TURNING POINT: How theater transformed Angeli Bayani into the toast of Cannes

By Cora Llamas
Published in the Philippine Daily Inquirer, November 22 2013




Two moments are etched forever in the mind of indie film star Angeli Bayani, who is riding the twin waves of success brought about by the international acclaim surrounding her two films: Anthony Chen’s “Ilo Ilo” and Lav Diaz’s “Norte: Hangganan ng Kasaysayan.”

At this year’s Cannes Film Festival where “Ilo Ilo” won the Camera d’Or Award, Agnes Varda, the renowned New Wave filmmaker who also happened to be one of the festival jurors, commended her performance. Then, in one of the festival’s last dinner celebrations, jury president and Danish director Thomas Vinterberg spotted her in the crowd and also congratulated her.

All that the flabbergasted Bayani could do was mumble her thanks endlessly. It was a phrase she could not quite stop repeating, especially to the critics and movie buffs who gave both films standing ovations.

“Iba na talaga ito,” Bayani recalls thinking. “It was an international audience… hindi siya biro. It was humbling; I could only say ‘Thank you for watching, for being there.’”

Bayani’s astonishment could probably have been equaled only by those of her colleagues in the theater—though not on account of her acting skills, but of her unassuming demeanor and humble response to all the accolades.

Tough nut

As Bayani now laughingly remembers, she was a tough nut to crack as a theater student at the University of the Philippines (UP) and as a member of the Actors’ Company in Tanghalang Pilipino (TP).

“I was a jerk when I was in college, and TP cured me of that,” she admits. And even then, that transformation took time and quite a lot of effort from her TP mentors, such as then artistic director Herbie Go and company dance instructor Fil Tariao.

“I wasn’t a generous actor,” Bayani adds. “I was just winging it.”

Before her indie rise, she was a successful working actor who was never idle, hopping from teleserye to film projects regularly, with the occasional post-TP stage performances in the Philippine Educational Theater Association and Gantimpala. But, in fact, acting was not part of the younger Bayani’s career plans when she started out.

Her initial plan was to pursue events management; her time as a production manager in Dulaang UP was part of the preparation. Money was mainly her motivation then, and art was not yet part of the picture.

“I am the eldest in the family,” she says. “My parents had expectations. Gusto ko sila maiahon sa kahirapan. A friend of mine was doing corporate events and needed extra hands.  Nakaka-raket ako. For a student, it was a lot [of money].”

Her first professional paycheck literally made her scream in joy and call her mother. There was a light at the end of the tunnel.

Latent gift

But it would turn out to be a spotlight in front of, and not behind, the audience. Maybe part of the reason is genetic: Her father is stage actor Nilo Bayani, a contemporary of Pen Medina and the late Rey Ventura in Rolando Tinio’s Teatro Pilipino.

Bayani discovered her latent gift when circumstances forced her to seek bona fide stage experience in order to finish her student credits in UP. After trying out courses in Biology and Music, she transferred to Theater Arts and found she had a knack for production and stage management.

Left, Bayani with costar Koh Jia Ler in the acclaimed Singaporean film “Ilo Ilo”

But the transfer came too late and, per university rules, she was deemed overstaying. The only way she could earn her degree was to obtain actual theatrical credentials outside the university, which it would then credit as a prerequisite for her return.

A friend’s referral led to her audition in TP, which she thought was a mere process that would land her a paying stage management job. To her shock, she found out that she had been accepted as a scholar in the Actors’ Company.

While other acting wannabes would have given their right arm for the honor, Bayani was confronted with a dilemma: “Paano ako mabubuhay? [The allowance] was P50 a day. Doon nagsimula ang gutom ko. Hindi ko masabi sa nanay ko.”

After Go sat her down to a serious discussion, she stayed primarily to prove herself—and to work herself up to better roles.  Again, money was her motivation, and she took to heart the advice of the more senior members of the company who told her, “You have to be good in class, committed, involved.  Throw yourself into the role. As a scholar, you get paid only if you are cast in a role. In the event that you fail in the audition, the artistic director can volunteer you to become part of the chorus [where] you get a minimum honorarium.”

Wrong attitude

Thrown into serious drama, Bayani’s gifts emerged—along with her lack of enthusiasm for the craft. The first one to give her the needed “kick in the head” was Go: “You’re so ungrateful,” he told her.

Later on, their mutual friends told her the source of Go’s frustrations: “He could never be satisfied [with me]. He [was seeing] something more. So, ginalingan ko sa classes.”

The second shock to her system came from Tariao’s cutting reprimand: “I don’t care how good an actress you are; I would never cast you because of how you behave in my dance class.”

