Friday, December 27, 2013

'The Flood'

I'm one of the final 22 published in the 13th anniversary issue of Pedestal Magazine! According to poetry editor John Amen, they received over a thousand submissions, which were whittled down to 45, and then eventually to 22 (Read his introduction here). Also, here is the online link to my poem; the rest are accessible through the sort-of-table of contents on the screen's left. 

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There was a flood, few days ago, and it watered our street with secrets. What I couldn't say, I drank from the water, and I bore the salt and dirt, the grime of the country in my mouth tasting bitter and strong, like stale coffee or a father's love, which he brought with him to his muddy grave, never one to share.

The water rose, and when it reached our house, it pounded the pavement, left as many holes as there were in my father's heart. Inside I could feel the rush - how strong the wind blew when it stood watch over his funeral. Outside, the current carried the remains of a tree, the odd leaf and the fallen fruit, the warmth of our walls and the gleam of lights, the cold swirl of water.

Rain, I said, and the clouds started weeping, and all the while they hid their hair under violet veils, like the women at father's funeral. That afternoon it rained and the wind betrayed us, it killed the candles with a single strike, the kind my father's hand made on my face when I was fourteen, and had stolen his keys and ran off with a girl. Rain, I said, as if she'd ever come back, a dozen tombstones away from my father's.

The flood destroyed the harvest, but not our farm; it swallowed the highway and the town hall, but left our house to stand. In the aftermath, everything was scattered on our yard, like pieces of a puzzle waiting to be picked - planks of wall, bricks of floor, the bulb of an incandescent light, and my father's myth, waiting to dry on damp earth.

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Butuan V: The House

Three months late, but here is the fifth and final installment of the Butuan series. You may recall that in September, blockmates and I flew to Butuan for some much needed rest and recreation important field work in Hospital Management I & II. T, he of cuddly build, turned out to be a descendant of the ruling families of said city, and so easily found us a place to stay.


We had a dog. I was the dog's only friend. Everybody else just seemed to acknowledge its presence at the most.


This is how you get to the house - through an unpaved side street (because, duh, you don't decorate these streets with cement or asphalt).


You arrive at the compound. Said dog's just behind the gate.


You enter a gate. If you are seven feet tall and weigh three hundred pounds, good luck.


To the right, a door, like magic. Behold, the unassuming facade (pronounced /fa-KEYD/).


Up the staircase, because staircases are all the rage nowadays.


Welcome to our living room.


We also had a terrace with furniture designed to look like they're imported from a farm. We also had a teddy bear, in case anyone felt lonely at night.


The dining table and kitchen, two highly controversial places with material rich enough for Pinoy Big Brother.


On a fine Sunday afternoon, we watched "Here Comes the Bride," one of my favorite Filipino comedies. Some of you might know that Angelica Panganiban in that film served as my inspiration for LadyMed 2011 a.k.a. that time I taped my dick to my thigh shaved my legs.


Down a corridor and through a door is the place for hanging clothes. 


The bathroom - again, site of lotsa magical happenings. Ask the girls.


Up close and personal. Notice the toiletries.


At night, the living room became this.


The men's bedroom, where only few of the men slept in.


The men's pile of stuff, without turquoise or lapis or cerulean.


The women's pile of stuff, a sight that would give Miranda Priestly a heart attack.


We played spirit of the glass. Not. C, in flesh shirt (left), is currently training for Mr. World 2014.


Introducing Nick (not the one brushing her teeth, nor the one in that provocative pose). Nick likes to sleep.


On our last night, we went to T's uncle's house for a grand dinner. This strong non-Ilonggo woman slaughtered a roasted pig.


T also showed off his skills at pigslaughter.


The pig died.


The girls just couldn't resist the staircase. I told you: Staircases are all the rage nowadays.


Finally, a farewell photo. Now back to my chestnuts roasting on our open fire.


PREVIOUS: Butuan IV: Work and the City
FIRST: Butuan I: The Way to the South and Back

Monday, December 23, 2013

Ten Things about OB-Gyne

The Year Level 5: ICC Year blog posts - stories and anecdotes, patient encounters and hospital drama, and the many colors of UP med school from the perspective of a third year. Here's the twelfth entry, under our four-week rotation in the Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology.
  

1. Waking up at 5:30AM every weekday morning, except for that Monday when I woke up an hour late and arrived in school unbathed and hungry. (One tardy arrival meant an instant ticket to the final exams.)


