s/p Internship: The year in 12 images

This is the first of a two-part documentation of the seventh year in med school.

It's true, what they say: Internship really is the best year in UP Med. It's hard to believe the year went by that fast, and I'm finally done with school (though, of course, you can argue that school never ends for a doctor). Heck, being called "doctor" still feels kind of surreal, as if finally reaching that goal made it all the more distant and intangible. But how to capture the past 12 months in as brief a post as possible?  

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1. Rotating under Service 3 of Internal Medicine, a department I actually like, despite its flaws. 

2. Turning the National Museum into our own Wednesday afternoon photo studio. Did you know it used to be the old Senate Hall?

3. Returning to Corregidor after a decade. Every kid in this country ought to come here some time.

4. Block Christmas party, or getting Donna Tartt's "The Goldfinch" and David Mitchell's "The Bone Clocks" for presents! And just look how happy we all were! 

5. Surfin' with my girls in San Juan, La Union. And successfully riding a surf all the way to shore after almost an hour of falling off the board!

6. Climbing Mt. Pamitinan in Rizal, or that time we thought we'd die by getting our throats slit by razor-sharp rock edges.

7. Stalking Cameron Mackintosh at the after-party of the "Les Miserables" Asian tour-Manila gala night.

8. Community! Or learning to cook and dealing with people in a rustic healthcare setting and being more than just plain ole doctor. And escaping to Tagaytay at the end of every week!

9. Turning 24 in OB-Gyne, where we lost weight and gained pimples and occasionally turned into grumpy monsters.

(c) C. Vistal.

10. Kayaking with three people, or Punta Fuego for the final time as "kids."

(c) P. Zamora.

11. Fake graduation! Or that time we went on duty in OB-Gyne, left the hospital at 1AM, slept a bit, donned our sablays and put on our freshest faces. 

12. The grad ball, or getting wasted one last time as a class.

PDI Review: 'Suicide, Incorporated' by Twin Bill Theater

My review of "Suicide, Inc." is in today's paper--here. 

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'Suicide, Inc.' is essential theater in these trying times

There's good theater, and then there's important theater. Chalk it up to the arc of this moral universe, if you so please, that most times, those two traits aren't mutually exclusive.

Twin Bill Theater's currently running production of Andrew Hinderaker's "Suicide, Incorporated" is one such walking, talking example. Just what is it exactly, this play revolving around a fictional company specializing in (surprise, surprise) suicide notes?

One can easily figure out Hinderaker's plot points blindfolded--how the story would pan out, how each character would react, what the first big "twist" at the start is. The dialogue can get overly melodramatic, yet it also has its distinct brand of macabre humor.

Perspective

That doesn't sound like the perfect recipe for a show worth flocking to (and the venue--the Performing Arts and Recreation Center in San Juan City--isn't exactly the easiest to get to). Its basic conceit aside, "Suicide, Inc." could be just another soapy tearjerker grounded on the notions of redemption and forgiveness.

All it takes is a little perspective: You scan the news, engage in daily conversation and try to make sense of the change that is literally killing this country's soul little by little. A play that deals with mental health couldn't have come at a better point in history, when time demands that we look at issues like suicide and drug addiction from a more compassionate point of view.

Throughout the play, multiple characters try to take their lives (not all successful, depending on how you interpret the ending). If you really think about it, it wouldn't be that easy treating a person who's about to kill himself as a "client," going through his sentence structure, metaphors and literary references just to compose that one perfect note.

Singular idea

It's the singular idea implicit in Steven Conde's tactful direction. His characters aren't just one-dimensional figures desperate to wipe themselves off the planet. The suicide note is merely the tip of the iceberg, be it for the "clients" or for those working for the company.

We see all that in the protagonist Jason, played by Hans Eckstein with touching vulnerability; in his flamboyant officemate Perry (Chino Veguillas, who also does two other characters and easily wins the audience over with this delectable chameleonic turn); and even in Jason's brother Tommy (Bibo Reyes, his silences beautifully conveying everything that's left unsaid).

Even the demanding, seemingly cold-blooded boss of the company (cheekily named Legacy Letters) isn't written off as just another villain. Jeremy Domingo plays the part, and has the tendency to ham it up, but his portrayal makes it clear the man's more than just his words and outbursts.

Likewise, this production, which unfolds on an aptly sterile set by Ed Lacson Jr., is more than just the sum of its parts.

It has Mako Alonso's breakthrough performance, for one. As Norm, the "client" upon whom the entire story, its emotional twists and turns, hangs, Alonso masterfully fleshes out a tortured soul's history, oftentimes in so many words crammed within so little time. In the end, it's really this one character that you learn to pity, if not love, and root for, despite the depressing odds. (George Schulze alternates in the role.)

Uplifting

With Alonso, Twin Bill is now two-for-two in fueling excitement for this year in acting; its earlier production, the twisted Peanuts parody "Dog Sees God: Confessions of a Teenage Blockhead," featured Vince Lim (of the Ryan Cayabyab Singers) in his breakout turn as a similarly tormented character.

More importantly, however, "Suicide, Inc." elevates the theatrical conversation to something way beyond stagecraft. It deals with an issue that really needs to be talked about, and it does so in a manner that's refreshingly uplifting.

Twin Bill has not only given us a fine production, but one that demands to be seen not only for its artistic merits but also for the kind of discussions it's sure to generate long after the curtain has fallen.

A postshow discussion with a guest psychiatrist is held after every performance. Audiences are very much encouraged to stay for this; it's the kind of enlightening talkback that rarely happens in the theater.

PDI Review: Virgin Labfest XII

My omnibus review of the 12th Virgin Labfest is in today's Inquirer--here. The original draft is way nastier, but I have a great editor--the Gibbs Cadiz.

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Back to storytelling basics at the Virgin Labfest 12

Revisited: "Si Maria Isabella at ang Guryon ng Mga Tala"

Clear, coherent and sound storytelling above all else--that's our tacit takeaway from this year's Virgin Labfest, the annual festival of "untried, untested, unstaged" plays which ends the third and final week of its 12th edition tomorrow evening at the Cultural Center of the Philippines.

