The multimedia bug bit me early last year, and bit me hard. A good part of the past year was spent behind and infront of the camera, and it's been a while since I last went on stage, or brought something onstage, and then suddenly in the last two weeks we were rehearsing two productions to be performed only a week apart.
Despite the very limited/limiting budget, Jesus Christ Superstar, the rock-opera classic by Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice, went onstage last Good Friday at the entertainment center of the mall up there. It was our group's first time to perform in that kind of set-up and it was quite an experience. We had no idea how the audience would react to something like JCS, a rock opera, and performed on a Good Friday at that. The group had only a full week to prepare, but with musical director Ethan Ventura's discipline, no time was wasted during music rehearsals. Though not being able to do a full dress rehearsal at the venue was quite a challenge, it took only the sight of a good crowd and the warmth of the par 64 spotlights to get the performers going. By the time Ethan made his guitar sing the first few notes of the overture, the stage was overflowing with energy, and the passion and dedication of the performers broke through the so-called fourth wall of the stage, and the audience responded very well.
Just a couple of days later and we were back at rehearsals, this time for the re-staging of our production of Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll for the Cafe by the Ruins' 20th Anniversary celebration. This production was what brought me to Baguio, actually, when I first staged it in 1996 together with local actor, Ferdie Balanag. Then, we rehearsed the play in some abandoned school building in Campo Sioco without any promise that the play would go on stage at all - we weren't sure how the audience would react to a play with such a provocative title, and content. But after a couple of weeks of line-throwing and blocking, we got a call from then BCF Arts and Sciences dean, Sonia Dao-as, who wanted to feature the play in the school's golden anniversary celebration. With a cast of two and a staff of three, we performed the play to a couple of full houses before bringing the play to UP Baguio for another run. Since then, Ferdie and I would perform the play in various venues including the cafe's 10th Anniversary in 1998.
And last Thursday, ten years later, we were back there, not sure if we can still pull off performing the characters in the play: 10 years does a lot to one's eyes and waistline. Again on a tight budget, and given only 1 hour to set up everything: band instruments, sound and lighting system, props: our group went in and did the usual dance of pre-performance preparations. Stage managers Freida Fernandez and Mai Fianza were at the Cafe's gazebo finalizing the sequence guide and the props, multimedia artist and costume mistress Madelyn Calventas was stapling trash bags for Ferdie's "Dirt" monologue, technical guys Andre Soriano, Boybi Sarmiento and Astrud Delo were laying out the wiring for the improvised par 38 spotlights, and Ethan began tuning his guitar. Production manager RL Altomonte and photographer Jojo La Maria prepped the cameras for the documentation.
And then we were on, in front of old and new friends who patiently listened to our stories for almost two hours. Kidlat de Guia gamely laughed when his name came up in one of the monologues, and filmmaker Mark Gary and choreographer Denisa Reyes couldn't get enough of it, and an hour or so after the last monologue one man whose name I can't remember anymore still didn't know what hit him: and I thought, great, that's what were here for: get you out of your comfort zone and throw that truth pie in your face - wipe it off or lick it up, it's all up to you.
No unnecessary issues, no unnecessary tension, nothing but pure passion for the craft: it was one of those nights when the first thing almost everyone asks after the curtain call is: what's our next story?
Ahhhh, theater, what a rush.
(A repost of my column, Tales From A Hill Station, in Cordillera Today March 30, 2008 issue)
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Sigh
The sight of a group of policemen standing by the road, knee-high boots, Ray-ban sunglasses, holstered gun at the waist, the nobody-messes-with-the-guy-with-a-badge swagger, motorcycles leaning at the curb, never fails to startle me. Immediately I would feel for my wallet where my license is for fear that I have left it at home, try to remember if I have registered the car, look around for any traffic signs that I may have missed. As I get nearer, my heart beats faster, and will only slow down if they don’t flag me down as I go past them.
And then, after passing them uneventfully, I’ll realize that I didn’t have my seatbelt on. Which almost always makes me wonder, whatever happened to the seatbelt law? I remember when it was newly introduced – taxi drivers would refuse to move if you refused put on your seatbelt, jeepneys and buses installed seatbelts in their front seats, and the government made a killing apprehending violators. I remember the complaints of drivers of public utility vehicles, how cumbersome that darn seatbelt is, how they went out of their way to loop that seatbelt over their shoulders at the sight of a traffic cop to avoid being given a ticket, but never lock it in place, which would have taken them two seconds to do. Once I sat in the front seat of a jeepney and automatically reached for the seatbelt. As I looked for the clasp to lock the seatbelt in place, the driver, without even looking at me, said, “ipatong mo lang sa dibdib mo, ok na ‘yan, hindi na tayo huhulihin.” I wanted to tell him that I also wanted to be safe while riding his jeep, but I thought better than to argue with the man on the wheel while sitting in front without a seatbelt on.
The seatbelt brouhaha lasted a few months, a year perhaps at best. And now it’s forgotten. And it’s practically the same thing about most of the seemingly small things that are supposed to make our city, nay, our country, maybe the world, even, a better place. I wish I were exaggerating.
Take those signs that dot the barrier along the length of Magsaysay Road – “No Jaywalking, Violators Will Be Apprehended.” I wonder how many jaywalkers, those who are too lazy to climb the steps of the pedestrian overpasses, those who put their own and other people’s lives at risk by playing patintero with the swerving jeepneys and over speeding taxis and arrogant drivers in giant SUVs to cross the street, are apprehended. There must be a lot, since I it never fails to amaze me to see jaywalkers doing their thing right in front of policeman on stand by mode. In the same way they just do nothing about the motorists along Session Road, especially taxis, who play tag with pedestrians that actually use the pedestrian lanes to cross the road: you get tagged, you’re dead. Seldom do we see a car slow down as they approach those stripes on the road, a lot of times they actually go even faster.