After her own anger and frustration subsided, Bayani conceded her dance teacher was right: “To be an actor in the complete sense, you have to know how to use your body.  More importantly, my attitude was wrong—para magawa lang, mairaos lang. In dance class, you see the commitment of a person because it shows in her body. Kung wala sa puso, hindi siya lalabas sa galaw.”

She pauses, then continues, “When you hold back, you can’t tell a story. Dapat wala ’yung walls.”

As her own walls crumbled and the actress persona in her embraced her craft, her relations with both Go and Tariao improved. Bayani would later graduate to supporting roles in TP plays like “Anatomiya ng Korupsyon” and the smash “jologs” Shakespeare production “R’meo Luvs Dhew-liett.”

Leads eventually came in productions like Bienvenido Lumbera and Ryan Cayabyab’s “Noli Me Tangere,” where director Paul Morales cast her against type as Maria Clara. In 2007, Bayani the actress found herself wanting to stretch her wings, and departed from TP to try out other theater companies, teleserye and film.

But in every stint she did, she never forgot her teachers. “When you work with people like Herbie, Fil, Anna [Valdes-Lim] and Irma [Adlawan], your attitude and perspective change. Every time I do a project, I think of what they would say, and that I want to make them proud.”

Creative spaces

The past few years, she found her niche in indie films, probably because of the creative spaces that the genre allows. One colleague with whom she has established such an artistic partnership is Diaz, for whom she has done the films “Death in the Land of Encantos,” “Siglo ng Pagluluwal” and “Melancholia.”

For her role as the wife of a salvage victim in the martial law era, Bayani won the Vic Silayan Award for Best Actress in 2008. In the current festival-circuit hit “Norte,” she plays a poor housewife in a poverty-stricken Laoag that is priming itself for a revolution at the end of historical time.

Working with Diaz, says Bayani, is “like going back as an actor in the sense that you are expected to create, and not just follow.”

Meanwhile, her time with Chen was a “learning experience. He’s a perfectionist who knew what he wanted.”

In “Ilo Ilo,” Bayani plays the Filipino nanny of a Singaporean family who goes through their upheaval as their country suffers from the Asian economic crisis.

“It was based on Anthony Chen’s life,” she says. “He had a yaya from Iloilo and he never forgot [her].”

That lasting attachment removes any stereotypes in the film: “His treatment of the Pinay is fair,” says Bayani. “He showed everything without bias. Wala siyang kinampihan.”

Her recent experience is causing Bayani to form her own biases and perspectives. “I have this newfound feeling,” she says. “The international [stints] resurrected my passion for storytelling. You fight to tell your story the best way that you can.”

While indie films will remain her staple, Bayani finds herself wanting to return to the theatrical foundations that molded her.“I want to go back to theater,” she says—though, in a sense, “I don’t think I ever left. I always bring with me the training and discipline that I learned from it.”

“Ilo Ilo” will open in Philippine cinemas on Dec. 4.

FILIPINO FILM: Sean Ellis' 'Metro Manila': The Evolution of the Innocent Pinoy from Victim to Player

By Cora Llamas
Published in Interaksyon Lifestyle Website, August 27 2013

irst, let me start this piece with a disclaimer.  This is not a film review, and as such it will not discuss or evaluate the artistic merits of the film such as the direction, production design, editing, cinematography, sound and the other technical aspects that make or break a great film.  Otherwise, it would have ended in the Entertainment section of this Web site where my respected peers are more qualified to write a bona fide movie review.

Rather, call this piece a film reflection of the lifestyle—meaning the attitude, paradigms and behavior—of the protagonists in the drama that mirrors perhaps an aspect of our own, which we wrestle with every day although not in so grand or dramatic a scale, fortunately.  In that sense, a discussion, and not necessarily a critique, of  the performances, story line, and thematics of the film is called for.

And be warned, spoilers are unavoidable.

Portrait of the city
‘Metro Manila,’ another searing portrayal of the underbelly of the nation’s capital as seen through the eyes of an innocent provinciano and his family, will open in theaters on October 5.  It has already won critical raves and the Audience Award in the World Cinema-Dramatic category of the prestigious Sundance Film Festival early part of this year.  Filipino actors speak Tagalog within the film that takes us from the fields of Banaue to the slums, nightclubs, and vaults of the titular city.  English subtitles make the journey more comprehensible for the foreign audience.  But what makes the film remarkable is that it was conceptualized, produced, and helmed by British director Sean Ellis who found the initial beginnings of the story when he became witness to an actual robbery while taking a trip in Metro Manila.

According to some of the earlier write-ups that emerged preceding the premiere of the film last month, Ellis originally wrote the movie in English – and had the cast members themselves translate the dialogue into Tagalog.  If true, that approach pretty much explains why the onscreen English translation flashed on the screen captured the essence of the Tagalog words spoken by the cast (or should it be vice-versa?).  Unlike many of its counterparts, the translation was happily far from translatese.