2. The stench of disease-ridden vagina. Have you ever been to the market? It's like all the animal and raw food smells in the world combined. Plus, damp stone floor, mildewed shower curtain, half-dried clothing.


3. The grandma with cancer who didn't want to undergo treatment. "Fine with me if the Lord wants to take me now!" she vehemently declared before us and her daughter.


4. The speculum exam. The vagina is a monster, especially the looser, more experienced ones. It's like inserting an instrument inside a collapsible fleshy tunnel; the thing will attempt to swallow the metal up.


5. Delivering my first baby. Or rather, how my fingers slipped and slipped trying to forcibly extract the thing out of the vagina. A word of advice for future generations: Do the maneuvers on the child like manipulating a hammer.


6. The 24-hour duty. It was a tiring marathon, but the learning was endless. Over time, one learned to identify the mothers based on individual bad behavior more than their names.


7. Hazel (not her real name), our most entertaining patient during the 24-hour duty. It was a delivery worthy of the stage. "Makinig ka: Hindi ka na dalaga. Nanay ka na." "Sige po!"


8. The two worst SGDs of my med-student life. The first one featured a faculty preceptor that tried to assume the role of moderator, then would ask me (the student moderator), "Moderator, why aren't you moderating?" The second one was a disaster that shall no longer be discussed.


9. My patient with polycystic ovarian syndrome and a BMI of 42. But only because she was so amazed at the fact that I'm only 21. I hope life will be kinder to her.


10. The tiredness at the end of each day. It's enough to ravage an otherwise fecund person.


And then, when all of it was done, thinking, "It's done. It's finally done." I gave it my third 4/4 in the end-of-rotation student evaluations. I loved this rotation, I really did, but it's not something I'd look for in my spare time.

Thursday, December 19, 2013

Poetry News to Welcome Christmas

Never underestimate the power of wine, unless you have vague intentions of becoming the next Anne Curtis (of the John Lloyd-slapping kind) or just want to shake off four weeks of waking up at 5:30AM for the glory of vaginas and mothers in labor. Yesterday was our last day in OB-Gyne, and though I pretty much enjoyed the entire thing, it's not something I'd go looking for in my spare time. BUT, four of my poems have found home in three international publications!

1. "Twin Sorrows" will be in Stone Telling 10. It's a last minute submission, something I whipped up one arid May morning, which makes its acceptance even sweeter. Stone Telling is an online speculative poetry magazine; it's upcoming issue, coming out "soon," will be a double feature, or so I read. stonetelling.com

2. "The Flood" will be in Pedestal Magazine December 2013. Pedestal is also a webzine (online magazine) with an interest in genre writing (fantasy, horror, surrealism, etc.). The upcoming issue is its 13th anniversary issue, so hurrah! Plus, the fact that they accepted only 22 poems from literally over a thousand submissions, said the editor. thepedestalmagazine.com

3. "Shapes" and "Geography" will be in Sentinel Literary Quarterly February 2014. Sentinel is a UK-based quarterly that aims to be a "magazine of the world." The two poems were part of my collection, "His Final Attempt at Fiction," until, of course, it didn't win in a certain high-brow writing tilt and I decided to "un-collect" the thing. sentinelquarterly.com

By the way, have you seen "The Desolation of Smaug"? Four words: Lee Pace. Benedict Cumberbatch. That is, a deliciously effete elf-king and a very eloquent dragon brought to magnificent animated life. 

 Forgive me: I'm in a rather celebratory mood.

Sunday, December 15, 2013

PDI Review: 'The Addams Family' by Atlantis Productions

My review - er, post-run reflection - of Atlantis Productions' "The Addams Family" was in yesterday's Inquirer - here. Late post is the result of OB-Gyne duty, my first 24-hour in life (psych duty three, four months ago is not counted), but more on that in the next post.

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'The Addams Family': Too bad it closed too soon

The sad thing about Atlantis Productions' final show for the year, "The Addams Family," is that it closed too soon - Dec. 1, after a mere three-weekend run.

The idea of the musical's premature departure as the work of its ghastly, death-fixated characters certainly makes for an entertaining thought, especially since, in Marshall Brickman and Rick Elice's paper-thin book, they have become subservient to a dry-as-dust, all-too-human plotline.

The titular clan of macabre eccentrics invented by American cartoonist Charles Addams now has to contend with that mundane thing called love.

