The Off-Broadway Theatre Review: Public Theater’s Public Charge
By Ross
They file in like a think-tank assembly, taking their positions for an intellectual discussion at the highest level. And then it shifts, slapping us hard with lines that resonate, pulled straight out of the racist world we are dealing with daily. “In America,” he says, meaning the United States, though the distinction matters, “we speak English,” as well as “we have enough people like her on food stamps.” This dual dynamic is one of the first things that strikes hard with the Public Theater‘s Public Charge, and it’s the angle that gives the play its depth.
It doesn’t shy away from the hard truths. It digs into these emotional moments of drama and discord with a sense of steady accumulation and thought. Scene by scene, conversation by conversation, the play builds, not toward a single explosive event, but toward a more complex and interpersonal understanding of how power operates within numerous systems that rarely reveal themselves to the public or to each other.
Written with purpose by Julissa Reynoso and Michael J. Chepiga, this world premiere finds its footing less as a thriller and more as an informative docudrama, tracing Reynoso’s path from a young immigrant from the Dominican Republic, initially denied entry into the United States, to a key figure in that same country’s State Department. It is a compelling and somewhat emotional story that moves across time and geography, from personal memory to global policy, that does a good job grounding its complex narrative in lived experience rather than theatrical spectacle.
At the centre is Julissa, portrayed at this performance by Yesenia Iglesias, stepping in for Zabryna Guevara. The performance is composed and attentive, shaped by a quiet intelligence that allows the character to listen as much as she speaks. That quality gives the role a grounded presence, particularly in moments where the weight of decision-making begins to settle in. It is a performance built on restraint, one that finds its ultimate strength in observation rather than declaration, although, as written, the role sometimes feels overly passive in its creation, even when passion is required.
The rest of the cast fills out this world, “flipping between presidents” and time frames with ease, unveiling both expansive and tightly controlled arenas and conflicts. Marinda Anderson (Broadway’s Yellow Face) as Cheryl Mills brings clarity and authority to the floor as outside-the-box decisions are proposed, paused, and take shape. Dan Domingues (Public’s Wild Goose Dreams) provides a compelling counterpoint as Ricardo Zuniga, playing with the rigidness and righteousness of the establishment, as Al Rodrigo (Broadway’s Open Admissions) offers up a connecting and memorable turn as Uruguayan President José Mujica, capturing both the gravity and the unexpected warmth of the role. Barbara Walsh (CSC’s Macbeth) and the rest of the ensemble forcefully add the other layers needed, moving fluidly between characters, and help map the shifting terrain of international diplomacy with precision and focus.
The play, as directed with a clarity of vision and insight by Doug Hughes (Broadway’s The Father), moves through a series of key moments drawn from Reynoso’s career, including the response to the 2010 earthquake in Haiti, negotiations surrounding the release of American contractor Alan Gross from a Cuban prison, and diplomatic efforts involving Guantanamo Bay detainees. These are events that carry enormous weight, and the play approaches them with a careful attention to detail, allowing the audience to see how decisions are shaped by conversation, negotiation, and persistence. This is where the production finds both its strength and its limitations.
The writing is compelling and intellectually engaging. It offers a window into a world that is rarely dramatized with this level of specificity. The interplay between personal history and global responsibility gives the piece a distinct perspective, framing diplomacy as something lived in rather than observed from a distance. At the same time, the structure leans heavily on information. Scenes often unfold as exchanges of facts, strategies, and outcomes, and while they remain interesting, they do not always generate the kind of dramatic tension that the material seems to invite.
The staging, as designed by Arnulfo Maldonado (Broadway’s Buena Vista Social Club), reflects this measured approach. Platforms map the shifting geography of the story, mirroring the institutional world being portrayed. But the approach also creates an awkward distance between the individual performers, their intimate conversations, and ultimately, the audience. Even with the superb lighting by Ben Stanton (Broadway’s Maybe Happy Ending) and video by Lucy MacKinnon (Public’s White Noise), the layout keeps the emotional core just out of reach.
Yet, within that constructed restraint, the play never completely loses its grip. Something compelling remains within reach, and we stay tuned in to watching the mechanics of governance unfold in real time, especially when filtered through an interpersonal lens. The decisions being made may not always erupt into visible conflict, but they carry consequences that extend far beyond the stage. The play invites us to lean into the work that happens behind closed doors, the conversations that shape outcomes, and the people who navigate those spaces with a sense of responsibility that is both professional and deeply personal.
Public Charge is not about a single moment, but the accumulation of many, woven together to create a tapestry of politics and purpose, shaped by movement between countries, between roles, between private memory and public duty. That opening image of a young girl arriving in a new country echoes throughout the play right up to the video Obama moment, reframed again and again by the experiences that follow.
Like a continuous negotiation of identity, purpose, and belief, Public Charge does not rely on a grand spectacle to make its case. It builds its argument through detail, through conversation, and through the steady presence of a central figure who refuses to disappear within the systems she helps shape. And in that quiet persistence, around problematic bandages, visitations, and trades, the play finds its most compelling voice.
