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 Ateneo's 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 theatergoing 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, now 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-seater 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 member of the production team revealed in a pre-opening spiel, many of the cast members had in fact never acted onstage before.

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. That is, 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. Onstage, she was visibly already at ease under the spotlight, and moved with the kind of 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, on the other hand, is the definition of reinvention (it plays its last two performances 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 in 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 transferring to the 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 liberal politics’ point of view, 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 leveled-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, are never 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 repeating preceding dialogue, for example. The musical hits three hours with intermission. And the small, heartbreaking sequences (notably, when the father of Ramos’ character passes away) have been diluted in impact as a consequence of 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 newbie to theater 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-COVID 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. With 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, showstopping 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, in being rendered 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. In 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 to have played 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 from 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 of them 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 their 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.

Diarist Feature: Menchu Lauchengco-Yulo in 'Kimberly Akimbo'

Haven't done a profile in quite a while--this latest one was propelled by the question, "Whatever happened to Stages' The Light in the Piazza in 2011?" Website version here.

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Menchu Lauchengco-Yulo remakes Menchu Lauchengco-Yulo

Inside the Victoria Theatre, Singapore, on gala night of Kimberly Akimbo.

In October 2022, with Broadway already a full year into its post-COVID reopening, Menchu Lauchengco-Yulo again found herself watching as many productions as she could in the famed New York City theater district. Among the shows she caught were A Strange Loop, the latest Tony Award winner for Best Musical; a revival of Stephen Sondheim’s Into the Woods starring Sara Bareilles; another revival—Funny Girl’s first, recently recast with Lea Michele in the lead; and a new musical that, only months earlier, had bagged top prizes at the Drama Desk, Outer Critics Circle, Lucille Lortel, and New York Drama Critics Circle awards.

That last show was Jeanine Tesori and David Lindsay-Abaire’s Kimberly Akimbo. Centered around the eponymous teenager whose genetic condition causes her to age four times faster than normal—thus making her look way older than her 16 years—the musical offers quite a meaty part for actresses in their 40s and beyond.

“I remember it being my favorite that season,” Lauchengco-Yulo says of the musical. “I thought to myself, ‘Hey, I can do this role! Sana someone produces it (in the Philippines)’.”

Three years after she saw that preview performance of Kimberly Akimbo on Broadway, Lauchengco-Yulo is finally taking on the titular character—for the musical’s Asian premiere, no less. This production is in Singapore, produced by Pangdemonium and running at the Victoria Theatre until November 2. Reviews of her performance have been uniformly glowing.

The call actually came two years ago in 2023, after Pangdemonium was offered the rights to stage the musical. According to Lauchengco-Yulo, company co-artistic directors (and real-life married couple) Adrian and Tracie Pang didn’t want to cement Kimberly Akimbo in their season lineup until they knew they had someone who could play the lead. “Adrian thought of me,” she says, “and I immediately said yes.”

Lauchengco-Yulo and Pang became friends after working together in Atlantis Theatrical’s God of Carnage, directed by the late Bobby Garcia. The production, co-starring Lea Salonga, first ran at Carlos P. Romulo Auditorium in RCBC Plaza, Makati City, in July 2012, before transferring to Singapore in November that year under the auspices of Singapore Repertory Theatre.

In October 2014, Lauchengco-Yulo made a brief return to the Singapore stage, when the Manila premiere of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert—produced by Full House Theater Company, for which she is co-artistic director—transferred for two weeks to Resorts World Sentosa.

‘Out of my comfort zone’

“Performing in Singapore excites me because I’m out of my comfort zone,” Lauchengco-Yulo says. “Nobody knows me here, so it’s like starting from scratch.”

According to the actress, Kimberly Akimbo is exactly the “different kind of challenge” she’s been yearning for at this point in her 47-year-long theater career. Unlike God of Carnage and Priscilla, which were “created” in the Philippines before they were brought to Singapore, Kimberly marks her first time to help build a production from the ground up in a foreign country.

“It’s a great exercise for me to work with a Singaporean team,” Lauchengco-Yulo says, even in terms of adapting to their work culture.