Wednesday, daughter of Gomez and Morticia, has - gasp! - fallen for a "normal" boy named Lucas Beineke, and has invited the boy's parents over for dinner in their Central Park residence (yes, the Addamses now live in the middle of that New York City greenspace).

Shabby grandeur

As designed by Faust Peneyra, the family residence exuded shabby grandeur. A golden proscenium bearing a few cracks contained the red velvet curtain that greeted the audience at the start, and, for most of the show, highlighted the relative emptiness that defined the interior of the Addams house.

But the fitting atmosphere (with lighting design by Dong Calingacion) couldn't disguise the shallowness of this two-and-a-half-hour musical.

"A Disastrous Dinner," like another episode of a forgettable late-night sitcom, would have been a more specific title.

Factoring in Andrew Lippa's eclectic but otherwise unexceptional score, "Addams" seemed more like a run-of-the-mill vaudeville - a potpourri of song and dance numbers whose only purpose, it seemed, was to delay the arrival of the spine-chillingly corny ending.

But if this Atlantis production proved anything, it's that, with the right people, miracles could happen.

At the Meralco Theater where it played its 10 performances, "Addams" gracefully rose above the shortcomings of its source material to give Gomez and his family a rich and spirited life.

The director was Bobby Garcia, who, barely three months ago, also spearheaded a surprisingly terrific staging of "Carrie," the infamous musical adaptation of that Stephen King novel. [REVIEW]

Golden move

Garcia's golden move was finding comedy in creepiness. This "Addams" did not try to scare us to death; it wanted us to die from laughter, or at least have a flatulent night or two.

And who wouldn't have, with one of the year's finest acting ensembles at the core? This was a cast that obviously reveled in delivering the musical's bodily dysfunction-heavy humor, and more importantly, found the right balance of "normal" and animated eccentricity in their portrayals.

One only needed to see how they went for the show's first big laugh to be convinced of that.

In the opening number, "When You're an Addams," a dance segment ensued (choreography by Cecile Martinez); "Rigor mortis!" Gomez shouted, and everyone went stiff as sticks, the audience deliriously chortling in the dark.

These Addamses felt immediately familiar - the neighbors everybody avoids and gossips about, and not just those distant characters from the '90s TV series locally broadcasted by Cartoon Network.

Eula Valdes cut a sultry figure as Morticia, but she's also that nightmarish mother-in-law who'd rather die than see her daughter marry someone "normal."

K-La Rivera, she of immaculate voice and leading-lady poise, scaled Wednesday down to a bastion of teenage toughness and confusion.

Funniest character
 
And Carla Guevara-Laforteza transformed the poorly written role of Lucas' mother Alice (the Beinekes are treated like flimsy cameos by the book) into the funniest character on that stage.

Jaime Wilson was virtually unrecognizable as a squeaky-voiced Uncle Fester, the crowning achievement of Johann dela Fuente (makeup and hair) and costume designers Pepsi Herrera and Edwin Tan. His inspired disappearing act was more than enough to forgive the fact that his role was no more than a bloated sort-of-narrator with a senseless Act II solo titled "The Moon and Me."

But the heart and soul of this "Addams" was TV personality Arnell Ignacio.

In a performance fueled by unerring comedic instinct, his Gomez was, all at the same time, conniving father and conflicted husband, passionate lover and clueless party host.

Ignacio oozed with magnetic charm as he put on the role's many delightful aspects, like a magician showing off his box of tricks.

In a production that sparked despite its material's flaws, Ignacio was the brightest flame. This was his show; without him, "Addams" would have been only half as lustrous, half as hilarious.

Saturday, November 30, 2013

PDI Review: 'Grease' by 9 Works Theatrical

My review of 9 Works Theatrical's "Grease" is in today's Inquirer - here. The production plays its final four shows at the Romulo Auditorium in RCBC Plaza, Makati City this weekend. Call (02)5867105 or 0917-554-5560.

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'Grease' is raunchy, gloriously sung--and quite exhausting

"Sexual tension blows up Makati theater." Now that's a rather crass way of summing up 9 Works Theatrical's "Grease," but really, inside the Carlos P. Romulo Auditorium, where this production plays until Dec. 1, the air feels so thick with testosterone and estrogen, it's almost suffocating.