The unspoken reminder to tell a story with three-dimensional characters, carefully constructed conflict and lucid, imaginative writing, among other virtues, resonates with even greater urgency when one considers the festival entries individually--12 new one-act plays, five staged readings and three returning plays from the previous year--and how they achieved the principal goals of storytelling to varying degrees of success.

'Mula sa Kulimliman'

Take, for example, Carlo Vergara's "Mula sa Kulimliman." In many ways, it is similar to the playwright's previous hit, "Kung Paano Ako Naging Leading Lady," which, before becoming the summer musical blockbuster of last year, began as one of the one-act nonmusical entries of the 2014 Labfest.

In telling the story of an ordinary housewife who discovers her husband isn't exactly of this world, Vergara once again blurs the line between domestic reality and the realm of the fantastic. The result is this festival's funniest and, to this writer's mind, most accomplished piece of writing--crisp, emotionally resonant, unpredictable and polished down to the final punch line.

As directed by Hazel Gutierrez, "Mula sa Kulimliman" unleashes its rib-tickling surprises slowly, the laughs piling up and growing louder by the minute.

Jonathan Tadioan and Timothy Castillo are in terrific form as a father-and-son tandem sharing an unspeakable secret, but it is Mayen Estañero, as the oblivious wife and mother, who is the heart and soul of this play--an actress giving the performance of a lifetime in a play that matches the magnitude of her abilities.

'Daddy's Girl'

"Mula sa Kulimliman" isn't the smartest play in the house, however. That distinction belongs to Ricardo Novenario's "Daddy's Girl," which explores the idea of soulmates and reincarnation against the backdrop of incest.

In the afterlife, man and woman, played by Marco Viaña and Skyzx Labastilla with throbbing plausibility and sensuality, try to untangle memory, time, feeling and a myriad of other abstractions. The concept alone may prove too cerebral, and thereby unappealing, to many, but it would be a miracle if a more intelligent play were to come along in the remaining half of the year.

Novenario's language merges the tangible, metaphysical and the in-between, and how director Nicolas Pichay unravels the material's complexity to let its humanity shine through only further asserts the importance of this piece.

'Ang Sugilanon ng Kabiguan ni Epefania'

Imagination of a distinctly Filipino persuasion is the calling card of "Ang Sugilanon ng Kabiguan ni Epefania," Alexandra May Cardoso's Bisaya-Tagalog adaptation of Ian Rosales Casocot's short story "The Sugilanon of Epefania's Heartbreak."

True to its title, it unspools like your grandmother's run-of-the-mill folktale, complete with the indispensable elements of magic and unrequited love.

How, then, does one conjure sorcery and the supernatural forces born of a girl's promise to win a man's heart, on a space as small as the Tanghalang Huseng Batute?

The answer, Charles Yee's masterful direction insists, is in the sheer eloquence--in the impeccable union of lights, music, costumes and choreography, and in the passionate ensemble playing (the near-flawless cast led by Blanche Buhia, searing as the heartbroken girl).

Thus, a production that is as heart-tugging as it is evocative of the infinite possibilities of love and the ordinariness of provincial life. And, also, one that furthers its young director's ascent in the industry ladder, this being Yee's second theatrical triumph for the year (after Tanghalang Ateneo's "Kalantiaw").

'Ang Mga Bisita ni Jean'

An even more evocative piece is Ma. Cecilia dela Rosa's "Ang Mga Bisita ni Jean," about a former revolutionary coming to terms with love (of course), loss and the demons of her past. It would be no spoiler to say that her conversations with said visitors occur entirely inside her head.

Dela Rosa's singular achievement is the poeticism of her play; it cascades like a river, the emotions ebbing and flowing, images from the past and present colliding in the stream of the female protagonist's consciousness. What emerges is a poignantly drawn portrait of a woman--the richest construction of a character in this festival.

Ariel Yonzon's direction may at times be confusing, but Sheenly Vee Gener's consummate, fully fleshed-out portrayal of Jean is the reason to see this--a performance that adroitly transforms the play into a compelling feminist character study (with superb support from Randy Villarama and Aldo Vencilao as her fallen comrades).

'Hapagkainan'

The rest of the Labfest entries aren't as spotless, sometimes for reasons that went beyond the constraints of the page.

For instance, Rick Patriarca's comedy of manners, "Hapagkainan," showcases a genuine festival virgin in his breakthrough moment. One may initially be of two minds regarding his over-reliance on cursing for comedy, but then gradually comes to admire the naturalism of his dialogue.

This is the id made manifest in a play that sounds just like your squabbling loudmouthed neighbors. Adriana Agcaoili (recalling Kris Aquino on a sugar high), Adrienne Vergara and Arnold Reyes are in fine form as a family trying (and failing) to preserve its good manners at the dinner table. Unfortunately, all it takes is Mikoy Morales to be so obviously out-of-sync with director Chris Martinez's idea of the play as a farce for the material to fall apart at the seams.

'Ang Bata sa Drum'

Dominique La Victoria's "Ang Bata sa Drum," directed by Dudz Teraña, does not rely on acting pyrotechnics or verbal jousts, only on the skill of its young pair of actors (who are in dire need of a Bisaya accent coach) to tell a story of parental abuse. After all, there's only so much one can do when a character is literally confined inside the titular drum for the entire show.

The play's intimacy is its best asset. It takes its time revealing its secrets, letting the audience piece together a sordid picture of a broken family. Then it ends on a note that's neither high nor loud--just small, as befits the play.

One may either find it touching, or quietly wonder whether all that meandering and narrative plodding actually went somewhere.

'Loyalist'

On the opposite end of the spectrum are two of the loudest and, by virtue of material, most relevant plays of the festival.

Kanakan Balintagos' "Loyalist," directed by Lawrence Fajardo, concerns a mother-and-son tandem in 1991, on the day of the Marcoses' return to the Philippines. It may as well be 2016, to judge solely by the mother's adoration for Imelda.

Irma Adlawan plays the mother to rollicking perfection and glowing ease; the son, a UP student with leftist leanings, is played by Abner Delina Jr., who employs his by-now familiar fidgety acting kinetics.

