La Ruta accomplishes an impossible feat: drawing a luminous theater experience from a horrific factual account. This premier at the Steppenwolf tells the tale of the scores of young women who have been kidnapped and murdered near Juarez over several decades.

And yet, it is an uplifting and inspiring show. Playwright Isaac Gomez approaches the story by relating the emotional toll these murders have taken on the mothers and families of these young women, who board la ruta, the bus line to the U.S.-owned maquiladoras border factories. Some of these women never return.

It is a startling achievement that Gomez and director Sandra Marquez can present this tale in an entrancing manner, through song and stagecraft, drawing us close so that we will not flee from hearing of an atrocity that, even as it continues, is in danger of being forgotten.

Since 1993 hundreds of grisly murders have taken place of young Mexican women working near Juarez. Peculiar patterns have emerged in these murders, known as feminicidos, and which are monitored by Amnesty International and other groups: slender young women are kidnapped, sexually violated, tortured, then abandoned in the desert or in garbage dumps. These murders have scandalized the world.

La Ruta relates some of this, and depicts the social and emotional toll it is taking in Juarez, in the province of Chihuaha from which many of the women originate, and throughout Mexico. But Gomez and director Marquez adeptly mix music, comedic and tender emotional moments, and political drama, against the gut-wrenching backdrop of this acrid history.

La Ruta opens on what appears to be a lovely evening streetscape, and we hear the transcendentally beautiful voice of Desamaya (Laura Crotte). She is singing an enchanting ancient Mexican fable of La Bruja – The Witch – who as legend holds it steals little children and sucks out their souls – foreshadowing the drama to come. On a closer look we see a dead tree, and not moonlight, but the vapid glare of a streetlamp.

The next morning a mother sees her daughter to the stop for La Ruta, and she will head to the garment factory. Once there, a music plays a central role on the factory floor. The workers scan the dial for pop songs to support their repetitive work, in one scene settling on Son Del Obrero – an upbeat tune perfectly synchronized to the choreographed movements of the women at their sewing machines, singing along as they push work through. We witness the aspirations of the young women hoping for better life through the factory floor.

Gomez also gives us endearing scenes – a young newbie worker Brenda (Cher Alvarez) is shown the ropes by Ivonne (Karen Rodriguez). And later, Ivonne coaches Brenda on how to talk to boys – a delightful scene.

Charin Alvarez is at the top of her game as Marisela, a grieving mother turned political activist who leads others to march to the state capital. She has channeled her grief into action.

And in one of the most poignant scenes in this or any play, Marisela coaxes another mother to join her on the march to Chihuaha. But that mother cannot come, because doing so would mean describing her daughter as being among the dead. She is not ready to acknowledge her daughter is permanently missing. Because her body has not been found, this mother clings to the hope she is alive. Marisela does not push her beyond what she can accept. It is hard not to be moved. 

As the play concludes, the audience rises as one for an ovation. It is well deserved. La Ruta is highly recommended, and runs through January 27 at Steppenwolf Theatre.