To see what to see at the BCC

There’s an art gallery inside the auditorium, though since we started rehearsing there a few weeks ago, I have never caught it open, nor have I come across any announcement of an upcoming or ongoing exhibit. Beauty pageants, singing contests, the occasional music concert and once every couple of years, a stage play or two – but lately, it’s been cold and quiet at the Baguio Convention Center, and I’m not so sure if the looming takeover by the Government Service Insurance System of the property has anything to do with it, or rumors about the plan to turn the property into a condominium complex. Even the Soroptimists International of Pines City office tucked in a corner sheltered by pine trees oftentimes feel empty, only the presence of the Guardians in the tents behind give any indication of activity at all. How sad.

In the meantime, the most vibrant exhibit venue these days is a mall’s basement. Baguio-based National Artist Bencab’s museum isn’t as easily accessible being down in Asin Road seven kilometers away from the city proper, and the P100 admission fee doesn’t help. Tam-awan Village too, Bencab’s first baby, has been quiet. The last time I visited the Greenhouse Effect Gallery, the late Santi Bose’s brainchild which he worked so hard for, there wasn’t really anything happening there except for some artists working on some props for Anthony de Leon’s musical extravaganza, Panagbenga’s Phantom on the Lake. Events at Kidlat Tahimik’s VOCAS, located at the top floor of La Azotea Bldg. on Session Road, have dwindled too.

A couple of non-government organizations have complained about the pathetic state of the city’s major tourists attractions, among the reasons for the decline in the number of visitors to the city, and have called for action from the government. Good luck with that.

Back inside the Baguio Convention Center – the stage, the halls, the offices in the basement, the lobby: the whole place is perfect for the city’s very own cultural center. A full art season may be put together, making it easier and more cost efficient for the artists to organize exhibits and performances. It could be run by an arts council, run hand in hand by the city government and local artists. It could be the center where all artistic and cultural activities in the city emanate from. The offices inside the hall may be turned into intimate film screening rooms where people wanting to take a break from the usual commercial fare at the malls can go to experience the works of independent alternative filmmakers. Every month a new play opens on center stage, while the lobby hosts a new exhibit by a local artist. You walk down the stairs to the basement and wouldn’t it be nice to hear the sounds of various musical instruments coming from the rooms, budding musicians rehearsing for an upcoming recital or recording an original album. In another room a visual artist in residence works on his canvass while students linger to see the artist at work. I’m sure a room or two may also be reserved for a library.

Given the opportunity to have a home, I’m sure most local artists would work hard to keep the place vibrant, alive, bringing Baguio City’s soul back to life, and surely the soul of a city is a better tourist attraction way more than a week-long tiangge or putting together the world’s longest longganisa.

Wouldn’t it be nice to see the city’s youth exposing themselves to the works of city’s artists instead of to the elements in the dark corners of the city’s streets at night, or even participating in and expressing themselves through art instead of brawls and vandalism. Wouldn’t it be nice if parents can bring their children to a storytelling session, or a film showing on weekends for hours of art and culture instead of the arcade for hours and hundreds of pesos of noise?

We can’t bring back to old Baguio, that we know. The efforts of our congressman to amend the city’s charter, with the primary aim of empowering the local government to distribute public lands, if successful, will perhaps put the final nail in the coffin of the Baguio we all once knew. The view of mines is gone, so do the scent of pine, the sunflower-covered hillsides, and others that made Baguio, Baguio. The artists are still here, though, and all they need is a home.

Trailer of Raymond Red's "Himpapawid"

I last worked with Raymond in "Sakay" (1993), and then last year he invited me to be a part of a new full length film he was working on... it was like a reunion of sorts, familiar faces in the cast: Raul Arellano, John Arcilla, Soliman Cruz, Raul Morit, Ronnie Lazaro, Nonie Buencamino, Nanding Josef, etc... here's the trailer...

AUDITIONS

The circus has come early to town. With elections still almost a year away, some have jumped the gun. They’re already out, everyday, on various media, but more commonly on television. Infomercials, talk shows, some are seen peddling themselves even on programs supposedly devoted to the glory of God.

Politics. It’s that time of the year, still almost a year before the elections, when the lines get blurred, are often crossed , strange alliances are formed, whatever’s convenient, whatever they believe can fuel their political ambitions.