Up to a certain point, there's no stopping "Loyalist" from hitting the right comedic notes. Then it descends into maudlin territory, resorting to a longwinded narration of the past and the horrors of Martial Law to get its point across. Thus, its climactic memory scene becomes pointless in its staleness.

'Bait'

Guelan Luarca's "Bait" is even more polarizing. A Muslim kid has had his Quran desecrated, so he pushes the offender, a fellow classmate, off a building. Now the Muslim boy's father and a teacher find themselves in a heated discussion about Islam, cultural differences, respect, tolerance and forgiveness.

In the age of the Syrian refugee crisis and other horrors caused by the Islamic State, it is very easy to see how "Bait" deserves to be heard by an audience. At one point, the word "extremist" pops up in the conversation.

But Luarca appears to forget this is the theater. One does not simply string together a set of arguments, to be spoken by archetypes, and pass it off as a play. Else, you get a piece that's manipulative, exasperatingly didactic and, for a playwright of Luarca's caliber, highly disappointing.

With Mara Marasigan's unsophisticated direction, Renante Bustamante (as the father) and Kalil Almonte (miscast as the teacher) are left to their own devices, spouting rhetoric in deafening decibels.

'Marte'

Eliza Victoria's "Marte," directed by George de Jesus III, offers some semblance of novelty by setting the play in Mars at a time when corporations have extended their reach beyond the atmosphere. And that is about its most interesting aspect.

Featuring what is unarguably the Labfest's most intricate set (resembling a miniature Dumbledore's office from the "Harry Potter" movies), "Marte" is more than anything a statement on its first-time playwright. Victoria, one of the country's best speculative fictionists, would do well to work more on her dialogue and the subsequent theatrical realization of her make-believe world.

Even the best efforts of Martha Comia and a completely believable Stella Cañete-Mendoza aren't enough to usher this play away from dreary soap-opera territory.

'Si Jaya, si Ronda, si Barbra at ang Mahiwagang Kanta'

The Labfest entry with the longest title, "Si Jaya, si Ronda, si Barbra at ang Mahiwagang Kanta," also feels the longest.

In a karaoke bar, three women--a politician's wife, an OFW and a self-styled fortune-teller--reunite and sing their hearts out. Also, they attempt to contact the spirits and fight for a supposedly magical token.

This play (directed by Roobak Valle) is a comedy, and actresses Doreen Bernal and Dorothy Matriano make damn sure the audience gets that by visibly and self-consciously trying to land punchline after punchline. For almost an hour, playwright Oggie Arcenas laboriously builds his story on gag upon gag, and before long it reaches a tiresome point.

Then, he proceeds to write what could be the most indolent ending for a play this reviewer has seen in at least the past seven years, sucking out whatever little sense is left in the entire endeavor.

'Bahay-bahayan, Tagu-taguan'

Herlyn Alegre's "Bahay-bahayan, Tagu-taguan," directed by Ricardo Magno, isn't as disrespectful to the notion of storytelling. Here the playwright once again explores the idea of displacement (familiar ground for her), this time in a refugee camp.

The production, however, demands too much from the viewer, and gives too little in return. The notion of home is scrutinized in manifold ways, most of them echoing each other. The play fancies itself a figurative piece, but the tone and delivery are mostly literal, with even the actors appearing not too invested in what their characters are saying.

'Dahan-dahan ang Paglubog ng Araw'

As for Jose Socrates delos Reyes' "Dahan-dahan ang Paglubog ng Araw," about a teenage daughter and her cancer-stricken father (set to the tune of Simon and Garfunkel)--well, where to begin?

In brief, and going back to the festival's catchphrase, the concept is neither untried nor untested. One can only imagine how things would have turned out had director Adolf Alix somehow found a way to sprinkle a bit more virgin freshness on the tedious material.

Staged reading, revisited plays

The presence of middling material makes one wonder, really, why something like Vincent de Jesus' "Changing Partners" wasn't chosen instead for the main lineup.

As a staged reading directed by Rem Zamora, this one-act musical is already a fully realized show, featuring heartrending turns from Sandino Martin and Giannina Ocampo, and providing a home for one of de Jesus' best songs, "Ang Maamong Mukha ng Pag-ibig Mong Sinungaling."

As for the Revisited set, Juan Miguel Severo's "Hintayan ng Langit" remains the same lightweight, "kilig"-driven crowdpleaser; while Maynard Manansala's "Dalawang Gabi" becomes a misfire with its new lead actress, Candy Pangilinan, who spouts the best of the playwright's deliberately written lines with not much thought.

Eljay Deldoc Castro's "Si Maria Isabella at ang Guryon ng Mga Tala," however, has only grown more beautiful in stature. The young cast assembled by Ed Lacson Jr. are now clearly more comfortable with their roles, able to let more of the story's comedy surface.

At one "Guryon" performance, a gaffe with the prop kite was quickly salvaged by the cast and turned into an opportunity for ad-libbing, to the audience's delight. Now that's how you tell a winning story.

PDI Review: 'American Idiot' by 9 Works Theatrical

In which I call "American Idiot" one of the essential rock albums of the new millennium. The online version of my review here.

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Out of rage and love--a rousing 'American Idiot'

This is how you watch the show for free.

You don't have to buy a ticket to see 9 Works Theatrical's production of the jukebox musical "American Idiot," now playing at the newly erected Bonifacio High Street Amphitheater until July 10.

Pay a couple thousand pesos and you get a seat in the covered "amphitheater" (really a makeshift stage like the ones built for outdoor raves and concerts). Otherwise, you can easily claim your spot beyond the perimeter railing and watch for free, weather permitting.

"Accidental theater" is what the producers are supposedly aiming for, a chance for those who can't afford a ticket to still be able to experience this form of live entertainment. It's an idea that may not sit comfortably with some, but you have to give it to the producers for not giving a (expletive) about what highbrow, elitist theater may have to say.

Sensory overload

Still, here's some sage advice: Buy a ticket. It's not enough to just "see" this "American Idiot"; one must "experience" it.

This is what it truly looks and feels like to have rock music make its way onstage and just smash all the rules of traditional theater to smithereens: dazzling neon lights, abstract video projections, the sound blaring overhead, bodies running up and down and back and forth a skeletal set. At some point, you find yourself at a loss as to where to look or what to listen to.