Which is to say, this latest local staging of Jim Jacobs and Warren Casey's cult musical about teenage American troubles of the 1950s gets it right - part of it, at least.

When it premiered on Broadway in 1971, "Grease" was lauded for painting an astute image of hormone-infused raunchiness unseen in earlier attempts to capture the vulgar spirit of adolescence ("West Side Story" and Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet" being the most notorious examples).

Such an image is ever present in this production directed by Robbie Guevara. The 10-person main cast playing the T-Birds and the Pink Ladies - two cliques of high school seniors in fictional Rydell High - completely embody the rashness and impulsivity of youth. It's as if they're one cigarette puff away from bedding each other or brawling with the audience.

Jarring effect

The problem is that this "Grease" also finds the need to be as loud as possible, oftentimes to jarring effect.

Make no mistake: The singing here is glorious. Just look to Vince Lim's rendition of "Those Magic Changes," where as guitarist superstar-wannabe Doody, he scales the number's ever-ascending chorus with remarkably smooth control. (And that's unsurprising: Lim is part of the illustrious Ryan Cayabyab singers.)

Other songs, however, become excuses for this production to jackhammer its put-on rough-and-tough appeal straight into our eardrums. The most atrocious example comes not even 15 minutes into the show.

In "Summer Nights," arguably the musical's most popular tune, we are first properly introduced to the lead characters, Danny Zuko and Sandy Dumbrowski, as they recall to their friends their short-lived summer romance. The lyrics' mushy nostalgia - "Summer lovin' happened so fast/ I met a girl crazy for me/ Met a boy, cute as can be" - presents the song as an occasion for both playfulness and subtlety.

This version is playful alright; it's also overblown, oversung, and devoid of nuance or personality, with a grand choral finish that threatens to bring down the ceiling.

Surprise show-stopper

Loudness, however, is absent in this production's treatment of the musical's book and its riotous comedy. One suspects it's because for much of the show's two-and-a-half-hour run, everyone's quite busy perfecting his or her New York accent - variations of it fly across the stage - that jokes simply fall flat or don't register with the audience at all.

Only Reb Atadero (Roger) seems completely at ease with the musical's humor, effortlessly belting out his butt-showing number, "Mooning," and affording this production its surprise showstopper.

The disheartening curiosities don't end there. For a musical that's supposedly high on hormones, the overall dancing, on a two-tiered set designed by the inventive Mio Infante to look like a jukebox, is marred by spots of sloppiness.

The Act I opener, the title song, which was first hear in the 1978 film adaptation starring John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John, looks like the work of an inexperienced bloke from high school instead of choreographers Arnold Trinidad and Mio Infante.

(The Act II opener, set on prom night, is less of a mess.)

The Act I ender, "We Go Together," now has a dance-along sequence, where the cast break the fourth wall to teach the moves to the audience in the hopes that braver ticket-holders would actually join them. But this just serves to wreck the momentum of an otherwise decent finish for the evening's first-half.

Added thrill

9 Works' "Grease" also has the added thrill of having different surprise guests play the role of Teen Angel for every performance. On Nov. 9's opening night, it's JM Rodriguez (Mark Cohen during the Philippine premiere of "Rent" 14 years ago).

In his four minutes onstage, Rodriguez manages to outshine every single number that precedes his. His booming voice and overflowing charisma literally set the song and the stage ablaze, at a time when the proceedings are in danger of dragging.

Moreover, Rodriguez's thoroughly corporeal cameo only highlights how one-dimensional some of the characters are, even as they sing in the title song, "There is a chance that we can make it so far/ We start believin' now that we can be who we are."

Flimsy characterization, sad to say, is what saddles this production's leads.

Gian Magdangal perfectly captures Danny's vulnerability, like a man-child who suddenly finds himself under the glare of the spotlight. His unfussy delivery of his Act II solo, "Sandy," aches with the longing of young love.

But Magdangal seems to forget that Danny is also the leader of the T-Birds, who identify as greasers with their rock-star getups and slicked-back hair. He can play in-love and in-trouble, but you wouldn't really listen to him come gang-war time.

Commanding presence

In this case, the leader of the T-Birds appears to be Kenickie, as portrayed by debuting performer Rafa Siguion-Reyna. Tall, stately, and chiseled, Siguion-Reyna casts a commanding presence, even if his "Greased Lightnin'" is not exactly spectacularly sung.