Perhaps it is the British perspective, but the old haunts that we are used to suddenly appear in a different light, without losing their familiarity.  Metro Manila echoes films like Lino Brocka’s classic Maynila:  Sa Kuko ng Liwang where the innocent soul is uprooted from his provincial roots to find his fate in the Big Bad City. This stranger-in-a-strange-land tales rarely end in happiness; tragedy is often the aftermath, adding another victim to those who had already been killed by injustice, poverty, corruption and the other social sins you can think of.

The challenges and travails of living in the city is depicted in ‘Metro Manila.’ In photo are actors Jake Macapagal, Althea Vega, and Erin Panlilio. Photo courtesy of Captiva Cinema Distribution.

What makes Metro Manila different is that the poor Filipino, in this case farmer-turned-security-guard Oscar Ramirez (Jake Macapagal) does not accept his fate blindly but rages against the dying of the light in order to protect his family. He does it as a Pinoy caught in the same situation would.  There are no unrealistic heroic protestations and no fighting-against-the-windmills campaigns.  In fact, the film shows that another honest victim did – and failed, agonizingly; as a consequence, like the executions of leaders in Imperial Rome, his entire family suffers without his protection.

Going against type
Oscar does not do any grand gestures, except understandably try to slug his mentor, Ong (John Arcilla) who was seducing him slowly into the dark side.  Ramirez knows the odds are against him and his family.  His wife Mai reluctantly dances in a bar, and their 9-year-old daughter is being eyed by the Mama-san for her customers “with special needs.”  Oscar himself was lured into becoming a pawn by Ong in his machinations to get back against the system while earning retirement money for himself through the largess of their rich clients’ entrusted funds.  Once Oscar finds out the truth, Ong gives him only two horrific choices:  Play along and get a cut of the big bucks, or be implicated and you and your family will be thrown in jail.

Scene from ‘Metro Manila.’ Photo courtesy of Captiva Cinema Distribution.

Three-fourths into the film, Oscar and his family appear as the usual archetype in any Pinoy film of this genre:  the naïve scapegoat who must join the system or sacrifice his life.  Oscar does make a huge sacrifice – but it buys his family their freedom.  And whether or not he intended to, he actually becomes the master of his own destiny, up to the last moments.  The twist of the film – and hard-pressed for anyone to see it coming – has Oscar taking his life back from the system.  Forget the pity party or the Pinoy as the proverbial victim – this provinciano becomes the ultimate player.

And Oscar pulls it off  in character as the ‘typical Pinoy’:  scared, numb, desperate, praying throughout while always keeping his family in mind.

What makes this triumph glorious is recognizing the battles that Oscar and his family had to fight to keep themselves and their sanity intact.  The honest, hardworking but poor Ramirezes are noble to the core – which gets the audience on their side while making them easy prey for more treacherous wolves.  Homeless, penniless, they would strain to do the right thing even if it hurts.  If the first reaction is always the honest one, then Mai’s spontaneous plea to Oscar to return money that was  not his is just one example of the couple’s moral core.  Or take their little 9-year-old girl who, without thinking of the consequences to herself, rescues a stray kitten that is being beaten by bullies.

All too noble, true—and yet until the final pay-off, you wonder how long this family will last, or what form their tragic bloody end would take.

The film also does a splendid job of pitting one homegrown Filipino value against another, without preaching from a soap box.  The couple’s regular utterance of their belief in the Almighty to see them through during the tough times can appear to be a bedrock of strength in one scene, and a defeatist statement in another.  Oscar constantly weighs his desire to do what is right versus the debt he feels (‘utang na loob’) he owes Ong, his older brother-teacher-tempter.  The choices are agonizing, and to the Pinoy psyche, does not appear to be automatically cut-and-dried although the morality as the couple sees them is portrayed as black-and-white.

Ultimately, and not surprisingly, the one value that prevailed was the love for family, probably the one value  that characterizes the Filipino.  Family above principle, family above the temptation to succumb to what you know is wrong, family over personal survival.

Scene from ‘Metro Manila.’ Photo courtesy of Captiva Cinema Distribution.

The ending is far from Pollyanish.  The last words of Oscar say it all—and I paraphrase:  “We won not because we believed in dreams, but because we knew there was no way out.”

THEATER REVIEW: Halik ng Tarantula’–profound psycho-sexual drama is now plain gay romance

By Cora Llamas
Published in The Philippine Daily Inquirer March 9 2013

ALCANTARA as Valentin and Gandanghari as Molina. In this production, sex is the ultimate payoff; everything else becomes anticlimactic.

