musical

Few would contend that Lerner and Loewe’s “Brigadoon” and Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Flower Drum Song” represent the best work of these legendary duos.

Unlike Lerner and Loewe’s eternally popular “My Fair Lady,” “Brigadoon” hasn’t had a Broadway revival since 1980. “Flower Drum Song,” relegated to the shadows of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Oklahoma!” and “South Pacific,” didn’t last long when it received its first and only Broadway revival in 2002.

I assumed nostalgia was fueling the desire to give these Golden Age musicals a makeover. But when I sat in the audience for these shows and fell immediately under the spell of their scores, I had a different answer.

The music makes a case for why “Brigadoon,” now in a soaring revival at Pasadena Playhouse, and “Flower Drum Song,” making a less assured reemergence at the Aratani Theatre in Little Tokyo, should live again. I was particularly skeptical of “Brigadoon,” with its airy-fairy book and heavy dose of romantic hokum, but the Broadway-level production at Pasadena Playhouse may be the best local staging of a musical I’ve seen in my 20 years covering the scene for The Times.

Kylie Victoria Edwards and Daniel Yearwood in “Brigadoon” at Pasadena Playhouse.

(Jeff Lorch)

I knew both musicals principally from their film adaptations. I missed David Henry Hwang‘s original rewrite of “Flower Drum Song,” which was a storied success at the Mark Taper Forum in 2001 but fared less favorably when it moved to New York the following year. I suppose I first saw “Brigadoon” as a kid at my grandmother’s house, amused at the way she goofily sang along. When I recently watched both movies again, it was like falling into a musical comedy time warp.

The enduring love for these Broadway shows isn’t just about the standards they have bequeathed to the American songbook. It’s also about the yearning for a more optimistic era of musical storytelling, when goodness could be counted on to prevail and a happy ending might be delayed but only rarely denied.

“Brigadoon,” a romantic fantasy about two Americans who stumble upon a mystical Scottish village that magically comes to life for a single day once every 100 years, might seem to be irredeemably old-fashioned. The show, which premiered on Broadway in 1947, was Lerner and Loewe’s first hit after a string of flops and fizzles. Without the success of “Brigadoon,” “My Fair Lady,” “Camelot” and the movie musical “Gigi” might never have happened.

Betsy Morgan and Max von Essen in “Brigadoon” at Pasadena Playhouse.

(Jeff Lorch)

But how do you solve a problem like Alan Jay Lerner’s book, written for a sensibility markedly more wholesome than our own? Enter playwright Alexandra Silber, whose fresh adaptation works for the most part remarkably well. There are a few lumpy patches, moments when the revision over-explains itself or belabors a point. But the way Tommy Albright (Max Von Essen) and Jeff Douglas (Happy Anderson), the accidental American intruders, have been modernized is a fizzy delight.

Imagine if Vincente Minnelli’s screen version of “Brigadoon,” starring Gene Kelly and Van Johnson, was remade with Paul Rudd and John Goodman, and you’ll have some idea of the comic chemistry here. But I should preface this thought exercise by first extolling the musical theater prowess of Von Essen, who received a Tony nomination for his work in “An American in Paris” and has a voice that could make the angels swoon. Less is required of Anderson’s jaded, booze-sodden Jeff, but this smart-alecky sidekick is re-imagined with crackling comic vitality.

The production, directed and choreographed by Katie Spelman, saves its most assertive interventions for its female characters. Fiona MacLaren (Betsy Morgan), the unmarried heroine who catches Tommy’s amorous eye, still falls heedlessly in love but not before correcting some of her American suitor’s chauvinistic assumptions. Morgan might overdo Fiona’s fiery streak when she sings “Waitin’ For My Dearie,” but the driving impulse is to bring the musical’s out-of-time female characters into the 21st century.

“Brigadoon” ensemble at Pasadena Playhouse.

(Jeff Lorch)

Meg Brockie (Donna Vivino), no longer the town floozie single-mindedly out to bed Jeff, is now the proprietor of Brockie’s Pub and the keeper of Brigadoon’s traditional language and culture. She’s still a sensual wrecking ball, but she’s too formidable to be treated as comic relief.

Silber has transformed Mr. Lundie, Brigadoon’s schoolmaster and moral guide, into Widow Lundie. The casting of the great Tyne Daly in the role is reason enough to make the gender switch, but it’s all part of a recalibration of the values of this theatrical world.