(The most spectacular portion of that number is the transformation of the titular car - which first appeared, by the way, in 9 Works' "They're Playing Our Song" earlier this year.)

Presence is what Frencheska Farr also lacks in her stage debut as Sandy. Her voice is truly a thing of beauty, her crystalline tones allowing for a luminous rendition of the Oscar-nominated "Hopelessly Devoted to You."

But as a character, her Sandy is a wisp of air, as lightweight as her innocence and as unreal as her notions of purity.

When, at the end of Act II, Sandy finally assumes the form of sex goddess in heavy makeup, Newton-John in the film sizzled with newfound sultriness. Here, we see right through Farr; her masquerade makes her look like a naive provincial girl playing dress-up.

Totally real

In fact, among the four principal characters - nay, the entire main cast - the only one who comes across as a totally real person is Betty Rizzo.

Jennifer Blair-Bianco, in her first musical role in the Philippines, is captivating as the sharp-tongued and sarcastic Rizzo. And when she sings "There Are Worse Things I Could Do," it is to inform us of the character's bitterness, as well as her many-layered philosophy, giving this production its singular shining moment of true humanity.

That number comes late in the second act, however, and by then, we've had enough of this production's lack of sophistication. Too often, 9 Works' "Grease" comes across as that jubilantly rambunctious kid, the one you know would be fun for company but would rather keep a safe distance from for fear of getting manhandled. 

Even the curtain call is not spared, as the cast blares on with a medley of the songs while taking their bows, ensuring that our ears are stuffed to the brim with the music.

There are worse things this production can do, but as it is, it's already quite exhausting.

Sunday, November 17, 2013

An Orthopedic Surgeon

The Year Level 5: ICC Year blog posts - stories and anecdotes, patient encounters and hospital drama, and the many colors of UP med school from the perspective of a third year. Here's the eleventh entry, under our two-week combined rotation in the Section of Rheumatology, Department of Orthopedics, and Department of Rehabilitation Medicine.

The warning was that ROR, which stands for Rheuma-Ortho-Rehab, was going to be a toxic rotation. That's how we learned to be wary of people who are simply querulous - mareklamo. The rheumatology preceptorials were only toxic because a couple of the consultants required written outputs immediately following the session, but they really made learning fun and our brains tired-happy. The orthopedics preceptorials were the best - concise, straight to the point, except for Dr. C, whose droopy eyes and snail-paced speech could make anyone who looked at him sleepy. 

Typhoon Yolanda struck on the last day of our first week in ROR. This was us at the student lounge, waiting for word. How we got it - well, that's a tale in itself. 


Last Tuesday, we had the musculoskeletal system radiology Powerpoint exam. Studying for it was a piece of cake, because we were given all the materials (and the answers - just kidding or am I), because this was only 5% of our total grade. Below, our examiner testing out his new iPad Air. 


There was a lecture, but it was so forgettable, I can't remember what the topic was. Some people took the opportunity to show off their skills at camouflage-sleeping.


We also had a public health lecture - the indefatigable public health lecture, or the lay forum, as the classier consultants would have it. It was on back pain, and our blockmate Ivana demonstrated the Mackenzie exercises (look them up, but don't try them unless you're absolutely sure you have the best back in the world; go see a doctor).


On Thursday, we had our third session with the kids at M. Roxas High School. This time, we talked about communicable diseases - Dengue, leptospirosis, respiratory tract infections, food-borne diseases. Scenes from the high school, of congregations under thinking trees and floor-waxed verandas. 


The week ended with our faculty preceptor treating us to donuts and milk tea because that's what you call a healthy diet.


I think I wanna be an orthopedic surgeon. There, I've said it. But I've known since we dissected the arms and legs, the muscles and bones, during our first anatomy sessions two years ago, that that's a possible future. Future future tick tock tick tock.

Saturday, November 16, 2013

PDI Review: 'Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella' by Resorts World Manila

My review of Resorts World Manila's "Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella," based on the Oct. 19 7PM performance, is in today's Inquirer - here.  

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Mortal and reachable, but still a magical 'Cinderella'

"Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella," which opened Oct. 10 for a three-month run at the cavernous Newport Performing Arts Theater in Resorts World Manila, is not exactly how people would picture a musical based on a children's fairy tale.

(That's how the show is properly billed, by the way, to distinguish it from the 1950 Disney animated film that's arguably the most recognizable version of the centuries-old fairy tale for current generations.)