One significant difference she has noticed, between Singaporean and Filipino theater artists, is that the former can be “very opinionated, and they collaborate heavily with their director, whereas Filipino actors in general can be a bit shy with collaborating with their directors.”

In Singapore, “you can tell (the actors) have really thought about what they feel their character should do, whereas some Filipinos can even be scared of voicing out their opinion for fear of being wrong,” she says.

There are also differences in the logistical aspects of making a show itself. In Singapore, “you are expected to come to rehearsals already warmed up, or else you do the warm-up on your own. In Manila, we usually have body and vocal warm-ups together as a cast,” she says.

More significant are practices that Lauchengco-Yulo would also love to do in the Philippines—if it weren’t for budget concerns. For example, during adjustments for Kimberly Akimbo (or when the production finally moved out of the rehearsal hall and started rehearsing on the actual stage with the actual sets), “we had the full band even if we’re just doing the show scene by scene. If our director (Tracie Pang) wanted less or more transition music during a particular scene, the issue was fixed there and then. That’s never done in Manila because it’s expensive to have the whole band present all the time. It’s unheard of to keep the band from 11 am to 11 pm!”

Furthermore, Lauchengco-Yulo says the sound designer also watched all of their run-throughs, while the lighting designer even attended the sitzprobe—the first time the cast rehearsed with a full band or orchestra—in order to hear the musical shifts and tailor the lighting accordingly.

As for the role of Kimberly itself, Lauchengco-Yulo says the main challenge has been finding “the right balance of (portraying) a 16-year-old trapped inside the body of a 62-year-old.”

That includes, among other things, learning to skate, given that a major setting in the musical is a skating rink that serves as refuge of sorts for Kimberly and her equally lonely friends. Since Lauchengco-Yulo and most of her cast members had never skated, the rehearsal hall was specifically outfitted with skating flooring. Every day during their six-week rehearsal period that started in early September, the cast would have skating practice overseen by their choreographer. “In the beginning, we did 45 minutes a day. Now (during the show’s actual run), it’s a 15-minute warm-up,” she says.

Then, there’s the business of getting her voice back in shape.

In March 2020, right after the World Health Organization declared a global pandemic, Lauchengco-Yulo found herself in an exceptional, undesirable situation: She had to close a production that hadn’t even opened. That production was The Band’s Visit, the 2018 Tony Award winner for Best Musical that was supposed to have its Asian premiere in Manila, with Lauchengco-Yulo playing the female lead. (It would turn out to be Bobby Garcia’s final directorial work for Atlantis—and the last musical he directed in Manila. Garcia passed away in 2024, at 55 years old.)

‘To be honest, after The Band’s Visit, I was devastated...’

“To be honest, after The Band’s Visit, I was devastated. It meant my last full production was Company (the Sondheim musical staged in 2019 by Upstart Productions). The pandemic went on for two years, and I didn’t perform anymore. I really thought I was done (as an actress),” she says.

Six years since Company, Lauchengco-Yulo has appeared in two full productions, in what can only be described as her comeback year in acting. Kimberly Akimbo is the second; the first was Come From Away, the Tony-nominated musical based on the historical events that happened in the remote Canadian town of Gander following the September 11 attacks in the United States. With US airspace closed, 38 planes were diverted to Gander, and some 7,000 passengers housed and fed by local residents in the succeeding days.

Come From Away marked Asia-Pacific producing giant GMG Productions’ first foray into staging a show with an all-Filipino cast, running throughout June this year at the Samsung Performing Arts Theater. In the musical, Lauchengco-Yulo played a fictional version of Captain Beverley Bass, who piloted one of the diverted planes—a role that earned Jenn Colella an acting nomination at the 2017 Tony Awards, and which comes with the solo Me and the Sky that’s laden with a stream of punishing high notes.

“By the time Come From Away and Kimberly were offered to me, I had not sung onstage for quite some time, and of course I was much older, with less stamina,” Lauchengco-Yulo says. “But, doing these shows—particularly Kimberly—I realized I still have the stamina to take on difficult roles, though now I get exhausted more easily afterwards.”