The dynamism of the singing and dancing smooths out some of the adaptation’s rough edges. Spelman puts her own stamp on Agnes DeMille’s original choreography, which was as integral to the storytelling as the book, lyrics and music.

When Charlie (a phenomenal Daniel Yearwood), a genial groom readying himself for the big wedding day, performs with his buddies “I’ll Go Home With Bonnie Jean,” Pasadena Playhouse erupts in a stomping frenzy of Celtic ecstasy. And Yearwood’s gorgeous rendition of “Come to Me, Bend to Me” is so seductive, it’s no wonder that Jean (Kylie Victoria Edwards), Fiona’s sister, has chosen to marry him.

“Brigadoon” ensemble at Pasadena Playhouse.

(Jeff Lorch)

All, however, is not idyllic in time-forgotten Brigadoon. Casting a pall over the nuptials, Harry Beaton (Spencer Davis Milford), hopelessly in love with Jean, threatens to destroy Brigadoon’s miracle by leaving the town for good.

Silber deepens Harry’s character and gives his story more emotional weight. (Milford manages to be both convincingly menacing and pitiably heartbroken.) The movie tweaked Harry’s fatal ending, but the adaptation does something even more striking with his desperation. The change is absorbed naturally by the musical, even if the funeral dance that Maggie (Jessica Lee Keller) elaborately performs might be more moving on a reduced scale.

The adaptation doesn’t always get the dramatic proportions right. When Jeff bares his soul to Tommy after the two are back on barstools in New York, the revelation that he is a heartsick widower complicates our understanding of a character originally conceived as a cynical bachelor. But Silber tries to extract too much sympathy from the exchange and stops the action when it should be moving rapidly toward its big finish.

Marc Oka, foreground, and Esther Lee, from left, Gemma Pedersen, Ai Toyoshima, Sally Hong, Hillary Tang and Emma Park in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Flower Drum Song,” produced by East West Players and the Japanese American Cultural and Community Center.

(Mike Palma)

But nothing can derail the success of this extraordinary production, the high watermark so far of Pasadena Playhouse producing artistic director Danny Feldman’s ongoing reexamination of the American musical canon. Jason Sherwood’s ravishing scenic design, full of eye-catching texture and lush density, makes it impossible not to dream along with the characters. Even the stage curtain, graced with Brigadoon’s floral insignia, is a work of art.

A 22-piece orchestra, under the music supervision of Darryl Archibald, draws out the all the sublime color of Frederick Loewe’s music. Most spectacularly, the blend of Von Essen’s lyric baritone and Morgan’s assertive soprano gives eternal life to Tommy and Fiona’s numbers. Hearing “The Heather on the Hill,” “Almost Like Being in Love” and “From This Day On” in the majestic intimacy of Pasadena Playhouse is a memory that will last at least a lifetime.

It’s a bit harder to judge this update of “Flower Drum Song,” which is Hwang’s second crack at revising the book, originally written by Oscar Hammerstein II and Joseph Fields. A co-production between East West Players and the Japanese American Cultural and Community Center, the revival doesn’t have the resources of Pasadena Playhouse’s “Brigadoon” and likely doesn’t have the same goals.

Ai Toyoshima, from left, Brian Shimasaki Liebson, Grace Yoo and Scott Keiji Takeda in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Flower Drum Song,” produced by East West Players and the Japanese American Cultural and Community Center.

(Mike Palma)

The musical, which premiered on Broadway in 1958, was groundbreaking for the way it provided a showcase for Asian American performers. Henry Koster’s 1961 studio film adaptation followed suit with an even greater reach. The intention was to create musical theater entertainment built around generational conflict — a longstanding device of romantic comedy. But here the clash involves immigrants in San Francisco trying to reconcile traditional Chinese culture and modern American life.

Stereotypes, however, prevailed, leaving a community at once grateful for representation and uncomfortable with the reinforcement of old tropes. Hwang (author of the Tony Award-winning “M. Butterfly”) set out to re-imagine the characters from the perspective of a contemporary Asian American dramatist nearly 25 years ago. But times continue to change along with cultural sensitivities, and he wanted to revisit his work for East West Players’ 60th anniversary season.

