A Rise to Power, Disco Round Included Discothèques make strange bedfellows. To confirm this dangerous fact of life, just boogie on down - and you must - to the glittery new dance palace at the Public Theater. There you'll find yourself dancing hip by pelvis with one of the most notorious power couples of the 20th century. I mean Ferdinand and Imelda Marcos, the former president and first lady of the Philippines, who turn out to be a lot of fun if you just go with the sweaty flow. After all, who's thinking about morality in politics when the music's this loud and catchy? Be careful how close you get to them, though, or you might wake up to one hell of a morning after. "Here Lies Love," the exciting new poperetta conceived by the musician (and former Talking Head) David Byrne, sets a new standard for audience participation. Or do I mean coercion? In this heady show about the heady life of Mrs. Marcos - which has been staged with infinite inventiveness by Alex Timbers and one of the hardest-working tech crews in town - all the world's a dance floor, and all the men and women merely disco rats. As in life, though, only a few people get to call the tune. In this case, that would be the D.J. Or, if you're thinking in metaphors (which this show conditions you to do), Ferdinand and Imelda. Or, in practical terms, the Public Theater ushers in neon pink jumpsuits, with cunning sequin accents, who herd you into position as David Korins's modular set is reconfigured again and again. And as the stage and the world turn, you're expected to keep on dancing. Members of the show's ensemble will instruct you in the Manila pop-style steps. You may also find yourself on television, simulcast on the walls, during political rallies. You'll be asked to vote for Marcos, too, natch. And as folks tend to do when caught up in the fever of a crowd, you'll probably find yourself smiling and nodding assent. To chart the dizzy rise of Imelda (an ideal Ruthie Ann Miles) and her husband (Jose Llana), Mr. Byrne, working with Fatboy Slim, has written an insidiously infectious set of songs. "Here Lies Love" is rich with candied melodies that stick to the inner ear and beats that act like cattle prods. This is music created to sweep you into unthinking acquiescence, as history is said to do. But it is also ingeniously devised to reflect the interior life of Imelda R. Marcos, a provincial teenage beauty queen, who in this show continues to treat life as one long pageant, with an emphasis on the evening gown and talent sections. The real Mrs. Marcos, now 83 and a congresswoman, was known to burst into song for the entertainment of both private guests and her constituency. During the heyday of her husband's protracted rule, from 1965 to 1986, she was also a disco queen, hitting the floors at gilded international night spots, which, thanks to her, included the roof of the palace she occupied in Manila. Mr. Byrne has said he thought that the "hedonistic and transcendent" nature of disco might capture "some of what a powerful person is feeling." Hence a score that feels like the aural equivalent of amyl nitrite. We should perhaps pause here to note that the life of a charismatic president's wife has been told in a sung-through show before. That would be Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice's "Evita," the 1978 musical that was revived on Broadway last season. Much of the narrative shape of "Here Lies Love" is remarkably similar to that of "Evita." But Mr. Byrne's lyrics, many of which are taken from found documents and interviews, are less glib and less openly contemptuous of the central character than Mr. Rice's were. For at least its first hour, "Here Lies Love" refrains from telling us how and what to think about its characters. Perhaps that's why Oskar Eustis, the Public's artistic director, saw fit to include a program note stating that "Ferdinand Marcos led a brutal and murderous regime, and his wife was in many way its leader." Even so, I'm not sure that, examined coldly, "Here Lies Love" provides much more than "Evita" by way of insights into a bloody chapter of 20th-century history. But "Here Lies Love" does not ask to be examined coldly. Instead it invites you to experience some of the power rush that Mrs. Marcos must have felt during her ascent. Mr. Timbers - who established himself as a virtuoso in musical history lessons as the director of "Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson" - has taken all available measures to see that you do. These include that aforementioned miracle stage (lighted phantasmagorically by Justin Townsend), which keeps splitting into different sections, forcing the audience not only to move but also to keep changing its perspective. Video projections (by Peter Nigrini) on all four walls mix historical television tape with live simulcasts. Take special note of Mr. Llanas's chillingly seductive relationship with the television camera in his big opening number as Marcos. Then there's Annie-B Parson's choreography, which is wildly diverse and witty, ranging from peppy variations on vintage pop group backup dances to the measured, strangely menacing ballroom steps practiced by Imelda in her confrontations with Estrella (the rich-voiced Melody Butiu), a left-behind friend of her childhood, and Aquino (a very good Conrad Ricamora), the former boyfriend of Imelda's who became her husband's chief political rival. Imelda, played by Ms. Miles with a saturating sweetness that is increasingly edged in steel, is always dressed to suit the occasion (though the shoe obsession is wisely avoided). Clint Ramos has provided her with a vast and fabulous array of instant costume changes that signal the waning of the years and the waxing of Imelda's ego. The effect is like flipping through the pages of a celebrity magazine. It seems appropriate that Imelda, during the early beauty pageant sequence (one of the show's best), admits to looking wistfully at just such magazines - and pasting head shots of herself onto the bodies of the women in them. The song in which she makes this declaration is called "The Rose of Tacloban," and along with the title number, it perfectly captures Mr. Byrne's gift for setting Mrs. Marcos's surreally sentimental words to music. All parties end, alas. Or should we say hooray? In any case, a disco beat doesn't rest as comfortably in the reign-of-terror sections. And for the finale, the production shifts into a folkie, "Guantanamera"-esque mode, an ode to the triumph of the Filipino people, in which the man we have hitherto known as our D. J. (the protean Kelvin Moon Loh) is transformed into a guitar-strumming troubadour. It's a pretty song, called "God Draws Straight," and I suppose the creators of "Here Lies Love" wanted to make it clear that they were on the side of the angels. But a more appropriate conclusion comes earlier, when Imelda, seemingly stunned by the public's rejection of her in the mid-1980s, asks the musical question, "Why Don't You Love Me?" Ms. Miles's unfailingly silky voice turns harsh here. And the pulsing rhythm that has accompanied even her rift with her husband (after his dalliance with a porn star) and her "Valley of the Dolls" moments with a pill bottle finally falters. It's time to sweep up the glitter. That morning after has at long last arrived. Here Lies Love Concept and lyrics by David Byrne; music by Mr. Byrne and Fatboy Slim; additional music by Tom Gandey and J Pardo; choreography by Annie-B Parson; directed by Alex Timbers; sets by David Korins; costumes by Clint Ramos; lighting by Justin Townsend; sound by M. L. Dogg and Cody Spencer; projections by Peter Nigrini; music supervisor, Kimberly Grigsby; collaborating music producer, Justin Levine; music editor, Matt Stine; fight director, Jacob Grigolia-Rosenbaum; production stage manager, Alaina Taylor; associate artistic director, Mandy Hackett; associate producer, Maria Goyanes; general manager, Steven Showalter; production executive, Ruth E. Sternberg. Presented by the Public Theater, Oskar Eustis, artistic director; Patrick Willingham, executive director. At the Public Theater, 425 Lafayette Street, at Astor Place, East Village; (212) 967-7555, publictheater.org. Through June 2. Running time: 1 hour 30 minutes. WITH: Melody Butiu (Estrella), Jose Llana (Marcos), Ruthie Ann Miles (Imelda), Conrad Ricamora (Aquino), Kelvin Moon Loh (D. J.) and Renée Albulario, Natalie Cortez, Debralee Daco, Joshua Dela Cruz, Jeigh Madjus, Maria-Christina Oliveras, Trevor Salter and Janelle Velasquez (Ensemble).