More than 50 years of Disney movies have taught us that fairy tales thrive in fantastical extravagance, in the omnipresence of magic and elements far removed from reality. In "Cinderella's" case, extravagance is in the form of transformation - a ragged dress becoming an exquisite ball gown, or a pumpkin morphing into a royal carriage, as the Disney version so efficiently immortalized onscreen.

That's not to say that Resorts World's "Cinderella" lacks any of the requisite sparkle and glitter; it has 'em aplenty, actually. One need only consider how the insanely creative trinity of Andrew Botha, Aksana Sidarava, and lighting designer Shax Siasoco has made this production look like it's just finished bathing in the swankiest hues of the color wheel.

Botha lays the foundation with his gargantuan sets - mainly, a staircase and two rotating pieces that are on one side, facades in a town square, and on the other, the interiors of a house. But his flair for design is most evident in the details - in the curves, curls, and twirls that dominate the sets to give off that fancy, first-class feel. He also employs the theater's LED screen to project sweeping backgrounds that virtually deepen and extend the stage.

Opulent
 
Sidarava's costumes are just as opulent, from the pumped-up gowns and humongous wigs to the elaborately dressed lowly villagers, their seeming sartorial individuality a product of intricate mix-and-match. And the technique involved in the pivotal transformation of Cinderella's tattered clothes to a glamorous gown succeeds in providing a thrillingly marvelous five seconds (no spoilers here).

Such opulence also extends to Rodel Colmenar's musical direction. Under his baton, the Manila Philharmonic Orchestra has brought to lush and succulent life the melodious, if not particularly striking score by Richard Rogers.

This "Cinderella," then, is quite the overachiever as far as the technical aspects go. But that's about the tangible magic coursing through this production.

Thank goodness, director Michael Williams drew the line there. After all, how many times must audiences be told this tale as old as time itself to be convinced that "Cinderella" can wave its wand and cast a spell as good as any?

The book by Oscar Hammerstein II generally bears the same plot as the Disney film. There is the titular orphan girl and her abusive stepfamily, the fairy godmother, the carriage and the gown, the ball at the palace, the glass slipper, the happily ever after. Put in the musical numbers, the pomp and grandeur, and the show is set to go.

Compact, potent
 
But under Williams' watch, this "Cinderella" is as compact as possible. Moving the story forward takes precedence; all other concerns - the theatrics, the songs, the dance numbers (choreography by James Laforteza) - must bend to the story.

That, without sacrificing nuance and artistry. For instance, the scene where the Prince searches for the foot that fits the slipper is now an amusing pantomime featuring the ladies of the kingdom and the steward Lionel (Red Concepcion, hilariously scene-stealing all throughout).

The more potent magic of "Cinderella," however, is the result of how William steered his cast to attack their characters. This production's refreshing appeal stems from the full-blooded characterizations; for such a grandiose fairy tale, the characters are surprisingly earth-bound, "un-magical," real.

Thus, we have the likes of Menchu Lauchengco-Yulo's fairy godmother, a motherly figure whose parenting style is anchored on tough love. (Though, it must be said, Lauchengco-Yulo looks more like the queen of the sea in her cape of purple scallop shell, and her talents are atrociously underused in this three-scene role.)

Makeover
 
Cinderella's stepfamily, too, has undergone a personality makeover. Pinky Marquez (who plays the fairy godmother in certain performances) becomes a stepmother who is not an all-out evil hag, but rather, a jealous and desperate woman long past her prime (Sweet Plantado-Tiongson alternates in the role).

The same sentiment can be extended to the stepsisters. As portrayed by Giannina Ocampo and Maronne Cruz, they are no longer just spoiled brats; they have become pathetic, unsophisticated girls who are actually more pitiful than despicable. And their duet, "Stepsisters' Lament," is no longer comedy; it is now a confession of envy by way of song.

Even the royals have not been spared the overhaul. Miguel Faustmann and Sheila Francisco are utterly convincing in portraying the monarchy as just another bickering couple with mundane problems. Francisco's Queen, in particular, is that mother whose desire to see her son find a wife compels her to do outrageous things like dreaming up a kingdom-wide ball behind his back.

Top billing

But above all, this "Cinderella" owes much of its success to its leads - Julia Abueva in the title role and Fred Lo as the Prince. (Pop artists Karylle Tatlonghari and Christian Bautista receive top billing for those parts.)

