{"id":338,"date":"2025-11-14T20:03:04","date_gmt":"2025-11-14T20:03:04","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/32\/?p=338"},"modified":"2025-12-01T20:20:20","modified_gmt":"2025-12-01T20:20:20","slug":"perceiving-audible-spectatorship-audience-awareness-migrant-emptiness-and-inter-asian-resonance-in-the-wordless-play-request-sa-radyo","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.critical-stages.org\/32\/perceiving-audible-spectatorship-audience-awareness-migrant-emptiness-and-inter-asian-resonance-in-the-wordless-play-request-sa-radyo\/","title":{"rendered":"Perceiving Audible Spectatorship: Audience Awareness, Migrant Emptiness, and Inter-Asian Resonance in the Wordless Play Request sa Radyo<\/em>"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Popo Amascual<\/strong>*<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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

This paper examines Request sa Radyo (RSR)<\/font>, a Filipino adaptation of Franz Xaver Kroetz\u2019s wordless monodrama Wunschkonzert<\/font>, directed by Bobby Garcia. RSR<\/font> uses layered everyday sounds, ambient noise, and deliberate silences as central narrative and experiential devices that challenge conventional auditory expectations in theatre. The play\u2019s wordlessness invites a dynamic interaction with the audience through a fragile balance of intentional silence, live sounds from set and props, and the spectators\u2019 involuntary aural disruptions. This sonic architecture evokes themes of migratory identity and isolation, particularly reflecting the lived experiences of Overseas Filipino Workers.

Foregrounding the audience\u2019s sensory engagement, the paper explores how recognition, discomfort, overstimulation, and attentiveness shape a multifaceted spectatorship aligned with Asian performance traditions, where perception and participation often intersect. By situating RSR<\/font> within broader theatrical and cultural contexts, and reflecting on Asian creative practices, the paper highlights the challenges Filipino audiences face when engaging with narrative-minimalist, experimental work. Ultimately, RSR\u2019s<\/font> interplay of sound, silence, and presence redefines theatrical reception, underscoring the role of active spectatorship in expanding cultural discourse and contributing to the evolution of Philippine theatre.

Keywords: <\/strong>sonic performance, perceiver, audience reaction, theatre soundscape, sound sensitivity, audience studies<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Perception can be primarily triggered by sound, and what is perceived dictates comprehension. It is quite ironic to begin this article with the notion of sounds in a production advertised as a wordless play. Request sa Radyo<\/em> (RSR<\/em>) was publicized as a wordless one-act play and ran from October 10-20, 2024, at the Samsung Performing Arts Theatre in Makati, Metro Manila. It was a 70-minute Filipino adaptation of the monodrama Wunschkonzert\/Request Program<\/em>, written by Franz Xaver Kroetz in 1971, which premiered at the Staatstheater Stuttgart in Germany in 1973.<\/p>\n\n\n

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Request sa Radyo: <\/em>the set design. Photo: Alex Vergara for People Asia<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

In RSR<\/em>, Dolly De Leon and Lea Salonga alternated as the woman in the play, whose downward spiral culminates in a life of isolation, proving that loneliness is its dangerous offshoot. Progress in views on audience reception of unintentional but meaningful sounds engages with Asian perspectives on and perceptions of musicality, despite the intended silence in this experimental play. The character treats the audience to an array of mundane activities from rice-washing to pencil-coloring through a real-time symphony of a life in solitude.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The audience is introduced to a middle-aged lady whom I assume to be an Overseas Filipino Worker (OFW), probably serving as a nurse, given her outfit upon her entrance. I will refer to her as \u201cWoman\u201d throughout this paper because she remained unnamed throughout the performance. In addition, I also made a conscious effort to give more attention to the sounds and silences in the performance rather than a symbolic reading of the main character.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The audience is treated to a slice of her daily life through the sounds she perceives around her. When pitted against the muted bits of her everyday routine, the aural experience initiates a conversation. Coupled with the sounds of the audience, the play forms a complete dialogue: one between sound and perception, and then another on Asianness, specifically Filipinoness, and a Western form by way of the German origin of the play.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I intersperse my reflections on the qualities of sound and the extent of audience perception with discussions on the impact of inter-Asianness as both a creative practice and an experience of life. I do not intend, however, to label RSR<\/em> as an inter-Asian performance. Instead, I draw upon the dynamism of audience \u201cawarenesses\u201d to a range of sounds, including the lack thereof, to continue more inquiries into inter-Asian performances based on the exchanges that take place between or among active percipients, whether they be in the auditorium, or in the community.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sound as Noise, Sound as Narration<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

Sound is an integral component to most theatrical performances as it infuses emotion, unwraps information, and heightens the overall experience of the audience to a scene or a moment in a play. Chidiebere S. Ekweariri describes theatre as an auditory art, noting that:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

… no production thrives on stage without one form of sound or the other. Though one of the elements of technical theatre production, however, it was only recently conceived and accepted as a theatre component that is worth studying on its own (67).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This growing recognition is part of what draws me to it. I have long been fascinated by the role of sound in storytelling, how it shapes mood, guides attention, and deepens emotional impact.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I performed a sound piece called Hingalo<\/em> at the longest-running and largest art biennale in the Philippines, VIVA ExCon, as part of the Kalibutan exhibition for its 2020 event. Hingalo<\/em> narrated a person\u2019s experience of contracting COVID-19 by highlighting their breathing sounds. I also did an experiential performance on the aftermath of Super Typhoon Yolanda (international name Haiyan) for the student exchange conference Performance and Environment at the University of the Philippines Diliman in May 2025. In this performance, I removed the sense of sight of participants to highlight their other senses, ultimately elevating the dread & despair as well as hope & care following the onslaught of a super typhoon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I see merit in the necessary contradiction to the points made regarding the use of sound in communicating the play: that the absence of which could be an intriguing resort for experimentation in different performing art forms, especially in contemporary times. One can only assume that silence or an imagination of theatre without sound is just one of the impulses to the formal study of this crucial element. The effect of the removal of sound on artistic experiences that are sensorially complete would normally disrupt an audience because of the loud gap silence provides, pun intended.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Breaks to the sounds were explored in the theatre to add suspense to a scene, to emphasize a character\u2019s thought process, and to isolate the effect of an occurrence. Named after Harold Pinter, Pinteresque silences, such as ellipsis, the pause, and silence, affect the audience in various ways through the duration and timing of the absence of sounds. The scenes could become more tense with the silence underscoring lopsided power relations, or even the loneliness of a character\u2019s isolation (Othman 53), as was the case in RSR<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Historically, considering nonverbal performance as an invention of the West, tracing back to the mime work of the Ancient Greeks and Romans, presents a stark contrast to the roots of Asian performance traditions. And the Western origins of silent theatre would impress upon this kind of performance the challenge of sustaining the interest of an Asian audience, whose musicality derives from ancestors who have transmitted traditions orally and treat singing as second nature, only next to breathing. Dancing traditionally has music accompaniment to punctuate gestures and movements. Music either enhanced singing or left it alone in all its bareness. The recitations of sacred Asian texts during shamanistic rituals have melodious qualities. And storytelling has a specific sing-song tone.<\/p>\n\n\n