Directed by EWP artistic director Lily Tung Crystal, who is of Chinese heritage, the production is on a quest for a deeper authenticity. This mission is to provide a more genuine reflection of Asian American experience — community members speaking directly to fellow community members.

Grace Yoo, left, and Scott Keiji Takeda in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Flower Drum Song,” produced by East West Players and the Japanese American Cultural and Community Center.

(Mike Palma)

The production is most effective when the actors are singing, especially Grace Yoo, who plays Mei-Li and had me entranced the moment she started singing “A Hundred Million Miracles.” Don’t let the traditional flower drum she totes around fool you. She’s no longer the quietly obedient daughter of authority. Having fled communism, she has arrived in the U.S. without papers and (unlike the original) her father, and isn’t too keen on anyone dictating to her what she can and cannot do.

Scott Keiji Takeda, who plays Ta, Mei-Li’s reluctant inamorato, has a sumptuous voice that captures the hues of Richard Rodgers’ music. But unfortunately his wooden characterization raises questions about what exactly Mei-Li sees in him.

There’s a tension between the update’s good intentions and the tendency of musical comedy to traffic in amusing caricatures. (Exaggeration and simplification are par for the course.) In trying to root out offensive Asian American stereotypes, Hwang imports swishing stereotypes for laughs in his creation of a new character, Harvard (Kenton Chen), who works at the theater owned by Ta’s father and seems a throwback to the campy, wisecracking gay characters that were a staple of 1980s big-budget movie comedies. Harvard may get a more empowering storyline than his florist-hairdresser-retail-clerk predecessors, but the humor is redolent of the same punishing cliches.

Krista Marie Yu in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Flower Drum Song,” produced by East West Players and the Japanese American Cultural and Community Center.

(Mike Palma)

Emily Kuroda as take-charge producer Madame Liang and Marc Oka as Wang, Ta’s old-school father, throw themselves into the revival with full farcical force. Crystal’s fluid staging, full of agile and vibrant design choices, smoothly maneuvers the action. But earnestness is the enemy of hilarity. Hwang can be very witty, but how can the production let itself go when it’s so often being called upon to make an important point?

Linda Low (Krista Marie Yu), no longer Mei-Li’s rival for Ta’s hand in marriage, is now her ally. When she sings a middling version of “I Enjoy Being a Girl,” the joke isn’t on her but a society that leaves women so few options. The problem is that for Hwang to rebuild Mei-Li and Linda into characters of credible modern-day complexity, he would have to start from scratch, not just retooling the book but commissioning a new score to flesh out his more complicated vision. In other words, leaving Rodgers and Hammerstein’s musical behind.

“Brigadoon” manages to transcend time, but this take on “Flower Drum Song” falters between eras.

Michael Tilson Thomas came onto the scene as a great hope for classical music, American music, Los Angeles music, modern music, multifaceted pop music, maverick music, Russian music, Broadway music and just plain music, whatever it might be and from wherever it might be found. He lived his 81 years as conductor, pianist, composer, educator and media personality promoting that hope, and died Wednesday having shown how hope is done. He looked ahead. He looked back. Yet he lived for the now.

It wasn’t always easy. He wasn’t, to say the least, always easy. But MTT made music matter by making hope matter. He was, moreover, one of us. He achieved greatness though an epic amplification of a uniquely L.A. positivity in which grumpy became wistful.

I first encountered MTT as a kid clarinetist and he, Michael Thomas back then, a student conductor at USC and already, at 19, music director of the Young Musicians Foundation Debut Orchestra. He was soon everywhere. A piano prodigy, he regularly performed (and hobnobbed) with the likes of Stravinsky, Copland, Boulez and Cage at Monday Evening Concerts programs when the Los Angeles County Museum of Art opened in 1965. That summer, he appeared at the Ojai Music Festival, which he would go on to lead as music director seven times.

MTT liked to describe his L.A. youth as driving from Jascha Heifetz’s house in the Hollywood Hills (where he accompanied the famed Russian violinist in classes) to LACMA to rehearse Ives and Renaissance music, to composition and conducting classes at USC. Then it was home to the San Fernando Valley to practice Beethoven.

All the while, he listened to the hip L.A. 1960s pop music stations on his car radio. He was particularly keen on, and became friends with, Chuck Berry. Home was where he would also encounter screen legends. Tilson Thomas’ father worked in films and television as a screenwriter, producer and dialogue coach. Theodor Thomas was, as well, a painter with a visionary sensibility and a pianist, self-taught other than a handful of lessons from Gershwin.