This is theater as sensory overload, a consummate marriage of topnotch production values--which includes Martin Esteva's lights, Mio Infante's scenography and GA Fallarme's projections--and Robbie Guevara's perceptive directorial choices. After all, one does not simply dive into the heart of a punk-rock musical without a brain and an eye for the proper aesthetic.

Charles Isherwood of The New York Times, in his review of the musical's Broadway premiere back in 2010, called "American Idiot" "a true rock opera." It's not entirely clear what he meant by that phrase, but Guevara's production, on account of its scope of feeling and thrilling musicality alone, sure feels like an opera.

Arresting

There's not much in the way of a story here--three disillusioned suburban American youths dealing with sex, drugs, impending adulthood and Bush Jr.'s warmongering. But my, how astutely it captures the swirling confusion and electric charge that define this slice of a young man's life. 

It's the need to satisfy one's desires and establish one's place in society that every production of "American Idiot" needs to illustrate to its viewers, and which this one fleshes out in more arresting ways than one.

That's not to say this "American Idiot" is without its imperfections. But for every Miggy Chavez (of the band Chicosci), who looks and sounds woefully out of place, or Rivermaya's Jason Fernandez, who sings alluringly but needs to get rid of his one-note speaking style, there's Basti Artadi, roaring his way through the role of St. Jimmy, a figment of the lead character Johnny's imagination now made throughly corporeal with this roof-blasting interpretation.

If anything, Guevara's cast, which also includes Yanah Laurel and Nel Gomez in standout supporting turns, powerfully makes the case for "American Idiot," the Green Day album that makes up the core of the musical's score, as one of the new millennium's essential rock albums.

Showstoppers

Under Guevara's ministrations, plus PJ Rebullida's hyperkinetic choreography, the likes of "21 Guns" are transformed into genuine showstoppers, while "Holiday," staged with confetti and balletic rolls of tissue, has become the perfect snapshot of this musical's wet-and-wild spirit.

"I'm the son of rage and love" goes one lyric early in the show. "I don't care if you don't care" goes another, rhythmically repeated.

If only living were that easy, where words and actions exist in a vacuum, and other lives don't matter. It's a primal desire of the spirit, one that's barely spoken of because deemed unacceptable by the norms of society.

It's also this very desire, this rage and storm of untempered emotions, that pervades this "American Idiot" and makes it worth the price of admission.

PDI Review: 'Godspell' by MusicArtes, Inc.

Back to the theater and to reviewing after almost two months! The online version here.

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Anton Juan's 'Godspell': Lessons on injustice and overkill

Center: Titas of Manila fawning over Jef Flores during curtain call.

MusicArtes, Inc.'s "Godspell" is a river of good intentions and thought-provoking vision. Yet this river tends to overflow, and the deluge isn't "all good gifts," to borrow from one of its songs.

There are compelling reasons that make this "Godspell" worth a look. Chief among them is director Anton Juan's mission to "re-do this musical in more profound connection to the mission of social justice," as he writes in his director's notes.

Anyone who knows "Godspell" knows how light and lighthearted it is, an easy-breezy, essentially plotless collection of New Testament parables set to song by John Michael Tebelak and Stephen Schwartz (of "Wicked" fame).

The mere mention of profundity sets it up as a transfiguration not to be missed.

And to some extent, it does deliver on that promise. This "Godspell" means to reach deep into your conscience and stir your social consciousness. In its finest moments, it spins music, movement and scenery into spellbinding instances of theatrical poetry reflective of our troubled days.

It begins with the transposition of the musical's setting to a junkyard, where the cast plays out the Biblical scenes garbed in raggedy silhouette costumes (the production designer is Otto Hernandez).

Where are we, and who are these people? Gypsies from the Bosnian War? Extras from Disney's "The Hunchback of Notre Dame"? A low-rent production of Andrew Lloyd Webber's "Cats"?

Specifics no longer matter here, because as soon as this "Godspell" starts, it becomes a sociopolitical road trip.

Video projections loom large on the wall and accompany the songs and all the talk in between. Time becomes irrelevant: John Paul Sartre, Adolf Hitler, Donald Trump, the Lumad killings, and, most notably, the Syrian refugees all appear in this production.

This is how Juan's "Godspell" becomes a two-and-a-half-hour reminder of how and why we've arrived at this point in history, the simplicity of those Biblical tales ingeniously contrasted against the perfect images.

At one point, there is mention of thieves, then Mike Alquinto's viral photo of Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo receiving holy communion fills the wall.

This production is the director's mind laid bare. This is Juan as champion of the oppressed, and theater as indictment of our society.

It is powerful this way. It also feels too long and tends to get exhausting.

Part of its seemingly unreasonable length can be blamed on the gimmickry fueling (and bloating) this production. Skits are expanded, games introduced, and there's even a sing-along portion.

They don't work all the time, however, and not always do they feel necessary. The Parable of the Prodigal Son with Japanese characters is downright funny; the dragged-out audience-participation segment using charades can be snipped out.

It's times like this that make you wonder how the director couldn't just trust his actors and the song numbers to shine through on their own--they're already working with Ejay Yatco's subtle but effective restyling of the score, for starters.

Jef's Jesus

Speaking of the actors, here's another heretic thought: More critical observers of the musical theater scene might find some of the singing slightly underwhelming, considering "Godspell" essentially plays out like a protracted concert.

The main attraction here is really Jef Flores, whose Jesus can only be described as divine. Not only does he look the part (based on how centuries of paintings and pictures have depicted the Christ), he also exudes charisma and has that Messianic, follow-me-to-the-ends-of-the-world manner of speech down pat.

"Beautiful City" is also the only number in the show left unapplauded, so poignant and evocative is Flores' rendition of his character's solo.

The rest of the cast don't get to distinguish themselves as terrifically, though, save for two: Maronne Cruz and Abi Sulit, as the "Learn Your Lessons Well" and "Bless the Lord" soloists, respectively.

Both first made their names through Ateneo Blue Repertory and have had forays into the professional world; in "Godspell," they finally leave their permanent mark on the audience's minds.