I know that this community fought hard to uphold the law that says the streets are beyond the commerce of man, driving out an arrogant pay parking corporation slash milking cow in the process, but it breaks my heart every time I see old women carrying bilaos of vegetables being chased by operatives of the city government for illegal vending, while an ambulant cigarette vendor lights up a cigarette for a policeman as they brazenly go about their trade right in front of police substations.
Trancoville and Aurora Hill jeeps idling right in front of “No Loading and Unloading” signs behind the post office (again, right in the face of policemen). “Parking attendants” directing motorists to park in front of “No Parking” signs (again, right in the face of policemen). Cops on big bikes and delivery men on scooters going through a red light, and making u-turns where they’re not supposed to. All seemingly trivial, negligible, inconsequential infractions, perhaps. But how can we expect the community to respect our laws when they know these are not really being enforced? How can we expect the community to obey more abstracts concepts like saving the environment through garbage segregation when we can’t even enforce simple rules on crossing the road?
The law enforcers don’t care, the public stopped caring, and the policemen standing by the road, knee-high boots, Ray-ban sunglasses, holstered gun at the waist, the nobody-messes-with-the-guy-with-a-badge swagger, motorcycles leaning at the curb, didn’t care when I passed them with my seatbelt unfastened. I heaved a sigh of relief, then after a brief afterthought and images of illegal vendors on the road, garbage on the streets, smog in the air, I heaved another sigh, one of a different kind.
(A repost of my column, Tales From A Hill Station, in Cordillera Today March 23, 2008 issue)
And then, after passing them uneventfully, I’ll realize that I didn’t have my seatbelt on. Which almost always makes me wonder, whatever happened to the seatbelt law? I remember when it was newly introduced – taxi drivers would refuse to move if you refused put on your seatbelt, jeepneys and buses installed seatbelts in their front seats, and the government made a killing apprehending violators. I remember the complaints of drivers of public utility vehicles, how cumbersome that darn seatbelt is, how they went out of their way to loop that seatbelt over their shoulders at the sight of a traffic cop to avoid being given a ticket, but never lock it in place, which would have taken them two seconds to do. Once I sat in the front seat of a jeepney and automatically reached for the seatbelt. As I looked for the clasp to lock the seatbelt in place, the driver, without even looking at me, said, “ipatong mo lang sa dibdib mo, ok na ‘yan, hindi na tayo huhulihin.” I wanted to tell him that I also wanted to be safe while riding his jeep, but I thought better than to argue with the man on the wheel while sitting in front without a seatbelt on.
The seatbelt brouhaha lasted a few months, a year perhaps at best. And now it’s forgotten. And it’s practically the same thing about most of the seemingly small things that are supposed to make our city, nay, our country, maybe the world, even, a better place. I wish I were exaggerating.
Take those signs that dot the barrier along the length of Magsaysay Road – “No Jaywalking, Violators Will Be Apprehended.” I wonder how many jaywalkers, those who are too lazy to climb the steps of the pedestrian overpasses, those who put their own and other people’s lives at risk by playing patintero with the swerving jeepneys and over speeding taxis and arrogant drivers in giant SUVs to cross the street, are apprehended. There must be a lot, since I it never fails to amaze me to see jaywalkers doing their thing right in front of policeman on stand by mode. In the same way they just do nothing about the motorists along Session Road, especially taxis, who play tag with pedestrians that actually use the pedestrian lanes to cross the road: you get tagged, you’re dead. Seldom do we see a car slow down as they approach those stripes on the road, a lot of times they actually go even faster.
I know that this community fought hard to uphold the law that says the streets are beyond the commerce of man, driving out an arrogant pay parking corporation slash milking cow in the process, but it breaks my heart every time I see old women carrying bilaos of vegetables being chased by operatives of the city government for illegal vending, while an ambulant cigarette vendor lights up a cigarette for a policeman as they brazenly go about their trade right in front of police substations.
Trancoville and Aurora Hill jeeps idling right in front of “No Loading and Unloading” signs behind the post office (again, right in the face of policemen). “Parking attendants” directing motorists to park in front of “No Parking” signs (again, right in the face of policemen). Cops on big bikes and delivery men on scooters going through a red light, and making u-turns where they’re not supposed to. All seemingly trivial, negligible, inconsequential infractions, perhaps. But how can we expect the community to respect our laws when they know these are not really being enforced? How can we expect the community to obey more abstracts concepts like saving the environment through garbage segregation when we can’t even enforce simple rules on crossing the road?
The law enforcers don’t care, the public stopped caring, and the policemen standing by the road, knee-high boots, Ray-ban sunglasses, holstered gun at the waist, the nobody-messes-with-the-guy-with-a-badge swagger, motorcycles leaning at the curb, didn’t care when I passed them with my seatbelt unfastened. I heaved a sigh of relief, then after a brief afterthought and images of illegal vendors on the road, garbage on the streets, smog in the air, I heaved another sigh, one of a different kind.
