Music & lyrics by Florante Aguilar and directed by Alleluia Panis

I am a bit ambivalent about this production especially since it was advertised as an “opera”, definitely a misnomer, and especially since I am familiar with the choreographer and the composer/guitarist, both of whom I do admire.  But more so, because at the outset, there was not a single gripping scene that would want me to feel nostalgia nor patriotic or even sentimental. In fact, I felt tired after the performance, tired from struggling how to process the performance, the instrumental music, and the singing. Perhaps because having run out of balcony seats, I had to settle for a midsection seating that unfortunately did not contribute to a satisfactory listening experience, for in that seating section, the instrumental music was blaring and persistently loud, that were it not for the splendid projection of Candida, I would have had the opportunity to savor her pleasant mezzo soprano timbre.  I cannot say the same for Macario who at times sounded as if he was mumbling his lines (it could have been a technical issue). Having said that, overall, the music showed originality particularly in the percussive moments when it broke away from the typical 3/4 slow waltz genre Filipino folk music has come to be identified with, although the volume of the sound from where I sat did not give me the opportunity to fully enjoy the glissandos and “hagod” that was admirably played by the cellist. Now, the “hagod” for the discerning listeners out there, is a momentary cessation of playing at the end of a glissando where the last note is carried across, held in suspense, then  resolves to a tonal focus, usually a minor chord. This is often described as “sugary” but is a mark of a good “harana” (serenade) and if performed well could very well mean a woman’s acquiesce to the serenader. I expected a serenade at least, but was not indulged. Which probably where my ambivalence stems from.  The program notes (unfortunately, until I can get hold of the libretto, this would be only reference point other than my not too precise recollection – it would have been a simple matter to print out the lyrics), describes the song cycle as a sequence of songs that weave into a narrative, pieced together from childhood memories of the composer growing up in the town of Kawit, in the province of Cavite. Hence literally, where the term “lalawigan” comes from – province. Before this term was colonized and transliterated into the English ‘province’ or probinsya (hispanized Tagalog) it was the ideal site of local, romantic, and bucolic sentiments before it was overtaken in importance by the City, a modern phenomenon, of which Cavite (as city) now is an integral part of Greater Manila’s urban sprawl along the coast of Manila Bay. Cavite and Kawit, the historic town which saw the birth of a nation – Filipinas, was far removed from Manila, the City. Until the South Superhighway was built, going to Cavite overland was an ardous trip through the hills of Tagaytay and its backroads. Cavite was so isolated that it had the notorious (unfortunately) reputation as a haven for bandits that made law men afraid to venture into. Just as in the past, it was a safe haven for the Katipunan revolutionaries who fought against Spain and the Americans and where the latter were only able to contain the guerrillas by “hamleting” the province – a method of starving guerrillas from popular support.  Cavite, the lalawigan, therefore offered safe haven for the Macario in this production, whose character was inspired according to the program notes, by a real life Katipunan hero, Macario Sakay.   The notion of lalawigan then is a call for that  idyllic, pre-modern scenario. In the context of the revolutionary Katipunan ideals, lalawigan envisioned the simple life, of honesty, of religion,  of purity and nobility, characterizations evoked by the main characters plain fisher folks, Candida and Isagani, who are played by Kristine Sinajon and Kyle de Ocera. As the narrative unfolds, Isagani (and the whole town no doubt) supported the guerrilla activities of Macario, played by Raymond Bagatsing. Macario’s objective was to capture weapons from the enemy, the Kastila.  Much mention of the Kastila abounds. But curiously, the Kastila remains an ephemeral object and is not physically represented until late in the production, nor were their oppressiveness symbolized or why even they have to be fought. Herein lies, in part, my ambiguity. Is the production a longing for the past and all its virtues as esconced in the notion of lalawigan, or is it a postmodern interpretation of bygone historical event which appears a-patriotic and even a-nationalistic devoid of flagwaving, anticolonial rhetoric cast in a contemporary song genre?  When Isagani is commanded by Macario to attack the enemy, he obeys the ideals of purity, faith, and nobility in spite of  Macario’s agnostic mockery of Isagani’s faith. Isagani dies of course, and the poor heartbroken  Candida agonizes for Isagani for years yet was unable to bring herself to suicide, and instead becomes the town’s mad woman. Colonization does creates severe pychosis.  The final scene puts Macario being dragged into center stage by a soldier. Presumably, a Kastila – tall, boots, tatoo and all (but could very be interpreted as American).  As the music reaches a crescendo, with lots of rasguedos and percussion,  the sound of gunfire drops Macario onto the ground into a crumpled heap. [The real Macario Sakay, was arrested by Americans in connivance with native officials, tried and hanged in 1907, one of the last hold outs of the Revolution of 1896, thus paving the way for the creation of the Philippine Assembly, the first steps in the America’s “Benevolent” program of colonization.] If this is what Alleluia means in her introduction to the program when she says we still contend with the “scars of colonialism”,  then this song cycle falls short of  provoking anti-colonial sentiments. It will require a re-reading of Sakay’s biography who was killed on America’s watch in collusion with the local elites and the colonial administration.  The rhetoric of the Katipunan (of which Sakay was a master of) , some of which are still redolent in rural southern Tagalog communities where deep Tagalog philosophies are reminiscent of Katipunan language of “kalayaan”, truth, and noble paths, is  little reflected in the songs. If on the other hand, this program is to reflect an artistic work created from rural sentiments and folk knowledge, then the creators are to be congratulated for a novel, remarkable and prodigious effort. Indeed there are bright spots in the production. Alleluia’s choreography was sparse, rather unlike her previous dance/theater productions. The eskrima (fighting with sticks) scene that has now become a theater cliche to represent a nationalistic warrrior characterization, was rendered with a deft hand,  where the men’s stick strikes were parried by the women’s scarf (panuelo) and where dancing couples manuever a waltz with a escrima stick between them.  Florante’s playing was awesome to say the least, playing as it were for over an hour without a break and sans musical score, knowing very well that the sequence and tempo of the show relies on the guitar music. To his credit, the quartet of cello, guitar, octavina, and percussion proved to be a interesting combination with the cello and the octavina providing texture to an otherwise overworked guitar.

Postscript: Unfortunately, this show was not well publicized in Bay Area papers, nor have I seen reviews of the earlier performances.