In the end, it all goes back to Juan's directorial and conceptual choices. The question now is: Where does one draw the line? Because there still has to be a line, despite one's noble intentions and admirable beliefs.

Otherwise you get a production that starts out big and ends up cluttered, where points are drilled into the audience's eyes to the point of redundancy.

Half the time, the video projections aren't even clear because of John Batalla's lights. (Make no mistake, the lighting is excellent, but the beams are too bright relative to the projections.)

Whenever this "Godspell" works, its elements cohering to produce a singular experience, it can be quite breathtaking.

But when it doesn't, when it all teeters on the edge of self-indulgence and becomes a long-winded commentary of questionable purpose on the state of the planet, a glance at the exit and a stifled yawn are only reflexive.

A final illustration: Near the end of Act II, Flores as Jesus turns his back to the audience, his arms slung across a wooden pole; on the wall, as if a mirror, a painting of the crucified Christ. It's one of the many striking images this "Godspell" has to offer.

Then comes a slew of Senakulo photos, and what the exact purpose of this montage is, one can only imagine.

Now that's just overkill.

The Day Shit Happened in PGH--and We Spoke Up

Putting this here because years from now, we'll look back at this moment and remember everything we went through, and how we emerged from this unjustifiable situation stronger and better doctors. It's no longer a question of whether we can surmount this shitstorm we've found ourselves in; no doubt we will, because we have no other choice.

Hello, PGH and UP Medicine admin: Whatever happened to being 'five-star physicians'? Two years ago, you refused to listen; now you've created disaster, and you want this photo taken down? The idea alone merits the finger, so here's one for you.

And to those who are calling us "entitled millennials," to those who are saying "we had it worse during our time" or that "it gets worse during residency," you obviously have no idea about the shit you're talking about. You want to compare notes? Come back to us when you've gone on duty as the lone intern in a labor-delivery room complex that's operating at four times beyond capacity, or as the lone OB admitting section intern who also plays medtech and nurse and pacificist and "manong." 

And to those who are saying "other hospitals have it worse," shame on you. It's sad how some people--many of them smart, UP-educated doctors--choose to preserve the status quo instead of fighting the noble fight. You want to settle? Fine, but also surrender your license and/or UP diploma. 

One of the most important things UP has taught me is to never just keep quiet. To speak up, and speak out. To fight back when things have gone too damn unreasonable. Now is one such instance, and what you're hearing is the collective anger of the betrayed, the ones who've been stretched too far. 

Never been prouder to be part of UP Medicine Class of 2016. XVIWK!

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Above is a photo of the Philippine General Hospital emergency room triage section--the lobby, if you may--taken by my classmate Leonardo Infante. From May 23-June 25, 2016, the PGH medical student workforce (upon which the hospital is highly reliant) will comprise only of 140 interns (our batch). For comparison, normally you have anywhere between 260 to 400-something medical students, including post-graduate interns from other schools and the UP Medicine clerks, helping run a system that's somehow managed to function all these years. Because of a combination of arrogance and a lack of foresight from the higher-ups, we now find ourselves in a fucked-up place and time.

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For a more sober take on the situation, read Dr. Ronnie Baticulon:

http://ronibats.ph/2016/saving-the-filipino-patient/

PDI Review: 'The Pillowman' by Egg Theater Company

Tomorrow, April 24 (Sunday), three shows play their final performances: Dulaang UP's "The Dressing Room"; Repertory Philippines' "Stepping Out, The Musical"; and Egg Theater Company's "The Pillowman," my review of which is in today's paper--here.

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The devil lurks in the devilishly good 'The Pillowman'

Fear--the truly hair-raising, spine-chilling sort--bears a new face in the theater these days, and his name is Renante Bustamante, who's giving a force-of-nature performance in Egg Theater Company's production of Martin McDonagh's "The Pillowman," a tale about tales and the twists and turns they can throw at an otherwise quiet life.

As the detective Tupolski, the self-appointed "good cop" in a tandem sent to interrogate the writer Katurian (Gabs Santos) about a series of grisly murders, Bustamante hardly looks the part. But stare into his eyes a second longer and let his voice linger in your ears, and you'll be surprised at how quickly your spirit shrinks and bends to this man's will.

Magnetic figure

It may be subversive to say that Tupolski is the star of this staging of "The Pillowman," directed by George de Jesus III; that honor, at least on paper, belongs to Katurian himself. But Bustamante, with only a raised brow, a curl of the lip or the slightest shifts in a voice that seems to emanate from the bowels of the earth, cuts a magnetic, menacing figure as Tupolski, a presence looming large in a production that's often too intimate for comfort.

This is "The Pillowman" by way of De Jesus' Filipino translation, which demands more than a single listen, if only for its fine-grained linguistic switches between the pedestrian and the poetic. Crass cursing and shouting run aplenty, but so do occasions for transporting imagery and metaphor.

Katurian, you see, is the author of some 400 stories, almost all of which have to do with murdering, mangling, mutilating a child. Then a crop of kids turn up as corpses in his neighborhood, all of them dead by means creepily similar to those detailed in his stomach-churning bibliography. Thus the interrogation, which is essentially the entire play itself.

Tupolski is assisted by "bad cop" Ariel, played by Acey Aguilar, who's obviously having lots of fun with the character's temperamental, if not outright violent, nature. 

Inquisition

A second subject gets dragged into this inquisition: Katurian's brother Michal (Paul Jake Paule, alternating with Paolo O'Hara). Michal suffers from some form of developmental delay, and Paule beautifully strikes a balance between humor and pity, his wide, blank eyes and deliberately dopey delivery shaping a convincing portrait of a mind trapped in a body beyond its years.

Santos as Katurian is no slouch here, in case you're wondering; it's just that, during the quieter moments, he tends to lose grip of that burning intensity that should make Katurian a compelling protagonist throughout. (The result, perhaps, of having been away from the stage for too long?)

But throw him in the midst of a confrontation, an emotionally charged scene, and there is much truth and ardent feeling that Santos summons and sustains. Even better, his connection with Paule is genuine; the bond they form as brothers is heartfelt and heartwarming.