(A repost of my column, Tales From A Hill Station, in Cordillera Today March 23, 2008 issue)
Sunday, March 16, 2008
ahhh, the world wide web
I entered Rumours on Session Road one early evening last month and saw the usual familiar faces. Local photographer Jojo Lamaria was there with some friends and among them Natz Navarro whom I've known for quite some time. Went over to her and gave her a hug and they I realized that though it's been a while since I first “met” her, I've only know her in the virtual world of Multiply.com (http://natznavarro.multiply.com), a social networking site on the web. And just this morning, I said hello to a woman named Villia whom I've known for a year or so now at Cafe by the Ruins only to realize that like Natz, I've only known her through the thoughts, ideas and photographs she's posted on her Multiply site (http://villia.multiply.com).
There's this virtual neighborhood on Multiply composed mainly of artists in Baguio, and every single day we are given frozen moments and bits and pieces of life up here as seen through a photographer's lens or painted by a poet's pen (or keyboard). Photographers Rudy Taborra (http://ruditabora.multiply.com) and Boy Yñiguez (http://boyyy.multiply.com) constantly whet our appetites with their series' “Mangan” and “Kain Na”, respectively: hunger inducing photos of local dishes.
Multiply also hosts the sites of Jojo Lamaria (http://jlamaria.multiply.com) and Harley Palanchao (http://smallopening.multiply.com), two local photographers who capture anything and everything that comes infront of their lenses.
Even those of us in the performing arts find little use for the traditional printed posters to promote our latest productions these days: Multiply has offered us a virtually free venue to make our productions known, and with a seemingly wider reach too. I remember a few years BM (Before Multiply), our posters would be up for a couple of weeks already with hardly any feedback from the public. But now a few hours after posting an event online, we get inquiries and the day after a performance, we can expect to see a review somewhere in the world wide web. And since most local theater productions run on a really tight budget (sometimes no budget at all), our posters back then would be limited to photocopied monochrome layouts to cut costs, but now we can go crazy with as many millions of colors as your next-door internet cafe's monitor would allow. Since our productions usually cater to local students, we usually conduct an open forum after each show and now those fora extend for weeks after the last performance on the web, and these interactions often catch the attention of people from all over the world giving more color and interesting perspectives to the conversation.
News travel faster in this online community: when I wrote about a nasty experience at the Baguio Country Club (http://altomonte.multiply.com/journal/item/127), for the next couple of weeks I'd bump into people who read about it online asking me for details of the story. When wrote about my sentiments about the recently concluded flower festival (http://altomonte.multiply.com/journal/item/130), it triggered an online forum with insights coming from the different parts of the world.
Among the recent additions to my virtual neighborhood is local videographer Francis Paco (http://francispaco.multiply.com), whose site features interesting explorations in digital animation, which renewed my interest in that field. I learned a lot from Kidalt de Guia's adventure in Mindanao with his blog entry on his site (http://kidlatgulat.multiply.com/journal/item/3/Ganda_ng_Mindanao). Jack Cariño's site rivals the History channel with intersting tidbits of historical footnotes in phogoraphs and video (http://jackcarino.multiply.com). And I'm quite sure this virtual neighborhood played quite a role in U.S.-based Baguio boy Jessie Mina's decision to invest in a better camera (http://jrgamina.multiply.com) to be able to take better pictures to post on his site.
I recently got an invitation to join another virtual community: Facebook. But after a couple of weeks in it, I was slowly getting bored. All it is are stupid quizzes and hundreds of unwanted applications. I was just about to close my Facebook account when I received a video post from someone in my network (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LU8DDYz68kM). It was a video taken by a group of tourist presumably in Africa of a group of lions waiting to punce on an unsuspecting buffalo. The shot panned from the approaching herd to the waiting lions, and when the herd settled near a creek, the lions sprang up and went for the usual victim: the weakest in the herd, in this case a calf. They pinned the poor calf down while the herd tried to run away from the attacking beasts. A couple of lions rolled and rolled with the calf who was trying so hard to free itself predators' jaws. They rolled too near the river's edge where a crocodile was waiting, which bit into the rear end of the calf - and a tug of war between predators ensued. The lions won the battle, but what happened next they probably never expected to happen at all, not even in their wildest lion dreams. The herd of buffalo came back to rescue the calf. At first the lions would simply roar in their faces and they would step back, but it only took one brave buffalo who perhaps thought that a tiny calf's life was worth risking its own: it charged towards the surprised lions and soon the whole herd was chasing the predators away.
And I thought, the predators amidst us these days better watch out, it only takes one angry, brave buffalo to rally the herd to chase them all away. I decided to give Facebook the benefit of the doubt, for now. And I realized, this story was really what I wanted to write about when I sat down infront of my computer.
Ah well, among the banes of the world wide web, there's just too much information going around that it's easy for one to be distracted.
(A repost of my column, Tales From A Hill Station, in Cordillera Today March 16, 2008 issue)Thursday, March 13, 2008
Panagbenga - keeping it simple, yet meaningful
In ’97 we were there, a small bunch of artists, a couple of benches, a box-full of tapuy and an ice chest-full of sodas, a basket full of tuna and chicken sandwiches, and several hand drums. We positioned ourselves somewhere near the post office steps – next to us were other artists with their hand-painted shirts and prints and paper beads – we don’t remember having to pay tens of thousands of pesos to sit around all day banging our drums and sharing sandwiches and good tapuy with both familiar faces and friendly strangers.
Then, no, we didn’t have to wake up before sunrise to set up our sandwich stand, which was actually just an excuse to have a place where kindred souls can gather and celebrate life in Baguio, there was no hurry nor jostling for prime spots along Session Road: anywhere on the road was a prime spot. And when we found our spot taken over by another group the next day, we only had to move a few meters down from where we were the day before: a small price to pay for enjoying the tapuy a bit too much the day before and waking up late the next morning.