The actress continues: “Come From Away was more of an ensemble piece, but I needed to work on my voice. (On the other hand), Kimberly is a tough show because of the vocal and emotional demands of the role. I have to have the energy of a 16-year-old—and I’m already 62. I think (the exhaustion) also comes with age because in my mind I really thought I was done performing. Rebuilding my stamina really took time.”

Doing that included studying the music with her vocal coach Mia Bolaños long before rehearsals for Kimberly Akimbo were scheduled to begin in Singapore. Moreover, Lauchengco-Yulo sought the help of her friend, musical director Rony Fortich, who taught her the notes of her character’s harmonies, so that “when I got to Singapore, alam ko na.”

“To not be able to perform for an extended five years, in my case, really makes you treasure the opportunity to go back onstage. It makes you realize the important things in life,” Lauchengco-Yulo says.

Dream roles

As an actress, she still has some dream roles: Mama Rose, the brassy, domineering protagonist of the musical Gypsy; Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard, which recently enjoyed a splashy Broadway revival led by Nicole Scherzinger (of the now-defunct girl group The Pussycat Dolls); Desiree Armfeldt, who sings the iconic Send In the Clowns in Sondheim’s A Little Night Music.

“Bobby (Garcia) also wanted to do (Sondheim’s) Follies! He talked to me about it. Sayang,” Lauchengco-Yulo adds.

Another role she hopes will happen for her soon: Margaret Johnson in the Adam Guettel-Craig Lucas musical The Light in the Piazza. She was supposed to star in the Philippine premiere of that musical, set to run at Meralco Theater in July 2011, with Jaime del Mundo directing and theater company Stages producing. However, the production was postponed indefinitely after her co-star (and would-have-been stage daughter) Karylle got cast in the Singaporean musical television series The Kitchen Musical.

Had The Light in the Piazza pushed through, Lauchengco-Yulo would have now played both of the roles for which Broadway actress Victoria Clark won her Tonys—the other being Kimberly.

“I have also never done Shakespeare!,” says Lauchengco-Yulo, who lists Lady Macbeth among the roles she’d like to tackle.

Arguably, Lauchengco-Yulo is more famous for her career in musicals. Not for nothing has she been called the “First Lady of Philippine Musical Theater”—a title that, she admits, still gets her quite shy and which she takes as a constant exhortation against complacency.

Yet, with straight plays, she’s just as formidable. At the Philstage Gawad Buhay Awards—often described as the Philippine equivalent of the Tonys—she has been nominated twice for her non-musical performances: for her starring turns in Repertory Philippines’ (Rep) Agnes of God (2017) and Red Turnip Theater’s A Doll’s House, Part 2 (2018).

Another dream play: Lillian Hellman’s The Little Foxes from 1939. In particular, she’d love to take a stab at its ambitious, greedy protagonist Regina Giddens. (In Rep’s 1981 production helmed by the late Zenaida “Bibot” Amador, she played Regina’s daughter Alexandra opposite company cofounder Baby Barredo as her stage mother.)

Asked to choose between acting and directing, Lauchengco-Yulo says she finds the latter “slightly more difficult”—a challenge she really enjoys. Her four Gawad Buhay nominations, for Little Women (2010), Peter Pan (2011), Jekyll and Hyde (2012), and last year’s I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change—all produced by Rep—attest to her flair for this aspect of making theater. In fact, before the offers came for Come From Away and Kimberly Akimbo, she had resigned herself to a career of just directing for the stage.

Given the chance, Lauchengco-Yulo says she’d love to rethink three musicals she’s done in Manila: The Secret Garden, Passion, and Evita.

That last one, she did in 1995, when Rep staged it for the second time (since then, it hasn’t been done professionally in the capital region). At 32—and a mother of two young kids—she essayed the titular role of Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice’s sung-through musical about Argentinian politician Eva Perón—notoriously one of the most vocally taxing parts in the Broadway canon.

For that Rep production at Meralco Theater, Amador was director, Michael Williams and Jaime Blanch alternated in the role of Che (the everyman cum narrator), and the late Miguel Faustmann played Eva’s husband Juan Perón. Following the usual practice since the musical first made a splash on London’s West End and then Broadway, another actress—Carla Martinez—alternated as Eva with Lauchengco-Yulo.

