Outside official diplomatic channels, Spain’s rebuttal to Mexico’s demand has arrived in Mexico City—in the form of a long, extravagantly staged, flamenco- and electric-guitar-filled musical.

That musical is Malinche, which depicts an obscenely romanticized version of Spain’s conquest of the Aztec Empire through the eyes of La Malinche, the Indigenous woman who served as Cortés’s translator, and became the mother of his child. How willingly she did either of these things depends on who you ask. Alternatively depicted as a hero, victim, or traitor, La Malinche is an archetypal figure in Mexican history and culture. To this day, the term malinchista is a derogatory descriptor for a Mexican who prefers foreign—in particular European or North American—culture, products, and features.

The musical’s version of the title character is far more heroic: She is a plucky, romantic, and idealistic protagonist who inspires Cortés from afar with the power of song, readily embraces Christianity, and is always truthful and helpful in her translations. As is common in traditional Mexican nationalist narratives, the musical also ends with La Malinche giving birth to the first mestizo (mixed Spanish-Indigenous) child in history. The musical thus makes her the symbolic mother of all Mexicans, but instead of being portrayed as a tragedy, the musical presents it straightforwardly as the historically significant happy ending to a great romance.

Now running in Mexico City through at least November, Malinche first opened in Madrid in 2023. Its debut was helped along by generous public subsidies from the local government, which is under the control of the center-right Partido Popular, opponents of Spain’s ruling socialists. The musical is marketed as an “experience,” comparable to “Las Vegas and Broadway.” There are rumors that an English-language version is in the works, with an eye towards eventually touring the United States. There is even a Netflix documentary on the making of the musical. Now several months into its run in the Mexican capital, it has been a box office success, as it was in Spain.

Malinche has unsurprisingly also faced controversy. The show’s creator, the aging Spanish rock star Nacho Cano, has certainly not helped avoid it. Cano faced criminal charges for breaking Spanish labor and immigration law over how  Mexican cast members were brought to Spain and employed on the production, having originally entered Spain on tourist visas.  Cano also struck sweetheart deals with the local Madrid authorities to build his own extravagant stage for the production, which the production called the “largest stage in Europe.” Leaving little doubt as to his own sympathies in Spain’s divided politics, Cano declared that “Sánchez is coming for me” after beating the criminal charges, insinuating his prosecution had been politically motivated—presumably for depicting a more glorious version of Spain’s imperial past than the Spanish left would desire.

Scenes from a production of Malinche.Malinche press photo

Yet while the controversies in Spain revolved more about the production than the actual content, the controversy in Mexico has been much more about what happens on stage. The exact course of events that brought about the fall of the Aztec Empire will never be fully understood, but it is unlikely to have unfolded as Malinche depicts.

Modern historians have largely contested the depiction of the Aztecs—or Mexica as they called themselves (hence the country name of Mexico)—as bloodthirsty savages bent only on human sacrifice. Unfortunately, this one false note is all the Aztecs are given in Malinche, in which the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan is introduced as a red-lit hellscape of murder in a heavy metal inspired musical number.

An illustration from the Tlaxcala Codex depicts the interview between the conquistador Hernan Cortés, La Malinche, and Aztec Emperor Moctezuma.API/Gamma-Rapho via Getty Images

The musical pushes dramatic license quite far. For example, while it is still debated whether the last Aztec emperor, Moctezuma, was killed by his own people or by the Spanish, no source claims that he accepted Christ on his deathbed as the musical imagines. That narrative twist was apparently too much for even Cortés to make up. But for all its historical inaccuracy, Moctezuma’s death is staged in a very technically impressive manner, with the actor playing Moctezuma being carried off stage by an angel descending from the rafters on a wire. This might best sum up what watching Malinche is like: technically impressive, but historically dubious.

Malinche’s artistic merits aside, the musical clearly touches on some sore spots in the Spanish-speaking world. The tensions and controversies over how Mexico, the largest Spanish-speaking country in the world today, should interpret both its Indigenous and Spanish past remain live issues, not just for academics but for politics and culture at large. Most theatergoers no doubt see the musical as harmless fun, but it’s worth stressing that these audiences are likely to be disproportionately packed with wealthier Mexicans—who are the least likely to object to the notion of Cortés as a hero or La Malinche as a romantic figure.

Spain remains a significant cultural and economic player in its former colonies; just try counting the Santander and BBVA branches next time you’re in Mexico City. Meanwhile, Madrid itself has become one of the great Latin American cities, with immigration from the region to Spain soaring, not least as the United States closes its doors. Moving from Madrid to Mexico City clearly indicates the musical’s ambition to occupy a central role in the culture of a trans-Atlantic Hispanic culture, be it emerging, reemerging, or simply enduring.

The musical is also revealing of the Spanish-speaking world’s very different approach to its past than that found in the Anglosphere. It’s hard to imagine an original musical with such an uncritical depiction of English colonialism would fly in the English-speaking world today, whether on Broadway or the West End. The Sydney Opera House features a land acknowledgement; the show on Broadway that most engages with U.S. history is Hamilton. Even the recent Back to the Future musical includes a more critical view of the 1950s racial and gender inequalities than featured in the original Reagan-era film. It is hard to imagine that a musical in which a mass baptism of Indigenous people is presented as a triumph would be staged in the English-speaking world.

A scene from Malinche.Malinche press photo

Of course, the Spanish-speaking world has similar culture wars over its past, just as the United States and the United Kingdom do. Issues stemming from the Spanish conquest and Indigenous dispossession remain relevant in Latin America. In Chile, President Gabriel Boric’s signature constitutional referendum failed in part over proposed new rights for Indigenous groups like the Mapuche. In Guatemala, perpetrators of the U.S.-backed genocide of the Maya over 40 years ago are on trial. And in the United States, Latin American migrants of Indigenous origin have been subject to some of the worst abuses of the U.S. immigration system, with language barriers compounding already difficult circumstances. AMLO’s initial foray into extracting a Spanish apology for the conquest hit a nerve in Mexico and beyond precisely because injustices like these persist.

Yet what seems to remain, not just in Spain but in much of Latin America, is the conviction that the Spanish explorers, missionaries, and conquistadors must have been, if not the good guys, then at least a mixed bag that helpfully spread Spanish culture and language around the world. Many on the right in Mexico, and across Latin America, continue to largely admire the Spanish conquest, emphasizing the creation of shared cultural and religious roots.

Even for Latin Americans like Mexico’s ruling Morena party (the name literally means “brown”) who reject favorable interpretations of the conquest, Spain still lives rent-free in their heads, if only as a foil against new nationalist narratives that appeal to the Indigenous and mestizo majority. Since Mexico’s War of Independence, this has been the role the Aztecs have served in Mexican nationalist narratives—an expression of Mexican identity and nationalism comfortingly free of subsequent Spanish influence. Yet the very fact a musical about colonial history can move unchanged from Madrid to Mexico City shows just how impossible removing Spanish influence still is.

La Malinche’s existence as a historical figure—the Indigenous woman who was key to the Spanish conquest—could serve to complicate any given narrative about Mexico’s past. Unfortunately, the musical’s Spanish creators were not able to make something that interesting. Malinche ends somewhat abruptly, after the Spanish are massacred by the Aztecs during the Noche Triste (or Victoriosa, depending on who you ask), with the aforementioned birth of La Malinche and Cortés’s baby. The musical’s final number, titled Mexico Mágico, celebrates this birth as the birth of Mexico itself. It’s an unsubtle message from Spain to Mexico: If La Malinche is your mother, then we are still your father. So far, many Mexicans have proved that they’ll pay good pesos to sit through it.