Broadway Reviews Theatre Review by Kimberly Ramírez - April 27, 2025 Real Women Have Curves: The Musical. Book by Lisa Loomer with Nell Benjamin. Music and Lyrics by Joy Huerta and Benjamin Velez. Direction and Choreography by Sergio Trujillo. Scenic design by Arnulfo Maldonado. Video design by Hana S. Kim. Costume design by Wilberth Gonzalez and Paloma Young. Lighting design by Natasha Katz. Sound design by John Shivers. Hair, wig, and make-up design by Krystal Balleza & Will Vicari. Orchestrations by Nadia DiGiallonardo, Joy Huerta, Rich Mercurio, and Benjamin Velez. Music direction by Roberto Sinha. Music supervision by Nadia DiGiallonardo.
The preshow set features a "Somos Boyle Heights" sign perched atop brick exteriors that pay tribute to the East Los Angeles neighborhood's colorful murals by Chicanx artists (scenic design by Arnulfo Maldonado; video design by Hana S. Kim). These community portraits of women and floral patterns establish a unifying design palette and meta-backdrop for the show, a grounding, powerful affirmation of people and place. True to the original script, Real Women Have Curves: The Musical remains set in 1987, in the Reagan-era amnesty period of the Immigration Reform and Control Act. Filtered through a contemporary lens, and performed amid Trump-era crackdowns, the musical suggests unsettling parallels between past INS enforcement practices and present-day ICE operations. As a birthright citizen, ambitious young Chicana writer and activist Ana García (Tatianna Córdoba) is caught between her dreams of going to college in New York City and her responsibilities helping her hardworking undocumented Mexican family in East LA. She's earned a scholarship to Columbia University's school of journalism, but hesitates without the blessing of her stubborn, old-fashioned mother Carmen (Justina Machado). Ana balances an unpaid summer internship at The Eastside Beat newspaper with grueling hours helping to fulfill an urgent order at the garment factory run by her older sister Estela (Florencia Cuenca) alongside their amá Carmen, Prima Fulvia (Sandra Valls), Prima Flaca (Shelby Acosta), Pancha (Carla Jimenez), and Itzel (Aline Mayagoitia). The order comes from prominent fashion distributor Mrs. Wright (Claudia Mulet) who demands 200 dresses in three weeks, "not a minute late .. if it's not on time, I don't pay for any of it." Estela is offered this "opportunity" after another factory Wright used was raided by INS. While grateful for the work, the women face exploitation through uncertain compensation and an unreasonable deadline.The ticking clock gives the plot a palpable sense of urgency, but for the undocumented workers, the persistent anxiety and fear of La Migra looms even larger.
Carmen appears as a softer version of the original stage character (and the cinematic portrayal by the legendary Lupe Ontiveros). Machado's interpretation creates a kinder, gentler Amá, yet one who still perpetuates toxic secondhand machismo. She insists the reason 18-year-old Ana has no boyfriend is because she's "too smart ... this and maybe ten ... fifteen pounds," boasting "When I was your age? I was married. And pregnant." By building key conflicts through Carmen and Mrs. Wright, the musical reveals how internalized oppression erodes unity and compassion. The ensemble represents a spectrum of Latinx experiences, spotlighting intersectional identities rarely seen on Broadway. As Fulvia, Valls delivers a remarkable representation of queer Chicanx energy. Sánchez perfectly portrays the image-obsessed Rosalí, a sentimental Salvadoran who "need[s] lipstick to live," swallows a diet pill with a bite of pan dulce, and anticipates a marriage proposal based on Walter Mercado's predictions. Mayagoitia brings marvelous depth to Itzel, speaking Spanish, English, and K'iche' as an indigenous Guatemalan worker who is captured and deported just days after she begins working. Itzel's poignant duet with Ana draws inspiration from verses by Maya poet Humberto Ak'abal, imagining freedom through flight like a Quetzal bird "Riding on the wind / All borders disappear / And up there in the sky they have no fear ... / If I were a bird ..." Córdoba's crystalline soprano soars, transcending borders again in "Flying Away," an empowering anthem blending Ana's confidence and vulnerability. Jimenez is an absolute revelation as Pancha–a sarcastic, wise, compelling show-stealer with commanding vocal prowess who can smack a temperamental sewing machine into submission with one "¡Híjole!" and dominate every scene. The book and score balance English dialogue and lyrics with just enough code switching, chisme, and cafecitos to capture the bustling garment factory convincingly. Spanish phrases translate naturally, or are clearly contextualized, ensuring broad accessibility without sacrificing believability.
The electrifying title song, "Real Women Have Curves," set to irresistible cumbia rhythms, emerges as a jubilant, unapologetic affirmation of body diversity. Multidimensional realities of womanhood are lifted up in a celebration of stretch marks, cellulite, and the fierce embodiment of Latina power, spirit and determination. This showstopping number ignites an empowering rap circle among the women. Illuminated by Natasha Katz's vivid lighting design, a curvaceous, mirror-tiled dress form descends, spinning like a disco ball. Wilberth Gonzalez and Paloma Young's expressive costume designs culminate in an impressive runway-style finale where characters flaunt fashions to fit their dreams, wearing custom creations designed by Estela. Ana's white pantsuit suggests her ambitions as a future congresswoman, Carmen's red mariachi dress brings a lost childhood ambition to fruition; and Fulvia's fabulously masc-leaning suit challenges traditional gender expressions. Male roles are minimal (there are none in the original play). Omar Madden doubles as a prejudiced politician and a cruel immigration officer: "You all smell the same to me." By contrast, Ana's father Raúl (Mauricio Mendoza) is lovingly supportive, and nerdy newsboy love interest Henry (Mason Reeves) charms in dances and duets. Though Henry's also college-bound for the northeast, Ana turns down his offer to drive her across the country by land, instead "flying away" on her own. While this musical adaptation may seem to streamline some of the complexities of Josefina López's original script, it delivers profound depth beneath its exuberant surface. The show pulses with a distinctly chingona spirit–it is bold and defiantly optimistic despite relentlessly biased, xenophobic U.S. immigration policies. When one ebullient musical celebration is brought to a dark and silent halt by a chilling INS raid, the abrupt contrast between upbeat rhythms and inhumane torment is striking. The musical also expands the notion of "curves" to signify more than mere physicality; they symbolize inevitable challenges, the resilience required to navigate unfair and broken systems, and the boundless capacity for jubilance and perseverance in the face of oppression. "No Matter What Curveballs They Throw / We Can Bend, We Can Dance / Let The Music Flow." Together, Estela's entrepreneurial gumption and Ana's reporting skills overpower an exploitative system. After the big payday for the finished dresses and before the finale, Flaca unfolds the Eastside Beat for her fellow factory workers: "Mira, Ana's article tells you exactly how to apply for the Amnesty. Step por step." As the only documented worker in the family and factory, Ana develops her writing talents by fighting to ensure everyone knows their rights. It's significant that her education and experience emerges from her community, not the private exclusive training she will receive at Columbia. In the preface to her original play, Josefina López envisioned "I hope that someday this country recognizes the very important contributions of undocumented people and remembers that they too came to this country in search of a better life." It's distressing to observe that 35 years later that day still hasn't come. With more mainstream representation like Broadway's Real Women Have Curves: The Musical, however, we may eventually get there, stitch by stitch and, as Flaca put it, "step por step."
|
