The three-hour telecast on CBS was hosted by Tony- and Academy Award-winner Ariana DeBose. Held for the first time at the United Palace in Washington Heights in northern Manhattan, it leaned heavily on musical performances from the nominated shows, and other numbers including a dance performance in tribute to the recipients of the 2023 lifetime achievement awards, Joel Grey and John Kander.

Patrick Marber, who won best director of a play for Leopoldstadt, was among several winners who used their acceptance speeches to express support for the strike. Marber added the evening was going well without writers because “actors are great improvisers and yeah, it’s fun. I wouldn’t like it to become a trend, but I’m not surprised.”

Kimberly Akimbo won best musical, beating out splashier, higher-budget productions such as New York, New York and Some Like It Hot. Victoria Clark picked up her second Tony Award for her role as the title character in Kimberly Akimbo. Clark won a Tony in 2005 for The Light in the Piazza.

Best play Leopoldstadt, which also won the 2020 Olivier Award in London for best new play, follows the experiences of a Jewish Viennese family over 50 years.

Sean Hayes won best lead actor in a play for his role as Oscar Levant in Goodnight, Oscar.

J. Harrison Ghee and Alex Newell made Tony Awards history as the first two openly nonbinary actors to win. Ghee won best actor in a leading role in a musical for Some Like It Hot, and Newell won for best actor in a featured role in a musical for the portrayal of brassy Lulu in Shucked.

“When I saw the script,” Ghee said, “I saw an opportunity to be an inspiration, to be that representation, to be someone who could be a part of people’s lives where they could see themselves and grow and learn and live and expand, and it’s not something I take lightly. It’s something that I cherish and it’s a dream come true, truly.”

Jodie Comer won best actress in a play for her role as brilliant barrister Tessa in the one-woman tour-de-force Prima Facie.

Michael Arden won for best direction of a musical for the revival of Parade.

Topdog/Underdog won the Tony for best revival of a play.

During a pre-show hosted by actors Julianne Hough and Skyler Astin and streamed on the free platform Pluto TV, Tonys were awarded mostly in technical categories. The pre-show included the award for best regional theater, which went to the Pasadena Playhouse, and the Isabelle Stevenson Award, which went to director and choreographer Jerry Mitchell. – Rappler.com

It is why writing criticism about the work viewed during an open rehearsal feels like a violation of the artistic process of Virgin Labfest. Transition states are crucial to the work’s maturation and criticizing the art as it is being formed feels like an assault on creative freedom. How then is one called to write about theater that is still finding its footing?

Instead of being nitpicking at the specifics, the challenge for critics and audiences becomes one of imagination: We are called not to judge the work using binaries of good and bad, but to also see what it is trying to say, what it can be, what horizons and conversations it opens up in its ephemeral nature, what experiments work and why these add value to the community, and how the convergence of the art and the context with which it is staged pushes or holds back the stories they attempt to tell.

It’s fascinating to encounter this dilemma with Set A — one which has been organized by festival directors Marco Viaña and Tess Jamias under a theme of adulting. The young adults of each one-act play are forced to confront a different demon in a loved one; one that embodies their struggle of assimilating into a world that grows more broken as we age. Yet just as easily, the set is defined by a theme of negotiating boundaries — lines on the sand that each character continues to redraw and that family members continue testing, hoping they disappear in the prodding.

10 to Midnight (written by Juliene Mendoza, directed by Sarah Facuri)

Juliene Mendoza’s 10 to Midnight makes this boundary immediately clear through Julia Pacificador’s production design — a navel-high cement gate separating brothers Bien (Bombi Plata) and Billy (Jerome Dawis), who have grown distant after their father’s death. Despite its measly height, the wall reminds the audience of a hazard, broken glass lacing two of its corners, only a small wooden gate allowing brothers access to each other. 

We enter their story in medias res and everything that has happened comes to us in waves of exhausting exposition — Bien’s drug addiction, their estranged relatives, financial woes, and the all-consuming guilt that comes with existence. It is typical of plays in Virgin Labfest to use evasion to create tension, building up to an explosive finale. But here, director Sarah Facuri flips the treatment, using resentment baked into Mendoza’s dialogue to demonstrate how, clouded by responsibilities to each other and the world, the brothers’ adult relationship has become frustrating and tenuous.

However, these insights into the purpose of such chaos come in hindsight and the experience of watching 10 to Midnight is at first admittedly discomforting, with both actors seemingly lacking the ease and playfulness that teases out nuances in the work. But if one manages to get past the first three quarters of the play, one will be rewarded with surprising tenderness, an unveiling of the true relationship between siblings. Dawis and Plata are at their best in these silent moments, when they allow the resentment between their characters to settle and sink in the solitude, their memories of goodness in childhood untethering the grudges that weigh them down in adulthood. 

