Theatre isn't always about big, booming voices or revolving stages that cost a million dollars to build. Sometimes, it’s just about a box of old mail. When people talk about the Letters from Cuba play, they are usually talking about a specific kind of magic that Maria Irene Fornes—the "Mother of Off-Off-Broadway"—brought to the stage in her final work. It premiered in 2000 at the Signature Theatre Company in New York, and honestly, it’s kind of a miracle it exists at all. Fornes was a giant. She won nine Obie Awards. But this particular play feels different because it’s so personal.
It isn't a history lesson. It isn't a political manifesto. It’s a poem about missing people.
If you’ve ever lived in a different city than your family, you get it. You know that weird, hollow feeling when you’re drinking coffee in a cramped apartment while someone you love is three thousand miles away living a completely different life. That’s the core of this show. Fornes used the real-life correspondence she had with her brother in Havana to build the narrative. It’s grounded in reality, yet it floats in this dreamlike space that only Fornes could really pull off without making it feel cheesy or overdramatic.
The Raw Truth Behind the Script
The plot of the Letters from Cuba play follows Fran, a young dancer living in a rooftop apartment in New York City. She’s surrounded by her friends—Joseph and Jerry—who provide a sort of bohemian, chaotic energy to her life. But the real weight of the play comes from the letters. They arrive from her brother, Luis, who is still back in Cuba.
Fornes does something brilliant here. She doesn't just have Fran read the letters out loud like a boring monologue. Instead, she brings the distant world of Cuba onto the New York stage. Luis appears. He speaks his letters. The two worlds coexist in the same physical space even though the characters are separated by the Florida Straits and a mountain of geopolitical tension. It’s a visual representation of how grief and memory work. You’re here, but you’re also there.
The dialogue is sparse. Fornes was famous for her "less is more" approach. She didn't like "talky" plays where characters explained their feelings for three hours. She wanted you to see the feeling. In one scene, Fran might be struggling with a dance move, and in the next, the focus shifts to the simple, almost mundane details of Luis’s life in Cuba—asking about shoes, talking about the heat, or mentioning the lack of basic supplies.
It’s heartbreaking because it’s so normal.
Why Maria Irene Fornes Wrote This
By the time she wrote this play, Fornes was already dealing with the early stages of Alzheimer’s disease. This adds a layer of intensity to the work that most critics didn't fully grasp until years later. The play is about the fragility of connection. When we lose touch with our roots, or when the letters stop coming, what happens to us?
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Fornes was born in Havana in 1930. She moved to the U.S. when she was 15. She lived the immigrant experience long before it was a popular trope in contemporary drama. Her brother, the real-life inspiration for Luis, actually stayed in Cuba. The letters in the play aren't just "inspired" by real mail; many of them are direct translations or adaptations of what her brother wrote to her over decades.
She was obsessed with the idea of the "vanishing point."
In the Letters from Cuba play, the rooftop setting isn't accidental. It’s a place between earth and sky. It represents a longing for something higher or further away. The characters are constantly looking out, looking up, or looking back. Fornes uses the physical architecture of the stage to show how isolated people can be even when they are standing right next to each other.
The Experimental Nature of the Work
You won't find a traditional three-act structure here. No "inciting incident" followed by a "climax" and a "denouement." That's not how life works, and it’s definitely not how Fornes worked. The play is a series of vignettes. Some are funny. Some are frustrating. Some are just quiet.
Critics often categorize this play as "lyric realism."
It means the things happening are real—people dancing, people writing letters, people eating—but the way they happen feels like music. There’s a rhythm to the words. If you listen closely to the dialogue between Fran and her New York friends, it’s fast, snappy, and a bit cynical. Then, when Luis speaks from Cuba, the tempo changes. It becomes slower, more melodic, and filled with a sort of weary hope.
What Most People Miss About the "Letters"
A lot of people think this is a play about "The Cuban Experience."
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That’s a bit of a trap.
While the play is definitely Cuban-American, it’s really about the universal experience of the diaspora. It’s about anyone who has had to leave a home they loved to find a life they needed. The letters are symbols. They represent the thin thread of identity that keeps us from floating away when we move to a new country.
