Diarist Review: 'Bagets The Musical' by Newport World Resorts, Viva Communications, Inc., PETA Plus, and The Philippine Star

I took no pleasure in writing this. The website version here. 

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Bagets The Musical

Aga Muhlach and the opening night mob at Bagets The Musical.

If it’s taken me a month to write down my thoughts on Bagets The Musical, it’s mainly because I’ve been struggling to wrap my head around the audacity of this show trying to nepo-baby its way to success.

For the uninitiated, “nepo baby”—short for “nepotism baby”—has become a buzzword of late, frequently deployed in the derogatory sense as a modifier for famous or successful people who have equally famous or successful parents, the implication being that the child succeeded primarily because of their parents’ influence. For example, Jamie Lee Curtis’ triumph as Best Supporting Actress for Everything Everywhere All at Once at the 95th Academy Awards was ascribed by her detractors to the enduring popularity of her parents—Hollywood mainstays Tony Curtis and Janet Leigh—among Oscars voters, especially since her victory came at the expense of her younger, lesser-known co-star of color, Stephanie Hsu, whose performance in the film critics deemed more complex and therefore more deserving of the award.   

In Bagets The Musical, the nepo baby is front and center of the show: Andres Muhlach, son of actor Aga Muhlach. In what may seem like a stroke of genius casting, the former is playing the role the latter originated in the film on which this musical is based—the hugely successful, Filipino-language coming-of-age ensemble piece from 1984, about a high school barkada dealing with problems in school and at home, with their families and their romantic partners.

The disturbing fact is that Muhlach (the son) is still painfully ill-equipped to do theater, much less headline a brand-new show. Watching him sing—or attempt to do so, anyway—is an exercise in suppressing one’s disappointment at the fact that the brains behind this production greenlit his casting despite his obvious shortcomings. It’s grossly unfair to the actor, and even more so to the paying audience. 

Muhlach is but one of ten actors playing the five-man barkada at the story’s center (each role has two alternating performers). At the January 23 opening night performance, the four other roles were played by Milo Cruz, Ethan David, Jeff Moses, and Noel Comia Jr. All of them, except Comia, are theater newbies—and it was evident. Cruz was the most promising—assured in both voice and presence, at least—but Comia, whom I’ve seen hold his own against veterans in musicals like Buruguduystunstugudunstuy and The Secret Garden, performed circles around everyone, to nobody’s surprise.

The bigger problem is that these actors are saddled with middling material. The gist of the musical, as in the film, is that “it’s a boy’s world,” and so the viewer is made to follow the teenage protagonists as they bicker with their families, pursue love, express their resentments and disappointments in life, and carve out their space in 1980s Philippines. 

In media interviews, the artistic team of Bagets have spoken about their conscious effort to give the women in this musical more agency. This is a welcome move, and one that’s hard to ignore as the show unfolds. Indeed, it’s quite visible how the mothers and girlfriends in the story have been given relatively more to do than just be mothers and girlfriends from the sidelines, as tends to happen in male-centric tales. 

But the whole thing still comes across as too scatterbrained: These characters, whether the sons or their mothers, have been shoehorned into stereotypes. They all feel interchangeable and indistinct but for their assigned quirks or “problems” (the boy next door, the martial arts buff, the rich kid, etc.; the struggling single mom, the elitist socialite, etc.). The slice-of-life approach to the story rarely results to anything of consequence that would justify the over 2.5-hour running time; at one point, there’s even a musical number centered on one of the characters’ uncircumcised circumstance (literally!) that comes across as a bad parody of the already-laughable plastic-surgery number in the Oscar-nominated film Emilia Pérez. 

The whole production, in fact, is almost a migrainous blur. The artistic team from Philippine Educational Theater Association—director Maribel Legarda, writer J-mee Katanyag, musical director Vince Lim—seems adrift in the sprawling stage of the Newport Performing Arts Theater. The show never feels big enough when it needs to be, nor musically and aesthetically cohesive—despite the busy retro furnishings—to make for convincing, captivating theater. Instead, it’s the ‘80s feel-good flick as carnival attraction, or as IP product—a relic from four decades ago that can’t quite find its footing onstage.