One wonders, even after, if the material has anything new to say about familial relationships, the toxicity of masculine expectations, poverty, or drug addiction. But theater cannot be measured solely on its novelties. By creating this temporary space where connections matter more than traumas, where relationships can be mended not simply thrown away, where resolutions can be found not in confrontation but attentiveness, where quietness and listening can heal instead of ruin, we are reminded to hold onto hope instead of fear.

O (written by Raymund Barcelon, directed by Missy Maramara)

From Eljay Castro Deldoc’s Walang Bago sa Dulang Ito to Ryan Machado’s Huling Haraya Nina Ischia at Emeteria to Dustin Celestino’s Fermata, last year’s Virgin Labfest was filled with material that demonstrated the ways sex can be used for violence and disempowerment. This year, however, Raymund Barcelon’s O treats sex simultaneously as setting, topic, and conflict, and the violations falls into ideological and moral territories.

Astrid (Aryn Cristobal) breaks up with her fiancée of two years named Oliver (Juan Carlos Galano) just before he climaxes. Hoping to finish what they started, Oliver coaxes her into an admission neither of them were ready for: she’s never had an orgasm with any of her sexual partners. Including him. The rest of the play then becomes a tug-of-war between the two: with Oliver hoping to prove her dissatisfaction is a fluke and Astrid’s insistence that it’s rooted in her partners’ selfishness.

While the premise has the audience expecting a drama around deeper traumas similar to 2020’s Doggy, director Missy Maramara creates a contrast by approaching it almost like a comedy of errors — with Galano and Cristobal navigating the awkwardness of admitting their sexual dissatisfaction. Galano imbibes Oliver with a cockiness and vanity that becomes both a boon and a bane for his wife-to-be, but underneath the playfulness and optimism is grinding petulance and sexism that grows more grating as he refuses to acknowledge his shortcomings.

The one-act play rests on Cristobal, whose prior experience with improvisation leads her to be more effective in the comedy. But when the play begins to enter more demanding territory, when Astrid becomes defensive over her upbringing and the conservative and patriarchal values she inherited from her mother, she struggles. Maybe this is a purposeful decision on Cristobal, Barcelon, and Maramara’s end: to escape, Astrid must keep the atmosphere light, refrain from piercing Oliver’s ego, and prevent the situation from escalating into violence and further manipulation. Oliver’s persistence despite Astrid’s boundaries become a source of covert violence. While the conclusion will elicit a “good for her!” from the audience, it is also curiously dissatisying. O feels like an argument half-formed; an orgasm waiting to happen.

Regine: The Fairy Gaymother (written by Chuck D. Smith, directed by Mark Daniel Dalacat)

Chuck D. Smith’s Regine: The Fairy Gaymother is a family comedy-drama centered around the perennial queer question: “If Regine Velasquez told you to come out to your parents, would you?” Timed perfectly for Pride Month, the work goes against the dominant narrative that equates coming out with living authentically, and in the hands of director Mark Daniel Dalacat, who co-directed this year’s brilliant theater adaptation of Kung Paano Nanalo sa Karera si Rosang Taba for Dulaang UP, evasion is the currency. Dalacat spatially separates the family into two sections of the home — with mother and father dealing with their crises in the living room and their son Diego and the fairy gaymother Regine having a fantastical confrontation in the bedroom.

It helps that the cast balances their emotional understanding with humorous delivery. Tex Ordoñez-De Leon’s over-the-top reactions and physical comedy are balanced by Ron Capinding’s groundedness, creating a hilarious yet surprisingly gut-wrenching picture of two parents figuring out how to best support their child while bogged down by their limited understanding of sexual orientation, gender identity, and expression.

On the flip side, Anton Diva’s regality as Regine Velasquez is offset by her sassiness and deadpan delivery as she questions Diego’s resolve. Adrian Lindayag is pitch-perfect as Diego, as he teeters between considering telling his mother, not wanting to ruin their relationship, and yearning for a return to the openness between them when he was younger. The invisible character in the work is society — as family members impose heteronormative ideals on one another for fear of being ostractized or ridiculed, inadvertently widening the emotional gaps between them despite their forced proximity due to the pandemic.

At times, the work is weighed down by its excess — its transitions-turned-production numbers and extensive Regine Velasquez discography leaves scenes feeling crammed with gags, taking away some of the material’s emotional momentum. Yet it cannot be denied that where Regine: The Fairy Gaymother ends up is an unexpected delight without being didactic. It leans into the absurdity brought about by the complications of a world that still requires people to come out and the ways it forces people to behave against their lived realities. Instead of adhering to this myth of a singular path towards queer truthfulness, Smith and Dalacat choose to depict an image of acceptance that honors not the loud and public declarations we often see glorified in media but the private, solitary journeys that are equally as important but often erased. It is theater that is radical in its empathy for its characters without sacrificing its fabulousness. And it doesn’t hurt that it proves its point with a few songs, too. – Rappler.com

For more details on The Virgin Labfest, click here.