Watching television one morning, I was asked by the screen who’s going to be this city’s congressman next year, and a silhouette of a man tried to give me a clue. In certain local tv programs, they’ve started addressing themselves by the positions they are hoping we’d place them in next year. It’s one thing to announce one’s ambitions, it’s another to blatantly start campaigning way before the official campaign period. In the world of track and field, that’s a false start. That would mean the clock would have to be reset and everyone would have to take it from the top, including those who were playing it by the rules. Another false start and it’s back to the starting line again. Do it again and you’re out of the race. That makes sense – you don’t play by the rules, you’re out. For if you can’t follow the rules, how can you be expected to make rules? If you can’t follow the rules, how can you be expected to implement rules?

I’m in the middle of directing a play right now, and when auditions were held, I asked the applicants fairly simple questions, which some of them found quite hard to answer. I only have one vote, I know, but that one vote is asking, just as I asked those who auditioned for our production: Are you a good actor?

This always catches prospective actors off-guard, but in this case, I ask, what is it that you actually do and are you good at it? And are you good at it NOW? Don’t tell me to cast you in a play first and then you’ll try your best later on to be the best you can. I want to know if you’re good now, and if you’re not yet, then come back when you already are. You’re selling a product: YOU. Don’t make promises, for if you’re a vacuum cleaner, I’d like to see you suck out dirt now, before I make the purchase, and not later. I’ve made that mistake before – I’ve cast an actor who promised to commit to a production who later on abandoned the play for a bigger gig; I’ve voted for someone who abandoned his campaign promise within a few days after taking his oath of office.

What productions have you done in the past? In this case, I ask, what have you done in the past that would somehow convince me that you’re the best among the rest and that the role you wish to play can only be played best by you and nobody else?

How do you plan to approach the role you are auditioning for? What are your thoughts about the role? What do you think does it take to successfully portray the character? In this case, I ask, how do you plan to accomplish the tasks required by the position you’re aspiring for? Let me know so I can decide if it can be effective and efficient and is in line with what I believe this city needs right now.

If I give you the role, can you fully commit to the production, from day one to opening night? For I don’t want to have to fire you in the middle of the production when you start being absent from or coming in late for rehearsals. In this case, I ask, can you fully commit yourself to the demands of the position you’re aspiring for? And that you won’t hold back, won’t let anything and anyone get in the way of your performance? Because this time, we'll fire you if your performance is not up to par, or better.

And lastly, why did you come here to audition? Theater does not offer huge financial rewards, why are you auditioning at all? You will have to spend quite a lot getting to and from rehearsals every single night, meals and snacks during rehearsals, you will have to commit so much of your time and energy to this production, plus you will also have to do a significant amount of work outside the regular rehearsal hours, all of that for some chump change, why do you think it’s worth it? In this case, I ask, you are entering politics, you wish to be elected, you must have money, whatever it is you do now. Why are you willing to spend so much more than you’ll ever earn LEGALLY being in whatever position you’re aspiring for?

What are your intentions?

Kafagway - Sa Saliw Ng Mga Gangsa

Excerpts from the openSpace performance during Session Road in Bloom, Panagbenga 2009.

Original songs by KM Altomonte, arranged by Ethan Andrew Ventura. The band, KMA (keyboard), EAV (guitar), EdgarBunying (bass), Josef Ventura (drums. Vocalists: Emerald Ventura, Eunice Caburao, Ro Quintos, Kelly McGurk, Robert Capuyan, Jr., Lloyd Celzo, Jeff Coronado, ROman Ordoña and Ron Ruiz.

Featured songs: "Sa Saliw Ng Mga Gangsa" (intro), "Kafagway", "Kasaysayan O Titulo?", "Sa Puso Ng Cordillera", "Ano'ng Plano?", "Taghoy", "Mithiin", "Sa Saliw Ng Mga Gangsa" - reprise.

openSpace plans to record these songs and release an album this September.

1984... Baguio... Thriller...

My son woke me up with the news that Michael Jackson passed on...

1984, a friend, Minco Fabregas, had just won a trip for two to Baguio at an Easter Egg hunt contest, he picked me to join him. At just 10 or 11 years old, we were quite surprised that our parents actually allowed us to go to Baguio for a few days on our own. But this was Baguio then, there were no nightly brawls at the Nevada Square or gangsters running after each other with knives in broad daylight in Session Road.