“It’s crazy to sing that score twice in one day!” says Lauchengco-Yulo. “I love the music, and (the musical) has a strong female character, so (I’d love to try) adapting it into something that could be relatable now.

“The biggest challenge (with staging Evita) is finding an Eva. Grabe ang range required—I spent six months training for that show! I ended up knowing the entire score on the first day of rehearsals. My kids even had cameo bits in one scene. Now they’re all grown up and successful.”

TheaterFansManila Review: 'Kimberly Akimbo' by Pangdemonium

 Made my TFM debut today with the show we spent 40 hours in Singapore for. The website version here.

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A sublime Menchu Lauchengco-Yulo in an askew 'Kimberly Akimbo'

Curtain call at the Oct. 18 gala night of 'Kimberly Akimbo'.

First off, the big question Filipino theatergoers must be asking: How is Menchu Lauchengco-Yulo in the currently running Asian premiere of Kimberly Akimbo in Singapore?

In a word—sublime. Playing the titular character of a teenager burdened with a prematurely aging body, Lauchengco-Yulo is a portrait of actorly intelligence. Onstage at the Victoria Theatre, where the Tony-winning musical runs until Nov. 2 under production company Pangdemonium, she is far and away the clearest presence—not only in terms of basic intelligibility, but, more crucially, in terms of articulating her character’s emotional details and mapping out its psychological trajectory.

In Kimberly Akimbo, the protagonist is affected by a genetic disorder that gives her the physical appearance of an elderly woman even though she’s only about to turn 16. This clinical affliction supplies a convenient metaphor for the larger world she inhabits: one where people never really act, or at least feel, their age; where the adults are constantly unreliable and the kids are mostly left on their own to navigate the project of growing up. In Kimberly’s case, she has to deal with parents who have never come to terms with their daughter’s condition, and an aunt who is a receptacle of trouble, in addition to being the odd-looking new kid in town at the story’s start.

Lauchengco-Yulo captures all that in a performance that’s so grounded and well thought out, the music (by Jeanine Tesori and David Lindsay-Abaire) seems to emanate straight out of her thoughts. One all but forgets she’s a grown woman in makeup; you completely buy her Kimberly’s adolescent worries, her fleeting moments of joy, her sense of isolation stemming partly from living a timeline separate from her peers.

Well-designed show

Unfortunately, the same can’t exactly be said for the rest of the production helmed by Pangdemonium cofounder and co-artistic director Tracie Pang. To be clear, it is a well-designed show: Taken together, Eucien Chia’s set, James Tan’s lights, Leonard Augustine Choo’s costumes, and Jing Ng’s soundscape succeed not only in evoking the musical’s suburban American settings, but also in establishing a distinct, presiding mood for these settings. You get that it’s supposed to be a story about a small town filled with people who, on any given minute, are never truly happy—but try their best to mask their sadnesses.

Evidently, Kimberly Akimbo is a tragicomedy, though it frequently keeps its true feelings close to its chest. And Pang’s production aces the comedy. Frances Lee, as the protagonist’s Aunt Debra, for instance, is a hoot in her two big numbers, in which she ropes Kimberly and her classmates into a check fraud scheme (the actress’ lack of vocal heft for the role is an altogether different matter).

Short on tragedy

It’s in doing tragedy that this production conspicuously comes up short. Consider the musical’s elementary premise: The life expectancy of people with Kimberly ’s condition is supposedly 16—which is the age she hits in the show. Much as the musical tries to act cheery, it also doesn’t hide the implication that Kimberly will die sooner or later. It’s the sword of Damocles hovering ominously above an ostensibly low-stakes affair.

Yet, in Pang’s Kimberly Akimbo, the actors orbiting the protagonist don’t seem to have fully grasped the aforementioned implication, even though their individual songs—their characters’ internal monologues made legible to the audience—are brimming with such complicated feelings on matters like self-worth, parenthood, and mortality. These are songs laden with the characters’ traumas and doubts, set against the broader tapestry of a generation constantly failing its children—the breakdown of the family unit, if you will. Pang’s production doesn’t really mine the richness of all that text and subtext, resulting in a panoply of capable turns that lack satisfying, emotional liftoffs.