Then, those who participated in Panagbenga’s “Session Road in Bloom” seemed a lot, but still leaving enough space for people to walk up or down the road without having to squeeze themselves in between other people and merchants and merchandise. There was enough space for Session Road to breathe, and people cared enough not to abuse the plants on the island in the middle of the road.
Then, it seemed to be truly in bloom.
Then, we didn’t earn that much money. In fact, we didn’t earn any. That’s ok, we danced and laughed a lot for a few days, and that’s priceless. And after having too much fun and much too little money by the third day, we decided that the rest of the tuna and chicken sandwiches would be the food at our tables at home for the rest of the week. Fry the tuna spread and it’s a mean tortang orilles. But we didn’t stop going to Session Road the rest of the week – there was always some space somewhere where we can lay our mats and play our drums.
And today, so what if one makes millions cramming as many commercial stalls as if there’s no tomorrow along Session Road, when you have as many people hating the experience? Why sacrifice the integrity of what was supposed to be a beautiful and sincere community effort by allowing the pretty costumes to be blighted with corporate logos and slogans just for a little extra money? Who wouldn’t hate hearing commercial jingles during a parade instead of the music that come from the hearts of the people of Baguio?
Back then, I guess the organizers didn’t make as much money from the flower festival, but it was those first few festivals, the ones free from crass commercialism, the ones free from too much politics and misplaced egos, the ones that had the spirit of Baguio painted on every smiling face: those were the ones that made the Baguio Flower Festival live in the hearts of people from all over the country and the rest of the world.
Surrendering and being slaves to crass commercialism: millions of pesos, and one’s left with nothing but an empty experience.
Keeping it simple yet meaningful: priceless.
Keeping it simple: back then
In ’97 we were there, a small bunch of artists, a couple of benches, a box-full of tapuy and an ice chest-full of sodas, a basket full of tuna and chicken sandwiches, and several hand drums. We positioned ourselves somewhere near the post office steps – next to us were other artists with their hand-painted shirts and prints and paper beads – we don’t remember having to pay tens of thousands of pesos to sit around all day banging our drums and sharing sandwiches and good tapuy with both familiar faces and friendly strangers.
Then, no, we didn’t have to wake up before sunrise to set up our sandwich stand, which was actually just an excuse to have a place where kindred souls can gather and celebrate life in
Then, those who participated in Panagbenga’s “Session Road in Bloom” seemed a lot, but still leaving enough space for people to walk up or down the road without having to squeeze themselves in between other people and merchants and merchandise. There was enough space for Session Road to breathe, and people cared enough not to abuse the plants on the island in the middle of the road.
Then, it seemed to be truly in bloom.
Then, we didn’t earn that much money. In fact, we didn’t earn any. That’s ok, we danced and laughed a lot for a few days, and that’s priceless. And after having too much fun and much too little money by the third day, we decided that the rest of the tuna and chicken sandwiches would be the food at our tables at home for the rest of the week. Fry the tuna spread and it’s a mean tortang orilles. But we didn’t stop going to Session Road the rest of the week – there was always some space somewhere where we can lay our mats and play our drums.
And today, so what if one makes millions cramming as many commercial stalls as if there’s no tomorrow along Session Road, when you have as many people hating the experience? Why sacrifice the integrity of what was supposed to be a beautiful and sincere community effort by allowing the pretty costumes to be blighted with corporate logos and slogans just for a little extra money? Who wouldn’t hate hearing commercial jingles during a parade instead of the music that come from the hearts of the people of
Back then, I guess the organizers didn’t make as much money from the flower festival, but it was those first few festivals, the ones free from crass commercialism, the ones free from too much politics and misplaced egos, the ones that had the spirit of Baguio painted on every smiling face: those were the ones that made the Baguio Flower Festival live in the hearts of people from all over the country and the rest of the world.
Surrendering and being slaves to crass commercialism: millions of pesos, and one’s left with nothing but an empty experience.
Monday, February 25, 2008
I don't heart Panagbenga
It's been a crazy month, February - and to make matters worse: it's Panagbenga season.
I don't wanna seem like a flowerfest scrooge, but I hate Panagbenga: pardon me but it's hard to get me excited about a 4 hour parade that features school kids dancing the papaya song played by a drum and lyre band. I'm not a big fan of Isuzu Elf trucks covered in moss with some girl I don't know with a sash riding in the back throwing candies and waving at me. I like the occasional corn cob but to see thousands of corn vendors lining up the length of Session Road just isn't right: in between hotdog stands and cellphone accessories and Marikina shoes stalls. And it's as if Session Road isn't filthy enough on regular days, as if teh city isn't in the middle of a garbage crisis, it breaks one's heart to see the piles and piles of garbage left by the tourists and the merchants every single night for a whole week.
And what do they call this ravaging of the city's main artery? "Session Road In Bloom!". No, my friend, in bloom Session Road is not these days, it's more like Session Road's doom.
You stay home and turn on the tv and there's our mayor, in his cute shorts having a tete-a-tete with a recently convicted (and alas, pardoned) plunderer. Someone who stole hundreds of millions from the people apparently deserve a seat at the VIP section: Welcome to Baguio. I wonder where he's staying while he's here? At the very controversial log house on millionaires row or the equally controversial residential log house inside Camp John Hay?