The press releases and the surrounding hype made no bones about it: The main attraction of this production, “Halik ng Tarantula,” a straight-play adaptation of Manuel Puig’s novel “Kiss of the Spider Woman,” is celebrity BB Gandanghari who is making her entrance into Philippine theater. Gandanghari is also the play’s producer.

There is nothing wrong with that per se. Many of the leading Broadway shows as well as some of Manila’s finest productions had name film stars cross over to the stage to bring in a new audience eager to see how the artist in question would rise to the challenge. Those who do succeed lose themselves in the character and bring their own nuances into their interpretation of the role, blending seamlessly with the other merits of the production as a whole. What starts out as a star turn becomes a striking, bona- fide, dramatic performance.

There is so much to delve into in “Kiss of the Spider Woman,” which has been translated both into celluloid and musical theater. The musical version, with book by theater luminary Terence McNally and set to music by John Kander and Fred Ebb, won the Tony Award for Best Musical in 1993.

William Hurt and the late Raul Julia played the leads in Hector Babenco’s 1985 movie. Hurt justifiably won several major awards such as the Oscar and the Cannes Film Festival for his turn as Molina, the homosexual imprisoned in an Argentine jail for allegedly corrupting a minor.

Molina is a juicy, meaty part that actors wanting to test their dramatic range would want to sink their teeth into. Back then, it was considered a bold if risky career move for Hurt, one of the top leading men in the 1980s.  As written, Molina is a flamboyant, complex character whose escapades into the films that he loves function as a mirror of his own fears, his fellow inmate’s, as well as the audience’s.

Punchy material

In “Halik ng Tarantula,” the late playwright Rene Villanueva shifted the scene from Argentina to Manila, and the use of the street vernacular makes the material punchy, familiar and easy to relate to. By itself, the dialogue of this adaptation was meant to light sparks between the two characters. For it must be remembered that, regardless of Molina’s flamboyance, this is a play about two characters: his and fellow inmate Valentin—two characters whose worlds are very much apart and yet at the end find common ground in their humanity.

Molina is supposedly the shallow one who prefers to dream away his difficulties by recollecting his favorite movies, while Valentin is the pragmatic, hardened rebel soldier who has no illusions about the world he is fighting in. The titular “spider woman” is the enigmatic character in Molina’s tale, ostensibly representing their innermost desires: Molina’s desire to be a woman and Valentin’s longing for his lost fiancée.

Their contrasts make these two characters immediate combatants, yet their own quest for their humanity and their place in the world draws them together. The characters were written to make the audience confront their own internal demons: Where does hope lie? When does one fight and when does one let go? What is the better world that we must build? To what lengths should we go to reclaim our identity and self-respect?

BB GANDANGHARI and Jet Alcantara in “Halik ng Tarantula”—Manuel Puig’s “Kiss of the Spider Woman” adapted into Filipino by the late Rene Villanueva, and directed by Soxie Topacio

It is a tapestry of difficult soul-searching that the spider woman, embodied in the leading lady character narrated by Molina, weaves the two characters into.

Homegrown dialogue

The discourses between Molina and Valentin should have been alternately explosive, gut-wrenching and comforting as they collide and connect. However, from the beginning, Gandanghari and Jet Alcantara as Valentin play it as a buddy movie. There is no initial animosity, no tension at the difference, not even the macho soldier’s disgust at sharing a cell with a gay inmate.

Villanueva’s homegrown dialogue works against itself as the familiarity of the language makes the two bounce off each other like estranged but now reunited childhood friends. There is no drama in them drawing closer to each other, because they seem never to have been apart.

Much of the philosophical, political and emotional layering that we had seen in the film and the musical, and which is ostensibly present in the original novel, is lost in this approach. Perhaps director Soxie Topacio should have rehearsed his actors more.

Gandanghari’s one-note performance plays Molina as an aggrieved homosexual out for his self-respect, and who happens to fall in love with his cell mate. The center of the drama no longer lies on how the two create a bridge between them while preserving their differences, but on how and when Valentin will reciprocate Molina’s affections.

No texture

The inevitability of it all makes you want to just have the play on flash-forward mode. Nowhere do we feel Valentin’s struggle with his self-identity as he finds a connection with someone so alien to him. Instead, Alcantara’s physicality is highlighted in scenes featuring his frequent partial nudity, all meant to titillate but ultimately uncover nothing of the texture of the material.

The sex that happens in the film and the musical resonates as a closure and acknowledgement that the walls have temporarily opened. The characters have reached a détente, but they have not lost their souls or their causes in the process.

In this production, the sex is the ultimate payoff as Molina wins her man despite his macho veneer and reluctance, and everything else becomes anticlimactic. The ending that should have seen a poignant separation of ways becomes a reunion in heaven, metaphorical or otherwise.

