By Johanna D. Poblete
Theater Review
3 Stars and a Sun
Feb. 4 to March 6
Tuesdays to Fridays, 8 p.m.;
Saturdays and Sundays, 3 and 8 p.m.
PETA Phinma Theater, No. 5 Eymard Drive, New Manila, Quezon City
LADIES AND GENTS, the “speculative jukebox musical” officially exists.
To cap off its 48th season, the Philippine Educational Theater Association (PETA) presents 3 Stars and a Sun — a mash-up of speculative fiction, which encompasses dystopia, post-apocalyptic, and science-fiction themes, and the jukebox musical, popularized in part because of recent successes Sa Wakas and Rak of Aegis.
Such experiments are a welcome break from the tried (or tired) and true. We’ve seen spec-fic theatricals before; locally, Repertory Philippines’ dystopian Hamlet in 2008, and Tanghalang Pilipino’s fantastic Zsazsa Zaturnnah Ze Muzikal in 2006. But it’s still a ballsy move for PETA to embrace the subgenre and present their audience with, as they put it, “what our future can come to if the problems of the present are left unresolved.” (So maybe “frankenmusical” is an appropriate term for this horror story.)
PETA has crafted a dramatic makabayan (nationalistic) plot around the songs of the late rapper Francis Magalona — “Mga Kababayan,” “Kaleidoscope World,” “Ito Ang Gusto Ko,” “Life Goes By,” “Bahay Yugyugan,” “Meron Akong Ano,” “Ubos Biyaya,” “Ayoko Sa Dilim,” “Baw Waw Waw,” “Kabataan Para Sa Kinabukasan,” and of course the titular “Three Stars And A Sun,” among others. It’s a good fit, given Magalona’s tendency to appropriate various elements (even sampling Led Zeppelin and The Beatles) to create a fusion of hip-hop/metal, and even hints of gospel/rap, to express his patriotic call to action. Musical director Myke Salomon does a good job of updating the arrangements. And you feel the sturm and drang with every foot-stomp and beat of a handheld baton.
The frightmare is set in 2096 (incidentally, Magalona has a song, “1896,” referencing the year the Philippine Revolution began, when the Spanish first discovered and clashed with the Katipuneros, #AlamNa). The world is languishing in post-WWIII nuclear meltdown, with the remnants of humanity barely recalling what led to the devastating squabble over dwindling natural resources. To avoid the poisonous atmosphere, Filipino survivors have sequestered themselves inside the impenetrable “Stormdome,” a postmodern Noah’s Ark able to accommodate several cities, but fast running out of supplies for its inhabitants. (Here we see the influence of sci-fi film Snowpiercer, credited by playwright Mixkaela Villalon as inspiration.)
We’re introduced to future-Pinas by Mang Okik (played by Bodjie Pascua and alternate Raffy Tejada), a resident mad philosopher old enough to remember life before the nuclear fallout, and who describes their dome-home as both a shelter and a prison. The Stormdone has split into two sectors: the whitewashed Lumino idyll where the elite live, and the Diliman wasteland, where the underprivileged either forage for metal scraps to exchange for food packs, or volunteer for servitude, complete with mind-wipe, to keep their loved ones fed. To borrow Magalona’s rhyme, inhabitants are either “rich because of fate” or “poor with no food on their plate.”
Under the benevolent dictatorship of Grand Vidame Inky (Che Ramos-Cosio, Carla Guevara Laforteza), patrolling “protektanods” seize dissidents in the name of public order. The temperature is controlled, and every day is pronounced “good,” never mind the hard-scrabble existence in disposable Diliman set against the easy life at Lumino. It’s white versus black, those with the most — power, food, sizeable homes — living in comfort at the expense of those who have barely anything at all. A reckoning is inevitable.
Diliman-born Sol (Nicco Manalo, Gold Villar) and his rag-tag gang, “Tropang Gising (Laging gising-sing!),” are at the forefront of the burgeoning rebellion. They clash with the Lumino-bred youth led by the children of the Grand Vidame, hothead Chino (Paolo Valenciano, Gio Gahol) and sensitive Diane (Giannina Ocampo, Justine Peña). Each faction holds fast to their own ideology, while grappling with the new information that comes their way. The survival of The Stormdome hangs in the balance: Will they learn from the past, or will the bloodshed lead to naught?
3 Stars and a Sun portrays a humanity forced to hide away from a hostile environment, and brutishly turning against each other. It’s chilling how “privileges” and “rights” are defined by class. There’s a familiar discomfort in how the Luminos accuse the Diliman desperados of being “terrorists” deploying improvised explosive devices to destabilize the governing rule. It’s eerie, how the Grand Vidame spouts the same patriotic propagandist sentences as her detractors, rationalizing her actions as establishing order over anarchy. The play has a light, even comedic, touch when it comes to torture and the “erasure” of people, but you can make the loose connection to our Martial Law past. There’s a deliberate sense of déjà vu to this play.
Since the mannerisms of the inhabitants of Lumino and Diliman recall present-day Filipinos (and our prejudices), by a stretch, you could take the voluntary mind-wipe as a judgment on the contemporary Filipino’s choice to treat history as nothing but a vague memory, and The Stormdome as their being content to live inside an insulated bubble removed from reality. Clever director Nor Domingo orchestrates a jarring welcome-to-your-future moment when the audience, invited to sing the national anthem, is suddenly besieged by protektanods ordering them to cease and desist (though much more intimidating if they’d planted someone in the audience to be mock-beaten up). The threat isn’t real, but you understand the implication.
However, more than the limited world-building, or the cosplay-able costumes, or even the special effects (a nifty “hologram” display), the actors are to be credited for much of what makes this play successful. Every time a fiercely aggressive Sol (Manalo) or Poy (Nar Cabico) or Nazty (Anna Luna) of Tropang Gising engages in a rap battle, flinging words like bombs at their opponents, you expect someone’s ear to fall off. When a beloved comes to harm, sung anguish (what sounds like Magalona’s “Lab Song,” translated into Filipino) hits like shrapnel to the heart. Chino (Valenciano) and Diane (Ocampo) cause little earthquakes that chip at established norms with their sung debates. Mang Okik (Pascua) is by turns humorous and affecting. And as for the villainous Inky (Ramos-Cosio), a doting mother and unconscionable murderess, every hand-gesture and carefully enunciated word is a delightful parody of benevolence; it lends more impact to her occasional raging outbursts and eventual devolution into coarse speech (e.g. “Fuck your kasaysayan, isang mind-wipe ka lang! {Fuck your history, it just takes one mind wipe]).
The play is meant to entice a young audience hooked on speculative novels-turned-hit-movies, and give them fodder to mull over: Are you willing to do your part, to shape a better future, say, Philippines 3000? Are you willing to risk your lives, if it comes down to it — “bayan muna bago sarili (nation before self)”? (Not that PETA would like to encourage suicide bomber types, of course. Not unless their targets come with their own army of drones.)
Perhaps 3 Stars and a Sun will teach youngsters a thing or two about what makes a revolutionary, why Rizal is somebody they ought to know, and why it’s a crass betrayal to seek a selfie with a steel butterfly. At the very least, it’s pretty entertaining.
For ticket inquiries, call (02) 725-6244 or visit petatheater.com and ticketworld.com.