Photo as posted by nostalgiamanila in Photobucket
Transportation was courtesy of Sarkies Tours, and we were billeted at the Pines Hotel. Upon arrival, first thing we did was go on a boat ride at Burnham Park (where we left the wallet with all our money in a boat, we went back an hour later and luckily found the boat we took with the wallet still in it) and then blow half our pocket money at the pinball machines... half our pocket money for the next few days gone in a coupe of hours. Two nights at the Pines Hotel and then we moved to the Mountain Lodge for a few more nights...


Our days in Baguio that time were like this: Right after breakfast, we'd rent a bike in Burnham for an hour or two while waiting for Funhouse at the bottom of Session Road to open, though there were arcades too in Manila then, pinball machines weren't that popular. We'll be the first ones in Funhouse once it opened and all morning we'd play - pinball, Pacman, Asteroids, Space Invaders, Pong... Lunch would be at Shakey's on Session Road (until that day we finally blew all our money at the arcade, from then on lunch was at Mario's courtesy of Tita Mitos).

Photo by stevechasmar
as posted in his Flickr photostream

On our first night at the Mountain Lodge, while munching on our burgers, there was a special on Michael Jackson on TV - he had just won 8 Grammys that year and Thriller, Billy Jean and Beat It were all over the radio stations. We watched the special and later spent a good part of the night trying to duplicate Michael Jackson's dance moves.

The next morning, we didn't go straight to Funhouse, we just walked around Teacher's Camp and the Botanical Garden singing Michael Jackson songs, trying to see how many of his songs we knew the lyrics to (we also tried to freewheel on that scooter parked along the Mountain Lodge driveway, we crashed it on the first try. LOL. And managed to get ourselves a pack of cigarettes, I regret that day.).

Ahhh, 1984, that was a good year. I fell in love with Baguio that year. With Billy Jean playing in my head.

Stream of consciousness... Attitude, aptitude, auditions, tales and stale coffee and solitude

Rehearsals... space not available 'til 7PM, we move upstairs, right on the stage.

Half the cast is late. That's ok. Short notice. Thanks for your patience, this production isn't a walk in the park. A couple of weeks ago, when the SM told some guy who came with his mom to the auditions to get ready with his audition piece, he turned to his mom and asked, "I have to audition?"

"It's ok, they just have to hear your voice so they know what role to give you."

I have to audition? Yes you have to audition. That's the thing with some of Baguio's actors... they do a couple of plays and they believe they've earned the right to be pre-cast and never to have to audition again. A couple of years ago, Ronnie and I went to couple of auditions for various film projects in Manila, nothing came out of it. But was lucky enough to be cast in Raymond's latest full length film. A cameo. Interesting.

Ethan worked on one of the musical's most vocally challenging musical numbers. One soprano tells me she's not sure if she can commit to the production. The three tenors have not shown up. Ethan does a great job with the lean cast. We pack up for the night as Baguio's most famous choir passes by - side glances, whispers.

We've decided to give way to the elders' production this first semester... we'll tell our story next sem.

No text from the producers yet. The car has been running on empty, cruising on neutral, but will soon be forced to grind to a halt as we approach an uphill climb. Winging it, as someone once said. May his soul rest in peace.

At the lobby, an official souvenir shop is selling official centennial souvenirs bearing the official centennial seal... you wanna consign some copies of your documentary?

Anyway.

We complain about the state of the local theater scene - partial or no government support, no venue, very little or no money... how much of yourself are you giving to your craft anyway? A partial income for a part time job sounds fair.

And then we were told, here are some solicitation letters, whatever you get, it's yours, let that be a partial payment of your respective honoraria. LOL. We want to tell stories, we don't wanna be told tales.

The song list says 40 to 41 musical numbers, 14 backing tracks done.

Then I ask myself, is this all worth it?

At the end of the day... a bunch of us smoke our one for the road. Someone says coffee, someone says yes, someone asks where, someone says there. Coffee sounds good, I could use a cup of coffee in the company of friends.

Invitors suddenly decline, half of them decides it's not worth it. That's ok. Sigh. Isang kape, please, sa baso. Deja vu. Haven't I been to this empty table before?

"Look around there's another mask behind you."

