The title number in Real Women Have Curves strikes a similar chord as the first scene of Act II in Bess Wohl’s Liberation.

The characters in the latter drop trow as an experiment in talking through their relationships to their bodies, informed by the naked act of displaying themselves for each other — and for us — to see. It’s an exercise in refuting the insecurity inflicted upon them — and upon us…by us — through preposterous ““““““beauty””””” ideals. 

The same can be said for the choreography that accompanies “Real Women Have Curves.” While the cast remains partially clad, they bare enough to challenge the hegemony of a certain body type among Broadway dancers. 

Theater feels uniquely positioned to tap into the potentially defiant power of nudity’s unvarnished sight. While more eyeballs can gaze upon recorded corporeality, the stage lacks the precision of a camera to perfectly frame what the audience sees.

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Disney should scoop up Joy Huerta and Benjamin Velez, as is tradition for the musical-theater-to-mouse composer pipeline.

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Is Tatianna Córdoba our next Tracy Turnblad?