The local theater company shared on Friday, June 9, a snippet of the cast members singing to “Louder Than Words.” 

Jef Flores will reprise his role as Jon in the musical, with Khalil Ramos as his alternate. Tanya Manalang will also return onstage to portray Susan, with Kayla Rivera as her alternate. 

Both Flores and Manalang have previously taken part in the 2016 staging of said musical.

Completing the cast are Reb Atadero and Vien King, who will be alternating as Michael. 

Tick, Tick… Boom! will serve as Khalil Ramos’ theatrical debut. Following the announcement, the actor took to Instagram to share posters of the show. “Stop the clock,” he wrote. 

Girlfriend Gabbi Garcia and fellow celebrities Jane Oineza, Dominic Roque, and Markus Paterson expressed their support in the comments section. 

Khalil is best known for his films 2 cool 2 be 4gotten, LSS, and Love You, Stranger. 

Tick, Tick… Boom! follows the journey of Jon, a struggling composer in the early 1990s, who struggles with his career choices and desires to make a mark in the world of Broadway. 

9 Works Theatrical, who was also behind productions American Idiot and Eto na! Musika nAPO!, previously staged the Jonathan Larson musical in October 2016. 

The stage revival of Tick, Tick… Boom! is set to run from all weekends of August 2023 at the RCBC Plaza’s Carlos P. Romulo Auditorium. Final schedule and ticket prices for the show have yet to be announced. – Rappler.com

The local theater company shared the teaser on Wednesday, June 7, providing a glimpse into the anticipated return of the musical based on the book, music, and lyrics by Jonathan Larson.

The video opens with a dimly lit set, building anticipation as the camera focuses on a lamp in the background. Slowly, a cloth covering a piano is unveiled, revealing the instrument beneath.

As the cloth is removed, the piano keys come to life, playing the iconic and familiar chords of the song “30/90” from Tick, Tick… Boom!

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A post shared by 9 Works Theatrical (@9wtonline)

Tick, Tick… Boom! follows the journey of Jon, a struggling composer in the early 1990s, who struggles with his career choices and desires to make a mark in the world of Broadway. 

The company, who was also behind productions American Idiot and Eto na! Musika nAPO!, previously staged the Jonathan Larson musical in October 2016, with Jef Flores as Jon, Tanya Manalang as Susan, and Ariel Reonal as Michael. 

However, it remains uncertain whether these actors will reprise their roles for the upcoming run as 9 Works Theatrical have yet to announce the cast for the revival.

The musical gained further popularity with its 2021 film adaptation, directed by Lin-Manuel Miranda and featuring a star-studded cast including Andrew Garfield, Alexandra Shipp, and Robin de Jesús.

The stage revival of Tick, Tick… Boom! is set to run from August 2023. Final dates and ticket prices for the show have yet to be unveiled. – with additional reports from Jacob Maquiling/Rappler.com

Jacob Maquiling is a Rappler intern.

In this episode of Rappler Talk Entertainment, we chat with three of The Sandbox Collective’s actors – Brian Sy, Kakki Teodoro, and Justine Peña – on the joys and challenges of post-pandemic theater.

Sandbox Fest 2023 will run from June 17 to July 15 at the Maybank Performing Arts Theater in BGC.

Watch the interview live here on Wednesday, June 7, at 2 pm, or check it out on Rappler’s Facebook page. – Rappler.com

Lea Salonga has blazed many trails for Filipinos in the world of Broadway and theater, but there was still one milestone she had hoped to be part of.

The Tony Award winner Salonga, who will portray Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino’s mother Aurora Aquino in the musical Here Lies Love in a limited guest engagement, had wondered in the back of her mind if the story of Imelda Marcos could become the first Broadway production to have an all-Filipino cast. Casting had not yet been completed, but she quietly held out hope.

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That dream came to reality as Here Lies Love prepares to make its official Broadway debut on July 20, featuring a who’s who of Filipino and Filipino-American stage performers, including Arielle Jacobs (Imelda Marcos), Jose Llana (Ferdinand Marcos), and Conrad Ricamora (Ninoy Aquino).

“We did not know at the time but perhaps I was already manifesting. I wanted to be a part of the first all-Filipino cast on Broadway,” admitted Salonga in a conversation with Fil-Am media pioneer Jannelle So Perkins for a segment on So Jannelle TV, which airs US-wide on cable channels The Filipino Channel (TFC) and ANC; as well as on local Southern CA digital channel KNET 25.1; and is also available on social media platforms. “An all-Filipino is a major step and we do have a lot of the creative team as well as assistants, associates who are of Filipino descent.”