We needed to go online so with one hand holding Leon and Aeneas perched on my shoulders and RL and Garbiela trying to catch up behind us, we braved the traffic and walked up from Bunrham Park (filled with tourists, stalls and garbage) to Session Road (filled with more stalls, more tourists, more garbage). You cross the road from Prime Hotel towards Cid Educational Supplies and I believe you've seen the rest of "Session Road's Kabloom". Shoes from Marikina, corn and hotdog vendors, E-load/Autoload stalls, and the occassional stall selling plants. We were stalled (pun intended) in the middle of the road: a dragon dance in progress... followed by a group of unicyclers (one was having a hard time getting back on his unicycle on Session Road road's uneven surface) and a phalanx of clowns on stilts. Ok, THAT was kinda nice. I walked right up to the guys on stilts and had Aeneas high-five two or three of them, which embarassed him, and eased my way to the other side of the road.
It's been said countless times before, if you're from Baguio, you'll never to fail to bump into a friend while walking up or down Session Road. But that's another thing I hate about this whole thing: even with the hundreds of thousands of people that squeeze thesmelves in between the commercial stalls and corn and hotdog vendors on Session Road during Panagbenga, it's hard to come across a friend.
I don't wanna seem like a flowerfest scrooge, but I hate Panagbenga: pardon me but it's hard to get me excited about a 4 hour parade that features school kids dancing the papaya song played by a drum and lyre band. I'm not a big fan of Isuzu Elf trucks covered in moss with some girl I don't know with a sash riding in the back throwing candies and waving at me. I like the occasional corn cob but to see thousands of corn vendors lining up the length of Session Road just isn't right: in between hotdog stands and cellphone accessories and Marikina shoes stalls. And it's as if Session Road isn't filthy enough on regular days, as if teh city isn't in the middle of a garbage crisis, it breaks one's heart to see the piles and piles of garbage left by the tourists and the merchants every single night for a whole week.
And what do they call this ravaging of the city's main artery? "Session Road In Bloom!". No, my friend, in bloom Session Road is not these days, it's more like Session Road's doom.
You stay home and turn on the tv and there's our mayor, in his cute shorts having a tete-a-tete with a recently convicted (and alas, pardoned) plunderer. Someone who stole hundreds of millions from the people apparently deserve a seat at the VIP section: Welcome to Baguio. I wonder where he's staying while he's here? At the very controversial log house on millionaires row or the equally controversial residential log house inside Camp John Hay?
We needed to go online so with one hand holding Leon and Aeneas perched on my shoulders and RL and Garbiela trying to catch up behind us, we braved the traffic and walked up from Bunrham Park (filled with tourists, stalls and garbage) to Session Road (filled with more stalls, more tourists, more garbage). You cross the road from Prime Hotel towards Cid Educational Supplies and I believe you've seen the rest of "Session Road's Kabloom". Shoes from Marikina, corn and hotdog vendors, E-load/Autoload stalls, and the occassional stall selling plants. We were stalled (pun intended) in the middle of the road: a dragon dance in progress... followed by a group of unicyclers (one was having a hard time getting back on his unicycle on Session Road road's uneven surface) and a phalanx of clowns on stilts. Ok, THAT was kinda nice. I walked right up to the guys on stilts and had Aeneas high-five two or three of them, which embarassed him, and eased my way to the other side of the road.
It's been said countless times before, if you're from Baguio, you'll never to fail to bump into a friend while walking up or down Session Road. But that's another thing I hate about this whole thing: even with the hundreds of thousands of people that squeeze thesmelves in between the commercial stalls and corn and hotdog vendors on Session Road during Panagbenga, it's hard to come across a friend.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
They come and go
Among the things I enjoy about moving to a new house is packing: documents and photos specially. I came across an article by Vince Cabreza for Sun Star magazine back in 1996 when we first mvoed to Baguio: it was a feature on Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll. Browsing various souvenir programs of our productions in the last 12 years made my day - from the xeroxed pages of SDRR to printed sepia cover of Pangarap to the full color poster of Jesus Christ Superstar.
I was reminded of James, who played Pepe in one of our stagings of Tonyo at Pepe. James lived with us for a year or so when we were with Ado and Meg in Leonila Hill up to the time we moved to Wing's glass house in San Luis. we spent countless nights discussing acting, directing, various playwright's. James was not in school when we met him, since joining our productions under OSP, James has moved on: finishing his studies and eventually publishing two or three books (one he authored and two book of poems he edited). Last december he visited us and brought copies of those books for us, signed by the author (him)self.
Russell was a lanky freshman taking up masscom in SLU when we first met him... he didn't immediately get to join our productions but he would always be there at the gate manning the ticket booth, or ushering people in, or assisting backstage. He would come straight to our house in Malvar from school, and just hang out. He finally went onstage in that play on children's rights that I wrote: Taguan, Habulan, Patintero, and then the musicals Pangarap and Once on this Island after that. Since then he has worked for a call center, a media network giant, and currently asevents manager for a mall. He recently got in touch with us: he wants to feature excerpts of our productions at the mall he's working for, and the possibility of performing full runs of thos productions there.
