail / Guess that there was some confusion / Amidst those throngs and swells / Did you see me outside? / Did you see me wave? / When you passed in your car / Ah, well, that’s okay — / How she looked when she passed by / How she looked when she passed by.” But Imelda has moved on, trying to erase her poverty-stricken past from her official story.

In 1965, Ferdinand became the tenth president of the Philippines, and for more than twenty years he ruled with an iron fist, having his rivals jailed and murdered, cheating on Imelda, silencing the media, establishing martial law, and lying to the populace as he grew ridiculously rich.

Shortly after the wedding, a press attaché (Jeigh Madjus) announces, “And the whole world can see / They’re our Jackie and John . . . What a picture they make / I’m so proud for us all.” But that’s not at all the way things turned out.

Tony-winning director Alex Timbers (Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson, Moulin Rouge!) infuses Here Lies Love with nonstop energy spreading across the theater; while the central action follows Ferdinand, Imelda, and Ninoy, the ensemble moves and grooves to Olivier nominee Annie-B Parson’s electric choreography on podiums in the balcony, as if featured dancers in a nightclub. A ladder is occasionally wheeled to the balcony so the main characters can interact with the audience there.

The staging works on multiple levels, but, most important, it helps attendees experience some of what the Filipino people felt during the Marcoses’ ascent. At first, the crowd on the floor is sucked into Ferdinand’s populist campaign, cheering, shaking hands with him and Imelda, and eagerly posing with them for photos and videos. But soon after, they are at an Aquino rally, joining in the rage against the Marcoses’ rampant corruption.

Justin Townsend’s lighting is flashy and bold, splashing flickering colors everywhere. Clint Ramos’s colorful costumes are inspired by such traditional Filipino styles as the terno and the barong. M. L. Dogg and Cody Spencer’s pumping sound shakes the house, led by a fast-talking DJ (Moses Villarama) who keeps the party going even after the show is over. Music director J. Oconer Navarro guides the band across tender ballads and splashy disco and pop, with Joe Cruz on guitar, Derek Nievergelt on bass, and Jacqueline Acevedo, Gustavo Di Dalva, Brandon Ilaw, Paula Winter, and Yuri Yamashita on percussion.

Broadway’s first all-Filipino cast has Llana (The King and I, The 25th Annual Putnam Country Spelling Bee), Ricamora (The King and I, Soft Power), and Butiu (Doctor Zhivago, South Pacific) reprising their roles from the Public Theater production, and all three embody their characters with skill and confidence; Butiu is particularly touching as the friend left behind, essentially representing all the people the Marcoses steamrolled. Jacobs (In the Heights, Between the Lines) is almost too likable as Imelda, although you run out of sympathy for the woman known as the Iron Butterfly by the end. Jasmine Forsberg (Broadway Bounty Hunter, A Grand Night for Singing) is Maria Luisa and Imelda’s inner voice.

Through August 13, Tony winner Lea Salonga (Miss Saigon, Once on This Island) brings down the house as Aurora Aquino, Ninoy’s mother, singing the heartfelt “Just Ask the Flowers” dressed in all black, surrounded by black umbrellas. Kristina Doucette plays Ninoy’s wife, Cory; Timothy Matthew Flores is their son.

Oscar, Grammy, and Tony winner Byrne (Joan of Arc: Into the Fire, American Utopia) and Grammy winner Fatboy Slim (“Praise You,” “The Rockafeller Skank”) have ingeniously transformed the story of despicable despots into a cautionary tale and all-out dance celebration — and with only one mention of shoes.

Ferdinand died in 1986 at the age of seventy-two; Imelda, who concluded a nine-year run in the Philippine House of Representatives in 2019, is still alive, now ninety-four, and their son Bongbong, aka Ferdinand Marcos Jr., was elected president of the country in a landslide in 2022.

“Don’t let them look down on us,” Imelda calls out in “Please Don’t.” It seems she has little to worry about.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]

CONEY ISLAND SAND SCULPTING CONTEST 2023

Twenty-fifth annual Sand Sculpting Contest takes place in Coney Island on Saturday (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

Thirty-first annual Coney Island Sand Sculpting Contest should feature some wild creations on Saturday (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

CONEY ISLAND SAND SCULPTING CONTEST
Coney Island
Boardwalk between West Tenth & Twelfth Sts.
Saturday, August 12, free, noon – 4:00 pm
www.coneyisland.com
www.allianceforconeyisland.org

The thirty-first annual Coney Island Sand Sculpting Contest will take place at the People’s Playground on August 12, as amateurs, semiprofessionals, and professionals will create masterpieces in the Brooklyn sand, many with a nautical theme. It’s a blast watching the constructions rise from nothing into some extremely elaborate works of temporary art. The event, which features cash prizes, is hosted by the Alliance for Coney Island and features four categories: Adult Group, Family, Individual, and People’s Choice. There are always a few architectural ringers who design sophisticated castles, along with a handful of gentlemen building, well, sexy mermaids. You can register as late as eleven o’clock Saturday to participate. While visiting Coney Island on August 12, you should also check out the Coney Island Museum, the Coney Island Circus Sideshow, the Music of Curiosities Viva concert with Mystical Children and host PNK VLVT WTCH, and the New York Aquarium in addition to riding the Cyclone and the Wonder Wheel.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]