I’m glad my friends dragged me out of an increasingly hermetic existence (brought on by Kindle) to watch a play at Peta last Friday, 3:00 p.m. The play was “Si Juan Tamad, Ang Diyablo, at Ang Limang Milyong Boto.” It was scheduled to run only up to last weekend, but warm audience response has encouraged it to continue for several weekends more. The play (a musical in fact) is utterly beguiling.
It’s based on the fable of Juan Tamad, a character Jun Urbano’s (Mr. Shooli’s) father, Manuel Conde, gave a modern spin to in his time, the time of love and black-and-white movies, and which Vincent de Jesus gives a modern spin to in our time, the time of listlessness and black-and-white choices.
Juan Tamad is now the son of OFW parents. He grows up with his grandmother and longs for the day when he too can leave his benighted land. He is thwarted in this, his own parents telling him to stay put; the reason they are working abroad is so he won’t have to. He becomes resentful and, well, tamad. Tamad in the sense of what most of us have become over the years, apathetic and cynical.
His grandmother and friends coax him out of it by pointing to the elections, which hold the hope of making things better. For a while, he is invigorated, campaigning for the one candidate who embodies change. Alas, his candidate loses as the usual trapo (a woman) gets to win, or steal, the elections.
He lapses back to apathy and cynicism. Until his grandmother meets with an accident at a bridge for applying herself to backbreaking work while he takes it easy. Remorseful, he and his friends gather to rescue her and shore up the bridge. Then they confront their new leader and demand that she build a new one. They discover finally that things do not get better only when they get better leaders, things get better only when they themselves get better.
“Juan Tamad” is not a political tract, it is art. There is a difference, one unfortunately that many activist writers have yet to discover, who weigh down their obras with a 10-ton neon sign flashing “Message!” but which fortunately Vincent de Jesus has long ago discovered, which is why his works soar, this one most of all. This is theater masquerading as vaudeville, sense masquerading as song, wisdom masquerading as comedy.
It’s the sophistication to be found in the simplicity that is its hallmark. The words and music, both done by De Jesus, are so. The songs are subtly nuanced while being catchy, some of them completely danceable. Not unlike the compositions of Gary Granada, which are so deceptively simple they are absolute gems. Which shows yet again, deep doesn’t have to be difficult. Moreover De Jesus, a mainstay of Peta, has a tremendous theatrical sense. You know you’re in the presence of polish when the strings, or the creaking of the machinery, do not show.
There are no throwaways here. The acting is uniformly excellent, which however also suffuses you with a sense of dismay, if not despair, that theater is not an occupation to make you rich, these guys will have to supplement their engagement here with, if not abandon it for, ads and the movies. Especially so as this crew is predominantly youthful, the world awaits for them to unfurl their wings. It’s a small ensemble, everyone playing a variety of roles and doing so brilliantly, you get the sense of something organic, every part contributing stealthily to the whole.
The revelation for me is Robert Seña, and so only because this is the first time I’ve seen him on stage. He has long been a revelation to others, not least to London’s West End audiences where he has performed to rave reviews. But I’ve only read it, this is my first time to experience it. If Clark Kent has his telephone booth where he transforms into Superman, Robert Seña has the stage where he transforms into a demi-Juan. Or as in this case in the superhuman Fellow from the Hot Place, who makes our lives a little more, well, interesting. What can one say? Nowhere has the Devil himself quoted Scripture better to suit his purposes.
His performance is proof Lea Salonga and the other Filipinos who have stormed the ramparts of world musical theater are no fluke. I myself could not reconcile the person I’ve drunk with on several occasions at Conspiracy and the entity moving about the stage with the blitheness, or slithering-ness, of a larger-than-life, or indeed devilish, presence. Someone would later comment that his movements were fluid, as though he had no bone in his body. I’d add that it went with the kind of tension you see in dancers, which made their movements precise and dramatic.
In the end, however, which is the mark of true artistry, you forgot about the craft and lost yourself in the flow. Truly, depth has way of looking natural, discipline has a way of looking spontaneous. I know I applauded naturally and spontaneously at the end of things.
The musical has apparently toured some schools, but clearly not enough. And it has been shown at Peta for some time now too, but just as clearly not enough. It can do with more touring and a wider audience at the Peta theater (however people have been known to get lost going there; it’s between St. Luke’s Medical Center and Christ the King Church on E. Rodriguez Avenue, Quezon City), its theme being especially resonant with elections just a couple of months away. But I don’t know that it can’t, or shouldn’t, go on well after the elections, with its insight, or good (or bad) news, or gentle reminder that the fate of this country does not just lie in our leaders, it lies with us. That Juan Tamad, which we have become in life, can always become Juan Tama, as the play proposes, if we can aspire, or exert ourselves, to see what a difference a letter makes.
It’s a fable, a fantasy, a dream. But as Picasso said about painting, it is the lie by which we know the truth.