Rebekah Sangeetha Dorai, for example, is amusing as Kimberly’s emotionally blundering mother, but doesn’t entirely do dramatic justice to her big solo (and arguably the musical’s most gorgeous song) “Father Time.” Similar fates befall Benjamin Chow, otherwise convincing as Kimberly’s alcoholic, always-disappointing dad, in his songs “Happy for Her” and “Hello Baby”; and Zachary Pang, Kimberly’s geeky love interest, especially when he laments how he’s always been the “good kid.”

Inadequately articulated emotions

One could argue that the musical thrives on subtlety and small emotions, but in this production, the emotions aren’t so much small and subtle as they are inadequately articulated. The show lands plenty of laughs—but doesn’t deliver a solid enough dramatic punch to make it truly succeed as tragicomedy. To borrow a lyric, it all seems “a little bit askew.”

Unless, of course, Lauchengco-Yulo is centerstage, in which case the production promptly recenters its dramatic axis, and the viewer easily attains a full appreciation of the musical’s elegant, psychological contours. One could say she’s the glue that keeps the ensemble theatrically cohesive; in scene after scene, she helps heighten the stakes while keeping the story firmly planted in a believable make-believe world. Whatever weaknesses in the material—for example, the hazily sketched characters of Kimberly’s classmates—are swiftly forgiven. With time, perhaps the production will grow more profound and hit that sweet balance of funny and sad—a balance its lead actress has already achieved.

Diarist Review: 'Pingkian' by Tanghalang Pilipino - 2025 run

New piece in The Diarist today: a postscript, if you will, on my favorite show of 2024. The website version here.

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Pingkian's post-curtain roar: 'Ikulong ang magnanakaw!'

Post-curtain of the Oct. 12 closing performance of Pingkian. 

In the October 12 closing performance of Tanghalang Pilipino’s (TP) Pingkian: Isang Musikal, a simple, post-curtain send-off in the theater lobby became a stirring call to action urging the audience to always resist.

After the cast sang an acoustic snippet from the show, one member shouted: “Hashtag ikulong ang magnanakaw!” The crowd broke into an instant roar, the hashtag morphing into a resounding chant.

Every performance of the production’s five-weekend rerun apparently ended with this galvanizing moment, effectively turning the musical into the defining theatrical piece of the Marcos-Duterte fallout. Jail the thieves, indeed.

In the last decade, Manila has witnessed no shortage of plays grappling with the contemporary Filipino’s blighted political destinies—think Guelan Luarca’s adaptation of the Lualhati Bautista novel Desaparesidos at Areté Ateneo, or Bautista’s Dekada ’70 set to music by Pat Valera and Matthew Chang (its run in the same venue shuttered prematurely by COVID-19). The climactic scene in the late Floy Quintos’ The Kundiman Party saw an activist son rebuking his corrupt politician father, while the playwright’s The Reconciliation Dinner tried to process the outcome of the 2022 presidential elections alongside a still-grieving, largely pro-Leni Robredo audience. 

This 2025 version of Pingkian felt a tad different from those plays: One half-expected the cast, still in full costume and makeup, to actually take it to the streets with their viewers. Only a month before the production opened, revelations surrounding anomalous flood control projects across the Philippines had consumed national headlines. A week after opening, the nationwide demonstrations collectively dubbed the Trillion Peso March, and organized precisely in response to the controversy, unfolded on the 53rd anniversary of Ferdinand Marcos Sr.’s 1972 proclamation of Martial Law. 

Perfect show at the perfect moment

It’s a case of the perfect show finding itself at the perfect moment, the musical unexpectedly speaking to the zeitgeist and capturing the full sweep of public sentiment toward current events.

Pingkian isn’t even TP’s most overt portrayal of the Filipino statesman’s shamelessness and the long-festering state of Philippine politics. In this regard, one can’t help thinking of another TP warhorse—Mabining Mandirigma, Nicanor Tiongson and Joed Balsamo’s steampunk musical centered on Apolinario Mabini, considered the brain of the 19th-century revolutionary movement against the Spanish and subsequent American colonizers. (Winner of 12 trophies in the 8th Gawad Buhay Awards, the 2015 musical will return in March next year under the same company.)

