Diarist Review: 'Paano Man ang Ibig' by Tanghalang Ateneo; 'Bar Boys: The Musical' by Barefoot Theatre Collaborative; 'Si Faust' by Areté Ateneo

 AMDG! Website version of this long-ass piece here.

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2025 is an Ateneo year in theater

Curtain call at Bar Boys: The Musical.

A rare theatrical convergence unfolded at the Ateneo de Manila University the weekend of Nov. 14–16: a total of five productions running all at once, the resulting smorgasbord quite sufficient to sate the appetites of a theater-going public compelled to hunker down at home by Super Typhoon Uwan the previous weekend.

Tanghalang Ateneo (TA) offered a Filipino translation of Shakespeare’s As You Like It, Paano Man ang Ibig using the script of the late National Artist for Theater and Literature Rolando Tinio. Ateneo Blue Repertory (BlueRep), which brands itself the university’s “premiere musical theater organization,” staged The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals, loosely adapted from the classic sci-fi-horror film Invasion of the Body Snatchers. At the modernist Areté complex, three vastly different shows: Barefoot Theatre Collaborative’s restaging of Bar Boys, a big Broadway musical in every sense of the word, packing the 850-seat Hyundai Hall; a new rock opera based on Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s Faust, courtesy of Nelsito Gomez and Basti Artadi, at the Doreen Black Box; and Exit Left Collective’s staged reading of Balay Dolor by the Palanca Award-winning playwright Iago Guballa.

It gives me great pleasure to report that, among the three I managed to catch, not one proved an unqualified disappointment—far from it, in fact.

Paano Man ang Ibig

Paano Man ang Ibig, for instance, was pretty unpolished and exactly the work one would expect from people who aren’t accustomed to doing Shakespeare—or theater, for that matter. (It closed Nov. 16.) As TA’s trainee production for the season, it was peopled mostly by newbies to the organization and/or the stage. As a production team member revealed in a pre-opening spiel, many of the cast members had never acted onstage.

It made sense that the show I saw reminded me of the kind of shenanigans my classmates and I used to put on in our English and Speech Communications classes in high school. This TA production never pretended like it belonged in the big leagues, but not for a second did it also forget to have fun and relish the unadulterated joy of making theater.

Taking on directorial duties was Cholo Ledesma, an alumni of the organization who, a decade ago, already proved himself a formidable actor as the male lead of TA’s Rite of Passage (2014) and Boy (2016).  

In Paano Man ang Ibig, Ledesma veered too close to dark and heavy, especially in the earlier scenes, giving Shakespeare’s pastoral comedy about lovesick exiles in a forest a near-oppressive, hyper-dramatic sheen. This self-seriousness would eventually lift, paving the way for the inherent silliness to shine through—but precisely because the play’s so self-serious at the start, the myriad inanities in the story came across as narrative shortcomings instead. Why were all the major characters stuck in that forest like they were in that Luis Buñuel film? Why was everyone falling for everybody else’s obvious disguises? Did the Bard actually invent the concept of the pathetic stalker, as when the lead character of Orlando started posting love poems on just about every tree he could find in that forest as a way of wooing the lady Rosalind (who’s also roaming the woods)? Creepy.

In any case, the second act’s where the fun’s at. At one point, for a celebratory scene, the entire theater, already bedecked in what’s best described as amateur forest-chic, transformed into an ersatz woodland party, the ensemble filing down the aisles with makeshift canopies and other handmade props in hand like fairies at a feast. Rough around the edges? Sure, but it was also all a ball to behold. 

One thing’s certain, though: Chloe Abella, who played Rosalind, is someone to watch out for. She was visibly already at ease under the spotlight, and moved with the clarity and stillness one rarely sees among student actors. In this trainee production, TA may very well have found a future leading lady.

Bar Boys: The Musical

Barefoot’s Bar Boys is the definition of reinvention (its last two performances on Nov. 30).

The complete title is now Bar Boys: The Musical, the decisive article replacing last year’s more uncertain-sounding A New Musical, when the show premiered at the Power Mac Blackbox, Ayala Malls Circuit, Makati City.

The show is still the same story of four aspiring lawyers in present-day Philippines, adapted by Pat Valera from the eponymous 2017 film starring Carlo Aquino. But now, Valera has completely ceded directorial duties to his co-director from last year, Mikko Angeles. And, in moving to  Hyundai Hall, the show has adopted a traditional proscenium staging, departing from the original alley style (with the audience seated on opposite sides of a linear stage, like watching a fashion corridor).

