{"id":246,"date":"2021-12-22T09:45:37","date_gmt":"2021-12-22T09:45:37","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/24\/?p=246"},"modified":"2023-03-15T11:09:55","modified_gmt":"2023-03-15T11:09:55","slug":"endangered-theatre-a-philippine-notebook","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/24\/endangered-theatre-a-philippine-notebook\/","title":{"rendered":"Endangered Theatre: A Philippine Notebook"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Katrina Stuart Santiago<\/strong>*<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Abstract<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

This is a critical assessment of Philippine theatre in Manila based on ruptures in its status quo of silence over fundamental divides based on language and privilege, as well as important issues of neo-coloniality, inequality, and injustice. The essay argues that the surfacing of these crises at specific moments in the past decade, including in the time of pandemic, reveals the precarity of the sector, its workers, and its creativities, which in turn necessitates movements towards more urgent and essential transformations in its mode(s) of production.

Keywords<\/strong><\/strong>: Philippine theatre, cultural labor, privilege, pandemic, precarity<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Philippines is a country steeped in denials and silences. Difficult conversations are rarely had, and instead are typically set aside. We acknowledge our problems and then quickly, sometimes willfully, we ignore them.  Because we face so many other urgencies, what is set aside finds itself at the bottom of an ever accumulating pile. It is possible that the status quo soothes us into forgetting, yet what we fail to confront is usually what endangers us: what we cannot discuss is precisely that which puts us at risk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In 2019, in a panel on writing on arts and culture, we were asked to identify the most important insights we\u2019ve gained over the years as observers of Philippine arts and culture. The answer which came most easily for me is that these sectors exist, survive and thrive on silences. We subsist on a refusal to discuss critical issues of wages and abuse, rights and labor, fairness and justice that shape our creative work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This notebook on Philippine theatre is a rejection of that refusal, an insistence on having the more difficult and unwelcome conversations, and a hope in the possibility that we can flourish through the theatre in the post-pandemic world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Pandemic Present: Notetaking in Crisis<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

The act of notetaking can take on greater complexity for the critic when, instead of writing a chronology of shows, she takes the opportunity to historicize based on critical moments that define, to some extent, local theatre. This is informed by the word crisis<\/em>, (from which the term critic <\/em>has evolved), originating in Latin medical terminology that refers to the turning point of a disease.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For me, this approach is most productive for the act of taking stock, as it allows us to study historical moments, with ruptures and breaks, when a turning point surfaced, was addressed, dealt with and resolved. The reactions, repercussions, outcomes and echoes are equally important as the ruptures themselves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The limitation of this exercise parallels the limitations experienced by the critic. My vision of Philippine theatre is limited by the geographic space that is Manila, both the capital and the center, where so-called mainstream<\/em> arts and culture reside. By acknowledging this limitation, I recognize that any interpretations so developed might not apply to theatre and performance in other parts of the country. However, it is also possible that critical analyses from Manila will engender a deeper understanding of arts and culture within more specific local contexts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This socio-historical juncture also harbors multifarious anxieties, the most pressing of which is how to identify succinctly what is past and what is present, and contingent upon both, what to expect in the future. Given the current crisis, theatre venues have been the first to close and the last to reopen. Consequently, it is likely that the theatre we speak of here is already in the past and cannot return; when live theatre resumes, it will already have changed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As such, this is to some extent a post-mortem. This is not to say that theatre is dead, but rather to insist that the theatre as we know it no longer exists. Philippine theatre as spoken of here is a relic from our collective pre-COVID-19 past. It is a space from which we might learn about the present and imagine a path for the future, a complex entity that we might approach with honesty and humility, given its current state of precarity and instability. It is a dynamic center from which we might imagine ways to resolve this crisis if we are seeking solutions at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Status Quo of (Neo-)Colonialism and Inequality<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