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While there’s no doubting the authenticity of its cast, Salonga, who is also one of the show’s producers, acknowledges that there may be some who question why such an important story in Filipino history was written by a non-Filipino.

The play, which first debuted off-Broadway in 2013, was written by American music artists David Byrne (of Talking Heads fame) and Fatboy Slim. Salonga feels the amount of research done by Byrne, who traveled to Manila, plus Leyte, where Imelda Marcos is from, and Ilocos, where Ferdinand Marcos is from, makes it a well-balanced production.

“Yes, our creator is white but my god, the extent of the research that this man did in order to make this story and create it and now we as the company get to grab it and it becomes ours,” said Salonga.

Byrne knows it may seem strange that an older, white musician would be taking an interest in telling the story of a Filipino woman’s rise in power as the wife of Ferdinand Marcos all the way through Martial Law, but he says the story was the perfect fit for his vision of telling a story from inside a dance club. After all, Imelda Marcos had a disco mirror ball installed at her New York City townhouse, often frequented dance clubs and even turned the roof of Malacanang Palace into a dance floor of sorts.

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“I feel like anyone should be able to tell any story, as long as they do so truthfully, with the right kind of emotion and are sincere about it. But it is rather strange. So I constantly made an effort to check with people in Manila, with the actors and people here who either lived through that time or their parents lived through that era,” said Byrne who adds that most of the song lyrics are derived from speeches and statements made by Ninoy Aquino  and the Marcoses, which allows crowds to hear the history lessons from the protagonists’ own words.

The subject matter is contentious and polarizing in itself, with Byrne adding that some audience members have shouted at cast members during shows. He understands that it comes with the territory when addressing a historical event that still has many open wounds.

“It’s nuanced, it’s a complicated story, it’s not simple, you can’t reduce it to one little thing. There’s lots of context and factors and personalities involved that tell the story,” said Byrne. “I think they will find it amazingly relevant to what’s going on in the rest of the world today, with democracy under threat all over the world. They will see the example of what the Filipino people did.”

Salonga acknowledges how contentious this story can be, but says the redeeming factor is how the story ends with the EDSA revolution, which restored hope to many people who were oppressed during Martial Law.

“There are going to be criticisms obviously,” Salonga says. “Yes there’s pain, yes there’s so much heartbreak, yes there are people who have not had closure with regards to this particular part of history. But at the very end of the show, everybody knows the EDSA revolution, that’s how the show ends. It’s at the moment where people feel hope.”

Salonga says that she felt emboldened in her role playing the mother of Ninoy Aquino after receiving a text message from Ken Kashiwahara, the husband of Ninoy’s sister Lupita Aquino. Kashiwahara, a former broadcast journalist who was on board the fateful flight just before Ninoy Aquino was gunned down, told Salonga that his mother-in-law would have approved of her being casted in that role, and even shared intimate details of the moments before Aquino was murdered.

“The disco part is a trojan horse, it’s supposed to pull you in,” says Salonga. “But once we have you in, we have a story to tell.” – Rappler.com

Rappler is partnering with Jannelle So Productions Inc (JSP), founded by Filipino-American pioneer and Los Angeles-based journalist Jannelle So, to publish video and written stories from SoJannelleTV about the journeys, successes, and challenges of Filipinos living in America.

Sundays, 4:30pm PT / 7:30pm ET on The Filipino Channel (TFC)
Mondays, 6:00pm on KNET Channel 25.1 Southern California
Replay on Saturdays, 7:30pm PT / 10:30pm ET on ANC North America
Any time on YouTube.com/SoJannelleTV

It begins with an attempt at empathy. During one of their regular dinners, Dina Medina (Stella Cañete-Mendoza) notices that her long-time bestfriend Susan Valderama (Frances Makil-Ignacio) is quiet. When she asks what happened, Susan confesses that she and her husband Fred (Jojo Cayabyab) are upset over Duterte’s decision to bury Ferdinand Marcos Sr. in the Libingan ng mga Bayani. Instead of extending empathy, Dina and her husband Bert (Randy Medel Villarama) dismiss the event as a non-issue. Heated words are exchanged. Lines are drawn. The atmosphere is ruined. Dina, hoping to salvage the evening despite this political divide, makes a plea: to put aside their political differences and share a peaceful meal. Everyone agrees.

But what seemed like a sprain was actually a fracture. Across seven years, wounds meant to heal instead festered, eating away at their principles, creating a chasm between best friends. A pandemic and a presidential election drives another wedge into this relationship and ideological battles transfer out of the dining room and into the online space. Facebook status updates become passive-aggressive weapons wielded against one another until petty acts begin having real-life consequences. The political geography appears to the audience as screencaps from social media projected onto the minimalist set, a combination of the work of video designer Steven Tansiongco, associate video designer Ces Valera, production designer Mitoy Sta. Ana, and dramaturgs Marvin Olaes and Davidson Oliveros.