But it was Tilson Thomas’ mother and grandmother who may have had the biggest influence. His mother was a public school teacher. She instilled what became a key trait in her only child, who treated conducting as an exercise in learning both for the musicians and the audience (if not for him, because he basically knew it all). His grandmother, Bessie Thomashefsky and her husband, Boris, were stars of Yiddish theater on New York’s Lower East Side.

Boris died in 1939, five years before MTT was born. But Bessie and young Michael were close. She recognized that, like her, he was born for the stage, and regaled him with stage lore that put the stardust in his eyes. As a young kid, MTT played Beethoven piano sonatas so impressively that he wowed his babysitter, an architecture student at USC named Frank Owen Goldberg, who needed extra cash.

Frank Gehry, as he became, told me that MTT was already an entrancing showman. The two remained lifelong friends.

While MTT did not actually reside in L.A. for most of his life, he never really left it. It prepared him for all that was to follow. In high school, he met Joshua Robison, who became his lifelong partner and ultimately husband. Whether in New York, Miami, London or San Francisco, wherever they lived, they always talked about L.A. His father’s paintings were on the walls, as were Boris’ Yiddish theater posters, one proclaiming “King Lear,” translated and improved.

The Tilson Thomas package that emerged from L.A. was unlike any conductor the world had seen. He doted on the music of Rachmaninoff when Rachmaninoff was unfashionable and on Steve Reich when Reich was found unfathomable. He adopted classical music’s neglected outsiders and especially such key West Coast “mavericks” as Lou Harrison and Henry Cowell. He convinced Meredith Monk to write for orchestra and enticed everyone from Sarah Vaughan to the Mahavishnu Orchestra onto the symphony stage.

Studying at Tanglewood, the Boston Symphony’s summer home, MTT won the Koussevitzky Prize in 1969 and, with the encouragement of Leonard Bernstein, was appointed assistant conductor to music director William Steinberg. Before long, MTT became principal guest conductor, filling in frequently for Steinberg, who was in poor health.

MTT in his early 20s was vibrant, arrogant, fearless, full of ideas, a chance taker. Ever the Angeleno, he tooled around town in a Porsche. He talked to staid symphony musicians and audiences who didn’t want to be talked to and often played music they didn’t want to play or hear. And he dazzled them. He got a contract with the distinguished German record label Deutsche Grammophon and made exciting records with the orchestra of Tchaikovsky, Stravinsky, Ives and modern Americans. They remain a thrill to hear.

By 1974, it was Tchaikovsky one moment and a wonderfully crazy avant-garde opera the next. Stanley Silverman’s “Elephant Steps,” which MTT recorded in 1974, was for pop singers, opera singers, orchestra, rock band, electronic tape, raga group, gypsy ensemble and, of course, elephants. Richard Foreman wrote the libretto. There had been nothing like it then or since. A revival could prove a sensation. The Olympic arts festival, anyone?

At the same time, Tilson Thomas, who proved a born educator, succeeded Bernstein in delivering the New York Philharmonic’s Young People’s Concerts. When Steinberg left, the Boston Symphony Orchestra passed over MTT as too young (24) and not ready (he wasn’t, nor was Boston). He was just right, though, for the Buffalo Philharmonic, which he led from 1971 to 1979. It was a wild ride, with lots of exciting new music and no small amount of controversy — arresting performances of arresting new works (Morton Feldman in particular) and an actual arrest at Kennedy International Airport when small quantities of cocaine, marijuana and amphetamines were found in his luggage.

He may have seemed ready for a homecoming in 1981, but MTT’s appointment as principal guest conductor of the Los Angeles Philharmonic did not prove to be the return of the prodigal son. These were the years of Carlo Maria Giulini’s music directorship, and MTT brought currency — new music, Gershwin, flashy showstoppers. Much of it was a breath of freshest air, but he was also remembered for his brash youth, which was now a brash 30s. He ran afoul of some in the orchestra and of its imperious head, Ernest Fleischmann.

Having been branded the next Bernstein, MTT floundered. What he needed was not L.A., but a far distant remove to find himself. That happened in two parts.

In 1987, the educator in him led to his greatest project, the creation of the New World Symphony in Miami Beach, Florida. The training orchestra guides young musicians with conservatory backgrounds into the world of professional orchestras.