I grew up on the fringes of Philippine theatre. My older brother worked in theatre, so I could attend most of the shows in which he participated. Consequently, when his professional center moved from Tanghalang Pilipino (TP),[1]<\/sup><\/a> the resident theatre company of the Cultural Center of the Philippines, to Repertory Philippines (Rep), the longest-running English-speaking theatre company in the country,[2]<\/sup><\/a> so did my spectatorship. The shift from Tagalog productions to English ones\u2014as with Philippine literature, TV and music\u2014is part of our cultural norm: this split defines our lives in a country where the colonial past is in our neo-colonial present, one that necessarily informs our creativities.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With respect to language, the Tagalog-English divide corresponds to additional bifurcations: two very different classes within the theatre sector, two distinct niche audiences and, sometimes, even two very different sets of actors. When I returned to the theatre as an arts and culture critic, I took this divide with a grain of salt. I appreciated the English-language companies that staged foreign texts for what they were, as a medium for accessing performances I would otherwise not see at all; I appreciated the Tagalog-language companies for promoting original material, no matter how difficult the text or limited the audience.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This divide is rooted in the history of Philippine theatre as we know it, a by-product of colonialism, whereby the colonizer and educated elite sought foreign texts and productions, while local playwrights and actors built productions for the local mass audience.[3]<\/sup><\/a> In contemporary theatre, this class-based divide has continued, creating niche audiences for certain kinds of texts and particular theatre companies. This divide, rarely discussed, also contributes to the silences that we nurture and preserve, so that each has his own audience, each profits economically and each is fairly successful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The pandemic, however, provided the historical break to this status quo, revealing as it did a divide based on hierarchy and inequality that is painful to observe, much less acknowledge. When the theatres first closed, the impulse was to raise funds for the majority in sectors which lacked savings or security to survive the crisis, and for this purpose wealthier actors, playwrights and producers rose to the occasion. Not surprisingly, after the first cash distributions, these efforts quickly dissipated, and with it the opportunity to discuss cultural, wage and labor issues in the theatre.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

These issues that now drive the precarity in the theatre sector were also present long before the current pandemic emerged. The reluctance to address them explains in part why the majority were so deeply affected.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Case of the Missing Audience<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

Linguistic and socioeconomic distinctions in local theatre also influence the composition of audience. A defining incident occurred in 2012, when a foreign production of Phantom of the Opera<\/em>[4]<\/sup><\/a> was staged in Manila and enjoyed fully sold-out shows, even though tickets cost four times that of local productions. These developments were not surprising, given the underlying colonial mentality which shapes the predisposition of the audience for foreign texts and which motivates the existence of English-language theatre companies. Significantly, the huge success of a foreign production occurred during an especially productive year for Philippine theatre,[5]<\/sup><\/a> with Lea Salonga headlining a local production of God of Carnage<\/em> (Atlantis Productions and Singapore Repertory Theatre) and Shamaine Centenera-Buencamino and Nonie Buencamino starring in one of the best original Filipino musicals, Stageshow<\/em>[6]<\/sup><\/a> (Tanghalang Pilipino). But such a response to a fully foreign production underscores the unwavering influence of a colonial mentality in defining audience viewing preferences.<\/p>\n\n\n

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In 2012, while important, original Filipino musicals such as Tanghalang Pilipino\u2019s Stageshow <\/em>were staged to empty theatres, a foreign production with expensive tickets played to sold-out audiences. Here, lead actor Nonie Buencamino danced on an empty stage, to few audience members. Photo: Courtesy of the author<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

This result prompted a necessary but fleeting conversation about the audience for Philippine theatre.[7]<\/sup><\/a> One side criticized the audience for choosing to watch TV and film instead of theatrical works,[8]<\/sup><\/a> expressing the familiar but unjust critique of popular entertainment that does not prompt deep engagement but rather presents more easily accessible themes, as opposed to theatre, which presents more profound and intelligent material. Another side blamed theatre companies for not investing in more extensive marketing to ensure that quality productions reach a wider audience.[9]<\/sup><\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

However, both arguments miss the point that creating an audience is never achieved solely by delivering quality shows, but also requires working consistently and consciously on audience education, which few theatre companies, if at all, can undertake. Foreign shows prove that people are willing to invest in expensive tickets; local theatre companies all have niche audiences. Clearly, the audience exists. The question rarely asked is whether or not we are retaining these audiences by developing them, by offering them works that are challenging and difficult, works that go beyond what we presume they want to see.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The answer to the question posed above is in the negative, revealed during the pre-pandemic years as theatre companies scrambled to produce shows based on popular discographies of singers and bands, with the primary goal of simply bringing the audience into the theatre. Scant attention was paid to ensuring that stories were well-told, new, or relevant; the point was solely economic gain. The audience were viewed, not as participants in the discursive practice of watching theatre, but simply as spectators whose enjoyment is the primary goal. Ironically, the Philippine Educational Theatre Association (PETA), which typically excels in audience education and development, has also followed such a pattern. In the years before the pandemic, PETA often staged discography-based musicals that sacrificed narrative depth; it also continued to capitalize on staging repeat performances of the one production that has gathered the largest audience.[10]<\/sup><\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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