Proximity is the currency of The Reconciliation Dinner. With The Kundiman Party in 2018, Quintos solidified himself as one of the country’s sharpest observers of how social media infiltrates the home, programs us to falsely conflate public opinion and real-life political action, and forces us to wrestle with how difficult it is to live morally in a country filled with corruption. Horrid politicians, which function as the invisible forces in the play, benefit from the polarizations and in-fighting because it paralyzes citizens into inaction. Quintos renders this sociopolitical stasis so tangibly in The Reconciliation Dinner by separating the monologues, allowing us access into the minds censored by pleasantries and social filters, thoughts isolated through the lighting design of John Batalla.

But what reunites the two families is not respect or understanding, but guilt. Dina’s breast cancer recurs. She calls Susan out of desperation. The threat of a mastectomy forces them to be vulnerable with each other, to relinquish their moral high grounds, to start listening not to each other’s words but hearts. Tears come. Promises are made. A reconciliation is easier when death is at the door.

When one looks at Quintos’ larger body of work, one finds these religious themes embedded deep within them. Through this lens, The Reconciliation Dinner also becomes a tale of modern idolatry — how reverence of an idea, a country, a politician, maybe even a friend, become poisonous in large doses. Facades of perfection shatter when expectations aren’t met. The text becomes a funhouse mirror for the audience to see themselves reflected in, forcing them to face questions they’ve been evading: In the face of damning evidence, is absolution possible? What happens to people when certainty is replaced by mystery? Will they believe in miracles or cling to lies?

The answer, it seems, is chaos. To this end, Quintos is successful at capturing how post-election resentment crystalizes into blinding rage and self-righteousness. A new monologue delivered by Makil-Ignacio finds her character reciting an aria of unbridled anger. Susan’s sadness at Robredo’s loss grows too large for her to handle, transmogrifying into monstrous resentment that only the audience can hold. Compassion takes a backseat. Her body loses poise! She flails! She begins pointing fingers at her imaginary workers! The gesture is comical to the elite yet disturbing to blue-collared workers. Her finger draws a line between her and her subordinates, one she crosses momentarily through her imagination. She returns only after realizing that it is not what Robredo would have wanted, speaking of the presidential candidate like Mama Mary. 

It is a monologue that purposely stops short of insight. Data, political theory, rationality, hell even common sense, do not matter as much when we are in pain. The only reality one sees is that goodness and honesty cannot seem to win. But until when can we hold onto such grudges without being weighed down by them?

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These additions make The Reconciliation Dinner more entertaining, with Phi Palmos’s Norby standing out, his every line dropped like a comedic bomb – a deadly mixture of truth, ease, and sarcasm. But other aspects of the work feel as though they’ve been lost integral parts, as the characters become more simplistic and childish. Of the Medinas, Cañete-Mendoza’s Dina is the most magnetic because of her benevolence, her character’s public relations background shining through despite only being mentioned twice. Dina never intends to be mean unlike her daughter Mica (Harriete Mozelle in the first run, Mica Pineda in this run) nor does her condescension masquerade under humor like Bert. Such villainy — in both performance and writing — renders the two other members of her family less arresting. The dissonance between her putrid politics and her kind behavior makes it difficult to break off the friendship with her, especially because she hasn’t done anything unforgivable. By showing how Dina grows impatient with Susan in the second run, the power of Cañete-Mendoza’s performance loses some of the contrast that made her the most interesting actor onstage.

Maybe this is the point. Maybe by depicting how such infuriating political conditions infantilizes even the best of us, it leads us to confront our own foolishness and simplicity, satirizing our regression in a world experimented on by Cambridge Analytica. But by focusing on the solispsism that everyone has succumbed to, The Reconciliation Dinner concerns itself only with the dominant narratives of our time. Quintos and Santos strain to break away from the binaries they claim to critique, finding themselves instead trapped in the language of labels and the cycle of national contempt. How can you mend the political divide if only one side of the party attends?

The play arrives at several points where it can offer an escape from the narrative of Robredo versus Marcos Jr. When Ely (Nelsito Gomez), Mica’s husband, reveals he voted for another candidate, there is an opportunity to introduce a wildcard, a political ideology that counters the two. But more poignantly, when Fred asks if anyone is happy about the state of the nation and is only greeted by silence, there is an opportunity for the discussion to break away from the binary. Instead, things return to what once was, the sentiment of progress quickly pushed aside because human nature makes blame easier than accountability. Associating oneself with a historical struggle makes us feel validated, but also has the potential to ruin us, and this myopia is what cages the Filipino people and the play itself.

