Review by Joelle Jacinto _
I was late to the CCP, and missed the first half of Georgette Sanchez-Vargas’ Arrhythmia, performed by her students from the Garcia Sanchez School of Dance in Bacolod. I couldn’t make real sense of it for a while because I was still disturbed by the hassle of arriving late and arguing with the usher to be let in: I was only seeing female bodies moving through the space, fascinatingly looking and dancing very much like Sanchez-Vargas (which is actually not surprising, since she is their teacher, and not a bad thing either, since she has always been such a strong, arresting dancer).
Georgette Sanchez-Vargas' Arrhythmia
Photo by Erica Jacinto
Then, suddenly, the music and dancing stop, and one of the dancers starts reciting a poem (written by Georgette’s sister, Gianne) about the heart, and I think about how it beats, how it gives us life, how it perseveres. Another dancer continues the poem before the dancers gather together and move in unison. Again, I didn’t see the whole work, so I don’t know if there was a different treatment to the texts, whether it was mashed into the dancing or served only as stimulus for creating movement or just spoken in the pause of the movement, to make sense of the dance.
A short digression that may be useful to our reading, I am usually not a fan of speaking within a dance work, belonging to that old school who views dance as a language, where if you could say it with words, why dance it? Of course, when it is asked of me by a choreographer I am working with, I will do it. I realized during the presentation of one such work where I was asked to speak while dancing, the audience were more engaged and talked to me after about how happy they were that they understood what the work, in this case, Hii Ing Fung’s Last Minute, was about, because they’re usually so lost at trying to understand what is going on in contemporary dance. Hearing my ranting about running out of time gave the audience something to hold on to, and then a better appreciation for the performance as a whole.
This came to mind after hearing Gianne Sanchez-Sanson’s words about the pulsing heart, and then having that awareness that every movement the dancers did together - every step, every slide, every jerk - emphasized how the heart had taken over their entire body, driving a beat that compells your own heart to start pounding too.
Biag Gaongen in his Tatak: Ta-tô
Neo-Filipino has traditionally been a platform for choreographers to collaborate with artists of other genres, to force the dance maker out of their comfort zone and consider other ways of working. I was worried when Biag Gaongen’s Tatak: Ta-tô (Mark: Tattoo) started, that it might just be Gaongen randomly moving in front of a video of flowing ink and animated tattoo shapes, although I must concede that if that was all there was to the work, it would be okay, because he moves beautifully, especially, it seems, to his own created movement. Wearing a loose beige t-shirt and lighter colored pants, they seem to emphasize the shapes of his movement while at the same time, catching the projection of the film on his body.
Abruptly, voices are heard asking him (translated from Filipino), “Who are you? Are you Igorot? Are you Ifugao? Do you live in the mountains?” And then all sorts of stereotypical questions that members of the Cordillera community probably get when they step outside their homes. The video behind him shows Gaongen in native Igorot attire (please excuse my inability to identify whose community attire he is dressed in), running through Manila streets. He is brandishing a spear, defensively, or playing a gong as he weaves around people and other obstructions on a sidewalk. This dance is also performed by Gaongen onstage, in his t-shirt and pants, stating that he is both mountain native and city boy, each importantly part of each other. The premise of the tattoo tradition is only an icebreaker into a bigger conversation, in the same way that it is only part of the whole man. It then becomes a clever exploration of identity, ethnicity and self-evaluation, especially when “Igorot dance” has been codified into measured steps in dance books and belong to every Filipino. Gaongen could still develop this more, I think, tighten the collaborations with Manny Montelibano and Joyce Garcia, or mark out a clearer movement design.
Paw Mallari Castillo and Stephen Viñas in Denisa Reyes and Myra Beltran's Cock vs Cock
I was told that political statements were supposed to be made in this show, but the works presented made more personal statements rather than political, except for Denisa Reyes’ Cock vs. Cock, reworked by Myra Beltran and the performers, Paw Mallari Castillo, Stephen Viñas, Olivier Borten and Jon Olarte. I didn’t see the original, but this version is quite hilarious and very well-executed; Reyes has always been brilliant with comedy, and her performers were perfectly cast.