Amar was the reluctant leading man in A Prelude To A Kiss - from a supporting actor, he was promoted to lead star when an actor backed out and we had to re-cast the play. He performed as Pepe also, two runs ahead of James. When we're not director-actor, we we're kuya-ading. He would come, enter our house as if he also owned it, which is quite true: I did the same whenever I'm at their house. Auntie Susan, Amar's mom, was like a mother to us and was a great lola to Leon when he was a baby: taught him to eat rice with coffee (Yice and feefee!), buy potchi at the sari-sari store, how to duck-walk, and gave him the nickname: Yankee, binaligtad na Kiangan, where RL's maternal relatives come from. Aabha, Amar's sister, toilet trained Leon. Amar and another ex-OSP artist, Ronald, once felt it was ok to break into our house in Q.M. to wait for us right there in the comfort of our living room. We arrived late at night and found both of them asleep: they needed help writing a letter. Amar also marketed some of our productions, and is now based in Manila and is into sales and marketing and will be a father himself soon. He called recently just to ask how things are with us.
Mad was a junior when I was an artist-in-residence in Brent. She was introduced to us by her English Teacher and big OSP fan, Bryan Powles (who left Brent in 2001 but has still maintained contact up to now) right after graduating high school and took a year off from school to work with us. She joined the prduction staff of a Tonyo/Pepe production, helped with make-up and production design of Manifest Destiny and Pangarap and Once On This Island... She is now in New York studying filmmaking, and despite the distance, has managed to remain close to OSP. She's coming home next month with my brother.
Some of them stay, some of them go, some of them remain close, some of them don't even look back. Some of them once believed, and and stopped believing, some even mock the ideals of OSP after they leave.
May mga ibang may napala, may ibang wala, may ibang naniniwalang walang mapapala sa mundo ng teatro, lalo na siguro sa Baguio. The latter isn't exactly untrue.
In our journey to provide the community with an alternative form of entertainment that would consistently present relevant social issues, we remain...
Letters from OSP usually end with the above lines... I'm just glad that at least there are some, who may have moved on to something else, but have remained believers and have not lost faith in the vision of Open Space Projects. - and whatever it offered, provided and stood for and against.
I was reminded of James, who played Pepe in one of our stagings of Tonyo at Pepe. James lived with us for a year or so when we were with Ado and Meg in Leonila Hill up to the time we moved to Wing's glass house in San Luis. we spent countless nights discussing acting, directing, various playwright's. James was not in school when we met him, since joining our productions under OSP, James has moved on: finishing his studies and eventually publishing two or three books (one he authored and two book of poems he edited). Last december he visited us and brought copies of those books for us, signed by the author (him)self.
Russell was a lanky freshman taking up masscom in SLU when we first met him... he didn't immediately get to join our productions but he would always be there at the gate manning the ticket booth, or ushering people in, or assisting backstage. He would come straight to our house in Malvar from school, and just hang out. He finally went onstage in that play on children's rights that I wrote: Taguan, Habulan, Patintero, and then the musicals Pangarap and Once on this Island after that. Since then he has worked for a call center, a media network giant, and currently asevents manager for a mall. He recently got in touch with us: he wants to feature excerpts of our productions at the mall he's working for, and the possibility of performing full runs of thos productions there.
Amar was the reluctant leading man in A Prelude To A Kiss - from a supporting actor, he was promoted to lead star when an actor backed out and we had to re-cast the play. He performed as Pepe also, two runs ahead of James. When we're not director-actor, we we're kuya-ading. He would come, enter our house as if he also owned it, which is quite true: I did the same whenever I'm at their house. Auntie Susan, Amar's mom, was like a mother to us and was a great lola to Leon when he was a baby: taught him to eat rice with coffee (Yice and feefee!), buy potchi at the sari-sari store, how to duck-walk, and gave him the nickname: Yankee, binaligtad na Kiangan, where RL's maternal relatives come from. Aabha, Amar's sister, toilet trained Leon. Amar and another ex-OSP artist, Ronald, once felt it was ok to break into our house in Q.M. to wait for us right there in the comfort of our living room. We arrived late at night and found both of them asleep: they needed help writing a letter. Amar also marketed some of our productions, and is now based in Manila and is into sales and marketing and will be a father himself soon. He called recently just to ask how things are with us.
Mad was a junior when I was an artist-in-residence in Brent. She was introduced to us by her English Teacher and big OSP fan, Bryan Powles (who left Brent in 2001 but has still maintained contact up to now) right after graduating high school and took a year off from school to work with us. She joined the prduction staff of a Tonyo/Pepe production, helped with make-up and production design of Manifest Destiny and Pangarap and Once On This Island... She is now in New York studying filmmaking, and despite the distance, has managed to remain close to OSP. She's coming home next month with my brother.
Some of them stay, some of them go, some of them remain close, some of them don't even look back. Some of them once believed, and and stopped believing, some even mock the ideals of OSP after they leave.
May mga ibang may napala, may ibang wala, may ibang naniniwalang walang mapapala sa mundo ng teatro, lalo na siguro sa Baguio. The latter isn't exactly untrue.
In our journey to provide the community with an alternative form of entertainment that would consistently present relevant social issues, we remain...
Letters from OSP usually end with the above lines... I'm just glad that at least there are some, who may have moved on to something else, but have remained believers and have not lost faith in the vision of Open Space Projects. - and whatever it offered, provided and stood for and against.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Composing for "Bintao"
The prospect back then of oil hitting $100/barrel pushed me to say yes to Ferdie when he asked me to compose the music for the play, Bintao. I dabble in music, but I only have the guts to compose music for myself.
Truth is, after composing the songs songs for my plays, "Taguan, Habulan, Patintero" and "Pangarap", I would fiddle with my guitar once in a while, or pound on a piano whenever one's available, and I really thought there's nothing left in me as far as music is concerned.
So I said yes. I will do it. 12-15 songs. In a month or less. I scanned the script of Efren Yambot, and asked if I could re-write some to give it a meter I could easily work with... I was given permission to re-write as I please.
