I've never read Jessica Hagedorn's novel The Gangster of Love. But were almost any scene from the Magic Theater's world-premiere production of the author's own stage adaptation presented to me as a teaser, it could well inspire me to head for a bookshop.
Some scenes would intrigue me with glimpses of Filipino-American immigration: Raquel Rivera, her brother Voltaire, and their indomitable mother Milagros debarking a ship in San Francisco; settling into a shabby Haight apartment; being urged to move to a safer, less racist neighborhood in Daly City. Others might tempt me with a coming-of-age saga: teenage Raquel (Golda Sargento) insisting on being called "Rocky"; becoming a poet; joining a rock band; glaring icily at her mother.
There are scenes of sex and romance: Milagros (Sarah Nina Hayon) flirting with her Hawaiian landlord (Lance Gardner); Raquel canoodling with a ginger guitarist; Milagros seducing the banker (Lawrence Radecker) who might fund a catering business she's fantasized about.
There are two rather lengthy musical scenes full of vibrant rock (if little plot); and a shocking nude scene that suggests Voltaire (Jed Pasario) is suffering with mental illness. Unfortunately, when seen all at once, over the course of nearly three hours, each scene still seems like a surface-scratching excerpt from a story that never comes. Director Loretta Greco parses out colorful dots, but doesn't connect them. The Gangster of Love feels less like a narrative than an outline.
In terms of stagecraft, the production is excellent, with Hana S. Kim's set and projection design taking advantage of the Magic's sprawling Fort Mason stage to create a constantly shifting environment with movie-like transitions between locations. In scenes set in Rocky's bedroom, a saturated portrait of Jimi Hendrix is projected on a wall, evoking not just a poster, but also her rock-and-roll dreams. City Lights Bookstore is magically evoked, inside and out, with a stage-wide storefront and, later, an infinity of bookshelves. Sara Huddleston's fully encompassing sound design and Ray Oppenheimer's lighting also contribute to the cinematic feel.
As Milagros, Sarah Hayon does an extraordinary job infusing psychological depth into an underwritten character. Every glance she makes and every movement at the corner of her mouth has at least as much to convey as the lines she speaks. And Sean San Jos� turns in a relaxed and charming performance as a gay uncle and consummate raconteur.
But as cinematic as the production is, The Gangster of Love lacks continuity. What provokes Voltaire's descent into madness? Does Rocky get pregnant and have a daughter sometime during the second act? Is Milagros ailing for days, months, or years before we see her, out of the blue, on her deathbed?
That deathbed scene is the show's most problematic. Rocky has returned to San Francisco from New York to say goodbye, and there are intimations, but no explanations, of long-held hostilities between mother and daughter. The audience hasn't seen or felt them though. You can feel playwright and director aggressively yanking at your tear ducts. The sentiment they presume is entirely unearned.