At the end, Molina is even acknowledged as the spider woman or the tarantula of the production. The lady in question was more than that. She was mysterious, enigmatic, revealing, with a key into the dark and redemptive natures of the human soul. Unfortunately, this writer never saw her in this production.

BB Gandanghari Inc.’s production of “Halik ng Tarantula” runs at Teatrino, Greenhills until today. Call TicketWorld at 8919999.

THEATER REVIEW: ‘The Full Monty’–the bare bodies are just the icing on the cake

By Cora Llamas
Published in The Philippine Daily Inquirer May 4 2013

JAMIE Wilson, Arnell Ignacio and Mark Bautista in “The Full Monty”

The strip show of six grown men is just the come-on and crowd-drawer of Viva Atlantis Theatricals’ “The Full Monty.” The centerpiece of this musical really lies in the gradual revelation of the male heart and soul, piece by poignant piece.

Long before the production reaches its skin-baring finale, the one-time-only male-stripper group founded by laid-off steelworker Jerry Lukowski (Mark Bautista) has already uncovered onstage the many layers that form the male psyche.

Sison, Bautista and Ignacio in the musical’s “audition” scene

There may be exceptions, but generally, opening up their inner selves is not something your typical male likes doing. This holds especially true for the characters who are all blue-collar workers still firmly entrenched in a macho code.

The money may be running dry, but they chafe at the thought of getting any type of job that they feel is beneath them (e.g., mall baggers). They would try to hide the truth of their unemployment from their wives for fear of being dumped. Their worst nightmare: losing their wives and kids to another man who is a far better provider.

This kind of soul-searching is serious; ask any unemployed family man struggling to make a living. But “The Full Monty,” as directed by Chari Arespacochaga, makes it a hilarious ride. The 1997 movie on which it was based was a feel-good film. So is this musical, and the book written by Terence McNally and music and lyrics composed by David Yazbek have the audience cheering and clapping to the end.

IGNACIO and Jay Valencia-Glorioso, the wisecracking piano player whose acid wit keeps the group in check.

What makes it amazing is that the catcalls and whistles are not cries of passion and lust, but a hearty salute of a once skeptical community toward men who have found a way to regain their masculinity. After unemployment cost them their dignity, now they’re back to recovering their balls, in more ways than one.

Strong leader

ARNELL Ignacio

TV star Bautista, who gets the American accent down pat, makes a strong leader for this ensemble. He is a father and former husband who is desperate enough to put up a Chippendales-style show to raise the funds he needs to continue to share custody of his smart son Ethan (Nathan Baranda Paras).

His friendship with Dave Bukatinsky (Jamie Wilson, perfectly overweight for the part) is the fulcrum that holds the group together. Some of these characters were designed for comic relief, such as the simpering security guard Malcolm (OJ Mariano) and the “Spiderman” wannabe Ethan (Niño Alejandro).

Marco Sison as Horse does not totally project the African-American has-been (or never-was), but the singer in him still commands attention every time he belts a tune. Arnell Ignacio’s supposed foreman-turned-dance-teacher may have come in a little later in the story, but adds more layers to the plot. More than any of his dancing buddies, his fall from prosperity may be the hardest of them all.

JamieWilson

The only female member of the band is the wisecracking piano player (Jay Valencia-Glorioso) whose acid wit keeps the group in check.

The bonding that forms among this motley crew soon spreads out to the rest of their circle, which is their families. Macho brawlers they may be, but they are still vulnerable to the women they love, and one of the most affecting numbers is the one sung by Harold and David to their sleeping wives (“You Rule My World”).

Marco Sison

Another is the confrontation between Dave and his wife Georgie (Ciara Sotto). Malcolm and Ethan, meanwhile, both bachelors, find an unexpected comfort in each other (“You Walk With Me”).

Then there is, of course, Jerry and his effort to find a way to win back his son and the respect of his ex-wife (Sitti Navarro).

Struggles they may be, but from the time the first number is sung, the musical’s comic element is an assurance that all’s well that ends well. Maybe because of that feel-good factor, there were some plot points that were tied just a bit too neatly or were simply unnecessary kinks that added nothing to the story

.

Jerry’s sudden change of heart before curtain call had no emotional or thematic preparation. And for a wife who was righteously aghast over her son’s participation in a peep show, no matter how ludicrous, Pam suddenly appears during the big event, bringing her little boy and fiancé in tow.

Niño Alejandro

All these are overlooked, though, once the proverbial show-within-a-show starts. Yes, this oddball bunch does take it all the way—and by then, amid all the hurrahs and hails, their bare bodies are just the icing on the cake.