Some of the songs reminded me of some of my previews compositions... thanks to Roman reminding me that this song reminded him of that song from "Pangarap " or "Taguan." Well, I never really exerted any effort to make this sound like or different from any previous compositions. I just wrote and played them as they came to me. So there.
I don't read nor write notes so "writing" music for me entails humming a tune and hoping I don't forget it until I record it, or at least until I've taught the melody to the actor who's gonna sing it. In one of the pieces in this collection, I asked Ethan to help me with the vocal arrangement - and he notated the song for me.
I should learn how to read notes.
Here they are. Hope you enjoy listening to them as much I did making them:
http://altomonte.multiply.com/music/item/32/Bintao_-_The_Songs....
PS: Bintao opens on Jan. 26 at the University of the Cordilleras... for more info, checkout: http://bintao.multiply.com/
Truth is, after composing the songs songs for my plays, "Taguan, Habulan, Patintero" and "Pangarap", I would fiddle with my guitar once in a while, or pound on a piano whenever one's available, and I really thought there's nothing left in me as far as music is concerned.
So I said yes. I will do it. 12-15 songs. In a month or less. I scanned the script of Efren Yambot, and asked if I could re-write some to give it a meter I could easily work with... I was given permission to re-write as I please.
Some of the songs reminded me of some of my previews compositions... thanks to Roman reminding me that this song reminded him of that song from "Pangarap " or "Taguan." Well, I never really exerted any effort to make this sound like or different from any previous compositions. I just wrote and played them as they came to me. So there.
I don't read nor write notes so "writing" music for me entails humming a tune and hoping I don't forget it until I record it, or at least until I've taught the melody to the actor who's gonna sing it. In one of the pieces in this collection, I asked Ethan to help me with the vocal arrangement - and he notated the song for me.
I should learn how to read notes.
Here they are. Hope you enjoy listening to them as much I did making them:
http://altomonte.multiply.com/music/item/32/Bintao_-_The_Songs....
PS: Bintao opens on Jan. 26 at the University of the Cordilleras... for more info, checkout: http://bintao.multiply.com/
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Idiot
After working through the holidays, the tickets to Jovianney Cruz's concert at the Baguio Country Club were heaven sent - needed the break.
We got there a minute late at 5:31, the tickets showed a 5:30 showtime, which meant we were just on time. There were less than twenty people when we arrived, and by the time Cruz began Mozart's thing in C Major, there were only about 50.
And there they were: two photographers clicking away. It was a piano concert, I could here myself breathe, and the sound of their shutters was competing with Cruz's wonderful performance. But, I thought, that's a guy sitting infront of a piano - on a proscenium stage: take a few shots from stage left, move on to stage center, and then a couple from stage right, and that's it: I really thought they'd realize how much their camera sounds (plus the sight of them moving around the ballroom during the performance) were ruining it for everyone (it was soooo annoying and I can only imagine how much more annoying it was for the performer himself) and that they'd get their precious shots done soon and sit down and be quiet like everyone else.
Wrong.
They clicked away throughout the performance. And just when I thought it couldn't get worse - an ABS-CBN crew arrived, noisily the door was opened for them and noisily they settled themselves at the back - all this in the middle of a Copland piece. And then: the ABS-CBN cameraman turned on his video camera and started shooting, first from the sides and then (!) he went right infront of the stage blocking everyone's view of the pianist (!!!)
And then the unthinkable: The guy went up onstage, got so close to the pianist that the camera was practically right in Cruz's face. He didn't stay there 5 seconds, he didn't stay there 10 seconds, he hovered and hovered and went around the piano and got his camera as close to the guy's face as possible. This was worse than Manila Pen, I thought.
And I thought, too, this is how art and artists are treated in Baguio - with utter disrespect.
I couldn't help myself, right after the show I went to the ABS-CBN reporter and told her what an idiot her cameraman was, and just as I was telling her that, I saw the cameraman coming towards us, so I decided to tell him that too - that he's an idiot.
And as for the photographers: I hope you got photos worthy of your arrogance.
We got there a minute late at 5:31, the tickets showed a 5:30 showtime, which meant we were just on time. There were less than twenty people when we arrived, and by the time Cruz began Mozart's thing in C Major, there were only about 50.
And there they were: two photographers clicking away. It was a piano concert, I could here myself breathe, and the sound of their shutters was competing with Cruz's wonderful performance. But, I thought, that's a guy sitting infront of a piano - on a proscenium stage: take a few shots from stage left, move on to stage center, and then a couple from stage right, and that's it: I really thought they'd realize how much their camera sounds (plus the sight of them moving around the ballroom during the performance) were ruining it for everyone (it was soooo annoying and I can only imagine how much more annoying it was for the performer himself) and that they'd get their precious shots done soon and sit down and be quiet like everyone else.
Wrong.
They clicked away throughout the performance. And just when I thought it couldn't get worse - an ABS-CBN crew arrived, noisily the door was opened for them and noisily they settled themselves at the back - all this in the middle of a Copland piece. And then: the ABS-CBN cameraman turned on his video camera and started shooting, first from the sides and then (!) he went right infront of the stage blocking everyone's view of the pianist (!!!)
And then the unthinkable: The guy went up onstage, got so close to the pianist that the camera was practically right in Cruz's face. He didn't stay there 5 seconds, he didn't stay there 10 seconds, he hovered and hovered and went around the piano and got his camera as close to the guy's face as possible. This was worse than Manila Pen, I thought.
