Michael Brosilow
Yona Moises Olivares, Melisa Pereyra and Ronald Román-Meléndez, from left, in "Anna in the Tropics."
Yona Moises Olivares, Melisa Pereyra and Ronald Román-Meléndez, from left, in "Anna in the Tropics," American Players Theatre, 2025.
It was the ideal sultry weather in Spring Green for the opening night of Anna in the Tropics, where the air was thick enough to mirror the heat onstage. The American Players Theatre cast transformed the Hill Theatre into a cigar factory, full of dreams and what-ifs. This evening of theater was a master class in ensemble work, built not on flourishes but on a shared pulse that brought the narrative to life.
In the Pulitzer Prize-winning Anna in the Tropics, literature enters the workplace through a traditional figure called the lector, who reads Anna Karenina aloud to the workers of a Tampa cigar factory. This time-honored practice offers a bridge to a world beyond the factory walls, providing more than just entertainment for the literate — it’s a new kind of connection for those who can’t read, enabling them to listen, memorize and recite. It’s a ritual that mirrors the spirit of Wisconsin Public Radio’s Chapter a Day, which has been bringing literary works into homes since 1931. In this case, the tradition unfolds in the heat and hum of a 1920s factory.
Juan Julian (Ronald Román-Meléndez), the lector, is part lover, part salesman — and the selling works. His arrival disrupts the uneasy equilibrium between Santiago (Triney Sandoval), the factory owner who gambles away his earnings, and his wife, Ofelia (Elizabeth Ledo), who uses her share of the profits to pay the lector’s salary. Their daughters — dreamy Marela (Phoebe González) and restless Conchita (Melisa Pereyra) — are drawn in different ways to both the Anna Karenina he reads and the man himself, while Conchita’s husband Palomo (Yona Moises Olivares) wrestles with jealousy and desire. Meanwhile, Santiago’s half-brother Cheché (Sam Luis Massaro) pushes to replace the lector with a machine.
The novel Juan Julian reads is no accident. Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina is steeped in passion, betrayal, social constraint, and the cost of following the heart — themes that begin to mirror and magnify the lives of the factory workers. A question emerges: Will an affair save a marriage, or destroy what’s left of it? Literature has a way of bringing out the best and worst in us.
The imagery and metaphors in Nilo Cruz’s play do the opposite of what you might expect — instead of drifting into abstraction, they root the piece firmly, shaping its foundation. In the second act, the tension shifts toward modernization, with Cheché pushing to move the factory toward greater profits at the cost of its traditions. He’s the type of man who crosses out the day on the calendar before it even starts — a small, pessimistic act whose symbolism he cannot see.
This show is held together by Ofelia — her humor and sharpness breathe life into every scene. Ledo’s performance is the anchor of this play, giving it a heartbeat that’s both steady and sharp. As Marela, González is luminous, her optimism never tipping into fragility. As Cheché, Massaro channels a trauma response that, at times, erupts more suddenly than builds.
At first, you think the play will focus on Marela, but there’s a graceful handoff that shifts the focus to her older sister, Conchita. As Conchita, Pereyra carries the emotional pivot of the play, transforming from dutiful wife and daughter to passionate lover, giving the piece its deepest urgency.
There’s a moment when a cigar is passed between family members — not just a gesture of habit, but an act of passing peace. Moments like this land with a lift, helping you see the world anew. Director Robert Ramirez shapes these transitions so deftly that you feel the characters are living, not just staging. This play doesn’t simply unfold — it glides.
The production is supported beautifully by Josafath Reynoso’s evocative sets and Raquel Adorno’s costumes, which evoke the period with every fabric fold. Elisa Gonzales’ voice and text coaching ensures the dense, metaphor-laden language is never lost. Every word hits its mark.
This is not a preachy play. It doesn’t tell the viewer what to think; it confronts instead, drawing the audience in. Ultimately the viewer sees this world through a new set of eyes. The heat doesn’t come from grand gestures, but from the glances that linger, the silences that ache, and the steady rhythm of work punctuated by the cadence of literature. The parallels between Tolstoy’s lovers and the workers’ own tangled lives unfurl slowly, like smoke curling up from a freshly lit cigar.
Without a doubt, this is the best show I’ve seen at APT, and among the top five theatergoing experiences of my life. It’s not to be missed. By the end, this special theater on a hill feels changed. You leave not with the sense that you’ve watched a play, but that you’ve inhabited a living presence — one that breathed with you, held you close, and whispered its secrets until the lights faded.
