There are shows in the history of the American musical that don’t just entertain but redefine the form. Oklahoma! introduced the idea that song, story, and dance could be seamlessly integrated into a cohesive narrative. Company shattered the expected structure of musical storytelling. A Chorus Line solidified the idea of the “concept musical”—in which a central idea, theme, or theatrical conceit dictates form.
This season on Broadway, Buena Vista Social Club joins that lineage—not only in what it says but in how it says it.
Inspired by true events, the show tells the story of a recording session that took place in Cuba in 1996 with some of the most important musicians on the island playing in the traditional musical styles—son, boleros, guajiras—of pre-revolutionary Havana. The story travels back and forth between 1956 and 1996, tracing the lives of the musicians from the upheaval of the percolating revolution through the post-Cold War years.
In the production, the orchestra sits centerstage, immediately signaling that this is something different. The conceit of a recording session in a studio centers the play in the concept musical tradition, where the making of the recording becomes the central dramatic event of the piece.
But the most striking choice of this production is its decision to have the songs performed entirely in Spanish, without subtitles. On its surface, this might seem like an exclusionary gesture—an obstacle for the predominantly English-speaking Broadway audiences (as distinguished from the 50 million Spanish speakers in the United States). But it is, in fact, a brilliant and essential act of authenticity: to present the music in its original form, without translation or explanation, is to honor the depth of the cultural context from which it comes.
The form of Buena Vista Social Club stands as a bold act of defiance against the sanitized, the predictable, and the conventional. In a world where Broadway often values spectacle over substance, this musical is a master class in authenticity.
I know something about the power—and the limitations—of translation. When I first arrived in New York from Venezuela, I thought and dreamed in Spanish. When I spoke English, I silently translated, one phrase at a time. Then one day, walking down 14th Street, I realized I was thinking in English. It was a moment of both joy and loss. Soon after, my dreams followed suit.
That experience taught me what this production understands so well: Some things don’t translate. They’re not meant to. In Spanish, for example, there’s duende—a word that refers to the artistic spirit or soul that takes over during a performance. There is no true English equivalent. Some emotions, some ideas, live fully only in the language in which they were born.
This show’s decision to not translate the lyrics declares a seismic departure from the classical musical theatre form, where the most commonly preached dictate of theatrical songwriting is that songs must propel the plot. That the creators of this musical are trusting that to happen in a foreign language on Broadway—the most commercial of theatrical settings—is an astonishing act of courage.
And it works. Using staging, choreography, and spoken words, the songs do indeed continue the narrative of the play, just not in the way we’re used to. Thanks to Marco Ramirez’s brilliantly crafted book, crystal-clear staging by director Saheem Ali, and dazzling story-centered choreography by Patricia Delgado and Justin Peck, these songs advance the story with emotional clarity, regardless of language. The Cuban musicians who originally brought this music to life did not sing for the ease of international consumption—they sang for their lives, their struggles, and their triumphs. To translate that into a more palatable form for a broader audience would be to strip it of its richness, its soul.
In embracing this approach, Buena Vista Social Club also broadens the definition of who and what belongs on a Broadway stage. It centers older voices, elevates Afro-Caribbean heritage, and celebrates a musical tradition often sidelined in mainstream theatre. It invites audiences not only to watch, but to listen—deeply and with reverence.
In this way, what’s happening in the Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre is nothing short of revolutionary—a brave step forward in the art of musical theatre. Like Sondheim and Prince in their day, these artists trusted their vision over conventional wisdom. They said, This is the authentic theatrical way of telling our story. And, eight times a week, on that stage, this decision results in a shared act of faith between artists and audience—one that breaks down barriers, builds connections, and unites us in a communal experience. We walk away not just entertained, but maybe even dreaming in a new language entirely.
Moisés Kaufman a Venezuelan American theatre director, filmmaker, playwright, founder of Tectonic Theater Project based in New York City, and co-founder of Miami New Drama at the Colony Theatre. He was awarded the 2016 National Medal of Arts by President Barack Obama.
