Editor’s note: Spoilers are included in the review to discuss vital points of the performances.
When one enters Ateneo de Manila University’s Rizal Mini Theatre, one cannot help but notice how minimalist, if not bare, the stage design is. It isn’t the most uproarious and sweeping image to open a twin-bill staging — Sustainable Eco Theatre’s “Kinaiya,” defined as “a character from within.” But what the production lacks in visual panache, it makes up for in its valuable materials that place environmental plunder at the forefront, confront women’s plights amidst crippling patriarchy, and offer a timely critique of the Philippines’ ever-worsening social and political milieu.
With Ateneo Areté Sandbox Program and Ateneo Institute of Sustainability extending its hands, Isyan Sandoval and Alta Cervo (who headed the research team) uprooted “Kinaiya” from an initiative that “aims to promote ecofeminism by incorporating a more sustainable approach in terms of costume and set design in theater production.”
As it turns out, the decision to stage the performances in succession lends the materials differences in artistic merits but also an opportunity to fill each other’s narrative gaps, thereby culminating in a satisfying whole.
Here are a few insights on the two plays:
“Pagluwal ng Aswang” (written by Isyan Sandoval, directed by Abner Torres Delina Jr. and Serena Magiliw)
Filipino folklore, particularly the image of the “aswang,” has long been shaped as a propaganda weapon to defeat the ever-growing communist armed resistance in the countryside. As far back as the 1950s at the height of the cold war and even in the 2015 Lianga killings, supernatural creatures had been a convenient apparatus to obscure state affairs, conveying that creative genius can go a long way, especially if it is intended for monstrous acts.
Abner Torres Delina Jr. and Serena Magiliw’s “Pagluwal ng Aswang” anchors on this premise in chronicling the story of Pinagkrusan, a town ravaged by illegal logging and mining projects. Military men casually wreak havoc on the community and put the blame on Ka Amor (Elizabeth Alindogan), the lone town member — framed as the “aswang” — who resists their reign of terror.
One day, Ka Amor gets brutally murdered by the soldiers and Tana (CJ Lubangco), the village’s midwife, bears witness to the cruel scene. She later finds out that the woman is pregnant, so she rushes to save the newborn, wandering into the mountains where rebels are believed to be camping out. Soon, Tana is also branded as an “aswang,” whom the townspeople are scared shitless of.
‘ ’48’: ‘image’: ‘jcr:806ee810-b254-412f-9b87-3c46a7572f7f’ ‘imageCaption’: ‘CJ Lubangco as Tana in “Pagluwal ng Aswang.” Photo from SUSTAINABLE
Delina and Magiliw hardly take the material into surprising directions (yes, even the meeting of Tana and the ghost of Ka Amor towards the end is foreseeable from miles away). If anything, the directors bank on familiarity and political relevance, incorporating details from today’s terrain of information disorder, news reports about wide-scale mining projects, and the relentless militarization of provincial areas, all while situating everything against the “aswang” mythos. Lines like “kailangan natin ng pagkakaisa” and “wala talagang ambag si Bongbong,” too on the nose as they are, also make it easy to emotionally invest in the script.
But the thematic gravity of “Pagluwal ng Aswang” rests on moments when the entire theater is rendered in pitch black, which accentuates the remarkable lucidity of Andrei Fabricante’s lighting design. This is best displayed in the opening salvo as the stunning silhouette of the military men engulfs Ka Amor, who is simultaneously enveloped by brilliant lighting, amidst a narration raging in the background. The image demonstrates the power the soldiers hold over the woman, the very embodiment of patriarchy and state fascism. The scene near the end where the soldiers search for the rebels in the woods with only their flashlights illuminating the room, matched by Jack Alvero’s immersive sound design, also makes for a wise technical decision, enabling the audience to partake in the story’s tension.
Lubangco in the lead role is a sight to behold, capturing Tana’s resolute resistance amidst a network of routine violence, amidst a community that continues to provide her a plethora of reasons to cave in to injustice — most apparent even in quiet moments, such as in the scene where, after meeting the ghost of Ka Amor, she stands still under the shade of a tree and gazes into the abyss, rain ever so slowly drenching her, as if all her emotions are about to erupt, reverberating even as the lights fade out.
