Took a Trip to Tagaytay Today

Taking advantage of the long weekend, my parents and I decided to take a trip to Tagaytay early today. It's been awhile since we have been there and I, sensing a blog-writing opportunity, decided to bring our digital camera when we left Manila at around 6 a.m. Below are a few of the pictures I took:


MING'S GARDEN. Located almost at the Silang-Tagaytay border, this charming café-cum-flower farm is owned by former First Lady Ming Ramos. Much as I was struck by the place's cleanliness and simplicity, I was even more so with the food they served us when we had our breakfast there. Yum!


HOLY SPIRIT MISSION SERVICE CENTER. Whenever we visit Tagaytay, my Mom never fails to pay this place a visit. Her eldest sister belongs to the Holy Spirit congregation and, for lack of a better description, holds some influence among the nuns. The photo above shows the main altar of the center's brand-new chapel, designed by my maternal cousin. Notice that the white marble cross, the one flanked by two fountains, is actually outside the chapel. Ang ganda, ano?


CALERUEGA. Located inside the Evercrest Club and Resort in nearby Nasugbu, Batangas, this place is quite popular for retreats and weddings. It's as clean and as well-maintained as the first time I visited the place three years ago. Notice the unmistakable Spanish influence in the facade.


TRANSFIGURATION CHAPEL. This simple yet tasteful chapel, located inside Caleruega, is not only popular for weddings. It's also been featured in a few TV commercials, most notably Globe. The place--and Caleruega as a whole--has somehow become a tourist attraction, hence the people in the photo.

Pictures from a Poetry Reading

Below are the pictures I took at last Monday's Poems at the Metro: A City Poetry Reading at the Mag:net Café in Katipunan Avenue. Being a non-poet, I rarely attend poetry readings. This one was an exception, for Joel and Naya were involved in it. How crowded it was that night. Gelo Suárez was the emcee, and if nothing else, I'll always remember how he, taking cue from the coasters used that night, introduced his mentor Krip Yuson as "may asim pa." Hahahaha.


MGA MAKATA SA MAG:NET: Gelo Suárez, Mikael Co, Naya Valdellon and Joel Toledo

A Playwright's Pet Peeve

One of my major pet peeves as a playwright is when some people stage someone’s play without his or her written permission, or even without his or her knowledge. Worse, when they stage that play, they issue tickets without bothering to give the playwright a decent honorarium or even tickets to the performance. Especially when it’s so hassle-free to do so.

That’s precisely what happened to me and some of my playwright-friends recently, ever since our book, 10 X 10 X 10, came out early this year. In my case, the first time was when a Bacolod or Iloilo City-based college staged my play Eyeball last August without my knowledge. I don’t know if that production issued tickets or what, but if it did I hope they get bad karma from that. How did I learn about it? From a press release that was published in the internet version of the Daily Visayan Star early last month. I was like: So, how come I didn’t know about this?

Then came the theater-arts class productions at FEU and the University of Makati (UMa). I’m not really bothered about these two, because at least they informed me a few days before the actual show. Plus, it’s free admission, so there’s no royalty issue to be concerned about. I watched both shows. The one at FEU was adequate at best, but the one at UMa… Putangina. Binaboy talaga. And the lowest point in it? The uber-effeminate guy who played the heroine’s gay best friend in my play—and who, incidentally, was also the director—lectured to two female characters (who were not in the play at all) while wearing a Darna bustier (!). I just sat there, speechless, eyes wide. Talk about taking liberties. My friend, who happens to be the Humanities department chairman at UMa, approached me afterwards. I was about to talk when he said, half-jokingly: “O, huwag ka nang magsalita.” He had good reason: he knows very well how painfully blunt I can be with my comments.

And last Thursday night, I learned from Allan that the College of Saint Benilde’s Dulaang Filipino has started staging five 10-minute plays, including mine and his, without the benefit of a contract. I was like: Syet, anobanamanto?! To be fair, we were aware that the group was planning to stage our plays, but not that soon and not without a contract. So the next morning I went to the school and met with the head of its Office of Culture and Arts. After explaining the situation to her, she quickly apologized for what she called the “glitch” and made up for it by immediately printing out contracts for me and the other affected playwrights and increased our honorarium. I signed mine almost immediately and, as far as I know, so did the others later that day.