In the original 2000 production, the set design was minimalist. It had to be. Fornes directed it herself, and she was notorious for her specific vision. She didn't want the audience distracted by props. She wanted you to focus on the distance between the bodies on stage. The physical gap between Fran in New York and Luis in Cuba is the most important "character" in the play.
Interestingly, the play also touches on the idea of the "starving artist" in a way that feels very New York in the late 90s. Fran and her friends aren't rich. They are scrappy. They are trying to create art in a world that mostly cares about money. This mirrors Luis’s struggle in Cuba, where he is trying to maintain his spirit in a world that lacks resources. They are both surviving in different ways.
The Legacy of the Play in Modern Theatre
Why should you care about a play that premiered over twenty years ago?
Because we live in the era of the digital letter. We have WhatsApp, FaceTime, and Instagram. We are more "connected" than ever, yet the feeling of distance hasn't actually gone away. The Letters from Cuba play reminds us that communication isn't the same as presence. You can read a text from your mom, but it doesn't mean you can smell her kitchen or feel the humidity of your hometown.
Fornes’s influence is everywhere. You see it in the works of Tony Kushner, Paula Vogel, and Nilo Cruz. Cruz, who wrote the Pulitzer-winning Anna in the Tropics, was actually a student of Fornes. You can see her DNA in his writing—that same blend of poetic language and harsh reality.
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If you’re a student of drama, this play is a masterclass in economy. It shows you how to build a world with almost nothing. If you’re just someone who likes a good story, it’s a gut-punch of a reminder to cherish the people who bother to write to you.
Misconceptions and Clarifications
- Is it a political play? Not in the way you think. It doesn't take sides on the embargo or the revolution. It focuses on the human cost of those politics.
- Is it a tragedy? It’s more of a melancholy dramedy. There are moments of genuine lightness and humor, especially in the interactions between the New York roommates.
- Do I need to know Spanish? No. While there are Spanish influences and the rhythm of the language is present, the play is written primarily in English for an American audience.
How to Experience the Play Today
Since Maria Irene Fornes passed away in 2018, there has been a massive resurgence in interest in her work. The documentary The Rest I Make Up by Michelle Memran is a great companion piece to this play. it shows Fornes in her later years, still vibrant and creative even as her memory faded. It puts the themes of Letters from Cuba into a startlingly clear context.
Finding a live production can be tricky. It isn't a "blockbuster" that gets revived on Broadway every five years. It’s a "theatre person’s" play. It’s performed in universities, small experimental theaters, and festivals dedicated to Latinx voices.
If you can't find a production, read the script.
It’s published in several anthologies of Fornes’s work. Reading her stage directions is almost as good as watching the play. She describes light and movement with the precision of a painter. You can see the dust motes in the New York sun and the shadows on the walls in Havana just by reading her words.
Moving Forward with the Work
To truly understand the impact of the Letters from Cuba play, you have to look at it as a bridge. It bridges the gap between the experimental avant-garde of the 1960s and the more narrative-driven theatre of the 21st century. It bridges the gap between two countries that have been at odds for a lifetime.
If you are a performer, look at the character of Fran. She’s a gift of a role—complex, physical, and deeply emotional without being loud. If you’re a writer, look at the structure. Look at how Fornes breaks the rules of time and space to tell a deeper truth.
Practical Steps for Theatre Lovers:
- Seek out the text: Look for "Letters from Cuba and Other Plays" by Maria Irene Fornes. It's often bundled with her other greats like Fefu and Her Friends.
- Watch the documentary: The Rest I Make Up provides the essential emotional background for Fornes’s final creative years.
- Explore the Signature Theatre archives: They often have digital resources or photos from the original 2000 production that show the specific visual language Fornes used.
- Support Latinx Theatre: Companies like INTAR Theatre in New York (where Fornes was a staple) continue to produce works that carry this legacy.
This play is a quiet masterpiece. It doesn't demand your attention with explosions or scandals. It just sits there, like an old letter in a drawer, waiting for you to pick it up and remember what it feels like to love someone you can't touch. In a world that feels increasingly loud and divided, that kind of stillness is exactly what we need.