In The Heights

LUIS PUTS THIS SUMMER’S BIG MOVIE MUSICAL IN PERSPECTIVE

I’M A PROUD PUERTO RICAN, BORN TO A LARGE FAMILY (ONE of five children (two brothers and two sisters)) and raised on the South Side of Williamsburg in the ’80s (brilliantly documented by the Los Sures documentary in 1984). Gangs and drugs were a way of life, but camaraderie and a joy of life were just as prevalent. “Hola, como está?” (Hi there, how are you?) was often met with “Tu sabe, aquí en la lucha” (You know, here in the struggle) which would almost always be followed by “Tu tiene que tener paciencia y fe” (You have to have patience and faith). It was the call and response of eternal optimism.

I grew up in a giant apartment building—42 apartments in the complex I lived in. The sounds of Johnny Pacheco, Celia Cruz, and Oscar D’Leon were always loudly playing in the hallways. The smells of pollo guisado, pernil, arroz con gandules and more would waft through the open doors in the hallways. (Doors were kept open because rare was the apartment that owned an air conditioner.) Clotheslines hung from the back of everyone’s windows over the courtyard. The fresh smell of everyone’s clean clothes a welcome delight. Walking through the streets you were always met with the sounds of dominoes rattling as the older men played games for money through a haze of smoke. The local piragua peddler was always one of the most popular people in the neighborhood. It was a sensory feast.

All of these sights and sounds were perfectly captured on screen in In the Heights, the wonderful movie adaptation of the Lin-Manuel Miranda Broadway musical. The movie crackles with an energy of authenticity. Everything felt so real. These were the streets I knew, grew up in, and loved. It felt like home.

More than just the sights and sounds, the attitudes of the Hispanic elders rang so true. The way the movie is built around dreams (sueñitos) and how the elders will put their lives on hold to support their children or for those they care about is another element that felt like it was ripped right out of the inner city streets. Growing up, I would constantly hear stories about first generation Latinos and their journey into the country. Why they were here, what they were doing now, and what their plans were. So many times it was because they had a dream for their children and wanted a better life.

The story of Nina, the intelligent Puerto Rican who carried the hopes and dreams of her family and neighborhood as she left Washington Heights and traveled across the country to go to college hit extremely close to home. The financial burdens placed on her family, the self doubt, the pull to be back home... all spoke to me. When Nina breaks into “Breathe,” it felt like she was singing about my life. When Nina sings “I was the one who made it out!” and “I know that I’m letting you down,” the words are ripped right from my upbringing.

Growing up I showed great aptitude in math and art. I always thought I would be the one to raise my family from poverty with my art. In fact it became a bit of a family joke to have me point to my hand and say “I’m gonna save the family with this.” It was all fun until it started to become a reality. The small family joke became something that was repeated to friends and neighbors and to our own neighborhood Abuelita, Dona Sara. As I got accepted to school out West, my little family joke was becoming all too real. My family and I sacrificed so much to

ensure I could go to college. When my father fell ill and eventually passed, I quickly came back East, finished school, and entered the workforce. The most shocking part of coming back home was hearing from Dona Sara “how it broke my mother’s heart when I went out West.” While I thought I was trying to fulfill a self-inflicted prophecy I didn’t realize I might have been doing the opposite. To say I had conflicting emotions about the whole scenario would be an absolute understatement. I found myself codeswitching as I lived in the loud Hispanic haven of the South Side but I worked on lily-white Wall Street. While I felt like I was paying back my family for all they sacrificed, I wasn’t being true to myself. It wasn’t the dream. I remember telling my mother how unhappy I was, and she said then don’t do it anymore... Find something that makes you happy. That wouldn’t happen for me until later when I entered publishing and felt like I was in a (slightly) more inclusive environment.

I digress though, In The Heights captures the plight of the inner city Latino better than any movie since West Side Story (also a brilliant musical). The movie perfectly captures the tonality and authenticity of Miranda’s play. Portraying the sights and sounds of summer in the inner city is never easy, but John Chu brought such energy to the story by using the actual streets and location of Washington Heights. I never got to see the stage version of the show, but this colorful, real, and joyfully exuberant movie is hands down my favorite of the summer. The best part of In The Heights was after watching the movie with my wife, we were able to share it with our children. Even though they are half Puerto Rican, they are generally not immersed in Latin culture. We sold it as a movie based on a musical from the creator of Hamilton, which was the hit of early pandemic for us here at Casa Vega. We instantly became obsessed with the brilliant lyrics, the choreography—literally every aspect. This summer they loved a different Miranda story. One that hit a little closer to home and introduced them to sights, sounds, beats and terminology that are more authentic to my life. An absolute win for the entire family.

TOY STORY

A Hasbro employee talks

The other day I FaceTimed Luis from the toy aisle at a Target on Long Island. An employee was in the aisle, so I tried to be cool. I started out showing what wrestlers were there (like the WWE set above that features two guys who no loner work for WWE), but when I moved on to say there were no Star Wars (similar to the picture below), the employee jumped in. His job is to go to Targets and Walmarts to count how many toys are on the shelves. So he knows there are no G.I. Joes anywhere at all. He said he couldn’t get a Classified or a Star Wars Black Series if he wanted. I’ve heard so many stories about cargo ships backed up in California and New Jersey, that was my first thought. But he blamed theft. He walked me through the section, talking about how many small Play-Doh and HotWheels packages disappear and how kids rip the heads off toys still in boxes as a stunt for TikTok. When he scanned a Shopkins code at one empty endcap, he said they were supposed to have arrived two weeks earlier. But they’ve hired him an assistant for the holidays. —MV