It is this connection that renders Katurian and Michal sympathetic characters throughout the show, their pain impossible not to be felt despite the eventual revelations. Much of this empathy is also a direct consequence of the staging. With its theater-in-the-round setup--the edges of the stage are literally next to the viewer's feet--this production ensures that the audience misses nothing, not a single punch or kick or graphic gunshot.

Yardstick

The staging is only one of the differences between this "Pillowman" and the first time the play was staged in Manila two years ago--a one-night-only reading of the original script by The Sandbox Collective during the Imaginarium festival at the Peta Theater Center.

That show, directed by Ed Lacson Jr. and starring Audie Gemora (Katurian) and Richard Cunanan (Tupolski), was "the year's most entrancing piece of theater," we wrote, and remains a yardstick for any subsequent production of the play hereabouts.

Lacson's "Pillowman" appeared to hew closer to McDonagh's original vision for the play. Never less than funny, it was black comedy from start to finish, the gripping stories within seizing the spotlight.

De Jesus' "Pillowman" feels like a whole other creature. The stories and their repugnant, comedic nature are still there, given conscientious treatment by Joee Mejias' charming video projections, but they are no longer its stars.

Instead, this "Pillowman" is now a procedural bereft of happy endings, and one that mirrors the corrupt practices of the times. Terms like SOCO come up in the conversation, and for a moment, you wonder just exactly where we are and at what point in time--this country in a couple of years, maybe?

If Lacson's "Pillowman" left you enthralled, hungry to listen to more of these gruesome stories, this one brought about a sense of liberation. You exit the theater having seen the meltdown of goodness and the creation of dread. But you've also escaped the devil's gaze--Bustamante's eyes chillingly staring Santos' Katurian into submission--and lived to tell the tale.

PDI Review: 'Stepping Out, The Musical' by Repertory Philippines; 'Kalantiaw' by Tanghalang Ateneo

These days, Manila theater is not just all about "Les Mis." The online link to my piece in today's paper here.

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Age-defying feats in 'Stepping Out' and 'Kalantiaw'

Tanghalang Ateneo's "Kalantiaw."

It would be gratuitous to begrudge the currently running Asian touring production of "Les MIserables" its unequivocal success at The Theatre at Solaire, where it plays to sold-out crowds eight shows a week. Its design elements alone--the ravishing incorporations to the brand-new 25th anniversary staging upon which this tour is based--make it worth the expensive look.

But if you've seen or are planning to see "Les Mis," then certainly you can spare some time to check out the two homegrown productions brave enough to run alongside this foreign juggernaut.

Even better, they can very well hold their own against Cameron Mackintosh's musical in terms of the sheer talent and imaginative caliber they showcase.

Both these shows--Repertory Philippines' "Stepping Out, The Musical" and Tanghalang Ateneo's "Kalantiaw"--opened last week to little fanfare. Yet, they make Jean Valjean's zippy (and occasionally unconvincing) excursion through the aging process look like catnip.

'Stepping Out'

A gaggle of women and one man who meet once a week at a tap-dancing class are the stars of "Stepping Out," written by Richard Harris based on his original nonmusical version of the play, with largely forgettable songs that do serve their function in character exposition and narrative propulsion (music by Denis King, lyrics by Mary Stewart-David).

Miguel Faustmann's set design literally expands the stage of Greenbelt's Onstage Theater sideways, and the deliberately low-rent furnishings effectively give this make-believe dance studio a beat-up look. (There is also a bar scene wittingly lifted straight off the pages of "Miss Saigon.")

Still, on paper, "Stepping Out" sounds like an alternating leisurely walk and trudge. There isn't anything remarkable with its story--motley crew of old and young Britons prepare for a community presentation--nor are its characters interesting or novel enough to really sustain our attention. And the conflicts do tend to feel contrived.

It's the cast assembled by director Jaime del Mundo that provides zest and zaps of energy to the otherwise middling material, and keeps the audience glued to the proceedings all the way to the slightly scintillating surprise at curtain call.

Crackling cohesion

Del Mundo, one of the few who can whip a production to opening-night perfection by its first performance, here gives us a delectable panoply of some of local musical theater's finest actresses (plus an appropriately subdued Raymund Concepcion) working in crackling cohesion as an ensemble.

Some, like Cara Barredo and Natalie Everett--reliable Rep regulars--manage to supply dimensions to their blandly written characters. Others finally get to sink their teeth into roles worth their weight, such as Angela Padilla, a last-minute addition to the cast, who plays the group's dance instructor with beautifully understated authority.

And then there are the grand dames of Philippine theater, the likes of Joy Virata, Bituin Escalante and even the comebacking EJ Villacorta, who voraciously pounce upon their parts and every so often threaten to walk away with the show.

Here they play women of a certain age who have discovered the rejuvenating powers of dance, and their performances can definitely teach the younger generation a thing or two about comedic timing, line delivery and body language.

They light up every single scene they're in, whether with just a perfectly timed retort to a harmless "hello," as in the case of Virata, who hasn't had a role this good since "Mind's Eye" a few years back; or a bombastic song number that literally screams "bootylicious," as in Escalante, who plays a vaguely Black or Caribbean woman with a winning accent.

Their characters may be well past their prime, but look how they're claiming this newfound youth with aplomb. Truly, the body may wither, but the spirit remains a child, and talent, their storied theatrical arsenal, is ageless.

'Kalantiaw'

The reverse takes place in "Kalantiaw": a scrappy band of university students aging themselves so convincingly, in a play that grabs at you in unexpected ways.

If we're being clear-eyed about it, it wouldn't be baseless to proclaim this production Tanghalang Ateneo's best since its electrifying take on Han Ong's "Middle Finger" two years ago.

But really, it's amazing what wonders a small student-run show can achieve with so little, and in a span of just over an hour. In fact, "Kalantiaw," a 1994 Palanca winner by Rene Villanueva, owes much of its dramatic heft and potency to its brevity.

The topic: a famous hoax that marred our history books for some time, the infamous Code of Kalantiaw, which was passed off by one José E. Marco as a landmark anthropological discovery akin to that of the Code of Hammurabi. It has since been proven fake, and "Kalantiaw" imagines an unnamed young historian unearthing the truth through a mesmerizing blend of history and drama, past and present, fact and fiction.