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The Woman and the RSR <\/em>set. Photo: Sandro Paredes in Tatler<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

These are just some of the instances when sound and song are essential to performances in the Asian regions, making their discussions in the context of Eastern histories or cultures as hard to ignore as the influence of Globalization throughout the world (Liu). The collective experience of the absence of sounds to an Asian audience would go from an understanding of a defiant piece to half-hearted support for an experimental endeavor, to confusion over an absurd experience, all of which could lead to a frustration of a group that has a particular affinity for sounds, whether spoken or sung. And while among the audience there already was an expectation of the absence of words in RSR<\/em>, their insights about which remain an appetizing venture for more academic research.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Speaking of expectations, invisible contracts or unspoken rules were established in RSR<\/em>. The ushers communicated upon entering the auditorium, that everyone had to finish watching the performance before leaving. And then there were clear instructions, like staying quiet throughout the entire play and knowing not to leave despite the supposed \u201clights off\u201d after the surprising ending. The first kind of contract gave me the impression that the Filipino audience is not yet at a stage in their theatre viewership where they can be expected to stay in the auditorium if the performance is not something they are accustomed to watching. Yet, I still gave the audience enough slack to anticipate their reactions to a play without words, which is the purpose of this paper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

While the exposition of the narrative was not carried out via a traditional dramatic text, several markers were employed to show the milieu and other theatrical signs pertinent to the story. There were train sounds at the beginning of the performance to convey that the Woman is a commuter who lives right by the Subway. A radio announcer would mention later in the play that they were in Queens, New York, and that the year was 2022. As to the Woman\u2019s place, it looked modern. The floor was carpeted, and the line of appliances she owned made her seem financially capable. There was a functional sink, the refrigerator lit up when opened, and the comfort room was visible in its entirety. While it all looked sophisticated and neat, I got the impression that the set had the makings of a prison cell due to the lack of visible dividers and the toilet being out in the open. The cabinets were not just ornaments to enhance the place’s appearance and make the set resemble the interior of a studio-type room. They were all usable. Strategically, no major set piece was obstructing the view from any side of the stage\u2019s perimeter.<\/p>\n\n\n

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Performing one of the Woman’s activities. Photo: Sandro Paredes in Tatler<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

At the start of the play, the Woman just went about doing her usual routine, although I noticed something about her seemed empty, like she was going through the absent-mindedly motions. I noted her wordlessness underlined this hollowness. She did a lot of things in this sequence of tasks using dynamic and mobile objects, but she did not seem lively at all, as though exhaustion had managed to catch up with her. There was no sparkle in her eyes. And that empty stare was present among the audience, too, though they were excited at first, then confused, then out of it. Throughout the play, I observed how audience reactions primarily manifested in audible spectatorship, a form of participation that was engaging, undeliberate, and perceptible. This was especially notable in what I call noise,<\/em> given the rest of the sounds the play was eager to provide, as it was marketed as wordless. In this regard, all sounds that occurred in the play against its intention to be largely silent, I take to be noise<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Also, I question the extent of silence the play was afforded to assess the impact of its excesses upon a perceptive audience. And from there, I interrogate how well the perception of spectators can add depth to discussions on Asian performances, where socio-cultural responsibilities typically blur the line between performer and audience. As a member of the audience, I have been part of those compelled to engage in an unconventional performance by the play’s silence. I dozed off a few times during the start of the play. It was monotonous at first. But then I noticed how the silence underscored the audience’s reactions, and I was engaged in active observation until the curtain call.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Brief pauses frequently punctuated the Woman\u2019s activities. Here, the audience was seemingly granted the silence that promotional materials of the play promised. One deliberate pause occurred when she first stopped washing the dishes. It was in bringing the audience back from these short moments of silence to the quiet hum of a familiar household routine that a frustrating excitement arose. It was frustrating because sounds were present, and although they were not words, they implied that the Woman was simply mute. However, this was not the intent behind the play\u2019s use of silence. The build-up in sustained pauses to break from the chaos of noises<\/em> produced a similar effect to a pregnant pause in scene dialogues. Similar to what we call \u201cPinter pauses,\u201d where these dramatic breaks in line delivery mark emphasis or build suspense as \u201cwaits, pauses and silences can be busy, reflective and meaning-filled,\u201d not only in text-driven works but also in other creative processes (Hall 1). <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The pauses between the Woman\u2019s household tasks conveyed more meaning than any of the sound-filled moments supposedly should, especially regarding spoken, and therefore audible, lines. These pauses can be as filled with thoughts and ideas as the typical dialogue that sparks a buzz in the audience\u2019s minds while they anticipate the continuation of a line during a pause. In the case of the breaks in the Woman\u2019s activities, they became moments for thinking and rethinking: What exactly is this Woman dealing with? Is she happy? She might be depressed, or no, she\u2019s crazy\u2014wait\u2026 the smell of rice cooking on the kitchen counter is making me hungry<\/em>. The audience was left alone with their thoughts. While they could only form incomplete ideas, and while they were left more confused than aware, the quiet breaks became an interesting session for reflection. Presumably, that was the goal of the silent play anyway, so these ellipses provided a glimpse into what a play entirely without sound might have achieved. And in those quiet periods of RSR<\/em>, the audience was forced to build the Woman\u2019s context to meet their expectations of a proper storyline. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Audience Awareness and Experience of the \u201cNoisy\u201d Play<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