To praise The Reconciliation Dinner for “not offering easy solutions” and to rest on the comfort it provides is to misread the work. Quintos does, in fact, offer three distinct paths to moving forward while also laying out their consequences. The first is to leave and to avoid the political repercussions that break the spirit of the middle class, but to be viewed as traitors of the national struggle. The second is to stay and continue to fight the oppressive structures that benefit the powerful few without certainty of winning or financial return. The third is to remain apolitical, in denial, and insulated by privilege, while blatantly benefiting from systems in silence, even if it’s at the price of loneliness. 

To end with Dina crying, alone, her cancer ruining her insides without us seeing, would have been enough of a metaphor for our sociopolitical climate. Even the rest of the world’s. But Quintos and Santos refuse to end with this image of absolute despair. Instead, Bert appears, wiping his hands and face, rationalizing his earlier violent break as a joke. Dina, seemingly fed up, surprises herself by slapping him, then lunging into his arms for solace. The image intends to impart hope and humor, but shows an implicit cycle of abuse, one that alternates between social reward and punishment in an effort to control their behavior. Was this where it was headed all along?

As the play ends and the audience stands and applauds, a memory of the first run jumps forward in my mind. Mica and Bert are listing the presidential candidates to make shallow cases against them: Pacquiao, Moreno, Lacson, Robredo. By process of elimination, the Medinas settle for Marcos, though they make no case for why he should win. I notice something: there is no sixth name. I remember Leody is in the crowd. I wonder how he feels. I crane my neck for a chance to look at him. I see his arms are crossed. Other heads turn towards him too. I cannot see his reaction.

In this absence, I find my answers. – Rappler.com

‘The Reconciliation Dinner’ ran from May 20-21, 27-28 at 3 pm and 8 pm at the Power Mac Center Spotlight at Circuit Makati.

The opening night of the La Scala season has become a highlight of the calendar for the country’s business and political elite, coinciding with the city’s Feast of St. Ambrose holiday.

However, the staging of Russian work Boris Godunov on the opening night last December prompted protesters against the Ukrainian war to demonstrate outside the venue.

Verdi’s works have been performed at La Scala since 1839 and the choice of a historical work by a local favourite is likely to prove less contentious on December 7.

Like other businesses, the opera house is struggling with sky-high energy bills after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.

La Scala last year mitigated the impact by cutting consumption of gas and electricity by 22% and around 15% respectively, its artistic director Dominque Meyer said on Monday, May 29.

The theatre has also switched to digital musical scores to reduce paper waste, installed more efficient LED-lights and will replace its windows this autumn to cut draughts.

Last year’s revenues from single shows were 25% higher compared with 2019 figures, Meyer said, adding international tourists represent 30% of the theatre’s audience. 

Topic tickets cost 250 euros ($275). 

In its new season, La Scala will host 14 operas, seven ballets, as well as concerts featuring Italian conductor Riccardo Muti, Briton Daniel Harding and Russian-born Kirill Petrenko. – Rappler.com

The first thing that arrests me in UP Dulaang Laboratoryo’s latest staging Nawawalang Gabi, Ninakaw na Araw is its sheer brazenness, especially for someone coming to the show without any idea what to expect and only armed by curiosity. After all, art criticism, to an extent, means allowing oneself to be taken by surprise, to try the untried and to test the untested, in an attempt to yield something meaningful, something that demands interrogation.

Collaborating with director Banaue Miclat and dramaturg Brian Arda, playwright Joshua Lim So uproots his Palanca-award winning script Araw-Araw, Gabi-Gabi to tear open wounds, however hard and deep, that have yet to heal amidst the Philippines’ impaired historical memory and callous disregard for human rights. 

At the center of the play are two activists, one well into his 40s (Janno Castillo) and another in his early 20s (Johnny Maglinao), whose lives are upended after being captured by paramilitary forces based on unfounded allegations. Weak, hungry, and almost delirious, they are forced to confront their tortured state and think of ways to pull themselves out of a cell so wretched, windowless, and sustained only by a single light bulb that it may well be built underground, considering the state’s obsession with surveillance and secrecy.

The decision to adapt this particular story for the stage cannot be more pressing, as we find ourselves at the behest of another Marcos, after more than three decades of enduring the dictator’s rule — a regime that has since produced an estimated 2,300 cases of enforced disappearances, based on latest data from the Asian Federation Against Involuntary Disappearance. In fact, earlier this month, new names were added to this list, as two Cordillera-based indigenous peoples’ rights activists — Gene Roz Jamil “Bazoo” de Jesus and Dexter Capuyan — had gone missing, all while progressive groups are relentlessly red-tagged by state officials, if not by other equally dangerous reactionary forces.

And the play situates us right into this fraught zeitgeist. It begins with absolute darkness, rendering the entire room in pitch black, as though inviting the audience not only to feel but also ruminate over this insistence of violence, amidst the macabre sounds in the background. Then, lo and behold, the precision of suffering. “Ang pagdurusa, siya ang panginoon,” says one of the characters. 