JM Cabling also had a perfect cast for his Ang Lihim ni Lea (Lea’s Secrets): Abbey Carlos in the lead, with Michael Barry Que as her father, Sarah Maria Samaniego as her mother, and Minette Caryl Maza as her schoolteacher, with Honey Lynn Juntilla, John Ted Gaje, Camille Kimberly Imperial and Gabriele Logarta doing additional minor roles. The cast also take turns manipulating this large cubic frame, which changes the setting of the story and establishes how Carlos’ character is able to walk through walls, after a children’s book by Augie Rivera and Ghani Madueño.
Michael Barry Que and Abbey Carlos as father and daughter in JM Cabling's Mga Lihim ni Lea
Cabling collaborated with theatre giant Tuxqs Rutaquio, which may explain the dramatic exposition and overall theatrical grandeur of his work, but I also think it may have something to do with his recent constant exposure in working with theater groups. Also, as seen in past works, Cabling likes to tell stories. I have come to think of Cabling as a storyteller, often relating whole lifetimes within the short duration that his dancers enter and exit the stage.
There are indeed moments when the frame is effective, such as the scene where she discovers her magic power, bursting through the “wall” with surprise and wonder, then roaming down hallways and moving in and out her neighbors’ apartments. It is not all that magical or even complicated how Carlos the dancer is able to walks through the walls, but I figure it would still be a nice surprise for you to see it for yourself. What makes the scene special is the look on Carlos’ face as she discovers this power of hers, as well as the thrill in her entire body. She is so compelling that our hearts break when we realize what is really happening and watch her having to endure it, and we want to hug her when she is saved, and when her mother comes home.
We all wish we could escape school, too.
Abbey Carlos, making us feel so many things in Mga Lihim ni Lea.
Unfortunately, there are also moments when the frame is too cumbersome to the dancing. The scene with the father, as well as her discovering that her powers do not work in school, dragged on a bit too long. Also, when the dancers can be seen moving the frame, it only adds a bit of confusion - are they responsible for some of her misery or are they just set changers? The pacing of the work - what could have gone on for longer, what should have been more succint, et cetera - can still be adjusted for future stagings, I imagine that there would be future stagings, since they already have that cube. They must make more use of it.
The evening closes with the resplendent Sibol (Growth), a coming-of-age ensemble work that was perfect for the dancers, the young dance majors of the Philippine High School for the Performing Arts in Mt. Makiling, Los Baños. To lusciously moving music by Krina Cayabyab, Ava Maureen Villanueva-Ong sculpts a universe with these nimble bodies, framing two very talented boys (unfortunately I am not able to identify them... yet...) who discover the world together, meeting the joys and struggles of life head on, comforted by each other’s support and presence. The shapes that Villanueva-Ong is able to make with these dancers are beautiful enough, but captivate more as she plays around with dynamics and levels, conjuring depression and misery, but also wonder and triumph.
Dancers from the Philippine High School for the Arts in Ava Maureen Villanueva Ong's Sibol
Towards the end of the piece, the dancers walk forward, looking out at us, then slowly navigate forward into the audience, breaking the fourth wall and climbing down the stage, with looks of anticipation and trepidation on their faces. The two lead boys are the last on the stage, looking forward with the same anxiety. I think my heart burst the moment they looked at each other and smiled.
If Neo-Filipino is a platform for choreographers to confront their realities, I think that it was done quite well this year. From the works presented by these mid-career choreographers, they have gone past making dance for the sake of making dance, placing themselves in their practice without making the work about them. I remember when I thought of Ava as one of the most exciting young choreographers of her generation and how much I looked forward to seeing what she would do next. It is noteworthy, I believe, that I still feel that way about her today.
All photos by Erica Marquez-Jacinto
I hope to feel the same for all these exciting choreographers that I enjoyed seeing in 2019. I am looking towards 2020, and smiling.