Citing Britta B. Wheeler, Qianhui Yang, and Zidong Lu, the audience experience consists of different components: knowledge, risk, authenticity, and collective engagement. These four components serve as a decisive benchmark for audiences to measure their experience. In addition, they comment that \u201cIf these elements can be numerically measured, they can be an indicator of the artistic experience\u201d (22). I interpret these instances of acknowledgment, recognition, unease, and confusion as audience \u201cawarenesses,\u201d which can be categorized into four experiences.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

First <\/strong>is a wordplay of “a<\/em>” and “weariness”<\/em>: a-weariness,<\/em> or the discomfort from watching something uneventful. The constant frustration over not seeing something thrilling drains energy. It could be based on the exhaustion from seeing a lot of things happen that one sees every day. Familiar sounds in routine activities trigger this experience. I find this akin to risk, as the audience’s draining and exhaustion could be potential turnoffs, yet they are also part of the trade of experimentation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Second<\/strong> is a-were-ness<\/em> (from \u201cwere\u201d or Old English \u201cwer\u201d to mean \u201cman\u201d) or being reminded of humanity and all its shared experiences or emotions, like connecting with someone else’s loneliness because of recognizing that this is the reality for others. I see this as comparable to knowledge gained by the audience and the lingering thoughts about the message of a play, even after the show ends. I hope the spectators also became aware of the presence of other audience members and the potential contributions that other participants can bring to the play experience.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Third<\/strong>, I propose a-we\u2019re-ness<\/em> or simply being together in the act of watching and acknowledging the presence of the audience, which could be undeniable, uncomfortable, or both. This I take to be collective engagement, but with emphasis towards other watchers and the shifts or breaks created from unwanted attention from them and on them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Fourth <\/strong>is a-where-ness<\/em> or being in the space, and the audience realizes the sounds of other people and of objects in the space, whether as part of the play or not. This could be authenticity, contrasting with what makes the show credible as a wordless play, considering how these unplotted sound elements break the expected muted show.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From these four awarenesses, I reinforce my recognition of the audience as a vital element in Asian performances. Understanding the importance of audience awareness in creating theatre across or among Asian cultures highlights the need to maintain performance traditions. The audience in Asian theatres significantly enhances the show, making it at least more interesting and at best more meaningful. These awarenesses\u2014a blend of the audience as an intriguing and influential factor\u2014are central to RSR<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Theatre primarily serves spectators, and performance traditions in Asian countries have historically involved the audience more consistently than those in most Western nations. Cultural performances emphasize the audience’s role by transforming passive viewers into active participants, validating witnesses, passionate devotees, outspoken citizens, and open-minded first-timers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If creative communities have established ways of life and developed meanings behind them, Asian theatres can endure the pressures of globalization, such as a restrictive treatment of the audience. While the creative process is often seen as a key indicator of the success of intercultural exchanges among Asian theatre productions, audience reception offers broader opportunities for reflection\u2014especially through those who, despite not being directly involved in production, play a vital role in community-building. From this, I begin to explore these \u201cawarenesses\u201d of audiences and how sound and silence enhance stage communication. The discussion will shift from focusing on the sounds within the play to those outside the story\u2019s realm, examining how audiences develop their awareness of sound perception and spectatorship.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Talking about an understanding of audience reception, the woman cries for the first time while peeing, and the audience is not seen reacting during what is one of the most heartbreaking moments of the play. She buries her face in her hands in a defeated position before she collects herself, as if only indulging in a brief moment of vulnerability she can’t afford to dwell on. The silence adds to what I would call “a-we\u2019re-ness,” a kind of spectatorship characterized by a voyeuristic dynamic where the audience intrudes the woman\u2019s private moments even when she is silent. Theatre and dance professor James S. Moy describes this type of viewership in scholar-artist Leah Woehr\u2019s paper on the influence of Asianness on the concept of intercultural theatre:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

[g]enerally associated with the emergent self-conscious literary elite of midnineteenth-century narrative realism, served to affirm the authority of the looker, generally at the expense of the object–which in turn was often reduced to stereotype\u2019… The voyeuristic spectatorial position feeds on fetishized \u2018realistic\u2019 visions of everyday life that amuse the intellectually savvy. The audience member takes pleasure in prying into and trying to understand the lives\u2026 they acknowledge the differences that exist among their cultures and relish the opportunity to peek into a different, exotic world (38-39).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One could argue, however, that scenes of intense emotion in this play caused more embarrassment for a peeper who stayed silent because they had no context about the character they were watching. I noticed the awkward glances exchanged among the people who had come together. They weren\u2019t glances of reassurance, as if astonishing revelations were happening right before their eyes. Instead, there were moments when they checked on each other to see if they were still watching or if they had already looked away, as if a stranger was undressing in front of them. The audience was essentially led through this Woman\u2019s home, even sharing the intimate act of her urinating with one male audience member near the toilet, who appeared uncomfortable. Did her being a woman contribute to his unease, and would it have been different if the male audience member had been replaced by another woman? Was it because of an association with the actress, Dolly De Leon, and he was cringing at the ordinariness of a celebrity\u2019s act? Maybe it was just as simple as invading someone\u2019s privacy, though it remains unclear whether the actress actually urinated in the toilet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This awkward relationship between the audience and the emotional moments of the play was intensified by the realization that they were witnessing her breakdowns firsthand. And the watching was not even in the comfort of anonymity, as with surveillance footage. The audience became aware of her helpless inaction, recognizing that nothing could be done to help. More precisely, there were no sounds to inspire sympathy. Instead of a sting that would strike a chord, foreign noises distracted from the melodrama. No sad music played to shift focus from the scene\u2019s loneliness. Instead, their sympathy was disrupted by the need to notice others in the crowd, whose breaths could be heard in gasps. This created an unsettling feeling of the audience\u2019s collective awareness<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When the woman began to cry while washing her face, the audience focused on the a-were-ness<\/em> of her struggle, which, as earlier mentioned, serves as a reminder that she is an OFW. The audience was led to understand from the performance that this was the woman\u2019s given circumstances, exemplifying Woehr\u2019s insight that, \u201cMimetic representation is at the core of the theatre, and the decision to place a particular body onstage drastically affects how the audience perceives not only that character, but the world once they leave the theatre\u201d (48). As a member of the audience, the a-were-ness<\/em> of the OFWs\u2019 struggle (i.e., being uprooted from their homeland) was the type of awareness I noticed in the structure of the crowd.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n