Viva Atlantis Theatricals’ “The Full Monty” is on its last weekend at the Carlos P. Romulo Auditorium, RCBC Plaza, Ayala Avenue corner Gil Puyat, Makati City. Call 8927078 and 8919999.

PHILIPPINE THEATER: Can you make a living as a theater performer?

At the end of the day, if we can warm those seats every night with people, then [performing in] theater may become a living’

By Cora LlamasPublished in The Philippine Daily Inquirer June 8 2013

WORKSHOPS run by companies like Tanghalang Pilipino give birth to new generations of actors. These workshops also become additional means of income for senior actors now turned workshop facilitators and theater teachers.

It is a question many young theater hopefuls are asking these days, as the Philippine theater industry apparently has been enjoying a boom in recent years.

The old reliables—established theater companies with a well-earned pedigree such as Repertory Philippines, Tanghalang Pilipino, the Philippine Educational Theater Association (Peta) and Atlantis Productions, to name a few—have been consistent in producing regular seasons. New theater companies, with many of their founders graduating from the established ones, have been sprouting as well as they target their own niche audiences.

Finally, another arguable evidence that the ticket-buying audience is growing are the well-attended performances by expensive foreign touring productions such as “Cats” and “Phantom of the Opera.” And if the latest buzz is to be believed, the mammoth musical theater hit “Wicked” is coming in to replace the recently cancelled “Dirty Dancing.”

While the local theater community is not yet on the same level, industry-wise, as its more renowned counterparts on Broadway and the West End, the expansion is significant and visible. An enthusiastic young generation of new artists is stepping into the leading-performer shoes of their mentors who have gone on into stage production and direction.

Doing the math

TANGHALANG Pilipino’s current Actors’ Company, with TP artistic director Nanding Josef (back, second from right) and stalwart arts benefactor Tonyboy Cojuangco (back, third from left)

Not too long ago, these theater pillars were the ingénues and rising stars who stayed loyal to one company, supporting their theater avocation with day jobs; some of them were financially independent and could indulge their passion.

Has the situation changed since, given the current boom? Can theater performers now devote their lives totally to their art without having to worry about mundane things like bills to pay?

First, let’s do the math. While there does seem to be many avenues to display one’s thespian prowess now, the economics remains pretty much similar to what it was 10 years ago.

Generally, unless they are full-time in-house actors like the few in Tanghalang Pilipino, actors are paid per performance. The figures range from P1,500 to P3,500 per show; musical theater pays more than straight plays, and obviously lead roles enjoy a higher rate than supporting parts and the chorus. Rehearsal fees range from P200 to P500, barely enough to cover transportation and representation expenses. Meanwhile, TP’s acting scholars get less than P10,000 a month.

One way for a theater performer to work around this is to take advantage of the many productions going on: Take note of the schedule of all the auditions, plan your schedule accordingly and dazzle the directors enough so that you can land roles to survive on for the next year.

AUDIE Gemora

Positive change

Another positive change in recent years that helps the actor is the lowering of theater boundaries that once declared exclusivity. Performers once identified with Repertory Philippines, for example, can now cross over to Tanghalang Pilipino or Peta, and vice versa.

Still, to take advantage of this situation, Rem Zamora, a board member of the soon-to-be-launched Red Turnip Theater, points out that a theater performer has “to be in three to four plays at least a year.  Rehearsals take a month and the actual production another month.”

Zamora, who made a name in musical theater with Rep, has done stints both onstage and behind-the scenes, appearing in productions and also marketing them. Currently, he also manages and produces events for private individuals and corporations.

Zamora has been donning that dual hat since he decided to join theater full-time in 1999. Back then, outside the stage, he followed in a family business tradition and ran restaurants and bars. As a young actor, he had to make sure that “I had a [financial] back-up. There were seasons where you did not fit into the productions. I kept myself secure by having other businesses outside theater.”

REM ZAMORA: “Right now, unless you are independently wealthy, I don’t think theater can be a full-time job.”

For him and most of his Rep batchmates, “there were always other sources of income.”

Artist’s life

That financial back-up is vital now as it was then, given the nature of the beast. As industry pillar Audie Gemora puts it, “[It’s] the nature of an artist’s life. For example, how can you apply for insurance when you don’t have a steady job? You are always good as your last performance.”

Gemora, once known as the “Prince of Philippine Musical Theater,” is now a stage father of sorts, nurturing the next batch of performers and other artists in his productions, workshops and a new school he is putting up. Yet this award-winning actor also admits, “I may be at the top of my game, but I’m not hired all the time.”

Sometimes, landing a role does not depend on skill or dramatic versatility but the age factor. Gemora continues, “I used to play the romantic leads. Now, I can get away with playing Von Trapp [in ‘The Sound of Music’], but [age] limits my roles.  What do we do with actors who are aging?”