And I thought, too, this is how art and artists are treated in Baguio - with utter disrespect.
I couldn't help myself, right after the show I went to the ABS-CBN reporter and told her what an idiot her cameraman was, and just as I was telling her that, I saw the cameraman coming towards us, so I decided to tell him that too - that he's an idiot.
And as for the photographers: I hope you got photos worthy of your arrogance.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
PORTRAITS DVD
PORTRAITS: History of a Hill Station DVD now available. For inquiries email us at portraits.baguio@gmail.com or call mobile (63) 920.631.9593 or visit http://portraitsbauio.multiply.com
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
A Walk In The Park
The path laid out before him began in the classroom of a prestigious educational institution where people like him – standing below five feet tall, dark skin, less than aquiline nose – gets derided, mocked, discriminated against. Then that path went on to a few years in Europe where his eyes opened to a much bigger world, other worlds where friars did not rape women nor seize lands from the people, where governments worked for the people and not the other way around. Then that path made a u-turn back home, where courageously continued on bringing with him two books that would open the eyes of his people, and earn him the ire of an abusive government. He walked on and the path ended with a short work from his cell and ended at an open field where he faces a phalanx of soldiers with rifles pointed at him. And Jose Rizal was dead, martyred and now revered as this country’s National Hero.
Andres Bonifacio’s path ended with a climb up a mountain where it ended with a bullet not from the enemy’s gun, but from a fellow Filipino’s. Macario Sakay’s path led him to the gallows. Ninoy Aquino’s path ended with those few steps from the top of a plane’s exit ladder. The farmers who fought for what was rightly theirs found the end of their path at the gates of Malacañang where they were gunned down by the same government forces who were supposed to defend them.
The path to heroism is sometimes fraught with terrifying challenges, ends, but not always. In fact, a lot of times, it’s a walk in the park.
All a policeman needs to do is to not accept that five hundred peso bill, do his job and issue that ticket, and there would be much less accidents on the road, much less smoke belchers and a much cleaner air. All a mayor needs to do is do what he’s mandated to do – serve the people, and make decisions that would result in a better life for his constituents and not in a fatter bank account for himself and his cohorts at the expense of the very same people who put him in office. All a president needs to do is to defend the constitution, as he or she has sworn to do, and not trample on it just to cling to power, or even simply let the wheels of justice turn as they’re supposed to, so as to let the world know that there is hope for justice in this country, instead of letting a monumental crime go unpunished, letting the world know instead that this country’s justice system can be circumvented by those who have enough money, never mind if that money is the result of plundering the coffers of a country where majority of its people are literally starving to death – where even a child can see the hopelessness of it all and end her own life to escape living the rest of her life in misery.
And as for the rest of us, all we need to do is cross the street where we’re supposed to, stop our car for a few seconds to let other people cross the street, not park our cars where we’re not supposed to, throw that cigarette butt in a trash can and not at the gutters where millions of other cigarette butts await that single one.
We can gripe all we want about how wrong the city government was in insisting on collecting only segregated garbage without a thorough information drive to educate the people on how it is done and what the benefits of doing it are, or we can also just begin simply segregating our garbage at home, and start telling our neighbors who don’t that a cleaner, healthier city for our children is surely worth the extra effort of putting biodegradables, recyclables and residuals in separate trash bags.
For some, it’s a journey that ends in death, for others, it’s a walk in the park – and we can all be heroes.
Andres Bonifacio’s path ended with a climb up a mountain where it ended with a bullet not from the enemy’s gun, but from a fellow Filipino’s. Macario Sakay’s path led him to the gallows. Ninoy Aquino’s path ended with those few steps from the top of a plane’s exit ladder. The farmers who fought for what was rightly theirs found the end of their path at the gates of Malacañang where they were gunned down by the same government forces who were supposed to defend them.
The path to heroism is sometimes fraught with terrifying challenges, ends, but not always. In fact, a lot of times, it’s a walk in the park.
All a policeman needs to do is to not accept that five hundred peso bill, do his job and issue that ticket, and there would be much less accidents on the road, much less smoke belchers and a much cleaner air. All a mayor needs to do is do what he’s mandated to do – serve the people, and make decisions that would result in a better life for his constituents and not in a fatter bank account for himself and his cohorts at the expense of the very same people who put him in office. All a president needs to do is to defend the constitution, as he or she has sworn to do, and not trample on it just to cling to power, or even simply let the wheels of justice turn as they’re supposed to, so as to let the world know that there is hope for justice in this country, instead of letting a monumental crime go unpunished, letting the world know instead that this country’s justice system can be circumvented by those who have enough money, never mind if that money is the result of plundering the coffers of a country where majority of its people are literally starving to death – where even a child can see the hopelessness of it all and end her own life to escape living the rest of her life in misery.
And as for the rest of us, all we need to do is cross the street where we’re supposed to, stop our car for a few seconds to let other people cross the street, not park our cars where we’re not supposed to, throw that cigarette butt in a trash can and not at the gutters where millions of other cigarette butts await that single one.
We can gripe all we want about how wrong the city government was in insisting on collecting only segregated garbage without a thorough information drive to educate the people on how it is done and what the benefits of doing it are, or we can also just begin simply segregating our garbage at home, and start telling our neighbors who don’t that a cleaner, healthier city for our children is surely worth the extra effort of putting biodegradables, recyclables and residuals in separate trash bags.
For some, it’s a journey that ends in death, for others, it’s a walk in the park – and we can all be heroes.
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