These realizations made the loneliness even clearer to me. It\u2019s as if the space with the Woman could be shared, but still with a certain distance kept from her. The audience\u2019s physical distance from the Woman and their inability to directly interact with her was a subtle deviation from the drama. The sounds the audience naturally made didn\u2019t make this deviation any less noticeable, either. It wasn\u2019t so much that there was a desire to help the Woman but that no one wanted to disturb the play in the first place. However, the quiet moments disconnected the audience from the show, and the sounds from the spectators made the presence of others more noticeable. There seemed to be an underlying understanding of the triviality of the human experience of watching the play, where the line between reality and fantasy was quite fluid. The boundaries of the performance\u2019s experimentation, shown by the lack of meaningful sounds, drew attention away from the show and toward other spectators. This resulted in an unintentional undervaluing and overlooking of the Woman\u2019s shift into subtle, deliberate self-destruction. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

While silence was somewhat fluctuating, the noise<\/em> from the auditorium hijacked the play with sounds that were intentionally added for the sake of realism. Each time an audience member coughed or even just cleared their throat, someone else\u2019s attention was diverted from the performance by these small stimuli, showcasing a sense of disconnection, which I call a-where-ness<\/em>. I noticed people looking at others in the venue due to disinterest in what was happening on stage. This is another form of audience awareness \u2013 the tendency to become indifferent or lose interest because the realism in the play made it less larger-than-life and, therefore, less entertaining. It became too realistic, serving as a reminder to do household chores once home from watching the play.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The a-were-ness<\/em> of the audience was mostly triggered by seeing the Woman struggle to complete tasks on her own. This acknowledges the value of having a community to rely on, which is loosely based on the Filipino concept of bayanihan<\/em>,[1]<\/sup><\/a> where work is done more effectively with family and neighbors. For example, the Woman could not reach a desired height while taking pictures of her colored pencil work. She also forgot about the water heating and turned off the gas range too late. Clearly, she was disoriented, but these also showed her desire for help. And nothing exemplifies this more than the final moment of the play, when the audience came to realize she was crying for help. That sudden blackout when she ended her life emphasized the idea of collective witnessing of self-harm, and it lingered, keeping the space silent in a state of utter a-we\u2019re-ness<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The discomfort over the slow process of ending one\u2019s life did not actually nag away at the audience because the prolonged contemplation was not heightened by music to make the worst outcome the unquestionable route. I could imagine the suicide scene being done more traditionally, with lights and sounds accompanying the act. There would be just as much regret and shock, but without these elements, the scene was not as awkward as the others, where the Woman appeared more in need of another\u2019s presence.<\/p>\n\n\n

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The loneliness of the Woman: <\/em>Photo: Sandro Paredes in Tatler<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

There was a presence all around her, manifesting as a chorus of breaths and sighs, creating a sense of a-where-ness<\/em> for the audience. Additionally, this scene also highlighted the awareness<\/em> of how this happens\u2014where people can be surrounded by strangers (like the audience in the play) or friends and family; yet, there remains a certain loneliness that can push someone into a life-threatening situation. In a sense, this a-were-ness<\/em> expresses the paradox in a play that uses an invisible wall separating the audience from the performance, suggesting that the audience was not only with the Woman but also not with her. The spectators shared her monotonous experiences, yet at the same time, they were not part of the world of the play. And they accept this unspoken agreement that they are just humans\u2014sometimes left to witness and nothing more. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

There were moments like in the comfort room at when the Woman started with her colored pencils when the silence during these moments shifted to a loudness, so to speak, and distracted the audience from the play’s activities to other matters happening in the auditorium. This often caused the audience to feel self-conscious and uneasy, marked by a sense of being aware,<\/em> or to become sensitive to other things going on in the space, signaling a sense of being elsewhere<\/em>. The arena stage setup sometimes blocked some audience members from seeing parts of the play, but it also allowed them to casually observe each other\u2019s reactions, creating an extra way to watch. The question now is whether they found what was happening outside the play more interesting. I noticed that some audience members used these awkward moments to check their phones or space out, since there wasn\u2019t much to see onstage at those points anyway. Personally, I focused on these moments because I was curious about what was happening. They also gave me a chance to observe the audience while watching the performance. The arena theatre, with its multiple viewing angles, created opportunities for audience members\u2019 eyes to drift and occasionally meet a stranger\u2019s\u2014especially once their interest in a particular scene began to fade.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Eventually the Woman ends up destroying her work, which I interpret as frustration over the lack of appreciation. Perhaps she was also fed up with what she could do for herself as a way to pass the time. What struck me at that moment was the sound of someone in the audience audibly snoring while I watched the play. This unwanted noise made the drama less compelling. There were tiny laughs in the auditorium. However, the combination of the snoring and the performance sent its own signals, making the Woman almost look like she was having a tantrum. The mix of a-where-ness<\/em> and a-we\u2019re-ness<\/em> made the audience less aligned with the play\u2019s silence and more focused on their second-hand embarrassment. These unintentional sounds, like snoring, coughing, or sneezing, expanded the scope of the performance to include these moments of involuntary audience participation. These fluctuations build on the audience\u2019s a-where-ness<\/em>, where simply recognizing the presence of other spectators turns their conspicuous yet unintentional actions, like mannerisms, small movements, and even whisperings not necessarily in reaction to the play, into part of the experience. Such an awareness of nearly motionless bodies relies heavily on sounds that escape notice or decorum and almost coincidentally enhance the play\u2019s experience.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Breaking the Silence: The Radio\u2019s Disruptive Presence<\/strong> <\/h5>\n\n\n\n