The changes brought about by the shift in space are immediately palpable—they have opened the musical up, in a manner of speaking, giving it more-than-ample room to breathe and fulfill its dreams of literal spectacle. Whereas last year’s run at Power Mac felt like an ambitious kid compelled to make do with what it had been given materially—in a way, serving up an apt metaphor for the struggles of its main characters—this present version is nothing short of a “we have arrived” moment. It is Janina San Miguel’s confidence when she declared, “I don’t feel any pressure right now,” on the Binibining Pilipinas stage: Yes, the pressure to triumph is undeniable, and yes, the musical’s unfazed by it.

Angeles has unlocked something else in the material: He has embraced its silliness. Bar Boys is essentially a morality tale—noble lawyers and law students fighting their big, bad counterparts and the systems they work for (last year’s premiere literally set the narrative in the aftermath of Leni Robredo’s defeat in the 2022 presidential elections). Bar Boys insists not only on goodness—a dramatization of that quote on the arc of the moral universe being long yet bending towards justice—but in yapping on and on about that brand of goodness like a sheltered, private-school kid.

To quote one of its lead characters, “Cringe!”

Angeles, miraculously, has turned the yapper into an even louder yapper. Abandoning the original’s hyperrealistic conceit (abetted in no small part by the intimate staging), this current Bar Boys is now a tale of good versus evil as told from the viewpoint of liberal politics, but unabashedly to the tune of—as I overheard an audience member correctly describe—Harry Potter.

Exaggeration is now the name of the game. Lawyers? They’re just like Marvel heroes. Evil professors and corrupt attorneys? Monsters! Suddenly, delusional liberal politics, served in hyperbolic portions, isn’t so cringe, or out of touch, anymore—it can actually be both palatable and engaging. 

And so, the musical’s justified penchant for excess: its occasional ventures into a video-game aesthetic-now-sensorial feasts (the new, eye-popping costumes by Hershee Tantiado; the level-up, jaw-dropping projections by Joyce Garcia); its sensible use of the sprawling stage, such as with a pair of self-illuminating, towering bookshelves, among other new tricks by set designers Julio Garcia and Ohm David; Jomelle Era’s choreography pushing the ensemble to their physical limits (which apparently do not exist, as Mean Girls would have it). And while we’re on the subject of the production’s technical aspects, Aron Roca deserves special mention for infusing sorely needed crispness into the sound design.

Meanwhile, the main players have grown equal in stature: Benedix Ramos and Alex Diaz, as best friends from opposite socioeconomic backgrounds, have never been better, but the latter—stronger than before—has turned his character into a true, worthy co-lead.   

Some moments still feel drawn-out and repetitive, with certain songs repeated preceding dialogue, for example. The musical runs three hours, with intermission. And the small, heartbreaking sequences (notably, when the father of Ramos’ character passes away) have been diluted in impact due to the larger space.

Nonetheless, the overall package is just an astonishing, heartfelt display of what Filipino musical theater is about. It’s the kind of production I would bring a theater newbie to; the kind those afflicted with colonial mentality must refer to when they talk about “world class.” They might even pick up necessary lessons on nationalism and politics along the way.

Curtain call at Si Faust.

Si Faust

Then, there’s Si Faust—the newest from arguably one of Metro Manila’s two most prolific dramatic reinventionists of late.

Since the post-pandemic reopening of the theater industry in 2022, Nelsito Gomez has unveiled, to varying reception, his adaptations of Anton Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya, Henrik Ibsen’s An Enemy of the People, Sophocles’ Electra, Shakespeare’s Othello and Twelfth Night. 

Enter the German Goethe. Gomez’s latest work (which he also directs, and which closes Nov. 29) turns the 19th-century story of the man who sold his soul to the devil into a sung-through opera using the music of the rock band Wolfgang. Frontman Basti Artadi—a blast as the hallucinatory St. Jimmy in 9 Works Theatrical’s American Idiot in 2016—serves as co-creator of the show.     

So, another jukebox musical—or a jukebox opera, to be exact.

As a stickler for enunciation, I confess I find certain chunks of singing in Si Faust bothersome in their incomprehensibility. Part of the fun with jukebox musicals is listening to the lyrics and discovering how the songs have been repurposed into the musical; how they’ve been cut, bent, or twisted to assume a new skin. In this musical, the less-than-ideal sound design is partly to blame. (So is my unfamiliarity with Wolfgang’s discography.)