JJ Ignacio also turns in incredible work, creating a walking contradiction out of the community captain who claims to serve the interest of the townspeople but, in the same breath, welcomes with open arms the very people who exploit and turn Pinagkrusan into a ghost town.
Searing and openly defiant, “Pagluwal ng Aswang” obliges us to confront our tragic past and our far more tragic present — how easy it is to put in peril human lives in the face of greed, how accountability can escape our grasp the way mythmaking spreads like wildfire, and how the vile creatures that linger in our seemingly dead republic remain one and the same and no longer stay in the dead of night.
In what might be the most powerful political reworking of the myth of the “aswang” in recent memory, Alyx Ayn Arumpac’s 2019 documentary film “Aswang” leaves the chilling line: “Kapag sinabi nilang may aswang, ang ibig sabihin nila: matakot ka.” Despite the story culminating in the status quo, “Pagluwal ng Aswang” drives the same message, pushing the conversation forward and posing an all-too-familiar yet paramount question: “Kapag hawak mo na ang katotohanan, anong gagawin mo?”
“Maria Isabella at ang Guryon ng mga Tala” (written by Eljay Castro Deldoc, directed by Jerome Ignacio)
Where “Pagluwal ng Aswang” is heavy and scathing in exhibiting power as an insidious force, Jerome Ignacio’s “Maria Isabella at ang Guryon ng mga Tala” goes for a warmer route, relentlessly offering the work with levity.
Playwright Eljay Castro Deldoc sets the story in the distant past, centering on Maria Isabella (Precious Grace Reonisto), a young girl who is enamored with Lorenzo, a boy obsessed with the stars so much that he walks blindfolded to reserve his sight for gazing at them.
‘ ’49’: ‘image’: ‘jcr:bde02577-8eb3-480a-b168-a86d4e3c8db8’ ‘imageCaption’: ‘Precious Grace Reonisto as Maria Isabella in “Maria Isabella
With Kevin Solis and Jaydee Andrada’s glorious costume design, the play opens with a scene in the market, where Maria Isabella interrogates every person she runs into, eager to learn Lorenzo’s whereabouts after supposedly saving him from an accident, to no avail. Later on, she comes across a young matadero (Cholo Ledesma) who keeps her company in an odyssey that navigates friendship, unrequited love, and freedom.
‘ ’50’: ‘image’: ‘jcr:f0b73e47-ec49-4aaa-83f8-86841e21df77’ ‘imageCaption’: ‘Cholo Ledesma in “Maria Isabella at ang Guryon ng mga Tala.”
Ignacio’s direction toys with humor at every turn, such as in scenes where he employs a stop-and-go technique every time the lead character interacts with a crowd, or when the narrators, most of whom double as bit players, enter a scene while standing on elevated platforms being maneuvered by their fellow actors. Deldoc’s script is also generous with witty exchanges, made more efficient by a committed cast, despite some overlap in line delivery.
But one cannot deny that the heart of the play hinges on Reonisto and Ledesma, whose brimming chemistry compensates for the material’s premise that certainly necessitates suspension of disbelief. The pair’s acting leaves no false note, and much of this owes to how well they have mastered timing and space onstage — from delivering lines, to taking each other’s movements as cues on what to do next and, more importantly, how to make it effortlessly hilarious.
So when they invite us to a classic hero’s journey, we make our way. The duo, after consulting Melchor Antevadez (Kevin Solis), the town’s famed kitemaker, gather the materials needed to craft a gigantic kite enough to reach the stars in hopes of fulfilling Maria Isabella’s desire to fly and once again lay her eyes on Lorenzo, who rarely leaves his room in his father’s tower, endlessly marveling at the stars and naming each of them.
‘ ’51’: ‘image’: ‘jcr:d90c96ff-2db7-42bc-bd7c-b5eb9e6cde6c’ ‘imageCaption’: ‘Kevin Solis as Melchor Antevadez in “Maria Isabella at ang
It would take them 60 years to complete the task, depicting how the story, moving as it is, undeniably exists within a pipe dream: how Maria Isabella’s desire is largely informed by privilege (especially when juxtaposed against Tana’s character motivation), how the young matadero’s arc as a snapshot of child labor amid the material’s zeitgeist leaves much wanting, and how its social commentary on environmental woes register more as a plot point subordinate to the romance at hand than a nuance such commentary requires.
