The nationwide uproar over undocumented immigrant deportations gives a furiously topical spin to Miss You Like Hell, a new musical regarding a Mexican woman who resists expulsion from the United States.
Opening tonight at The Public Theater, which prides itself on producing timely works, the show packs a blazing performance by Daphne Rubin-Vega, some fresh songs by Erin McKeown, and a fast, fluent staging by director Lear deBessonet.
Then there’s this ultra-serious story from Pulitzer Prize-winning author Quiara Alegria Hudes … oh, well, who goes to a musical for its plot? Actually, the playwright’s troubled mother-daughter story proves to be merely a half-bad component of Miss You Like Hell, which benefits from rolling along at 105 minutes sans any intermission that might allow viewers to think too much about it.
The ever-incandescent Rubin-Vega portrays Beatriz, who materializes in Philadelphia after a four-year absence to whirl Olivia, her estranged 16-year-old daughter, away on a cross-country trip in a pick-up truck to California. Beatriz claims motherly concern for Olivia, who recently threatened suicide, but soon it’s learned that Beatriz, an undocumented immigrant from Mexico, is facing a deportation hearing and wants Olivia to testify on her behalf.
Bitter over her mother’s neglect, self-centered Olivia is scarcely a pleasant companion, although her attitude towards Beatriz gradually softens as their journey progresses. Along the bumpy way they encounter a sweet 60s-something gay couple intent on being married in every state they can reach on their Harleys; a nice, middle-aged Peruvian fellow who sells tamales; and an upbeat African-American junior ranger at Yellowstone National Park.
Unfortunately, they also run into a policeman who locks up Beatriz overnight for a minor traffic violation and an inflexible legal clerk who refuses to help Beatriz expunge a misdemeanor rap that could ship her back to Mexico.
Will this troubled mother-daughter relationship finally heal? Will Olivia agree to testify for her mom? And will the authorities permit Beatriz to stay in America?
More about that later, but let’s first observe that McKeown, a folk-rock songwriter making her theater debut here, has crafted a likeable collection of songs that are more about rhythms than rhymes in their composition and appeal. The airy “Yellowstone,” homely “Tamales,” and slamming title song linger most on the ear. Some numbers feature honeyed choral arrangements. Strings lend extra sonority to the six-member onstage orchestra. Although the wordplay of these 18 songs can be poetic at times (Hudes is co-credited with McKeown as a lyricist), not all of it makes sense: “The distance of love is the cruelest of borders” sounds pretty, but what does it mean?
Speaking of cruel, let’s assess frankly Hudes’ ultra-negative characterization of Olivia: A nasty, know-it-all teenager who calls her mother “garbage” and “a liar” to her face. Since it is integral to the storyline, viewers are expected to trust that a slovenly, insufferable, stay-at-home chit such as Olivia somehow also maintains a brilliant blog that attracts multitudes of followers. Exerting even the most sympathetic suspension of disbelief, it’s hard to like such a sullen prig (who, for all of her supposed smarts, has never heard about ICE). A peevish interpretation by Gizel Jiménez, whose vocal skills are superior to her acting, scarcely makes Olivia any more attractive.
In striking contrast, Beatriz has been seductively written as a free-spirited, bohemian charmer who calls upon ancestral spirits for help. Vividly fleshing out this vital character is the matchless Rubin-Vega, the original Mimi of Rent and a singular artist if ever there was one, who extends to this musical and its production a glowing actuality that brings the show to life. Between her smoky-sweet voice and forthright naturalness, Rubin-Vega’s magnetic Beatriz is an irresistible presence. (It would be nice to see Beatriz’s colorful backstory musicalized, but that would not suit this show’s in-the-present concept.)
The ease of deBessonet’s swift staging is finessed by a turntable on designer Riccardo Hernandez’s open arena-style setting, which is intermittently dappled by Tyler Micoleau’s richly-tinted lighting. Dressed in mufti by Emilio Sosa, an eight-member ensemble is seated with the musicians at the rear of the stage when they are not essaying various characters; Danny Bolero, Marinda Anderson, Latoya Edwards, Michael Mulheren and David Patrick Kelly neatly handle the more prominent roles.
The musical ends with an epilogue, accompanied by a striking visual coup, which some viewers might feel to be powerful and touching. Others may dismiss such a finish as earnest or even mawkish. Perhaps the most effective conclusion of all would have left the story of Beatriz still open, just as the stories remain open for so many undocumented immigrants living here.
Miss You Like Hell opened April 10, 2018, at the Public Theater and runs through May 13. Tickets and information: publictheater.org