It's getting late, the coffee's stale. But it's good some stayed.

I wait in the car. He gets his dinner. She smokes by the window. He forgot his water bottle and she waits for him at the bottom of the road. The burger's cooked, I drive him home, I drive her home, and her too.

And then I answer myself, yeah, as far as I'm concerned, the dream is well worth it.

Having/being a father

Fathers out there might say, “I know.” Well I didn’t know what a father was, and what a wonderful thing fatherhood was, until I became one.

I grew up with my mother, and would only hear tidbits of information about this photographer who happened to be my father when the grown-ups in our household would happen to mention him in their conversations. I never asked my mom, nor anybody else in the house, about him. I never really knew what I was missing: my mother raised me alone since I was born.

Though I would sometimes feel that something's missing, maybe a tinge of jealousy?, seeing a classmate’s father place that Boy Scout kerchief around his neck during investiture ceremonies, while I had a teacher do it for me. I was alone when I went through the very important Filipino rite of passage held during the summer months. And then once when I tagged along a bunch of young men on their way to the rice fields behind our house for their turn to become men , I thought the sight of their respective fathers holding their hand (and with the other hand, holding a bunch of guava leaves) was just, well, really nice. As a young boy of about 6 or 7, I gravitated towards an uncle who was, most of the time, too spaced out making the most out of the last couple of years of the 70’s to bother with me at all. I then gravitated towards another uncle whose attention was already divided between being a young father to his own son and earning a living.

And then I learned how to use the telephone, and my mother ‘s way of introducing me to my father was to give me P1.50 to call him on a pay phone. 503559. 503559. 503559. I would chant the telephone number like a mantra so I wouldn’t forget it as I walked the two blocks to get to the nearest sari-sari store with a pay phone. Sometimes a female voice would answer, at times a young boy (who, later I would learn, was my brother), sometimes he himself. It was awkward, of course – what does one say to a kid he never bothered to seek during the last 7 years, and what can a kid say to someone he’s never met?

And then I finally met him in person, I was fourteen. And just like those several awkward phone calls, I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. That day I learned that I got my height from him, then later I learned that he liked fishing when I bumped into him at the breakwaters near the Cultural Center of the Philippines where I was already starting my life on stage, and a few years later as a teenager living on his own, I learned that he had a cool job when I would visit him at his studio and I would find him in the middle of a photo shoot for a famous jeans or beer brand.

And then one day, I found myself about to be a father. A few hours before my first son was born, my father arrived. I was tense, like most fathers-to-be waiting outside the delivery room for their child to be born. He put his arm around my shoulder, held the lighter out for me when I pulled out a cigarette to calm myself down – it was overwhelming, I suddenly had a father and I was going to be one myself. The next day, as I picked up my first son for the first time and held that tiny human being in my arms, I thought about how good it felt having my father there for me the night before , and I whispered into my son’s tiny ears, “I will always be there for you.” He made a face. I was sure he heard me, it made me smile.

A long time has passed since that day and I now have five children. I have held the hands of my two sons during their ordeal when it was their turn to “become men”; happily scouted the neighborhood for guava leaves to boil to help them wash their wounds; I have obeyed my oldest son’s orders to ditch the sandals for once and wear something that covered my feet at his graduation; I have held my two daughters’ chins above water at a pool teaching them how to swim; I have become a hero to my youngest son when I finally fixed the broken doorknob that had him stressing about the possibility of the family being locked inside the house; I’ve had them dress up on Christmas Eve for a family portrait, gelling the boys’ hairs, tying the girls ribbons, and stayed up late that same night to fill up their Christmas stockings with goodies; I have sucked out mucus out of all five’s noses when they had colds and couldn’t breathe. And yes, I have fought with other fathers at the playground defending my children. And I cannot begin to describe how happy it makes me to let them know that I am there for them.

And nothing else in this world brings so much joy than your child giving you a hug in gratitude for something you have done for them – and sometimes all it takes is just to be there for them. Sometimes you don’t really

have to do anything, just be there at all, as much as you can. I try.

Tonight, as I do almost every night, when they’re all asleep, I would walk over to their beds and whisper “I love you” in their ears before going to bed myself. I am very happy whenever I get a sleepy, mumbled response, but even if my whisper results only in a sleepy grunt or a sigh, I’d be happy enough.