The realities of life can also bite hard on young thespians in a different way. Gemora opines that single, unattached performers can run on passion and adrenaline, but “the moment you have a family, you have to supply your income from other means.”

Older thespians with bigger responsibilities do capitalize on their craft by performing in other media outside theater. Nanding Josef, artistic director of Tanghalang Pilipino, is a senior actor who has seen his fair share of supporting family members.

One way he has survived this long is by appearing in film and television; a recurring role in a teleserye like “Guns and Roses” where he played Robin Padilla’s senile father, went a long way toward helping make ends meet.

A supporting role in a teleserye pays a talent fee that ranges from P25,000 to P30,000 per shooting day. Do two tapings a week and you can earn and save enough money. However, those two days are in fact 24-hour shoots that will end up consuming the rest of your week.

Other sources

There are other sources of income that are associated with the dramatic arts. Appearing as a lead role in a TV commercial pays from P20,000 to six figures for one shooting day, but these stints come few and far between. Voice-over commercials can pay P8,000 to P15,000 per gig.

The more recognized theater performers can leverage on their name and experience and charge a higher rate in doing events and other shows produced by commercial enterprises. Early in their careers while still doing leading-man roles, Gemora and Zamora laid the foundation for their now thriving events management groups.

Zamora acknowledges, “We try to find other sources of income around a relatively small sphere of entertainment. If we do a corporate gig, we are doing a show that the company wants to put up. We will do anything for that extra buck.”

Josef is looking for other sources of income such as more corporate sponsors and workshops that can provide an acting teacher an income stream, at least for some weeks. One reason is to prevent talented but starving actors from leaving their craft.

“We want our actors to be successful. They enjoy the work and the whole process—it’s fulfilling and enriching, but what if their stomachs are empty? We want to make a [healthy] industry from what we are doing,” he adds.

Zamora couldn’t agree more. He believes that actors can survive and blossom if the theater industry thrives. Like Josef, he is thinking of how to bring in new audiences, and that may be a great determining factor.

“Right now, unless you are independently wealthy, I don’t think theater can be a full-time job. It takes a lot to put up a production,” he says.

“At the end of the day,” he muses, “if we can warm those seats every night with people, then [performing in] theater may become a living.”

PHILIPPINE THEATER: Bart Guingona, Irma Adlawan, Nonie Buencamino–they all began in campus theater

By Cora Llamas
Published in The Philippine Daily Inquirer, October 26 2013

TANGHALANG Ateneo’s “Sintang Dalisay,” 2011, directed by
Ricardo Abad

Some students may regard it as a hobby until they graduate, while others see it as a bona fide drama course for a long-term career. Regardless of its practitioners’ motivations, the recent developments in university-based theater organizations have transformed campus theater into a serious training ground for students’ professional, intellectual and moral growth once they leave the academe.

First, a little disclosure. Starting sophomore year in college, I spent a huge chunk of my time with Tanghalang Ateneo (TA) when it was just an informal theater group finding its legs. During the mid-’80s in the Loyola Heights campus, there was no academic or “professional” gain whatsoever to it. Our extracurricular work then was not credited as part of the requirements of the curriculum. No one thought of listing in their CVs the skills gained from participation in the drama group. Every single centavo earned—it was a while before the university granted TA subsidy—went back to producing the next play.

We loved what we did and bonded with each other as a second family—and that was enough reason to go on. But, personally speaking, the lessons learned in those three years formed behavior patterns, intellectual mind-sets and an emotional resilience that served us well when we migrated to the “real world.”

More than a hobby

But then again, passion, regardless of the eventual prize, has always been the fuel that prods a theater person, student or practitioner alike, to do his best. Ricky Abad, our then moderator who would later become TA’s artistic director for the next 30 years, banked on it as he coached his core of students who were actually majoring in nontheater courses like business administration, finance, marketing, history, literature, communication arts, etc.

RECENT Dulaang UP productions: “Umaaraw, Umuulan, Kinakasal ang Tikbalang,” 2011, directed by Jose Estrella;

Abad himself ran on it. He was a Teatro Pilipino actor by night and a professor at the Ateneo’s Socio-Anthropology Department by day. It would take a couple of decades before he would launch the Fine Arts Program where colleagues like the late National Artist Salvador Bernal could formally teach theater design.

“We had to make theater more than a hobby for the students,” Abad says. “We could have an elective like acting classes which had only 23 students the first year.”

Among the prominent theater practitioners TA has produced are actors Nonie Buencamino, Richard Cunanan and Gabe Mercado; production designer Gino Gonzales, and award-winning playwrights Ron Capinding, BJ Crisostomo and Guelan Luarca. These days, when students do apply for membership in TA, “they see that they have to be professional. It’s not just a play,” says Abad.