Once I have signed my contract, I sneaked inside the school’s plush theater to see what remained of the show (yes, that’s right; the production was on its second day that day). Afterwards, the show’s director, Palanca-winning playwright George de Jesus III, introduced me to the cast and started an impromptu open forum with his young actors. The girl who played my physically challenged heroine commented that she found her character challenging to relate to, herself being, in her words, “maganda.” I thought then: Uh. Yeah. Sure. And when the guy who played the heroine’s gay best friend asked me if he can wear women’s clothes so that it would be easier for him, I deadpanned: “Uh, no.” George just grinned, slightly embarrassed for his student performers.

Ah, the things I need to do to get some respect, the things that I have to put up with. Unfortunately, they’re part of the risks of having a play—or a poem or short story, for that matter—published in a book, open for unscrupulous people to use without permission for whatever reason. Sheeesh.

A Prestigious Prize for Pinter

A day or two ago, the Nobel committee announced that it has awarded this year’s Nobel Prize for Literature to the British playwright Harold Pinter (photo at left, courtesy of REUTERS and Kieran Doherty). I believe this is the first time (at least in a long while) this particular prize, the highest honor any writer in any genre and of any nationality can ever dream to win, is given to a playwright. The jury behind the selection said his work “uncovers the precipice under everyday prattle and forces entry into oppression’s closed rooms.” Not a bad description for the creative output of a man whose politics (he is a fierce critic of Bush and Blair and their foreign policies) is as well-known as his art.

I first heard of Pinter’s reputation several years ago, but from among his plays The Dumb Waiter remains to be the only one I’ve read so far. It was not an easy read; I had trouble understanding this ominous and understated play at first, and it was during a playreading session with Rody Vera and several stage actors that I finally got it, and it blew me away. One day, I hope to read another play of his, Betrayal, famed for its unconventional narrative structure, as well as watch the film The French Lieutenant's Woman, which he adapted from John Fowles' novel. But right now, it feels nice to know that a playwright won the honor this year.

Getting Personal, Getting Political

An interesting report appeared in the front pages of the Philippine Daily Inquirer today. In it, creative writer and literary critic Bienvenido Lumbera essentially stressed the role of literature in a socio-political context. That is, it provides the oppressed and the silenced with a voice, with another way to articulate political and social issues and problems (not to mention scandals). This assertion is nothing new. Now, what do I think about it?

I personally don’t have a problem with that. Literature certainly serves other functions, not just to entertain. And Philippine literature has had a long history of producing works with strong socio-political content, from Rizal’s own Noli and Fili to the poems of the Lacaba brothers (Emmanuel’s Open Letter to Filipino Artists and Jose’s Prometheus Unbound) and F. Sionil Jose’s novels. I’ll only have a problem with it when works of that kind are rendered artlessly, unimaginatively (unfortunately, there are a lot of that; and some of them even feel like virtual propaganda).

Artful or not, the question still remains: do these works reach the right readers, the people who would be most receptive to them? I don’t think so. This is particularly true for Philippine literature in English. At this point, I’m reminded of one of the things Butch Dalisay wrote about the Filipino short story in English, which I think is also true for Philippine literature in English: it “remains an elitist and middle-class enterprise enjoyed by a very few, because very few Filipinos among the middle class whose anxieties make up the stuff of our fiction truly want to read about themselves. Alienation and commercialism will not bed together.”

That’s why I believe Philippine literature in Filipino and in the regional languages have a much better chance of fulfilling its function as a socio-political tool. That’s why Rolando Tinio, Bienvenido Lumbera and Jose Lacaba shifted to Filipino as their chosen language of creative expression during the late 1960’s and early 1970’s. However, I personally have yet to see solid proof of its impact on the greater population. Or maybe there was, but I’m just ignorant about it. Plus, many of our younger writers today, including those writing in the local languages, come from the middle class, mainly because they have better access to a good education.