Abueva, all of 17 years old, is simply enchanting. Her Cinderella is the embodiment of youth's fragile innocence, a meek and obedient creature (in homage to the Chinese version of the tale) at once brimming with dreams and crushed hopes.

In the mold of former Cinderellas such as Julie Andrews and Lea Salonga, Abueva, too, sings most beautifully, delivering her songs with precise diction and emotional clarity that further underscore the promise of a luminous future onstage.

In fact, this production's most magical moment, should there be only one, belongs to Abueva: Early in Act I, under the shadow of the colossal sets, she sings "In My Own Little Corner" and weaves a pristine union of poetry and melody, the imagery of the song - Norwegian princess, milkmaid, heiress, huntress on safari - brought to vibrant life.

Meanwhile, Lo initially plays his role as reluctant heir to the throne, a boy-prince hungry for adventure and life beyond the castle. But it is his visible transformation from boy to prince that is most remarkable.

Together, Abueva and Lo also make this "Cinderella" an inadvertent tale of young love. Truth is, they fit so well into their roles, work so well as a pair, and are totally convincing as a couple, that it's hard to imagine how, say, Abueva paired with Bautista would have worked out.

Flesh and blood
 
"Cinderella," by the way, is Resorts World's third consecutive Rodgers and Hammerstein musical. But the material itself isn't exactly considered one of the prodigious duo's finest. What this production has achieved is a triumph well beyond script and sheet music. It's the magic of the fairy tale made mortal and reachable.

In a world where "impossible things are happening everyday," the characters are very much flesh and blood, and so they make it easier for the audience to suspend disbelief. It's not how fairy tales usually work; most are too engrossed in their own fancies to even be involving.

This "Cinderella" tries to break the mold, and the results are ravishing.

This article has been revised to reflect the following correction: NOVEMBER 18, 2013. The 4th paragraph of this review incorrectly cited John Batalla as the production's lighting designer. That position is held by SHAX SIASOCO. 

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Plus, a bonus blurry photo (thanks to my shaky hand) with Julia Abueva! In Singapore, she most recently played Wendla in "Spring Awakening" and Natalie in "Next to Normal." Hello Atlantis Productions, if ever you decide to revive "Next to Normal." Also, it's about time for "Into the Woods" again, and it would be awesome if she plays Cinderella (she did Little Red Riding Hood for New Voice Company in 2007). Ugh, my fantasies.

Sunday, November 10, 2013

Butuan IV: Work and the City

We came to Butuan to (cough) work - to, uh, generate observations and derive conclusions on the local health system based on visits to two hospitals. "We learned a lot and became better doctors" is what I would essentially write in a reflection paper. "Management means vacation" is what I would tell the curious. 

Since one of our blockmates' dad is a god of the Philippine Coast Guard, and since we arrived in Mindanao in the thick of the meaningless Zamboanga crisis, we were personally escorted by members of the Coast Guard from the airport to the city. 


We had lunch at this place across the City Hall. It afforded J some alone time. Late Saturday afternoon, the Catholics heard mass at the church beside Urios University.


Monday, we did field work at the Butuan City Medical Center, a fine example of a disconnect between name and reality because the hospital is hardly located "in the city." I like its triangular facade and the fact that it's surrounded by green on all sides, plus mountains in the distance.


Across the road is the quiet provincial life. Sari-sari stores stand side by side with small-time pharmacies and residences. The contrast - a bustling hospital living in this farm-like area - is picturesque.


The road to the Butuan City Medical Center:


Late Monday afternoon, the block discovered the best way to kill the time while waiting for our ride. Plus, some of the Manila girls wanted pictures with the sunset.


For a moment, it was 1943 outside Warsaw, and our jeepney was almost ransacked by Grammar Nazis. 


The next day, we went to Manuel J. Santos Hospital, which is owned by T's family. The afternoon was more interesting, though: We visited birthing clinics!


These are zoomed-in iPhone views on the road to one of the clinics:


A crazy truck, tricycle rides, and city streets.


This is Pinkadoo, the landmark for where we stayed (which shall be the topic of the next Butuan post).


On our last day, we had lunch at Aling Cora's. If you're from Manila, you'd be quite impressed with the cooking. But nothing beats Iloilo seafood, of course. 


A last glimpse of the city on a quiet Thursday afternoon, outside a pasalubong shop, three, four hours before our flight back to the Metro.


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