The Arab Spring, a wave of demonstrations by citizens demanding democracy in some dozen countries in the Middle East and North Africa, now seems like distant history. But the uprisings were a fresh memory a decade ago when the brothers Patrick Lazour and Daniel Lazour began writing this musical about the youth-led revolution of 2011 in Egypt. 

“We Live in Cairo” has a Middle Eastern-inflected score, a smattering of lyrics in Arabic, a director (Taibi Magar) who is Egyptian-American, and an all-Arab-American cast, including Ali Louis-Bourzgui, fresh from his much-acclaimed starring role in the Broadway revival of “The Who’s  Tommy.”  But the musical also gives off a strong “Rent” vibe – almost an homage to Jonathan Larson’s 1996 musical — with the musical sound predominantly anthemic pop-rock or folk; a talented ensemble portraying a scrappy, energetic group of young adults, most of them aspiring artists, whether musician, muralist, photographer; and even a set design awash in graffiti art. 

“We Live in Cairo” feels like counterprogramming to the international events in the news these tense days. As the photographer in the group puts it about her art, which may reflect the way the Lazours feel about their show:  “I think the Arab world is too often portrayed through suffering and I want to challenge that with my photos.“

At the same time, with the musical opening little more than a week before a consequential Election Day in the United States, “We Live in Cairo” underscores the appeal, the importance — and the fragility — of democracy. 

The story of the fight in Egypt for “horreya” (the Arabic word for freedom) centers on six characters, whose complicated interactions with one another are planted in the first act, and sprout largely in the second.  Louis-Borzgui portrays Amir, the aspiring musician, who writes songs with his lyricist brother Hany (Michael Khalid Karadsheh), and has recently started dating Layla (Nadina Hassan), the aspiring photographer. Hany disapproves of Amir dating Layla because she is Muslim, and the brothers are Christian.  

Layla for her part is initially uncomfortable associating with people who are political. Amir invites Layla to a “release party” that she thinks  is for an album, but turns out to be a party for Fadwa’s release from prison. Fadwa (Rotana Tarabzouni), the daughter of two long-time dissidents, was jailed for posting criticism on Facebook of Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak, whose autocratic rule has lasted longer than Fadwa and her friends have been alive. 

Fadwa’s cousin Karim (John El-Jor) protests the regime in some unique ways: We first see him doing a strip tease wearing an oversized papier Mache head as Mubarak, and singing satirical song in which he decrees as the  “antidote to poor infrastructure and starvation” a “good old-fashioned Egyptian vacation” (The musical number, entitled “Sharm El Sheikh” after a resort city in Egypt, is more awkward than funny but gets the point across.) Karim spends his nights mocking Mubarak in graffiti-like murals surreptitiously spray-painted on public walls. We see him spraying the paint into the air, while the painting appears little by little in David Bengali’s clever projections on the wall. This is all accompanied by the terrifically lively, heavily percussive “Wall Song,” sung by the ensemble as if the wall itself is singing, asking to be painted on (“I want to chant things/I want to sing things/I want to bring things back/To attack.”) Karim’s spray paintings are how he meets Hassan (Drew Elhamalawy), who is ordered by his father, a doorman, to paint over the murals, but who is himself  secretly an aspiring graffiti artist, secret because he is from a deeply religious family.  That’s not the only secret he has.

The initial individual socializing and playfulness give way to collective urgency,  when the group learns of the death of a young man named Khaled Said, whose killing in police custody was in fact the inspiration for the massive protests in Tahrir Square that led to Mubarak’s ouster.

The elaborate musical number “The Eighteen Days” dramatizes the ups and downs in Tahrir Square, accompanied by video projections of the demonstrations, the headlines, the social media, in a rapid-fire accumulation somewhat reminiscent of “Dear Evan Hansen” but this time dramatizing not just a viral moment but a revolution. 

What distinguishes “We Live in Cairo” from some of the musicals from which it seems to find inspiration is its willingness to get into the specifics of the true story it’s dramatizing. The Mubarak ouster was only momentarily triumphant (and leads to a triumphant song, the wonderfully harmonious “Genealogy of Revolution.”) The aftermath in real life was messy and contentious and disillusioning, and the musical is willing to reflect this.

It is a reasonable – even admirable – artistic choice. But we get the point, repeatedly, and yet the show goes on…and on. A disenchanted Amir sings:

We still pretend
That everything is normal
That nothing has an end 

“We Live in Cairo” itself doesn’t seem to have an end – or, rather, it has several. Most of Act 3 feels unnecessary. 

Despite this misstep, there is great value in the deep dive into Egyptian history and politics. The specific arguments among the characters are often, in effect, resonant debates over the limits and requirements of democracy.

“We Live in Cairo” is being performed at NYTW through November 24.