When the Woman turned on the radio, I noticed the faint ahh\u2019s and ooh\u2019s from the rows of spectators. I saw how audience members became animated by the radio playing and welcoming familiar sounds and tunes. This is the time in the play when sounds are intentionally introduced. However, these sounds caught me off guard because I believed the play would be entirely silent. Therefore, the radio music could be seen as a loud noise,<\/em> since it did not align with the idea of a wordless play in a technical way. In other words, the novelty and challenge of a play that could have been mostly silent was not achieved by including these meaningful sounds. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Some of the spectators were probably jogging their memories, listening to the songs, while others were recalling missing lyrics, aided by steady reminiscing and delayed recognition of the tunes. The playing of the songs diluted the purpose of the play\u2019s format because this decision introduced meaningful sounds that somewhat replaced the missing lines of the Woman. In the original piece, Request Program,<\/em> there was nothing to actually listen to, which preserved the sanctity of the pact of silence between the play and its audience. However, this was not the case in the Filipino adaptation, as there was actual music that the audience could hear and even dance to. Thus, the songs the audience was listening to allowed strangers to connect, even if only temporarily. They were also widely present among those who attended in groups. Some viewers even nodded subtly to the beat of the songs, showing their familiarity with the music. This also seemed to turn the format of the wordless play against itself. The play shifted from a sense of delicacy caused by the lack of meaningful sounds to the fun of a karaoke session with unrelated music videos.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The presence of the radio had a dual effect on how loneliness was portrayed. On one hand, it provided comfort to the Woman\u2014it was the only time she appeared energetic. On the other hand, the radio sounds distracted the audience from fully engaging with the loneliness she was trying to convey. As a result, the performance, and presumably its insights into despair, became less effective, especially if the intended message was about coping with loneliness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The audience members\u2019 presence added an ironic contrast between play and reality. The Woman seemed reminded of the Philippines because of the songs played on the radio. However, in her world, she was surrounded by many other Filipino OFWs. The neighborhood consists of migrant Filipinos. The play created a dramaturgically sound environment, so it was logical to think she was with other Filipino immigrants in that part of the United States. According to 2023 data from the World Population Review, the Filipino population in the US is estimated to be between 0.28% and 25.6% of the population in each state, with actual numbers ranging from as low as 2,400 Filipinos to as many as 369,000 across all states. The Woman was reminded of her country by the radio, but her situation revealed an irony: she was also surrounded by a Filipino audience.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In a later scene, the Woman finally turned off the radio when an American show was playing. In a way, she was seeking a connection that felt familiar, one that would remind her of the people back home. The audience understood this connection as they related to the music much like she did, although to a lesser extent. Her anticipation of the Filipino show was probably driven by a desire to remember with a touch of nostalgia or a desperation for visibility she had been craving in her solitude. She could see her happy self in the memories sparked by the songs. What\u2019s more, she could be seen in those memories by those she shared those moments with. That\u2019s why she listened to some songs with great enthusiasm, not just to fill the<\/em> room and make it less empty than it was. She associated music not only with significant people but also with time, space, and occasion, and the audience joined in, expanding her sense of presence<\/em>. It was a murmur of home and an improvised substitute for companionship. On the other hand, the sounds of the audience at that moment effectively reminded everyone of the shared space in the auditorium and the collective experience of watching the play, enhancing the feeling of togetherness. It was like an alarm clock that kept getting snoozed, and the \u201cringing\u201d would return just as loud as before, pulling the audience away from the memories the music triggered. When they recognized the others sharing the space again, there was a subtle, fleeting sense of embarrassment about allowing themselves to interact with one another. <\/p>\n\n\n

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The Woman entertaining herself. Photo: Sandro Paredes in Tatler<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

Speaking of recognition of fellow spectators, sound is the element of theatre that most deliberately breaks through the literal bounds of the Fourth Wall. While visual components\u2014such as costumes, props, and set pieces\u2014are typically confined to the stage, regardless of its configuration (be it in the round, thrust, or proscenium), sound extends beyond those boundaries. It reaches into the audience, momentarily drawing spectators into the performers\u2019 world through auditory experience. In the case of Dulaang Unibersidad ng Pilipinas\u2019s Nanay Bangis, the opening song introducing the titular character, which begins with \u201cBagong Taon, Bagong Digma\u201d (\u201cNew Era, New War\u201d), gets the audience bobbing their heads happily to the live, energetic playing of found objects as instruments. It feels as if they are also part of the dance number in the play, listening to the ensemble’s music as they dance along, rather than just gripping empty glass bottles with wooden sticks to accompany the chorus singing. Sound creates an immediate connection between the world of the play and the audience\u2019s reality, even if it\u2019s painful to sit beside someone singing along to Jonathan Larson\u2019s Rent\u2019s \u201cSeasons of Love.\u201d There is engagement with the audience through sound, allowing brief contact with other spectators. Sound is playful and unavoidable within its range. Where music can bring people together or, as in the Woman\u2019s case, helps her stay grounded, there are also sounds that foster greater self-awareness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her tidying up the space and the accompanying sounds of cleaning also contributed to the audience’s sense of \u201ca-where-ness.\u201d This effect on viewers tends to occur after experiencing viral social media content that engages with the Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response (ASMR) through amplified sounds of simple activities, such as scratching, massaging, and eating (especially in mukbangs), This kind of sensory engagement with sound can produce a soothing or pleasurable effect on the audience, as demonstrated by studies on the effects of ASMR video viewing on brain function (Sakurai, Noriko et al.). I understand how isolating the cleaning sounds and the rawness of the scenes\u2014without background music\u2014created distinct, repetitive sound patterns that, when sustained, could even become hypnotic for viewers. Sweeping with a broom, washing dishes, and cooking produced a collection of sounds with varied qualities, creating a form of \u201ca-where-ness\u201d that distracted from the lack of words. Being wordless or muted, though, intensified my anxieties, as I realized that silence, while sometimes unsettling or melancholic, can also become calming. A person can adapt to silence and to being away from loved ones. This is the core danger of becoming accustomed to loneliness: there might be no conscious choice to break free from it. Even worse, the circumstances may prevent someone from escaping that loneliness. Presumably, the audience, through an \u201ca-were-ness,\u201d found this relatable based on their own experiences of even just sad days. Additionally, the repetitive and familiar sounds of chores fostered boredom among viewers, another sign of their \u201ca-weariness\u201d from watching a stranger\u2019s daily routine in real time, free from the edits of a director who might conceal pointless scenes. Once the audience realized that the sequence was simply a chain of chores happening consecutively, they probably tuned out at certain points. The absence of deliberately artistic sounds further contributed to their disengagement, dulling any artistic stimulus with just these common, natural noises. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The sounds from the auditorium would break the audience free from the monotonous noises of daily life. They apparently created an intermission to watch out for. And by the time the audience grew bored with a moment, they turned their attention to what other people were doing. Some of the audience’s reactions would often overshadow the action in the play. The surrounding sounds perceived from \u201ca-where-ness\u201d then carried a great responsibility to excite the audience when all other aspects of a play were silenced. The splatter of these sounds at certain moments would snap the audience out of drowsiness in much the same way a jump scare would. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

