Las Horas De Belen

With its compelling theme and striking presentation, this Mabou Mines production became an instant experimental classic when it opened in finished form in May 1999. Framed within the structure of hourly devotional prayer in use since medieval times, the story of the unwed mothers, prostitutes and other undesirables that inhabited the refuge/prison is told with words, song and mime. Once admitted to Belen (the Spanish equivalent of Bethlehem, in an ironic name choice) established in 17th-century Mexico City, the women could never escape their strictly-regimented existence. Rehabilitation was a non-option, so their only escape was death, providing a direct tie-in to Mexico's indigenous culture of "los muertos," later neatly coopted by the Roman Catholic hierarchy.

Catherine Sasanov's research into the lives of these women kicked up mountains of text, plus antique engravings and photos, some of which are projected in Julie Archer's design onto the P.S. 122 walls. She and two other projectionists have their hands full with the constantly-changing images and translations of Liliana Felipe's songs and Monica Dionne's fiery verbal "outbursts" that bring the story into modern times. Not all of the poetry is translated in the English-language voice-over, so it helps to understand some Spanish. To this intriguing melange a barefoot Jesusa Rodriguez initially offers quirky portrayals of the women's typical daily activities, such as ironing and sewing, but quickly jumps into prime performance art. Stripping off her white period costume to the waist, she slaps flour over her exposed body. Maybe her performance has become more exaggerated over time, but turing the affair into camp does little justice to the Mexican women the show commemorates. Most of all she's a severe detraction to Liliana Felipe, a superb singer and pianist.

Ruth Maleczech's direction places Rodriguez, Felipe and Dionne in separate sections of the broad playing area and bounces the focus from one to another over the event's twelve sections. Belen's claustrophobia atmosphere is all too palpable -- surely no one cried when it was destroyed in 1935 after having become a prison in name as well as fact.