It’s sad, really: creative writers from the working class, who I think are in a better and more credible position to write about socio-political concerns (because they feel these concerns more closely), have become increasingly rare. Let’s face it: many of those from that class have other, more pressing matters to think about other than writing poetry or prose. Not only that, their facility in English and even in Filipino leaves a lot to be desired, and competence in either or both languages is a basic requirement in effective creative writing. Worse, this lack of language competence is becoming more common in some of our best schools! And I even haven’t tackled the subject of writing in English (or Filipino) as a political, as well as a personal decision yet.

But I think I’m going too far at this point. As I have mentioned earlier, literature serves other roles, not just to entertain. Or to educate. As far as I’m concerned, the role—and responsibility—of literature (or any literary work in any language) is to provide the reader a different, even fresh perspective on once-familiar human experiences, be it personal or political in nature. And making sure it reaches the most appropriate audience.

Weighed But Found Wanting

NOW PEFORMING AT THE PALASYO: The seasoned cast of PETA’s Ang Palasyo ni Valentin.

Below is my review of PETA’s Ang Palasyo ni Valentin. Should you care to watch, the show’s remaining playdates will be on October 13 to 16 at 2:30 and 7:30 p.m. at the PETA Theater Center, located at #5 Sunny Side Drive, Barangay Kristong Hari, Quezon City (behind the QC Sports Club and beside St. Joseph’s College). Tickets are priced at P300.00. For inquiries, call 725-6244 or 721-8604.

Title: Ang Palasyo ni Valentin. Playwright: Mario O’Hara. Director: Soxie Topacio. Composer: Minda Azarcon. Cast: Nonie Buencamino, Cynthia Culig-Guico, She Maala, Gigette Reyes, Chinggoy Alonso, Cesar Xerez-Burgos, Cris Anthony Gonzales, Jude Edgar Balsamo, Vincent de Jesus, CJ Javier, Jeffrey Hernandez, Ronaldo Noel Quesada, Simon Tan, Ronald Tomas, Janneke Agustin, Abigail Billones, Frances Billano, Marie Gold Villar, Ernesto Cloma, Jess Evardone, Edwin dela Torre, Chester Nolledo.

EVER SINCE actor-auteur Mario O’Hara’s Ang Palasyo ni Valentin won first prize in the Sarsuwela category at the Centennial Literary Prize back in 1998, the Philippine Educational Theater Association (PETA) wasted no time in trying to bring the romantic drama to the stage. It seemed lo­gi­cal, since O’Hara had worked with the company in several of its past productions. But persistent problems, financial and otherwise, forced PETA to shelve the project for several years.

But the play’s odyssey from page to stage ended when PETA finally pushed through with it and premiered it last September 16. Not only that, it premiered at the brand-new (albeit nearly-com­plete) PETA Theater Center in Quezon City. Truly, Ang Palasyo ni Valentin marked a number of firsts on several levels, for both the company and its artists. It also marked the first time a PETA production left me wanting more—but unfortunately, not in a good or positive way.

In the play, Nonie Buencamino plays the title character, the old manager/projectionist of a dila­pidated theater in Intramuros named the Palacio. The play opens on his birthday (which coincidentally falls on the day World War II started), and he celebrates it with his assistant, Toto (Cris Anthony Gonzales). As they do so, he begins remembering his bittersweet past.

It turns out that Valentin used to be a zarzuela pianist for the tyrannical Don Alfonso (Chinggoy Alonso/Cesar Xerez-Burgos), a Spanish director in the last years of Spanish rule. Valentin fell in love with the beautiful Diding (Cynthia Culig-Guico/She Maala), his former piano instructor’s (Edwin dela Torre) daughter whom the director was grooming to replace the faded Carlota (Gi­gette Reyes) and be the next zarzuela star. Their relationship developed, despite their jealous and enraged maestro’s efforts. But Diding never told Valentin that she loved him; he knew that she did, but he wanted to hear it from her. And he waited for that moment, even after she got pregnant. Even after Don Alfonso had him imprisoned. Even after he fought in the Philippine Revolution. Even after he fought the Americans and consequently jailed anew.