But another reason is the performers’ stylized manner of singing, emulating the screech and drawl of head-banging rockers. In particular, Maita Ponce—who plays the cardinal role of the devil Mephistopheles—sounds like Broadway icon Patti LuPone if she desperately went after Artadi’s job.

But, revelation: This is billed as an opera. And if operas operate primarily on their strength of feeling and emotive capacities, then Si Faust is a categorical triumph, all 100 electrifying minutes of it a welcome jolt to senses primed to favor clear speech and straightforward theatrics. It’s high drama, show-stopping vocals, and knockout visuals combined to produce Theater with a capital t. As Gen Z would say, it’s a total vibe. 

Even without completely understanding the lyrics, one still grasps what’s being portrayed onstage (this is Gomez at his finest as director). The aural spectacle conjured by the performers—one of the best-sounding ensembles of the year—brings out the essence of Goethe with piercing clarity. The leanness of Gomez’s adaptation also works to the opera’s advantage, the story, near-skeletal, made all the more powerful as allegory, calling to mind the creation myths of old. It’s that rare case where thinning out the story, paradoxically, makes it fatter.

So much of Si Faust’s success is also a product of its design: Sarah Facuri’s set (spare and dominated by moving panels that open into an elevated rear stage, smartly sizing down, closing up, or revealing new narrative spaces), Jethro Nibaten’s lights, and Carlo Pagunaling’s costumes. Scene after scene, the three work harmoniously to create a never less-than-cohesive look for the show. Add to that Joyce Garcia’s projections, which effectively function as their own world-building and emotive element, and the result is a constant, enthralling approximation of the cosmic, summoning images of immense galaxies and barren landscapes, distant starlit skies and oceanic depths, a return to man’s primeval folly.

Si Faust also gives us two of the year’s most bewitching performances: Ponce’s, cool personified, and Shaira Opsimar’s, as Faust’s provincial lover. In Act II, Opsimar sings Halik ni Hudas, effortlessly hitting one stratospheric note after another, the sight of her would surely make atheists believe in heaven. 

Which brings me to a final point: The musical direction and orchestration is by Kabaitan Bautista, and this opera is proof that those fields may have found a new force to be reckoned with. Listening to Wolfgang on Spotify days later, I was struck by the elegance and inventiveness of Bautista’s work for Si Faust. The musical flows like one continuous breath, almost a celestial emanation. A rerun of this lightning bolt of a production will be nothing if not divine justice. 

Ateneo's year in theater

With Bar Boys and Si Faust being the two latest theatrical successes staged in the university, it’s safe to say 2025 has truly been Ateneo’s year in theater.

A huge reason has been Areté’s programming, and how the brains behind the arts complex have been collaborating tirelessly with university alumni and their affiliated companies, most notably the fledgling Scene Change. 

This year alone, Ateneo has also hosted three runs of 3 Upuan, the heartbreaker of a play by Guelan Luarca (whose body of work is without equal nowadays), as well as Luarca’s adaptations of the 2014 film Dagitab (the play a sublime, deeply intelligent ode to love, revolution, and the written word), and Nick Joaquin’s A Portrait of the Artist as Filipino (now the elegiac Quomodo Desolata Es? Isang Dalamhati, using Jerry Respeto’s translation).

TA restaged its big success from 2011, Luarca and the late Ricardo Abad’s transposition of Romeo and Juliet to Sama-Badjao Mindanao titled Sintang Dalisay, followed by Ningning sa Silangan, Respeto’s adaptation of Jo Clifford’s Light in the Village. Para kay B, the novel by National Artist for Film Ricky Lee, was adapted for the stage by Eljay Castro Deldoc, whose Pilipinas Kong Mahal Without the Overcoat from the 2017 Virgin Labfest was mounted by Ateneo Entablado.

BlueRep took a stab at the Broadway musical version of Legally Blonde, and that was two hours of enjoyable earnestness.

Not all of the above-mentioned productions have been critical hits, of course, but some will no doubt go down as the year’s, if not the decade’s, finest pieces of theater.

In the absence of a proper theater district in Metro Manila—like New York’s Broadway or London’s West End, with playhouses clustered within a few, walkable blocks and running on eight-shows-a-week schedules—the Ateneo has offered something more sustainable: a serious arts hub north of the Pasig River. The prospect of five-show weekends has never been more appealing. 