We see two bodies and two souls perpetually tormented in a space that is almost the embodiment of Plato’s cave in his principal thought experiment. Production designer Cris Ramon captures, in exacting simplicity, the verisimilitude of a state prison reserved only for revolutionaries, rights advocates, or ordinary citizens who dare to show even the slightest form of resistance, making the story more lived-in. Walls, filled with dirt and blood, look as filthy as a dumpsite or an abandoned warehouse; rubbish is littered across the floor. It’s as if one can smell the putridity the space intends to emit. The actors, appearing all greasy and foul-smelling, complement this mood. 

While the story at times feels loaded, one cannot help but admire the trust that Miclat and So put in their two-man cast, emboldening them with the liberty to experiment and take their characters to interesting zones. Castillo and Maglinao’s dynamic commands the narrative’s emotional heft — two people, one pragmatic and the other self-righteous and ideal, desperately trying to keep each other afloat; two people whose fates roll on a cruel Möbius strip, forever searching for a cardinal point, a way back to their normal lives.

Had there been a casting mistake, the adaptation would have found itself at a crushing standstill, precisely because Castillo and Maglinao turn in searing and expansive work that sees their characters descend into madness, counting their days, both numbered and not, until they run out of fingers to count them with, humoring their struggle with games and endless introspection. And when the pangs of pain gnaw at them, they remedy it with numbness. “Walang mata, walang tainga, walang katawan, walang isip, walang hangin, walang sakit, nirvana,” they say. 

Corollary to this is how state forces slowly yet gradually mutilate their bodies — an act so vile that even the monsters themselves can only commit it in the shadows, aware that the corruption of the body is also the corruption of the soul. Acts of desecration, a blatant violation of international humanitarian laws, have long been part and parcel of the national military’s senseless witch-hunting of progressives and revolutionaries, bent on parading every fallen body as a trophy of war.

Nawawalang Gabi, Ninakaw na Araw may not be the kind of staging that is heavy on musical numbers or production spectacle, especially when contrasted with works with much deeper pockets that have graced Philippine theater this year, but it recognizes the function of art enough to be disruptive and move the conversation forward during this politically heightened time. What it manages to highlight, at its core, are the lengths our oppressors are willing to take to stifle dissent, to maim our right to safeguard ourselves from injustice and abuse, so much so that we become acclimated, if not complicit, to erasure and impunity. It tells us how the struggle for radical liberation can never be obtained from a place of comfort.

Towards the end, the young activist declares: “Kinain na ng lugar na ito ang lahat ng akin. Ang lahat-lahat.” So it begins to hit you why the staging culminates the way it does. It’s not because Miclat and So lack the imagination to create a way out for their characters, but because they invite that of us to look at the nameless faces that the people in power have long been burying to the ground. We stare at the two bodies, now in Pietà position, until one of them runs out of breath — an image rendered more brutal and arresting by the drama of the spotlight, dying ever so gently, like a nation that rages against insidious forces, in spite of everything. – Rappler.com

Bart Guingona: What attracted you to the play RED?

JC Santos: The text. I think it’s genius. RED is an intimidating play, a complex and challenging one. (BG: Pareho tayo!)

BG: Doing theater is a much longer process than television or film, and for a fraction of the pay. So why do you want to do theater?

JCS: I love the work ethic and the military discipline of it. I enjoy the long process of trying to figure out the material, understanding the text, and the rehearsals process. Whenever I do stage work, I feel like an athlete getting ready for a competition, and I want to win. Ang sarap ng proseso!

BG: As a star that has crossed over from independent to mainstream entertainment, how do you deal with the fame and popularity?

JCS: Not a big fan of the fame and popularity because of the lack of privacy. But, may perks naman (laughs).

BG: What do you personally think of Ken? What do you find attractive about him? What do you dislike about him?

JCS: Ken is intelligent and brave. Maabilidad. He cares about art; he thinks it matters. I think he is going to be a successful artist one day. But I think Ken needs to figure out the art of dedma (laughs).

BG: How much from your personal background do you draw to play Ken? What aspects?

JCS: The family background of Ken, I can relate to. His passion in pursuing art. Also the part of being a survivor.

BG: What is your opinion of Rothko? Of abstract expressionism? Of art in general?

JCS: I appreciate Rothko and his art. I think the rise of abstract expressionism is a very important event in the history of art. To be an artist you have to be a student all the time. You cannot stop. To be an artist is to understand, to appreciate, to be critical, to enjoy, to be present, to love. It’s a way of life.

BG: Who is your favorite actor? 

JCS: Andrew Scott (BG: Pareho tayo!)

BG: Who is your favorite artist? No cognition. First thing that comes into your head?

JCS: Benedicto Cabrera.

BG: What is “red” to you?

