‘Here Lies Love’: Better Than ‘Hamilton’?

Here Lies Love, David Byrne’s musical about the rise and fall of Imelda Marcos, has finally come in from the cold. The show made a smashing debut in a limited run at the Public Theater in 2013; returned there a year later for an all-too-brief reprise production; but has since been largely missing in action, at least for New York audiences.

One stumbling block, clearly, was its ambitious “immersive” staging. Most of the audience stands on a disco floor for the entire 90-minute show, being herded to and fro as the action takes place above and around them on movable stages. But now a Broadway theater — actually the Broadway Theatre — has been completely transformed to accommodate the show. All the orchestra seats have been removed, so that the audience (along with a couple hundred more seated at mezzanine level around them) can roam the floor and experience what is, for my money, the best American musical of the past decade. 

The show (created by Byrne along with musician-DJ Fatboy Slim) chronicles the rise of the former Philippines first lady, from poor small-town girl to wife of a rising Philippine senator, Ferdinand Marcos. When he is elected President in 1965, Imelda becomes the glamorous face of his autocratic regime — before being ousted by the People Power revolution that followed the assassination of political foe (and, in an ironic twist, one of Imelda’s early boyfriends) Benigno Aquino.  

It’s a glam, disco-infused take on history — but the history is certainly there. Not just in the actors who pop up in all corners of the theater (Arielle Jacobs, as Imelda, heads a terrific, all-Filipino cast), but in the video projections, old photos, newspaper headlines, and even an (apparently) actual recording of a phone conversation between Ferdinand Marcos and his mistress. The audience, led around the dance floor by stagehands with light sabers, becomes part of the crowd excited by the Marcoses in their populist campaign for the presidency — and who eventually turn against them. Alex Timbers’ direction and Annie-B Parson’s choreography are so fluid and intertwined that it’s hard to know where one starts and the other begins. Even if you’re sitting in the seats (as I was this time, after twice seeing the show from the floor), it’s a galvanizing, full-sensory experience.   

The music, with its busy Afro-beat rhythms and pulsating disco energy, seems entirely original and of a piece. The title song alone (“Here lies love” is the epitaph that Imelda once suggested for herself), which progresses from plaintive folk ballad to soaring pop anthem, has more melodic and rhythmic variety than most Broadway scores in their entirety. (The only disappointment: a closing reprise of the song has for some reason been dropped.)   

Several critics, while generally admiring the show, have questioned whether it is too celebratory of its subject, the wife of a brutal dictator (whose son is now again in power in the Philippines). Comparisons to Evita, another musical about a dictator’s charismatic spouse, are hard to avoid. Yet Here Lies Love is more politically astute and less adoring; Imelda’s final number, “Why Don’t You Love Me?” displays the kind of bitter self-delusion that the stage Eva Peron never approached.  

Indeed, I think the show stacks up favorably with that other great historical musical of our time, Hamilton. Lin-Manuel Miranda’s show may pack more (one-sided) history into its dense, rapid-fire rap lyrics. But Here Lies Love is, all in all, a more skillful blend of songwriting and stagecraft. In a close race, my vote goes to Imelda.