What the play asks its audience are questions that still pound the heart with burning relevance, especially now with the coming national elections. Historical revisionism and the shameless vandalizing of our past, for example--as well as notions of history as the product of a people's choices, as the version of the mighty, or as an ongoing story reflecting a way of life--ring with clarity here, as if they're being proposed for the first time.

Celebration

It's one of the many pleasurable achievements provided by Charles Yee's direction that "Kalantiaw" literally screams "Theater!"--this enthrallingly stylized production marking out its young director as primed for the big leagues.

The set designer is Ed Lacson Jr., who, with just tons of paper, transforms the stage of the Ateneo's Rizal Mini-Theater into a wasteland where falsehood and confusion loom high. (The lampposts, he reportedly built out of illustration boards--school materials for this quick history lesson?)

Together with choreographer Gio Gahol, lighting designer Meliton Roxas Jr. (his brown and sepia tones adding years to this show's look), costume designer Carlo Pagunaling (history personified as a woman wrapped in a papery gown, anyone?) and sound designer Jeff Hernandez, Yee and Lacson craft spellbinding tableaus out of crumpled paper and bodies floundering and falling.

The cast thankfully live up to the challenges imposed by this slyly cerebral production. In particular, John Sanchez and Brian Ramos are completely believable as José E. Marco and the young historian, respectively, each one an equally commanding presence onstage. And Yvonne Ricaro (as Marco's wife) and Jonnel Inojosa (as the old historian) raise the bar even further in this age-defying act.

It goes without saying, then, that "Kalantiaw" is a celebration of everything that theater represents: ingenuity, imagination, panache where it matters, and that rare ability to overcome so many odds (foremost of which is a script swirling in lyrical, formalistic Filipino)--compelling reason, really, why local theater deserves as big an audience as those visiting denizens of the barricades at Solaire.

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"Stepping Out" runs until April 24 at Onstage Greenbelt Theater in Greenbelt 1, Makati City. Performances on Friday at 8PM, Saturday at 3:30PM and 8PM and Sunday at 3:30PM. Call 843-3570.

"Kalantiaw" runs until April 16 at Rizal Mini-Theater in the Ateneo de Manila University, Quezon City. Performances from Tuesday to Saturday at 7PM, with 2PM shows on Saturday. Call 0917-926-8196.

Two other shows opened this week:

Dulaang UP's "The Dressing Room: That Which Flows Away Ultimately Becomes Nostalgia" by Shimizu Kunio, presented in both English (all-female cast) and Filipino (all-male cast). Performances at the Guerrero Theater in Palma Hall, UP Diliman from Wednesday to Friday at 7PM and Saturday and Sunday at 10AM and 3PM.

Egg Theater Company's "The Pillowman," with a Filipino translation by George de Jesus III. Performances at Pineapple Lab near Powerplant Mall, Rockwell, Makati City on April 8-10 and 22-24 at 8PM.

PDI Review: 'Tiyo Vanya' by Tanghalang Pilipino

In today's paper, my review of "Tiyo Vanya," a "recital" by the Tanghalang Pilipino Actors' Company last March 18--the online version here. I also talk about Rolando Tinio here, a day after that freakin' fire at the UP Diliman Faculty Center, where his original manuscripts were supposedly kept. Shit.

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'Tiyo Vanya' ought to visit again--and stay longer

Tanghalang Pilipino's (TP) two-performances-only staging of the Anton Chekhov classic "Uncle Vanya"--now "Tiyo Vanya" with a Filipino translation by the peerless Rolando Tinio--was billed as a "recital" by the TP Actors' Company, a culminating activity of sorts for their script analysis class under Dennis Marasigan.

Well, then, if only recitals were always as movingly acted and perceptively staged as this undeservedly short-lived production. As the theater calendar heads into the lull of summer workshop season, the sensible next move for TP would actually be to take a long second look at its next season's lineup and ensure this "Tiyo Vanya" gets its glowing spot in there. 

After all, how often do we see Chekhov on our stages? Early last year, we had Philippine Educational Theater Association's "Arbol de Fuego," Rody Vera's superb adaptation of "The Cherry Orchard," directed by Loy Arcenas and starring Cherie Gil as a Negrense plantation heiress on the brink of bankruptcy. 

But then you'd have to go back almost three years to find another major Chekhov: Dulaang UP's "The Seagull," which was presented in both English (with the sublime Ana Abad Santos taking charge as the faded actress Arkadina) and Filipino (utilizing another of Tinio's indispensable translations).

Visits by the Russian playwright on our shores ought to be moments of celebration then, especially when done right--the tragicomic elements that mark his works thoughtfully and thoroughly fleshed out.

Random flow of life

Charles Spencer, who for the longest time served as chief drama critic of the London-based The Daily Telegraph, often wrote that in the best productions of "Uncle Vanya," "you seem to be watching the apparent random flow of life itself rather than a carefully meditated work of art."

One could say this about the best moments in TP's "Tiyo Vanya," whose focus seemed shafted toward tragedy. The dacha where Chekhov's Russian aristocrats roamed now seemed a ruthlessly sunless place, a remote, rundown estate where the hopeless gather to rue the day.

The sense of ennui and regret hung thick in the air: These people were either so bored with their lives, or sick and tired of living. It's an illness that affected everybody, but more prominently the men--Jonathan Tadioan's brutish, blundering Vanya; Marco Viaña's charismatic but cynical Doctor Astrov; and JV Ibesate's egotistical Serebryakov.

Their women, in turn, bore the brunt of their blistering behavior: Antonette Go, steely in her silence as Yelena, the subject of both Vanya and Astrov's maddening affections; and Doray Dayao as the homely Sonya, whose love for Astrov goes unrequited.

That is to say, the world conjured in this "Tiyo Vanya" is a product of superb ensemble-playing, almost every performer finely attuned to the movements and language of the rest (the unfortunate glaring exception being guest artist Christine Penserga as Vanya's mother; she seemed to inhabit a world of her own).

Piercing quiet

An even bigger reason, then, why this "Vanya" deserves a longer life: How often do we get to see a so-called Actors' Company actually become a genuine "actors' company"?