JCS: “Red” is bravery.

BG: What excites you about the upcoming production?

JCS: I’m excited about the possibility that our audiences’ opinion on art will change after watching the show.

BG: Describe your process.

JCS: I keep reading the script or material until I can explain what the character is dealing with in the moment. Then I find ways to experience and practice what the character is feeling whenever he talks about certain things — his past, his present situation, his future, and where he is. I always list down great amounts of (perceived) circumstances, even the shallow ones.

BG: How do you like working with Bart? (laughs)

JCS: Love working with you, Kuya Bart! I value your opinion and your artistry. I think this is the start of a long working relationship we are going to have. (BG: Naks!)

BG: Your turn to ask me stuff (laughs).

JCS: Why did you choose the theater?

BG: Theater is one of those things you can practice with the least compromise. You get to keep your ideals intact. I always say that since there’s no money in it, at least compared to its richer cousins television and cinema, you need to do it purely for love. And love should be given unconditionally. Also I think it’s the perfect metaphor for life. No matter how many times you do a show, each performance is a singular life lived. Its ephemeral nature is parang life lang, temporary and short — but better because you get to live a life that’s rehearsed.

JCS: What is acting for you? 

BG: Hirap naman ng mga tanong mo! (Laughter) Seriously, I love how acting allows me to redefine myself, my limits, and my character with every role I take. In other words, it gives me the chance to polish new facets of myself. If I play a priest, I need to find the devout person in me; if I need to play a psychopath or a politician or whatever, I take it as an opportunity to understand a different way of looking at life.

JCS: Why do you think Mark Rothko’s work is still significant today? 

BG: Because his work provokes feelings while making you think. His “color fields” use colors to invite feelings in much the same way sunsets or music evoke certain inexplicable but very real feelings.

JCS: Kung hindi ka inalok ni JC, gagawin mo pa rin kaya ‘tong play or role na ‘to?

BG: First, I love how we refer to ourselves in the third person (laughs). But seriously, I didn’t think I would get the chance to do it again. But your invitation was just irresistible. I have seen some of your stuff and if anyone deserves to be called a gifted star, that would be you. So I knew I had to do it. Naks.

JCS: Kung hindi ka inistorbo ni JC sa tent mo habang nagte-taping, why would you think RED is relevant now?

BG: RED is relevant because there is a new generation of viewers who haven’t seen it. There’s a new generation of tech- and media-savvy viewers who neither have “the heart, nor the patience, nor the capacity to think, to understand” art that requires time and commitment from its viewers. RED is a reminder that “in order to surmount the past, we must know the past.” Wise words, by the way, from playwright John Logan.

JCS: How do you manage acting and directing at the same time? Kahit sobrang hirap?

BG: It helps immensely if I have an acting partner that is talented and intelligent and collaborative. Because that’s my style as a director anyway — I love collaborating with my actors to devise scenes and interpret the text.

JCS: After 22,367 and counting productions na nagawa mo, what is your favorite directorial work? (Laughs)

BG: Ikaw naman, 22,366 pa lang naman! (Laughs) I have many favorites! Hurlyburly by David Rabe, The Crucible by Arthur Miller, 4,000 Miles by Amy Herzog, Anna Kleiber by Alfonso Sastre, among others.

JCS: Who is NOT your favorite character for the screen and stage? And why?

BG: No comment! (Laughter)

JCS: Pero, who is your favorite character syempre.

BG: Hamlet, hands down. 

JCS: Who is you favorite painter? 

BG: Kiko Escora, Jojo Legaspi, Zaballero, at maraming marami pang iba! Sorry hindi ako makapili ng isa!

JCS: Who is your acting hero? (Laughs)

BG: Andrew Scott. And lately JC Santos. Naaaaks! (Laughs)

JCS: Do you think that theater training in the Philippines is competent? Why? Or why not? 

BG: I was an economics major so I don’t know. (Laughs) But seriously I think that for Philippine theater to have produced a Dolly de Leon, a Soliman Cruz, and a JC Santos, the training must be doing something right.

JCS: Kung hindi ka artist ngayon, what is RED for you? Hashtag malabong question. (Laughter) 

BG: If I weren’t an artist, RED — yung play ha — would really intrigue me. It has such an alluring premise. Nakaka-curious. The idea that it’s based on an historical anecdote of Rothko withdrawing his works from a lucrative commission then donating them to London’s Tate Gallery and then later committing suicide. Nakaka-curious diba? Hashtag nasagot ko ba? (Laughter)

– Rappler.com

John Logan’s RED will play from June 9 to 18 at the PETA Theater Center. Tickets are available at Ticket2Me. For bulk ticket sales, pls contact ivy.baggao@silangcomm.com. Please be informed that there will be cigarette smoking onstage and that vaccine cards will be required for entry into the theater.