In James Wan\u2019s movies, such as the Conjuring franchise, jump scares function like pregnant pauses in plays, as the audience seemingly anticipates them during scenes set in darkness or with an eerie stinger. Wan\u2019s films are known for these jump scares along with haunted objects, people, and spaces, and they almost always keep viewers on their toes, even during plot-driven moments (Mee 216). I want to say that the sounds in a wordless play also create a similar sense of alertness in \u201ca-where-ness,\u201d especially during less exciting parts of the performance. It\u2019s a kind of sensitivity to what\u2019s happening, but it\u2019s less about whether it\u2019s part of the play\u2019s noise<\/em> or caused by a disruptive theatre guest. Unpleasant auditory disturbances then serve a purpose, even if they work better in setups where they don\u2019t interfere with action-packed scenes or those filled with effects. These disturbances become the least dull part of a series of quiet moments.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The audience, as the source of these sounds, therefore, gave the space its own personality. While the appliances seemingly served as the Woman\u2019s companions, the auditorium was separated from this dynamic by the unwanted sounds of the audience members. The \u201ca-where-ness\u201d of these noises<\/em> woven throughout the space fostered a sense of callousness. The permeable soundscape of a solo Filipina OFW trying to endure the loneliness of immigrant life through carefully chosen household activities was infused with the fluctuating audio of the callous auditorium. Sniffling or hiccups couldn’t be mistaken for a husband in another room. The performance established that the Woman was alone, so any other sounds that didn’t contribute to that were their own segments.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 The accidental placement of these sounds in the overall \u201cjigsaw puzzle\u201d of airtime created a self-contained system, mainly driven by carelessness in two ways. First, involuntary body acts like sneezing or coughing were unprompted and natural. While there was carelessness, there was also an awareness of the play’s protocols, as much as a sniff would be noticeable. Second, I saw moments when people clearly didn’t care about the events of the play. Using mobile phones, leaving early, or just zoning out signaled that they simply could not care less. Choosing not to care was a conscious act, and this attitude set the stage for the necessary callousness at the play’s dramatic conclusion. It was a \u201cpay no heed\u201d scenario among an audience that, although present, was lost in the space. This attitude persisted among spectators because the moments just seemed to pass in utter ordinariness. They didn’t spark interest or intrigue. The audience\u2019s \u201ca-weariness\u201d truly stuck with them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I noticed that artificial sound effects were added during the toilet bowl flushing, and it shared that feature with the music coming from the radio, as both were deliberately included in the play. However, regarding audience \u201ca-where-ness,” these artificial sounds only distanced me from the allure of true wordlessness. They undermined the excitement of a wordless play because they became just as intentional as any dialogue. My main frustration was that the play was meant to be wordless, but a DJ spoke. That immediately shattered my sense of the play’s wordlessness. My sense of \u201ca-where-ness\u201d with these sounds made me feel that the production was trying to compensate for the lack of spoken lines, which could have deepened the woman’s loneliness. The next attempt was to make her seem lonelier by suggesting that she maintained her need for presence through listening to the coherent and meaningful sounds of a speaking person, even when she was truly alone. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Other meaningless sounds occurred as a result of action or movement, such as the floor sounds from slippers scuffing, the screeching of chairs being dragged, or the sound of food cooking. These were not artificially added sounds created intentionally by the director and sound designer to enhance realism in the play. This realization led to the idea that the appliances amplified her loneliness as their echoes resonated through her solitary life. Furthermore, these sounds from the appliances reminded me of responsibilities that sometimes overshadow personal concerns, which are often seen as less urgent, like mental health. Sometimes, people with conditions bear the effects of their disorder until they can\u2019t hold them in any longer, and then everything becomes too late. The last resort is tragically irreversible. The household items that produced loud sounds with minimal use created echoes within the room, emphasizing a certain kind of emptiness. They repeatedly emphasized to the Woman that she was left alone in the room because, in its peace and stillness, no other signs of life could be heard. She only perceived the sounds of inanimate objects, no words were needed for her to feel better. That\u2019s why the Woman was attached to her radio; even in all its artificiality, it was the only sense of humanness she could connect with in that house. It was this attempt to create a realistic world through the passing of time and natural sounds that contributed to an interesting way of perceiving sound. <\/p>\n\n\n

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Nearing the end of the play. Photo: Sandro Paredes in Daily Tribune<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n
Concluding Reflections<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