Prominent neighbor

Dulaang UP (DUP), TA’s older and more prominent neighbor a jeepney ride away, started as the official theater arm to the state university’s speech, communication and theater arts course in 1976. From its founding by Tony Mabesa in 1976, it was envisioned as a cradle for future professionals.

“The Seagull,” 2012, directed by Tony Mabesa

Many of the country’s leading thespians and theater practitioners today trace their roots to Dulaang UP: Bart Guingona, Irma Adlawan, Shamaine Centenera Buencamino, Frances Makil-Ignacio, Eugene Domingo, Stella Cañete, Ces Quesada, Jon Santos; playwrights and directors such as Floy Quintos, Tuxqs Rutaquio, Dexter Santos, Dennis Marasigan; and other creative luminaries such as film director Aureaus Solito, Ballet Philippines artistic director Paul Morales and acclaimed international scenographer Clint Ramos.

Dulaang UP veteran and current artistic director Alex Cortez tells both parents and students that “theater is not just a hobby, but something that people can make a profession of. We explain to them why rehearsals end late—and they have to sign a waiver.”

Both DUP and TA members spend an average of three hours a day on production work after classes. This can increase once opening day nears. However, students cannot use the long hours to justify their missing classes or deadlines in other subjects.

Cortez makes it plain to his students: “This is the kind of world you are entering. If you cannot make it here, you cannot make it out there.”

Newfound skills

“Atang,” 2008, directed by Alex Cortez

While recent DUP and TA alumni try to make their mark in the theater world on and offstage, others use their newfound skills in performance, presentation and production management in other fields such as advertising, events, public relations, call centers and education. The growth of professional theater outside campus and the international opportunities offered to Filipino theater actors by productions like “Miss Saigon” have increased the interest of many students in the art.

Such that the UP Theater Arts Department has created a certificate course for applicants who may have failed the UP general entrance exam but passed the department’s auditions. Cortez explains the difference and the benefits: “The certificate offers hands-on instruction in theater without the theoreticals. We teach the students the ropes of production management and performance.”

Meanwhile, Abad has also been beefing up his training program for TA students through the Fine Arts Program, and the

occasional coaching of TA alumni and colleagues and friends from the theater industry and the Cultural Center of the Philippines, and also DUP alumni who are getting involved with TA plays.

“Right now, we are working with guest artists like Myra Beltran and Floy Quintos. In the past, I collaborated with Badong [Bernal] and Nonon Padilla. I believe that collaboration is essential to make the theater companies grow; it invites new resources and ideas and also makes the students work under different artists.”

Expanding his students’ horizons can also come by breaking through the usual campus parameters, including the international linkages. Cortez plans on creating linkages with other schools like Carnegie Mellon to “bring their students here and train them in theater and vice-versa. We can reach out to other countries such as Australia and the UnitedStates.”

TANGHALANG Ateneo’s “The Death of Memory,” 2007, written by Glenn Sevilla Mas, directed by Ricardo Abad

International festivals

Meanwhile, Abad has been slowly bringing some of his TA students to participate in workshops and perform in international university-based theater festivals based in India, Singapore, China and, recently, Vietnam. Some of these international organizations have also invited him to direct their plays.

He admits, “My confidence and that of my actors increased. It does not matter if you are acting opposite artists from Hong Kong, China or Singapore. This is cultural exposure—the students see the styles of different schools and theater companies.”

Ateneo and the students help raise funds for their transportation while the host universities provide venue, food and training. Abad says, “We’d like to do this every year if we can find the money.”

Right now, TA and Ateneo’s fine arts program do things under a partnership; Abad still dreams of placing his group under an official theater program.

“This can help bring in more resources and you’d have someone from the school handling the finances, for example. Right now, it’s the student officers handling it, and there is usually a turnover.”

Cortez also wants similar, greater exposure for his students outside of the UP area. Thus, the blockbuster DUP production “Orosman and Zafira” had a successful run at the SM Mall of Asia last year.

More adherents

Support has been increasing for both organizations’ efforts. Interestingly enough, in the next few years, both DUP and TA might be moving to their own new individual buildings, which will have their own rehearsal spaces and theater venues. They need that space, because their efforts at establishing a professional training ground for new generations of theater artists appear to be gaining more and more adherents.

Cortez looks back: “When I started, there were less than 50 students for the entire theater course. Now we have 150 for the four years. And students now are becoming interested not just in acting but in the technical aspects like production management, stage management and lighting design.”

“How does theater equip the student?” Abad muses. “He learns integrity of the work, discipline of the craft, beating the deadline, the capacity to improvise. Theater is also collaborative—you have to learn to work with people, even those you don’t like.”