 

Maybe that’s the whole point of this endeavor, though: Bagets The Musical—the show itself—is the big, shrieking nepo baby in the room, coasting to that curtain-call standing ovation largely on nostalgia and the audience’s presupposed familiarity with the source material. It stands on the shoulder of a giant, and seems to think the act of standing, or waving an arm to the tune of Just Got Lucky, is enough.

Diarist Review: 'Waiting for Godot' by Teatro Meron

The last time I saw this play was 10 years ago at the Ateneo, courtesy of Tanghalang Ateneo. The website version of this present review here.

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Waiting for Godot

Curtain call at the Feb. 21 matinee of this production. 

Good news: There’s an excellent production of Samuel Beckett in town.

That would be Teatro Meron’s Waiting for Godot, directed with no hint of embellishment by Ron Capinding. It’s a pretty straightforward iteration that uses the original English text—a rarity in Manila!—and continues the company’s mission of staging the classics intact, in a manner of speaking.

Godot is perhaps the most well-known paragon of absurdism, and famous worldwide as the play in which nothing happens. It’s two men in a desolate landscape waiting for the titular character to come (non-spoiler alert: he/she/they are a no-show). “Nothing to be done” is the oft-intoned mantra of these protagonists—they can’t seem to leave, nor do they have anywhere else to go. Along the way, a secondary pair, an eccentric man and his leashed human companion, perks up the proceedings. The talk is sort of aimless, the time almost without end. 

Done poorly, this play might feel like an inescapable recurring dream. But Capinding’s Godot is the total opposite: It’s mesmerizing, its fidelity to the text personified by an ensemble so completely attuned to one another, it’s as if they shared a single wonky nervous system. In their hands, the absurdity of the play therefore becomes real, convincing, life-sized, rational. The talk is the thing: a cold, hard look into the depths of human despair, loneliness, depravity. 

And, oh, how funny it all is! This is, in fact, the chief virtue of Capinding’s production: He gets the tragedy of this tragicomedy right—that’s to be expected—but he and his actors also nail the comedy. Their timing is never off, their physical bits outright delightful to behold. You find yourself wishing Godot would never, ever come and rescue these characters from their hysterical predicaments.

The main, despairing pair of Vladimir and Estragon are played by Tarek El Tayech and JJ Ignacio; together, they surprisingly fit firmly within the global continuum of great comedic duos—Dolphy and Panchito, Key and Peele, Steve Martin and Martin Short. There’s a bit here involving Estragon’s failing bladder that shouldn’t work as well as it should. 

John Sanchez, the visiting Pozzo, is the marvelous (re-)discovery of this production. As a theater newbie in college, he was already a standout in Tanghalang Ateneo’s Kalantiaw in 2016; then, a compelling anchor in that company’s Alpha Kappa Omega three years later. In Godot, Sanchez is the clearest presence—intimidating, forceful, and just the tiniest bit askew in the head. You can clearly see why his human pet Lucky (played to wordless, pitiful perfection by Lenard Tiongson) would be unable to escape his grasp.

Together, these four actors are giving some of the most lived-in performances one is likely to see this year in Manila. And Capinding’s production has the visuals to match their crazy: Production designer Tata Tuviera has them looking like they’ve just survived a bombing, or the collapse of entire buildings around them, their hairs and faces dusted white, their clothes in slight tatters, ruins of stone and wood surrounding them, the silhouette of destruction in the backdrop.

But here, desolation is as much the physical environment as it is a state of mind. Watching this play, one can’t shake off the feeling that something isn’t quite right, even if everything somehow makes sense. Even the boy, for example—the unseen Godot’s messenger (played by Yael Ledesma)—is more spectral than corporeal, a clownish smile plastered perpetually to his face. It’s all rather unnerving, but these actors, by sheer theatrical will, make you want to stay there with them and wallow in their hopelessness. 

