Is Costa Rica expensive to live in?

Costa Rica isn’t the cheapest country in Central America, but it’s not outrageous either. Daily life costs less than in most major U.S. cities — especially if you adapt to local food and lifestyle. Where it gets pricey is rent in beach towns, imported goods, and electricity if you blast the A/C all day.

What is the average rent in Costa Rica?

Rent depends on location. In San José, a two-bedroom apartment runs $600–$1,200/month. In popular beach towns or suburbs, expect $800–$1,800/month. Rural areas can be as low as $400/month — but you’ll trade off some conveniences.

How much money do I need to live comfortably in Costa Rica?

A single person can live modestly on $1,200–$1,500/month. For more comfort (A/C, private healthcare, imported snacks), budget $2,000–$3,000/month. Couples usually spend $1,500–$2,500+ depending on lifestyle and location.

What’s the cost of food in Costa Rica?

Local produce, coffee, and seafood are affordable (think avocados for $0.50, pineapples for $1, fresh fish at local markets). Imported items, though, are expensive — a jar of peanut butter can be $8 and wine can sting your wallet. Sticking to the local diet saves money and makes you healthier.

Broadway Dads & Dangerous Legacies: When Musicals Wrestle with Toxic Masculinity

Waymon Hudson
Sep 28
3 min read

Updated: Oct 13

What makes a man in a musical?

Captain Von Trapp blows a whistle in The Sound of Music, commanding his children with military precision—a classic image of authoritarian fatherhood on Broadway.

Is it the voice? The violence? The vow to survive no matter the cost?

In the golden age of Broadway, fathers were often noble, distant, or already dead — think Fiddler on the Roof, Carousel, or The Sound of Music. But in modern musical theatre, we’re watching a new kind of paternal figure take center stage: one fueled by fear, pressure, and pain.

These aren’t just dads. They’re dynasties.

And their songs? Explosive.

King Triton points sternly at Ariel in The Little Mermaid Broadway production, embodying overprotective patriarchal control and emotional distance.

💣 The Sound of Patriarchy

Fathers in musicals don’t just speak — they declare. Their numbers often come brash, brassy, and unrelenting. From Sweeney Todd’s vengeful lullabies to King Triton’s thunderous warnings, the paternal voice often comes with a cost: conformity, obedience, silence.

These songs ask their sons to fall in line — or fall apart trying.

🎭 Broadway Musicals Where Toxic Masculinity Gets Messy

Let’s break down a few iconic examples where musicals have tackled fatherhood and the scars it leaves behind:

Marvin gently touches Jason’s chin in Falsettos, capturing a rare moment of tenderness in a musical that dissects fatherhood, queerness, and toxic expectations.

"Dear Theodosia" – Hamilton
- A haunting lullaby from fathers trying to rewrite the mistakes of their pasts… only to fall victim to legacy anyway.
"Father to Son" – Falsettos
- A heartfelt attempt to pass wisdom, clashing against the backdrop of queerness, identity, and grief.
"You’ll Be Back" – Hamilton
- Satirical, yes. But this King's “breakup song” with the colonies is a perfect metaphor for abusive parental control masked as love.
"Epic III" & "Papers" – Hadestown
- Hades is both boss and father figure. His music is mechanical, controlling, all about keeping Orpheus and others in line.
"Cool" & "Gee, Officer Krupke" – West Side Story
- The Jets mock father figures, law, and structure — but their anger reveals the absence of role models and safe masculinity.

Each of these songs reveals something fundamental: boys are taught how to survive before they’re taught how to feel.

🧨 Speakeasy’s Marco: Legacy or Love?

Marco stands with arms crossed and a hard stare, the embodiment of Broadway toxic masculinity and patriarchal power in Speakeasy: A New Musical.

In Speakeasy, that pressure explodes in the number “Family Business.”

Marco is a bootlegging kingpin. A man carved out of Prohibition-era survivalism. And he wants his son Rome to carry that torch — whether or not it burns him alive.

“Soft boys bruise where knives won’t miss —And dreams don’t buy a life like this.”

This isn’t advice. It’s an ultimatum.

Marco believes the world is violent, so his son must be harder. Meaner. Less like himself.

💥 Merc: The Queer Protector

Merc in a fitted vest and soft smile, representing the queer protector archetype who challenges violent legacy and defends emotional vulnerability.

But Speakeasy doesn’t let that go unchallenged.

Enter Merc — Rome’s best friend, queer protector, found family, and reluctant enforcer. In the same number, Merc pleads:

“Rome? He’s got a better plan... Maybe he’s more, a better man.”

Merc sees Rome’s softness as a kind of power — one forged not in fists but in poetry. He tries to shield him from the toxic legacy Marco demands he inherit.

This tension builds — musically and emotionally — until Marco silences Merc with violence- a slap across the face. But it’s not just a slap. It’s a line in the sand.

A declaration:

“This ain’t a life for tender skin… You want to last? You learn to win.”

🎧 The Sound of Survival

A gritty bar scene with shattered glass and handcuffs on a smoky surface, symbolizing the violence and control at the heart of Speakeasy’s father-son power struggle.

“Family Business” is brutal. It’s toxic masculinity legacy scored in Broadway minor chords and clenched fists. But it’s also honest.

Because like so many musical fathers before him, Marco isn’t just singing to his son — he’s singing about himself.

He’s terrified.

Told his mom soft boys don’t survive… Weak don’t win. Weak won’t stay alive.

Terrified that softness will get his son killed.

Terrified that the world isn’t changing fast enough for a boy like Rome to survive in it.

Terrified that love and poetry can’t beat bullets and blood.

And that terror makes him lash out. Just like far too many men do in real life.

Rome stands under moody rooftop lighting in Speakeasy, caught between softness and survival as he resists the toxic legacy passed down by his father.

🕊️ What’s Next for Rome?

That’s the question Speakeasy's Act 1 leaves us holding.

Rome is a poet raised in violence. A tender boy who learned to fight. And in upcoming numbers like “Last Call” and “Somewhere in the Smoke”, we watch him wrestle with those contradictions.

Because in musicals — as in life — the hardest thing isn’t surviving. It’s surviving with your softness intact.