Around the same time, Bernstein talked the London Symphony Orchestra into hiring Tilson Thomas as music director. Far from L.A., Boston and New York, a newly mature MTT found his bearings, no longer the next Leonard Bernstein but the first and only Michael Tilson Thomas.

Miami gave MTT meaning, and he commissioned Frank Gehry to design a revolutionary concert hall and teaching facility. In London, his conducting took on depth without losing its surface glamour. What MTT still lacked, however, was a creative outlook. He had always thought himself a composer and could, at a party, make up a clever song at the piano on the spot. He had drawers full of sketches but little finished work.

It took a return to the West Coast for MTT, having turned 50, to put all of his musical, emotional, personal and spiritual parts together and achieve greatness. For 25 years as music director of the San Francisco Symphony, MTT conducted Mahler and Tchaikovsky with a depth of soul that integrated his Russian roots and Bernsteinian character. He advocated for mavericks in summer festivals. He found his voice as a composer. He and Robison were embraced as a beloved San Francisco couple. He alchemized the San Francisco Symphony into a Bay Area beacon.

In the challenging last chapter of his life, MTT turned tragedy into triumph to became a universal inspiration. The lockdown in June 2020 meant cancellation of his farewell concerts as music director, including a production of Wagner’s “The Flying Dutchman” with a set by Gehry. The following summer, MTT fell on stage while conducting the London Symphony in Santa Barbara. He was diagnosed with late-stage glioblastoma. He likely had less than a year to live.

Remarkably, MTT continued to conduct until last April. His appearances with the L.A. Phil and the San Francisco Symphony were transformative. He guest conducted in New York, London, Prague and elsewhere. In L.A., a dying MTT led a profound performance of Mahler’s death-obsessed Ninth Symphony, not as a farewell but as a shamanistic savoring of every moment of life. He asked not for sympathy but for joy.

For MTT, the music never stopped. In his later years, he advanced the theory that what you took away from hearing a performance mattered as much, if not more, than what you experienced. That may explain why this creature of the theater who was so graceful leading an orchestra and so enjoyed talking to the audience turned stiff and awkward when bowing to acknowledged applause. Was it his reluctance to leave? Insecurity? Attempt to remove his ego from the experience, as if he was now handing the music over to you?

It was probably all of those things. During his illness, when his movement became more difficult, he let go. He was simply happy to be there, happy to share music, happy to be alive, very happy to be loved. His final bows were a celebration of life.

Sadly, Robison died Feb. 22, exactly two months before MTT, who died four days short of a year since his final concert with the San Francisco Symphony. But he lives on through about 150 recordings and his website.

He and Robison worked as tirelessly throughout his illness to archive his life. His website provides a treasure trove of compelling radio and television programs, his copious Thomashefsky Yiddish theater archive, a vast legacy of searching and believing. And hope.

History textbooks often include the story of the Underground Railroad, an organized network of secret routes, places and people that guided enslaved populations from the South to abolitionist Northern states.

However, less is known about the underground railroad that ran southbound to Mexico. But one live-looped musical is unearthing that hidden history, one beat at a time.

Co-created and performed by Brian Quijada and Nygel D. Robinson, “Mexodus” tells the fictional story of Henry, who evades his capture by fleeing Texas across the Rio Grande. After a near fatality, he is saved by Carlos, a farmer and former combat medic battling his own trauma from the Mexican-American War. Together they form solidarity, despite social, racial and political strains plaguing both sides of the border.

Following its off-Broadway run at the Daryl Roth Theatre in New York City, the hip-hop and bolero-infused musical directed by David Mendizábal will open at the Pasadena Playhouse stage July 8 and run until Aug. 2. But for history buffs and musical enthusiasts alike, a sonically richer version filled with sound effects of the musical airs exclusively on Audible today, April 16.

The idea for “Mexodus” first came to Brian Quijada — playwright, actor and composer behind “Where Did We Sit on the Bus?,” “Kid Prince and Pablo” and “Somewhere Over the Border” — when reading a 2018 article on History.com about the estimated 5,000 to 10,000 enslaved individuals that escaped the American South for freedom in Mexico, though some researchers estimate that number to be higher.