Despite all the efforts to preserve realism in the play, it was probably the scene involving urination that caught the audience off guard the most. They might have thought about the costs of installing a drainage system and plumbing lines on stage. The sound of the toilet flushing, although clearly dubbed, created confusion about whether the sounds that should be present in a wordless play were real or not. Even without words during the flush, the sounds triggered thoughts about whether it was simulated, among an audience likely put into a trance by the monotonous and unengaging simulations of reality they were presented with. The goal was to create a sense of familiarity and safety, avoiding loud music and by extension, climactic scenes that normally draw the audience into unraveling a mysterious plot. I believe the droning sounds were meant to tire the audience, making them more vulnerable to the play\u2019s tragic ending. This subtle tactic targeted an audience that might have already grown used to the play\u2019s ordinariness. When the most crucial action unfolded, it proved that the play didn\u2019t need an orchestra or disco lights to deliver a powerful ending. Instead, the sounds served as perfect bait for a kind of audience that perceives \u201ca-were-ness\u201d\u2014a dull awareness of serious human issues, like the rise in suicides among OFWs, deeply affected by the absence of physical and emotional warmth. In fact, the strategy of maintaining normalcy with everyday sounds dulled the sense of logic\u2014rendering even skeptical viewers unaware of when the play would hit its devastating climax. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I am left with questions to pursue if I get the chance to watch another wordless play and speak with the actor(s) right afterward. For RSR<\/em>, I can only speculate how De Leon felt about the presence of the audience, along with their disturbances and the silence that was broken, in effect. Was it like how a pro wrestler might think if the reaction did not match their persona? A babyface, the good guy, should be cheered, while the heel, the bad guy, should be booed. These personas depend on the audience’s reactions in slightly different ways, but both rely on sound levels. Faces want loud cheers, and heels want loud boos. Did it bother the actor that some reactions were not expected? Or was it a bad sign if the peace of the play was disrupted? Then, was there a way to feed off the energy of a supposedly silent audience? Or was it the silence that pushed her to cry a little more, much like a wrestler feeling uninspired by a dead crowd? Did the actor feed off the silence, or the \u201cabsence in presence,\u201d knowing that if people were silent, it was to be in harmony with the play?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There is a saying in the Philippines that goes \u201cnakakabingi ang sobrang katahimikan\u201d or \u201ctoo much silence is deafening.\u201d This means much can be communicated through silence, and such display often penetrates more deeply than words. If I may add my own perspective, I would say there is clarity in unnecessary clutter. It\u2019s the kind of clarity gained by forcing oneself to listen more, despite the chaos. It\u2019s the kind of noise that calls for a restart and continued attention. Quite related to the relationship of complements, where one\u2019s existence enhances the other. People cannot appreciate light without darkness, or sometimes, one can only find beauty amid death. Perhaps, in the context of sounds, clarity can only be appreciated with the presence of disturbances. And turbulence could, in fact, elevate chaos into order. This also applies to all cases of the foil system, where a protagonist has an antagonist as their foil. I see that, too, in Request sa Radyo<\/em> in terms of sound and silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The audience, in this case, was alienated by the play’s lack of spoken words. Those watching or observing struggled to interpret what, to most of the story-seeking spectators, seemed impossible to understand. It didn’t help that they were fully aware of the presence of others like them. There is no room for confusion as the play clearly ends in suicide, with only minimal buildup. There are no songs to hint at the impending self-destruction, no cries for help to signal distress, no lines to reveal the painful origins. The audience was left stunned by a play without spoken dialogue, yet full of the awareness of other bodies present, which muddled the otherwise brilliant display of emotions from the acting. Viewers were deprived of the sounds of a monologue, a line, or even a single utterance, removing the opportunity for complete empathy and understanding that would help them rationalize the series of events leading up to the eventual suicide, as if defending or fighting for the victim of loneliness. I came to see how the audience plays a vital role in reconstructing this play, implying that being alone becomes dangerous, almost criminal, when others surrounding the sufferer are aware of their solitude. Loneliness, meant to be represented by silence, was broken by the sounds of people and objects within the play, disrupting the suspension of disbelief. The audience learned that there were real cooking, real drainage, and genuine generosity in the use of space, all while remaining aware of each other’s presence. These unintentional sounds, in a play supposed to be silent, emphasize their importance more than mere decoration or affectation. They served as more than just excess noise or tangent elements; they introduced disturbances, distractions, or unintended occurrences into the space between the performance and the audience. Just as in the Philippines, where festival excesses like pageants and contests complement the intentional parts of the celebration, such as the Mass and feast, so do the additional sounds in Request Sa Radyo<\/em> fill the gaps that help traditional theatre audiences make sense of experimental plays.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The noise and silence in the play largely influence this range of<\/em> audience reception. This mix of sounds and quiet caused spectators to zone out or pretend to pay attention, fight sleep, eventually give in to sleep, re-engage with the action, and then commit to watching, ultimately engaging with the drama. The layered audience awareness present can be seen in the performance\u2019s excesses in sound, creating a kind of spectatorship where people react unconsciously and unintentionally to pass the time. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Unlike Jacques Ranciere\u2019s Emancipated Spectator, who engages critically and interprets creatively, this type of spectatorship transforms the audience into a kind of pastime to escape a monotonous or predictable show. It is a form of spectatorship that pushes the play into a distant, unfamiliar realm, desp<\/em>ite being rooted in everyday life, such as cleaning, eating, washing, and pooping. This kind of spectatorship shifts the focus from the play itself to the antics in the audience, unintentionally encouraging others to focus on the entertaining moments. That does not mean RSR<\/em> is a weak play. What I mean is that the typical Filipino theatregoer might still find it hard to understand an experimental work that doesn\u2019t mainly spoon-feed the story. Theatre makers are also challenged as artists to decide whether this difficulty stems from a lack of exposure or a clear expression of disapproval. Does the Filipino audience want more of these exploratory performances to develop their ability to think like Ranciere\u2019s Spectator? Or are they signaling that they\u2019ve had enough of these strange, distancing works? Are they satisfied with the script-based plays they support and understand better? When theatre audiences receive little stimulation, they tend to overperform, underperform, or zone out, often overthinking or disengaging when there\u2019s little to capture their attention.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The audience\u2019s perception of the play felt like a missed opportunity for viewers to experience deafness, as the production struggled to fully realize its wordless premise. Audiences could have been better informed about the realities of the deaf community within the context of theatre appreciation, which prominently highlights the performing body in a play, but I digress. I return to what seems to be a constant trait of Filipino theatregoers: their need for a story, which sustains the existence of commercial theatre companies that aim to satisfy this craving while also experimenting in a non-committal way. While I question the motives behind these experimental acts and believe that Philippine theatre also needs to think outside the box, I see signs of hope, efforts to bring change are present, though their sustainability still relies on box office success.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Understanding a specific aspect of theatre culture in the Philippines means recognizing the audience it nurtures and the rewards that come from how much risk theatre practitioners are willing to take as artists. If sound alone, as a component, carries meaning and requires logic, then an audience with varying levels of \u201cawareness\u201d attending the theatre may remain a distant goal. Plays that challenge tradition could potentially lead to what the word awareness originally signifies: initially caution, then curiosity, reception, and ultimately submission. Sound naturally has the power to instantly grab attention, possibly because hearing is the last sense humans lose before death. Therefore, perhaps a play of sounds or silences could serve as a starting point for shifting perceptions toward more unconventional performances within the typical Filipino audience landscape. And yes, there is hope for a nation that loves singing so much without necessarily requiring musicality.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Endnote<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

[1]<\/sup><\/a> In Rebuilding Communities and Lives: The Role of Damayan and Bayanihan in Disaster Resilience<\/em>, Arlen Barrameda and Teresita V. Barrameda define bayanihan<\/em> as a communal, voluntary effort undertaken to achieve a shared goal. They note that bayanihan<\/em> “connotes heroic assistance (from bayani<\/em>, meaning hero)… and is a peerless communitarian practice that ignores social ranking and structures, leadership roles, and authority relationships” (138).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bibliography<\/strong><\/h5>\n\n\n\n