The day I saw Bar Boys, it was as festive a crowd as I’d ever seen at the theater. The atmosphere was unmistakably one that welcomed everyone, and not just theater addicts like myself. Barefoot, which is leading the way in theater marketing and publicity these days, and, I’ve long maintained, should be studied by other companies, has transformed Areté’s ground floor into the site of a proper event: merch booths, photo corners, stereos blaring the musical’s soundtrack, the works. The elaborate setup is something I’ve only convincingly encountered in the international touring productions brought to The Theatre at Solaire by GMG Productions—theater as a genuine “you just had to be there” experience from start to finish.

Ateneo and Barefoot have shown it can just as easily be done by homegrown theater folk.

TheaterFansManila Review: 'The Tragedy of Othello' by Everyman Presents

Another TFM review--the website link here.

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Everyman's 'Othello' is Shakespeare defanged

Shakespeare’s Othello as a treatise on jealousy, and devoid of its commentary on race and religion?

That’s precisely the idea behind Everyman Presents’ take on the play, abridged and helmed by company artistic director Carl Cariño, and bearing the wordier title The Tragedy of Othello.

At the Nov. 9 matinee—the only uncanceled show in Metro Manila the day of Super Typhoon Uwan’s landfall in nearby Aurora province—Cariño prefaced the first act by stating that his Othello is less interested in the ideological buttresses of the play and more concerned with the basic things that make men’s brains go haywire—to paraphrase the director, a show about boys being stupid boys. The production notes shared with the press further indicate that this Othello is mainly about “the awful and heartbreaking love story at its core,” and has been stripped of the original’s “racial and religious overtones.”

Well, then, to borrow from another Shakespearean work: Nothing will come of nothing.

Othello is about so many things that make the world an awful place—racism, prejudice, androcracy, misogyny, violence in its myriad forms. The titular character, a military commander, is manipulated by his ensign Iago into thinking his wife Desdemona is being unfaithful to him. Iago hates Othello for, among other reasons, his race (on paper, Othello is dark-skinned). The major female characters in this play, Desdemona and her maidservant (and Iago’s wife) Emilia, end up being killed by their own husbands within the larger tapestry of a toxic patriarchy.

In other words, the power of Othello as a piece of theater—as with many pieces of theater—is also a function of the complicated sociopolitical and cultural contexts fueling its story. Clearly, Shakespeare had so much to say in this play about the state of his world—things that resonate quite powerfully with ours.

Yet, Cariño’s production is rather determined to be rid of that contextual richness, that it ends up transplanting Othello to a no man’s land inhabited by dumb, jealous men.

The result is a production that strains to perform its male characters’ main, defining trait—boorishness—while struggling to animate its whats and whys. Why do these characters act the way they do? What makes them behave like animals? What’s going on in those complex human brains of theirs? Why are they dressed in gothic fashion? The best answer this Othello can come up with is “men being men,” which is to say it settles with just acting out the artifice of male idiocy.

Making theater out of men’s stupidity is never a bad idea, of course: Kenneth Lonergan’s This Is Our Youth is one such paragon of success (as was Red Turnip Theater’s production of the play in Makati City in 2015). But Othello is not only so much more than just its story of stupid men; it works precisely because it situates that story within very specific contexts.

Unsurprising, then, that the entire ensemble feels unmoored. Cariño’s adaptation trims Othello to a two-hour thing but retains the original’s Early Modern English—which many among the cast are clearly not comfortable spouting. Sans ideology, the play can hardly make sense of the deafening decibel level it associates with performing savage manliness. Bereft of context, male stupidity, as it turns out, does not always make for compelling theater.

Among the main acting quartet, only Rachel Coates crafts a beguiling, commanding presence as Desdemona—miraculously giving the character a sense of agency and, more importantly, a sense of interiority. Coates feels alive as Desdemona, all flesh-and-blood in a sea of sketches.

Opposite her, Miguel Vasquez’s Othello inconsistently summons the forcefulness of a military commander, while Tarek El Tayech can be too preoccupied with trying to flesh out the slimy villainy of his Iago. Meanwhile, Issa Litton, at once so intense but also farcical as Emilia, appears to be lost in her own dramatic universe, her energies a complete mismatch from her co-stars’.

In a theater ecosystem as small as Manila’s, this Everyman Presents production also doesn’t give a satisfying answer to the question: Why Othello now?

Last year, Company of Actors in Streamlined Theatre already did this play (with a rerun earlier this year), to far more satisfying and enlightening results: an Othello that was quite a lucid exploration of gender politics.

So why do this play again? It’s a question only the makers can possibly answer. Whatever the rationale, this Everyman’s Othello does not make a more insightful experience out of the material. Instead, it dilutes it—Shakespeare made banal, enfeebled, defanged.