Inspired by a 1997 album recapturing the 1950s glory days of a long-shuttered Havana nightclub (Wim Wenders’s 1999 documentary chronicled the band’s phenomenal comeback), this sketchily scripted tribute opens with “El Carretero,” a protest song so energetically rendered, you may find yourself reacting with one breathless request: “¡Más!” No worries: You’ll be getting plenty more music but must wait out the production’s scripted portions (book by Marco Ramirez), which don’t begin to live up to the expertly rendered playlist.
As ringleader to a ten-member onstage band, Renesito Avich portrays famed tres guitarist Eliades Ochoa, a key player in the ’90s revival. Accompanying a drama which will ultimately underwhelm, the dexterous Avich has a bemused, self-effacing affect that’s irresistible. A few plangent stanzas in (“Yo trabajo sin reposo“), he’s got the audience in his thrall.
All too soon, however, the focus zooms in on a famed alumna, lead singer Omara Portuondo (Natalie Venetia Belcon). It’s the ’90s: Omara continues to sing and record, but on condition of complete control. She has her accompanists lay down tracks, then – in isolation – she adds her vocal line.
[Read Frank Scheck’s ★★★★☆ review here.]
Belcon is a fine, powerful singer, so it’s unfortunate that the script calls for us to imagine Omara in rigid, post-heyday mode. Just how accurate is that characterization? “Some of what follows is true,” warns Omara’s would-be documentarian Juan De Marcos (Luis Vega). “Some of it only feels true.”
What it feels is inchoate, and possibly off the mark. Do yourself a favor and catch the real Omara in the documentary: she’s charming, open, appealing. Belcon, however, is required to spend a good portion of act one playing an implacable monolith. It’s not until Omara is seduced by a flute solo, against her objection (“I don’t put flutes on my records”), that she finally defrosts. Who wouldn’t, with Hery Paz pulling off an extended solo that brings down the house?
Soon we’re transported via flashback to the fabled club (atmospheric design by Arnulfo Maldonado), or rather two clubs. In the fancy version (Tyler Micoleau’s lighting helps to demarcate the conversion), Young Omara – Kenya Browne, whose young voice has a promising burr – co-stars with her older sister, Haydee (Danaya Esperanza), cranking out tourist-fare standards. Omara soon starts sneaking off to the Buena Vista for a taste of realness. Alienation ensues.
That interpersonal thread, plus Omara’s nascent awareness of racial discrimination, proves a slim thread to hang a plot on. (The documentarian/narrator does warn us from the outset that the show “is no way a historical account. It is not the story of a nation.”) The saving grace is that, in both nightspots (chichi and proletarian), co-choreographers Patricia Delgado and Justin Peck whip a sextet of lithe dancers (colorfully costumed by Dede Ayite) into a high-flying frenzy that threatens to test the bounds of the shallow Atlantic stage.
Does the show aim to go bigger – to Broadway, perhaps? It has the basic makings, but the script needs a livelier, clearer through line. It wouldn’t hurt to apply a stronger focus to the political turmoil of the times (both times, ‘50s and ‘90s), a topic only glancingly touched on here. Or maybe just accord the phenomenal cover band a series of concerts? History – and the audience – might be better served.
Buena Vista Social Club opened December 13, 2023 at the Linda Gross Theater and runs through January 21, 2024. Tickets and information: atlantictheater.org