Barnett, David. \u201cBrecht in Practice: Critical Reflections on Staging Drama Dialectically.\u201d Contemporary Theatre Review<\/em>, vol. 31, no. 3, 2021, pp. 266\u201385.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Barrameda, Teresita V., and Arlen Sandino V. Barrameda. \u201cRebuilding Communities and Lives: The Role of Damayan and Bayanihan in Disaster Resiliency.\u201d Philippine Journal of Social Development<\/em>, vol. 3, 2011, p. 138.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDolly De Leon in \u2018Request Sa Radyo\u2019 \u2013 TheDiarist.ph<\/a>.\u201d YouTube Shorts<\/em>, uploaded by @thediaristph, 14 Oct. 2024,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ealdama, Yolanda. \u201cBayani\u00adhan: The Indigenous Filipino Strengths Perspective<\/a>.\u201d International Conference on Strengths\u2011Based Practice in Social Work and Human Services<\/em>, Kathmandu, Nov. 2012. ResearchGate<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ekweariri, Chidiebere S. \u201cSound and Sound Effects Application for the Theatre: A Retrospective and Introspective Analysis.\u201d Journal of Arts and Contemporary Society<\/em>, vol. 2, Dec. 2010, pp. 67\u201377.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFilipino Population by State 2025<\/a>.\u201d World Population Review<\/em>, 2025.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mohd Farid, M. N. \u201cInter\u2011Asia Traditional Dances in Dialogue: Reflections on a Performance\u2011Lecture between Singaporean Practitioner\u2011Scholars.\u201d Inter\u2011Asia Cultural Studies<\/em>, vol. 23, no. 4, 2022, pp. 675\u201383.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hall, Sarah Marie. \u201cA Pregnant Pause? Reproduction, Waiting and Silences in the Relational Endurance of Austerity<\/a>.\u201d Geoforum<\/em>, vol. 142, June 2023, article 103755.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Holdsworth, Clare. \u201cBedding into Bags: The Life Histories of Materials, Makers and the Time of Making in a Case Study of Fabric Upcycling.\u201d Social & Cultural Geography<\/em>, vol. 25, no. 3, 2024, pp. 423\u201340.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mee, Laura. \u201cConjuring a Universe: James Wan, Creepy Dolls and Demon Nuns<\/a>.\u201d Quarterly Review of Film and Video<\/em>, 2021, p. 216.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Othman, Ibrahim Mohamed. \u201cUnspoken Emotions: The Use of Silence and Non\u2011Verbal Devices in Harold Pinter\u2019s Plays.\u201d International Journal of Educational Sciences and Arts<\/em>, vol. 3, no. 6, 2024, p. 53.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pasa, Enamul Kabir. \u201cPinter\u2019s Use of Silence, Pause and Language in The Birthday Party.\u201d International Journal of Multidisciplinary Research and Growth Evaluation<\/em>, vol. 4, no. 2, 2023, pp. 410\u201112.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ranci\u00e8re, Jacques. The Emancipated Spectator<\/em>. Verso, 2014.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rao, Nancy Yunhwa. \u201cInter\u2011Asia Imaginings: Chou Wen\u2011chung\u2019s Eternal Pine.\u201d Musical Meaning and Interpretation: Perspectives, Reflections, Critique<\/em>, edited by Michael J. Puri, Jason Geary, and Seth Monahan, Oxford UP, 2025, p. 240.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Routledge Handbook of Asian Theatre<\/em>. Taylor & Francis, 2016.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sakurai, Noriko, et al. \u201cBrain Function Effects of Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response (ASMR) Video Viewing<\/a>.\u201d Frontiers in Neuroscience<\/em>, vol. 17, 2023, article 1025745, 26 Jan. 2023.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sompiboon, Sukanya. \u201cLikay Aka Oni Red Demon: Encounter and Exchange of Intercultural Performance.\u201d IAFOR Journal of Literature and Librarianship<\/em>, vol. 2, no. 1, 2013, pp. 77\u201389.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTatler Review: Dolly de Leon in \u2018Request sa Radyo\u2019<\/a>.\u201d Tatler Asia<\/em>, 12 Oct. 2024.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe Origins of Asian Theatrical Traditions<\/a>.\u201d Asian Traditional Theatre & Dance<\/em>. The Theatre Academy of the University of the Arts Helsinki, 2018.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTheatre Review: \u2018Request sa Radyo\u2019 and the Weight of Silence<\/a>.\u201d Daily Tribune<\/em>, 12 Oct. 2024, 16:20.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

UNICEF, and UNFPA. Country Profile: Yemen 2021 \u2014 Child Marriage<\/a><\/em>. UNICEF, 2021.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Vergara, Alex Y. \u201cRequest sa Radyo: When One\u2019s Silence Speaks a Thousand Words<\/a>.\u201d PeopleAsia<\/em>, 11 Oct. 2024.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wang, I\u2011Chun. \u201cGlobalization and Theatre Spectacles in Asia<\/a>.\u201d CLCWeb: Comparative Literature and Culture<\/em>, vol. 15, no. 2, 2013.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Woehr, Leah. \u201cReorienting the Orient: An Examination of Asian Influence on the Intercultural Theatre<\/a>.\u201d Human Communication and Theatre Theses<\/em>, no. 4, Trinity University (Texas), 2020, pp. 38\u201139. <\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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*<\/a>Popo Tabao Amascual<\/strong> teaches theatre courses at the University of the Philippines Diliman Department of Speech Communication & Theatre Arts. She is interested in stage management for institutional events and the study of rituals & festivals, especially the embodiment of cultural identities through spectacle. She served as Assistant Director in the play, Sa Gitna ng Digmaan ng mga Mahiwagang Nilalang Laban sa Sangkatauhan<\/em>, and Associate Dramaturg for the play Nanay Bangis<\/em> both staged under the Dulaang Unibersidad ng Pilipinas.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Copyright \u00a9<\/strong> 2025 Popo Tabao Amascual
Critical Stages\/Sc\u00e8nes critiques<\/em>, #32, December 2025
e-ISSN: 2409-7411<\/p>\n\n\n

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\"Creative<\/a><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

This work is licensed under the
Creative Commons Attribution International License CC BY-NC-ND 4.0.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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