As the title suggests, Mabining Mandirigma recasts the eponymous hero as a literal warrior, seemingly caught in a one-person uphill battle during the nation’s turn-of-the-century political inception. Its exhortation to patriotism is best captured by its concluding refrain: “Mahalin mo ang Pilipinas/ nang higit sa’yong sarili.”

That refrain sprouts from the musical’s depiction of the very Machiavellian egomania that, it argues, defined the birth of what we now call the Philippine government. Some of the most striking sequences in the TP production directed by Chris Millado underscored the origins of corruption within the project of nation-building; how the first Filipino politicians schemed against and betrayed their own people. In a production high point, the formation of Congress was even satirized via a minstrel number.

  

Pingkian, on the other hand, is concerned less with the muck of government and more with the ways people fight back in the face of brazen misgovernment. 

Written and composed by Juan Ekis and Ejay Yatco, the musical imagines the revolutionary Emilio Jacinto in a state of delirium, following the 1898 Battle of Maimpis in Laguna, where he was wounded and captured by enemy forces. 

Placing its protagonist in a sort of dreamscape—a familiar trope in fiction—is key to Pingkian’s success as a work of theater. Traveling back and forth across time, towards incidents historical and imagined, the musical is driven not by traditional plot, but by the progression of ideas. Specifically, in scene after scene, it becomes an expansive rumination on the nature and forms of heroism and revolution, daring to ask which ones can work and which are bound to fail in the struggle against an inutile ruling class.

One scene conjures a debate between Jacinto and a still-imprisoned Jose Rizal, paragon of nonviolence, on those very ideas. In another, Jacinto’s mother tells him, “Hindi sayang ang buhay/ at iyong kabataan/ kung ito’y inilaan/ sa dakilang adhika,” and one can’t help wondering just how many mothers and fathers now would even laud their children for joining progressive movements, when it’s so much more convenient to stay quiet.

In yet another imagined moment, Jacinto and his wife Catalina sing, “Kalayaan ay pagsapit ng pag-ibig” and “Ako ay malaya ‘pag ika’y katabi”—love as revolution, love as freedom. In this number, Jacinto glimpses a vision of a possible future—his community at last bereft of war, harmonious, the product of a successful revolution.

Further, in the recent TP production directed by Jenny Jamora, the musical’s most thrilling parts were in fact scenes depicting the messy particulars of mounting a movement: the intellectual rigor of forming a guiding document (the Kartilya ng Katipunan transformed into a barnstorming rap-sung number), the seismic turmoil that comes with identifying genuine comrades and rooting out enemy collaborators.

An assault on all fronts by unseen forces

Save for one representative military-man character, Jacinto’s enemies in the musical are barely named and seen; what’s clear is that he’s being hunted down by the government. Within the Katipunan, there are traitors as well. The fight Jacinto wages is basically an “assault on all fronts by unseen forces” situation, the hero pushed to the proverbial corner. 

It’s not difficult to see the real-life parallels, and the reasons Pingkian rang with greater resonance during its rerun. When one lives in a country plagued by increasingly catastrophic climate disasters—and governed by politicians who somehow have the gall to pilfer from infrastructure projects intended to mitigate the effects of those disasters—it’s hard not to feel like the enemy is insurmountable, invisible, everywhere. The notion of choice, and of progress, grows more alien by the hour.

 

Hashtag ikulong ang magnanakaw thus becomes a declaration of war, no matter how small or futile, and even if confined only within the four walls of the theater: A demand to hold accountable every single thieving politician, and a flat-out rejection of the fallacy that one supposedly needs to choose between Marcos and Duterte.

Conversely, perhaps the musical also became an invitation to dream of possibilities, despite the odds, much like Jacinto visiting a future he never lived to see. My cynicism, however, tells me this lifetime won’t be the one to bear witness to the kind of radical change the likes of Jacinto aspired for. Perhaps, for now, we’re limited to living that change in our own states of delirium—to dream of the biggest Filipino crooks in jail for good, of justice served and the wheels of large-scale progress set in motion. To keep dreaming the dream, and in dreaming, make it real.