Diarist Review: 'Les Misérables' - The World Tour Spectacular in Manila

Formative musical is back in concert form in Manila, as part of GMG's season--the website version of this review in The Diarist here. Hard to believe it's been two decades since I listened to In My Life over and over again that one summer. 

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Les Misérables has given us back Red Concepcion—thank you

Gala night curtain call, featuring Geronimo Rauch (left), Jeremy Secomb (right), and the four Pinoys (from 2nd left to 2nd right): Rachelle Ann Go, Lea Salonga, Red Concepcion, and Emily Bautista.

Of the many reasons to be thankful that Les Misérables has returned to The Theatre at Solaire, the most meaningful one must be this: It has given us back Red Concepcion—and introduced his talents to an infinitely larger theater-going public.

For close to a decade now, Concepcion has performed mainly abroad: as The Engineer in the UK and US national tours of Miss Saigon, as one of the loinclothed wrestlers of Sumo at the Public Theater in New York, and—most notably—as the hapless Amos Hart in the long-running production of Chicago on Broadway.

Ardent followers of the Manila theater scene, however, would know him as the quintessential working actor, appearing with equal ease in both musicals and straight plays before embarking on his international career. In 2015, he was part of two vastly different, first-rate ensembles—The Necessary Theatre’s The Normal Heart at RCBC Plaza, and the superhero musical Kung Paano Ako Naging Leading Lady at PETA Theater Center—on top of winning a Gawad Buhay for his starring turn in Priscilla, Queen of the Desert at Newport World Resorts the previous year.

Les Misérables at Solaire is nothing short of the warmest and most triumphant homecoming for Concepcion.

Back after 10 years

Ten years after its Philippine premiere, Cameron Mackintosh’s blockbuster adaptation of the Victor Hugo novel is back in Manila in a concert-style staging that has been touring the world since 2024.

   

In this production, Concepcion tackles the secondary part of the innkeeper Thénardier. It’s a role whose one big song, Master of the House, is arguably eclipsed by the big songs of the other principal characters: nowhere near as popular as Eponine’s On My Own, Fantine’s I Dreamed a Dream, Jean Valjean’s Bring Him Home, Javert’s Stars, even Marius’ Empty Chairs at Empty Tables. Thénardier is pretty much the definition of a side character, existing solely as fuel to the musical’s overlapping narratives.

Yet, Concepcion has miraculously turned this innkeeper into the biggest star of Les Mis. Put simply, he is perfect in the role—and the best thing about this show: a comic genius who is always able to find the right texture and scale for his performance. Watching him throughout his 25 or so minutes onstage, one easily grasps the entire spectrum of sleaze and depravity that the pathetic man he’s portraying is capable of. And he completely sells the dark humor in that depravity—especially during Master of the House, which becomes a true-blue tavern sing-along in his hands. By the end of that song—the first of this production’s two standout numbers—the theater feels absolutely alive, the energy palpably electric.

For the generation of theater-goers who “came of age” during the COVID lockdowns, this is the first time they’re watching Concepcion on the Manila stage. And what they’re seeing is far and away the clearest and most focused presence in that show: It’s impossible to look away when he’s performing, and when he’s not, you end up looking for him. In fact, it’s because of Concepcion that one altogether forgets this is actually a concert production of Les Mis.

More than a concert

That last bit is crucial to appraising this production. Tracing its roots to the 2019 All-Star Staged Concert in London’s West End—itself the obvious progeny of the historic 10th anniversary Dream Cast in Concert and the subsequent 25th anniversary concert productions—this current Les Mis nevertheless constantly gestures towards being the fully staged thing; it clearly wants to be more than just a concert. There is all manner of outstanding staging and design infused into this production to support that idea.

The flaw, if one may nitpick, is in the hodgepodge of performance styles of the cast. Rachelle Ann Go is a very melodramatic, Star Cinema romantic lead as Fantine; Emily Bautista is a nonchalant Eponine; Lea Salonga is all shades of broad and busy as Madame Thenardier, with a Cockney accent to boot. And so on.