Those of us who've tirelessly followed the theater scene for at least the past four years have seen these actors in a myriad of shows and roles, all the way to TP's latest hit, the splashy historical romp "Mabining Mandirigma."

Two Tinio translations figure prominently in our memories: 2013's "Der Kaufmann/Ang Negosyante ng Venecia" (Shakespeare's "The Merchant of Venice," but reworked by Vera) and 2014's "Pahimakas sa Isang Ahente (Arthur Miller's "Death of a Salesman").

Both had Tadioan and Viaña splendidly essaying major parts--Shylock and Antonio in "Der Kaufmann"; Willy and Biff Loman in "Pahimakas," respectively--with Go, Ibesate, Dayao, Aldo Vencilao and Lhorvie Nuevo in various supporting roles.

The stripped-down setting of "Tiyo Vanya" marvelously magnified these actors' beautiful onstage harmony.

In the piercing quiet of this production, it was as if each one now lived under each other's skin--acting as a whole, their rhythms familiar, their presence no longer discrete or disparate. They've come a long way, this actors' company, and it showed in "Tiyo Vanya."

However, that it ran for only a day meant very few people saw it--and isn't that a great tragedy?

PDI Review: Fringe Manila 2016 ('Schism'; 'Titas of Manila'; 'We Choose to Go to the Moon')

Still haven't figured out what exactly happened to Fringe Manila this year, and don't care to find out anymore. But there wasn't a bad egg among the four shows I saw, which included Twin Bill Productions' "Dog Sees God" (the marvelous surprise of which was Vince Lim). My reviews of the three others are in today's paper - here.

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Gossipmongers, spunky 'titas' and emotional wrecks at Fringe Manila

Trency Caga-anan during curtain call of "Titas of Manila."

The urge to take a bath after watching "Schism" was strong. It's a dirty play littered with disgusting people, though you wouldn't know it if they only kept quiet. Get one foot out the door and chances are, they're probably stabbing you in the back already.

It's another swarm of odd theatrical creatures George de Jesus III has created for "Schism," his second play under Egg Theater Company to premiere at Fringe Manila. But while his first, "Maniacal," featured characters that more strongly adhered to stereotypes--the temperamental diva, the famous film import, the delusional actress--those distinctions were no longer as vital in "Schism."

Dropped to a minimum, too, was the name-dropping that made "Maniacal" a laugh-your-heart-out, leave-no-prisoner-alive satire of the current theater industry. Instead, the people in "Schism" lived in a nest of gossip and lies, like serpents slithering between truth and untruth, the spoken and unspoken.

It's still effective, compellingly written backstage drama, but this time everything felt more organic, in-your-skin, real, the characters seemingly plucked from the same rotten branch.

Maybe it's because we've grown accustomed to a world where it is easier to pretend, to be dishonest, to be "kind"; where shoving aside hard truths in favor of artifice is considered socially normative; where being nice is what everyone expects from everybody else.

Only the character of the playwright Alex, embodied with moving vulnerability and transparency by Tuxqs Rutaquio, begged to differ. And because he actually had the balls to do so, the whole universe, as it were, conspired against him.

Everybody else around him--a first-rate ensemble that featured such fine turns by Angeli Bayani, Chinie Concepcion and Jojo Riguerra--dared not speak or walk the truth.

And when the dust had finally settled, the question De Jesus had been asking throughout those 90 minutes of tantalizing tittle-tattle rang even louder: Is it all worth it--standing up for what's morally right and turning oneself into a social pariah, isolated on the other side of this "schism"?

'Titas of Manila'

Two other works made their respective marks in this year's Fringe Manila, which, it must be said, arrived in a package so thin, transient and truncated, it hardly registered on the cultural barometer.

ADHD Productions' "Titas of Manila" called to mind their previous entry, "Kwentong Komyut": Both utilized the five-short-plays-in-a-play format to flesh out a singular theme.

"Titas of Manila," which enjoyed a sold-out run, obviously took inspiration from the Twitter account of the same name, itself a parody of that middle-aged female relative who thrives in pointing out how fat you've become, or that you're still single after all this time.

We can do without delving into the finer points of the word "tita," its regional and social contextual implications. "Titas of Manila" was, on the whole, a fresh, insightful piece from a refreshingly new player in the theater scene.

Sure, some segments were better written, and better acted, than others. And Jethro Tenorio's direction didn't exactly manage to fine-tune all five sketches into the same plane. 

Yet, it gave us "Forever Young" by Dolly Dulu (who also penned the best chunk of "Kwentong Komyut," about a quirky pair of ex-gay-lovers on their way to a Halloween party).

True to its title, "Forever Young" was about the young-at-heart tita, the one who's taking the world by storm through Zumba and her choice of boys, the one who's had enough of dreary marriages and cheating husbands and cheap divorces.

More than anything, however, this segment was a pleasant reminder of why theater festivals such as Fringe and the Virgin Labfest are vital to the industry, if only because they serve as launching pads for raw, untainted talent.

In the case of "Forever Young," it was the potent combination of Dulu's snappy, unpretentious writing, and a blazing performance by Trency Caga-anan, she of limitless spunk and fiery sensuality, that all but assured her a spot in our theatergoing maps.

'We Choose to Go to the Moon'

There were no standout performers in Vlademeir Gonzales' "We Choose to Go to the Moon," produced by Project Mayheim Productions, and that could only be because its cast cohered so seamlessly to produce a work that tickled the mind and never really left it.

Directed with flair by Fitz Edward Bitana, "We Choose to Go to the Moon" was a searching, intelligent piece on sexual and emotional connection told through the (interconnected) lives of strangers.

It wasn't always an easy watch: Particularly during the first act, the feeling that one was inside someone else's mind on a burnout daze was hard to shake off. But whoever said connecting to another person on any level is a walk in the park?

What gratification is there to be had in paying for sex? How far can one stretch the heart before a long-distance relationship starts tearing it up? What has become of this generation, where smart phones are now metallic extensions of our limbs?

The questions and ideas ran aplenty across the sprawling fabric of modern-day ennui wrapped around "We Choose to Go to the Moon," and that the answers did not always arrive immediately could only be reason for this production to experience a rebirth. This show, as it was, deserved it.