“My parents crossed the border undocumented in the late 1970s, so I think I’ve always been fascinated with writing immigration stories,” Quijada said. “The reason that this story attracted me was because it’s like a reverse border story, but I also knew that it wasn’t my story to tell so I sat on it for a long time.”

Quijada bookmarked the article until he met Robinson — a performer at Berkeley Rep, Baltimore Center Stage, Shakespeare Theater Company, Mosaic Theater and writer and composer of “Santa Claus Is Comin’: A Motown Christmas Revue” and “R&J: Fire on the Bayou” — at an actor-musician conference weeks before the start of the COVID-19 pandemic. They were the only actors-musicians of color in the room, listening in on conversations about how one should audition for musicals like “Once,” “Million Dollar Quartet,” which typically center white storylines.

“We kind of looked at each other and we’re like, ‘we don’t really belong here,’” said Quijada, who invited Robinson to take part in “Mexodus” during the pandemic shutdown. The first iteration of the project was as a mixtape.

The musical edge of “Mexodus” hinges on live looping, a recording and playback technique where a sound is repeated and then layered (think Justin Bieber’s solo performance of “Yukon” at the 2026 Grammy Awards). Physically, both Quijada and Robinson’s characters have to pick up a guitar, record it, then play the drum set and run to the bass. “ It’s pretty labor-intensive,” Quijada said.

“I think Brian and I are artists in this way, like various people of color, where it’s like, no one else is gonna do it for me, so I can do it all by myself,” Robinson said.

There’s also a more dramaturgical, meta reason for the loop, which follows a four chord structure throughout the piece, set in both 1851 and present day.

“The looping shows you that there’s not much difference between 1851 and 2026,” Robinson said. “We just keep finding ourselves in a loop and like maybe a sound is in that wasn’t there before. Maybe another sound is added, but it’s still the same four chord structure that has been happening in this country for all existence.”

In 2010, the U.S. National Park Service outlined a possible runaway route stretching on the Camino Real de la Tejas between Natchitoches, La., to Monclova, Mexico. Still, it is unclear how organized the underground railroad heading to Mexico truly was, the Associated Press reported in 2020, with archives destroyed in a fire and sites along the path abandoned.

In 2024 the Jackson Ranch Church and Martin Jackson Cemetery in San Juan, Texas — which are part of a ranch owned by interracial couple Nathaniel Jackson and Matilda Hicks — were recognized by the U.S. National Park Service for serving as a gateway to freedom in Mexico.

Other Texas couples alongside the border— including interracial abolitionist couple Ferdinand Webber and Silvia Hector — aided enslaved people in their pursuits to reach Mexico, which had abolished slavery in 1829, while Texas was still part of the country.

Fears surrounding the Mexican government’s attempts to abolish slavery led to the formation of the Republic of Texas in 1836 and its eventual annexation to the United States by 1845; records also show that American slave owners would head down to Mexico to kidnap formerly enslaved individuals, according to USC historian Alice Baumgartner, who wrote about it in her 2020 book “South to Freedom: Runaway Slaves to Mexico and the Road to the Civil War.”

A database by the Texas Runaway Slave Project, which found listings for 2,500 runaways across various Texas newspapers from the 1840s through the 1860s, also documents the frequented journey to Mexico.

Slavery in the U.S. wouldn’t be officially abolished until 1865 with the ratification of the 13th Amendment to the Constitution.

“I was also really intimidated by the amount of research that I would have to do to write this piece because at the time back [between 2017 and 2020], [researchers] were just beginning to uncover a lot of this,” Quijada said.

Themes of racism — including anti-Blackness in the Latino community — oppression and resistance are woven throughout “Mexodus,” which since its debut in 2023 at the Baltimore Center Stage/Mosaic Theater Company in Washington, D.C., has been making viewers aware of the little-known history.

Robinson recalled how one Black woman came up to him after the show to let him know she believed in Trump’s border wall.

“I got nervous, but she was like, ‘after seeing this, I’m realizing that there’s something trying to convince me of that.’ And I’m like, yes!” said Robinson. “I’m like, this is good. This is good. We started you somewhere. Wow.”

The pair hope that amid all the dark news circulating around the world — and the traumatic, historical themes interlaced in “Mexodus” — the existence of this piece of art can be a glimmer of hope and joy for the future of both Black and brown communities.

“ I need you all to see the truth, but we’re gonna try and dance anyway,” Robinson said.