In the process of depicting and discussing these historical atrocities, it becomes increasingly unclear who the material seeks to liberate in the first place. Why does it ask us to empathize with our colonizers? What can we stand to gain from such a story that attempts to humanize the morally reprehensible characters such as Haruto (Chrome Cosio) by exposing that he is a victim himself?īut more importantly, what does this have to do with the woman? Why does her rape - its inevitability dangling over the audience like a sharpened guillotine - bookend the narrative, especially when it is ultimately inconsequential to the story? Are there not already thousands of such metaphors already in existence - some of which are in VLF this year alongside it - in film, TV, theater, art, and literature? Historical distortion by the Japanese forces, especially brought to light by the recent assassination of former prime minister Shinzo Abe, has been a dominant narrative in world history. One may also look at it from a nationalist perspective - the woman symbolic of the Philippines, the soldiers of the colonial systems that permeate until the present, whose violations destroy indiscriminately.īut one cannot help but wonder why, given playwright Jerry O’Hara and director Dennis Marasigan’s commitment to telling missing narratives in Philippine history, they would center Liberation on three Japanese soldiers - none of whom look nor speak Japanese convincingly. One can also argue that it is a story of entrapment and emasculation - of how men participate in a cycle of violence that they continue to perpetuate through blind obedience and desire for revenge. It can be seen as a dissection of the male psyche - each soldier a physical manifestation of the id, ego, and superego that is at war with itself, constantly negotiating power away from one another.
One can argue that Liberation must be looked at metaphorically.
Liberation (written by Jerry O’Hara, directed by Dennis Marasigan) It is a set that holds up a mirror to its audience and asks how they want to live their life, who they truly value in this world, and what it means to move forward despite such debilitating sorrow.
#Miss bimbo doll full#
Each character struggles with what it means to live a full life and the disappointment of not being able to pursue such dreams - whether because of war or work or family or something else. Yet when one looks at the substance of the pieces individually and collectively, one realizes that they all wrestle with the reality of regret in the face of immediate death. Virgin Labfest’s “Set B” - Life is Strange Fiction/Hindi Nga?! Weh?: Kataka-taka Trilogy - is described by festival co-director Tess Jamias as a set of “plays that try to turn the famous adage on its head as sometimes, fiction is stranger than life.” In the process of writing, I perpetually ask myself: Does this demand to be seen live? What aspects of the show are enhanced when one is in the same physical space as the actors? What details are lost in the shift to the online setting or in viewing a pre-recorded piece? Is any of this worth it?
Given the state of the economy and the disruption of the pre-pandemic commute, the barriers to watching theater at the Cultural Center of the Philippines (and even mounting a production at such an elite space) have heightened.
0 kommentar(er)