As material, Ang Palasyo ni Valentin brims with richness and color, with vigor and passion; with clear-cut characters one may recognize, may relate to on one level or another. Blessed with such sterling qualities, one might arguably expect the production to soar, to raise the audience’s emotions and make them fly. But that ultimately did not happen. The production’s puzzling failure, at least on opening night, is very regrettable, considering the fine talent involved.

PETA’s top director, Soxie Topacio, directs Ang Palasyo ni Valentin and one might be tempted to blame him for the production’s failure. I wouldn’t go that far, since he’s usually a reliable director with a good track record for helming productions with commendable results. Still, his direction here was unimaginative and uninspired, despite the effort he had clearly shown.

Unfortunately, Topacio is not the only one who fared terribly. There’s also production designer Boni Juan and costume designer Ogie Juliano; their work here miserably failed to even capture the sense of grandeur the play requires. The puny chandelier dropping a la Phantom of the Opera, the historically suspect sleeveless gowns—these, and more, reinforced my suspicions that PETA simply lacked the budget to fully meet the play’s demands. Still, that should not excuse the results. And speaking of excuses, Maribel Legarda’s feeble choreography doesn’t have any.

Then there’s composer Minda Azarcon. I understand that O’Hara refused to greenlight Ang Palasyo ni Valentin without her, making her a very crucial part of the production. She turned out to be a dear friend of his, and one may admire his insistence to involve her. Sadly, this admiration doesn’t extend to her work here. Her music may be faithful to the period, but it did not impress: no true emotional connection felt, no easy recall at all. It simply did not work.

And if that’s not enough, the cast faltered as a whole. Topacio may consider Buencamino, a fine actor, his Valentin personified; but after watching him on opening night, I have to disagree. The play opened with Buencamino looking too young for an old theater manager/projectionist, and when the play shifted back in time—back to his youth—he looked too old, particularly when he seemed to act like an old man in scenes where he shouldn’t be. It’s a truly jarring performance, matched only by that of Xerez-Burgos. He may look the part of Don Alfonso, but he just puffed and wheezed his way through the role, attempting to project Iberian arrogance and pride. How he failed. And as for Gonzales, his Toto is all right, but he really has nothing to do.

Interestingly, the women fared better than the men. In fact, they provided the production’s only bright spots. There’s the lovely Culig-Guico, who remains to be a radiant presence with a luminous voice. Unlike Buencamino, she has this ageless quality that arguably makes her the perfect Diding. And there’s also Reyes, and what is admirable about her performance is that she man­aged to convey Carlota’s emotional neediness underneath her made-up exterior.

Ang Palasyo ni Valentin is ultimately a noble failure. Much as I want to like the production, it has too many flaws, too many things done haphazardly. Much as I like to think otherwise, it seems to signal just how much PETA has gone—has fallen—since its peak in the 70s and 80s. But with its new Theater Center, one hopes for a real and complete rebound soon. Too bad the same can’t be said for Ang Palasyo ni Valentin, now already weighed but found wanting. (Copyright © 2005 by A.I.D.)

A Wonderful Film on the World of Women

Instituto Cervantes and Greenbelt 1 is currently having a Spanish Film Festival, which ends on October 16. Pedro Almodóvar’s Todo Sobre Mi Madre (All About My Mother) is one of the featured films in the festival, and below is an edited version of my review of it, which was published in the December 1, 2003 issue of The Philippine Graphic. As of this writing, the movie will be screened at Cinema 2 on the following playdates: Oct. 5 and 8 at 5:30 p.m.; Oct. 13 at 8 p.m.; and Oct. 16 at 3 p.m. If you’re open-minded enough, do watch it.


THE AUTEUR AND HIS ACTRESSES: (foreground) Pedro Almodóvar; (middle row, left to right) Marisa Paredes, Penélope Cruz, and Cecilia Roth; (back row, left to right) Candela Peña, Rosa Maria Sardà, and Antonia San Juan. (Copyright © 1999 by Yahoo! Movies)

Title: All About My Mother (1999). Director/Screenwriter: Pedro Almodóvar. Starring: Cecilia Roth, Marisa Paredes, Penélope Cruz, Antonia San Juan, Candela Peña, Rosa Maria Sardà, and Eloy Azorin. Award: 1999 Academy Award winner for Best Foreign Language Film. Rating: R for sexuality including strong sexual dialogue, language and some drug content.