Individually, the actors generally do justice to the score; with a few exceptions, the singing in this nearly three-hour show is heaven-sent. Taken together, however, it’s like everyone’s performing in their own versions and registers of Les Mis.

This production also brings into focus the fact that the Les Mis of today is no longer the Les Mis of 30 years ago. Specifically, it’s evident that, in certain parts, the musical has been sped-up—supposedly to keep it running under three hours. The changes in musical direction are quite apparent in songs like In My Life, which now denies the listener the chance to fully bask in the sweep of its lush, romantic melody. On gala night, Lulu-Mae Pears as Cosette could barely keep up with the tempo of that big song of hers; elsewhere—and to a far lesser extent—so, too, could Geronimo Rauch as Valjean and Will Callan as Marius.

 

So it’s left to Concepcion and Jeremy Secomb’s Javert to sell the fantasy of this show being more than just a concert. As it happens, the two are giving the most unadorned performances here—and, in effect, the most effective.

Secomb is literally a cold, impermeable wall throughout the show—you fully understand how this man could spend decades hyperfixating over the parole-breaking ex-con Valjean. That is, until late in Act II, during Javert’s Suicide, which is unexpectedly the other musical highlight of this production. In Secomb’s hands, the song becomes a masterclass in depicting madness and the vicious collapse of the human psyche. By then, Javert has had his principles put to an unanticipated test, the world as he knows it turned upside down by Valjean’s earlier, simple gesture of forgiveness (the latter had spared the former’s life while in captivity during an insurrection).

Secomb’s rendition is the one instance that genuinely complicates the material and—over two hours into this musical—dares to upend the whole of Les Mis, with its ethos of goodness and righteous selfhood, and its allegiance to a particular moral compass.

All things considered, though, this production more or less earns its subtitle: This sold-out run can be quite the spectacular thing.

All about the songs

The staging only highlights how Les Mis works best as a concert: It’s all about the songs, and the big emotions and dramatic moments that come with them. Ensemble numbers like One Day More, At the End of the Day, even Valjean’s Death at the end, are a thrill to behold and listen to. The narrative fluff, more obvious in the fully staged versions, are here very easy to overlook.

 

More importantly, Manila audiences should be thankful that this Les Mis has chosen to return to Solaire, out of all the possible venues in the capital region, and that GMG Productions has recently renewed its partnership with that theater.

When this production started in Europe in 2024, it was subtitled The Arena Spectacular World Tour and, true to its name, was playing mainly stadiums and arenas like a Lady Gaga concert (for example, the AO Arena in Manchester, with a maximum capacity of 21,000; the Royal Arena in Copenhagen, maximum capacity: 16,000; the Spektrum in Oslo, maximum capacity: nearly 10,000).

 

Relative to those other houses, Solaire is diminutive. But it also has the best theater technology in Manila, including the best sound. And in Les Mis, now subtitled the World Tour Spectacular, those assets are magnified a thousand-fold, the production itself taking advantage of them to live up to its full title. Watching this Les Mis is like coming face to face with a wall of sound, in the best possible way. It’s the musical at literally its crispest and clearest, in terms of the singing and, more so, the orchestrations. You can only envy those who are hearing this gorgeous score for the first time through this production.

Best use of lights in Manila

This Les Mis also has the best use of lights Manila theater has seen of late. It’s not only that the lighting design is deathly precise and consistently attuned to the emotional currents of each scene: It also couldn’t be more inventive. Here, the lighting makes the space, expanding and shrinking the performance environment as necessary, and doing a lot of heavy lifting to summon the setting for each number. The lighting rigs are deployed in ways that help create physical spaces—one moment, the ceiling of a house; the next, an elevated walkway constructing the illusion of balconies or terraces.

And in lieu of sets, this production continues the 21st-century tradition of flashing painterly backdrops to signify location. Now, there are three giant screens projecting those backdrops, and deployed judiciously for close-ups of the singers’ faces during specific moments.

That’s Les Mis 2026 in a nutshell: topnotch production values, sensational singing all around, two unmissable performances, and one homegrown actor who deserves to be seen by more Filipino theater-goers. And it’s only February.