Imagine for a moment that the logic of cultural imperialism was reversed, and that Mexico was the dominant power in North America. Probably you would drive a Mexican car past billboards advertising Mexican foods, beers, sodas. At the multiplex you'd have a choice of 11 blockbuster Mexican movies and one American-made independent film of limited ambition. On TV, you'd mostly find Mexican soap operas, serials, sitcoms – your children would have heroes named Octavio and Antonia, and they'd clamor for the latest video game Yucatan Mario. Of course, everyone would speak Spanish in addition to their native English, and there'd be a bustling black market based on pesos, not dollars. And though occasionally an American rock band might draw your attention, the soundtrack of your life would mostly contain acts like the Fuentes Brothers and the Chiapas Chicas. Well, switch the poles and that's what life's like South of the Border, according to Patrick Scott and Aldo Velasco, the authors of The True History of Coca-Cola in Mexico. Scott and Velasco see Mexico as overwhelmed by American culture – Coca-Cola's just one symptom – and they want us Americans to become conscious of just how much we've imposed on our southern neighbor. The result is a rough-and-ready satire that takes on Mexican history, Mexican poverty, American industry, the American tourist trade, and even the crassness of documentary-making American liberals. As presented by Tampa's Stageworks, the show is beautifully acted, but too quick and unfocused to really tell us all we need to know. Still, even with its lack of balance, this is 90 minutes of unusually provocative theater that is also occasionally very funny. And in the era of globalization, it reminds us of the critical distinction between the haves – and the had.
As the play begins, Jack (Jack Holloway) is a performance artist about to commit suicide. He's persuaded to change his mind by Jackie (Jackie Rivera), an infinitely resourceful woman who suggests that they instead go to Mexico to make a documentary on American economic encroachments. With the help of an all-purpose technical expert (Josh Goff), they're soon landing South of the Border, where an unseen native cameraman named Pepe provides his services. The first thing Jack and Jackie report on are the names of the new conquistadors in Mexico: Domino's Pizza, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers and Dunkin' Donuts. This leads to a key question: "Are Mexicans sacrificing a culture developed over centuries for a hamburger, Coke and fries?" Immediately, we're whisked back to the days of the first real conquistadors, like the one (Holloway) who confesses to a Bishop (Rivera) that he's "killed scores of savages and had four of their women." "You beat me by two, my son," says the Bishop, and we're off on a comic, unthinkably foreshortened tour through Mexican history, from its independence from Spain in 1821, and its 50 leadership changes in 30 years, to the paradoxical presidency of Porfirio Diaz (Holloway). While Diaz, we're told, was selling out national interests to American bankers and oil magnates, John S. Pemberton (Rivera) was developing Coca-Cola; and eventually Mexico would stand second only to the U.S. in Coke consumption per capita. But before we get there, more history: a whirlwind ride through the years of Pancho Villa and Emiliano Zapata, and finally the arrival of the long-standing but dictatorial government by the Institutional Revolutionary Party, or PRI. A digression on Coke's trajectory – through Hitler's Germany and then to the rest of Europe, Asia and North Africa – finally leads to a last look at the sights of Mexico City: McDonald's, Baskin-Robbins and Mail Boxes Etc.
Then we're off to Chichén Itzá, sacred ground of the ancient Mayans and site where the rest of The True History unfolds. We meet the impoverished Tomayo family: little 8-year-old Rufinito (Rivera, with tennis shoes on her knees), his father (a poignantly troubled Holloway) and his mother (a tearful, also affecting Rivera). We learn that the Tamayos are descendants of the once-proud Mayans, but now their small house – made of bricks, mud and sticks – is about to be demolished by government developers who want to build a shopping mall/museum for American tourists. Jack and Jackie move into the tiny Tamayo home, where they view Señora Tamayo's favorite telenovela: The Rich Also Cry, acted out, in one of the funniest segments of the play, by Holloway and Rivera themselves. Then we meet a few other Mexicans, including a delivery boy for Domino's in Cancún; Jack makes a bold attempt to slip some obscene performance art into the film; and Jack and Jackie return to the States and the promise of an Oscar. A twist at the play's end reminds us that among those who impose upon Mexican culture are liberals like Jack and Jackie, trying to achieve fame via muckraking documentaries.
Does it all come together? Well, as I suggested earlier, the journey through Mexican and U.S. history is too rapid to convince us that we understand the subject, and the relatively long time spent with and near the Tamayos doesn't fully justify itself. But it seems churlish to complain when the acting's so good. Holloway, Rivera and Goff play such an astonishing collection of characters, often changing identities in mere seconds, that we can't help but be impressed. Joe Winskye's direction is delightfully fast-paced, and T.J. Ecenia's set, an arched structure fronted by rocks and adorned with Mexican blankets, is all we need to feel transported to that very different world just south of us. One of the set's most useful features is a screen at stage right on which are projected everything from Coke billboards in Spanish to a look at the Tamayo home: these images often fill important gaps in the script.
So yes, The True History of Coca-Cola in Mexico is too abbreviated and, occasionally, lopsided (and I could have done without the perfunctory disapproval of American liberal concerns). But it's dazzlingly acted, unpredictable and nicely rapid. And at its core there's real heart: for all its gaps and digressions, this is an affecting work of theater.
And you'll never spend 90 minutes watching anything quite like it.
This article appears in Jul 13-19, 2005.