FIRST, LET'S START with the plain and simple truth: one can’t talk about contemporary Spanish cinema without mentioning Pedro Almodóvar; and one can’t talk about this flamboyant filmmaker without discussing how his personality and his vision of the world inform his works. A genuine auteur, his comic sensibility and over-the-top ideas shine through in farces and melodramas like Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down! and The Flower of My Secret. But in his celebrated All About My Mother, one would see a certain depth and maturity missing from his earlier movies. In other words, he has evolved.

When 18-year-old Esteban (Eloy Azorin) dies in a car accident without ever learning who his father is, his mother, a nurse named Manuela (Cecilia Roth) leaves Madrid and returns to Barcelo­na, compelled by his memory to find his father and tell him that they had a son together. Unfortunately, not only does it turn out he is nowhere in sight, it also turns out that he is now a trans­vestite named Lola. Plus, it seems he did some people wrong before leaving.

In the meantime, Manuela reunites with an old friend, another transvestite named Agrado (Antonia San Juan) and meets new ones: Huma (Marisa Paredes), a stage diva who is involved with Nina (Candela Peña), her drug-addicted co-star; and a pregnant, HIV-positive nun named Sister Rosa (Penélope Cruz) and her harassed mother (Rosa Maria Sardà). For the next several months Manuela cares for, encourages and supports them through their most trying times. Still, Esteban is very much in her thoughts, and so’s her desire to search for his father.

One could tell from the far-fetched plot that Almodóvar remains fascinated with characters fin­ding themselves in outrageous situations (A transvestite for a father? A nun who’s HIV-positive and pregnant at the same time?). In lesser hands, All About My Mother could easily turn into a campy farce or a clichéd melodrama; but in Almodóvar’s, it achieves the level of art. Unlike in his earlier movies, he masterfully directs All About My Mother in a serious and straight-faced tone, and maintains it throughout despite the material. The result is astonishing: it persuades the viewer to unquestioningly accept the film’s premises. That’s hard to do.

As a screenwriter, it’s clear that Almodóvar has great affection for his characters, flawed as they are. In them he explores the different images of women, in the different roles they play: as wife, mother and daughter; as nurturing caregiver and uncaring junkie; as nun and prostitute; as actress and transvestite. The fact that the film incorporates All About Eve (a sharp, witty film a­bout the New York theater scene) and the play A Streetcar Named Desire (which features two of modern theater’s most memorable female characters) into the plot is not just a simple tribute, but rather reinforces this idea of women playing roles, both onstage and off.

But more than that, Almodóvar also explores the complicated and dynamic bond these women share with one another, and he does so with depth and humor. A superb cast beautifully brings these women and this bond to life. As the grieving Manuela, Argentine-born Roth gives a poig­n­ant performance. One could not help but feel for her when her colleagues inform her that Este­ban couldn’t be saved, or be touched when she follows his heart to another city, now transplan­ted in another, older man. No doubt about it, she’s the heart and soul of the film.

The rest of the cast give Roth some splendid support, with Paredes projecting panache and vulnerability as the needy Huma and Cruz, who captured Hollywood’s eye with this movie, radia­t­ing grace and loveliness as Sister Rosa. But to me the standout supporting performance belongs to San Juan, and I think it’s partly because of her role. However easy or hard it is to play a trans­vestite hooker-turned-assistant, I don’t know. But in any case she’s sensational.

Even now, many consider All About My Mother as one of Almodóvar’s most important films for several reasons. It shows Almodóvar’s great affection for women at its peak. It presents, not just an older Almodóvar, but also a more mature, reflective and serious one. And as this film and his follow-up effort, the brilliant Talk to Her have shown, it promises that the best is yet to come from this Spanish auteur. Now that’s really something to look forward to. (Copyright © 2003 by A.I.D.)