Philippine Speculative Fiction (6 page)

I could not see any of her sala’s four walls: one face was decorated from floor to ceiling with her awards, plaques, and medals; her favorite sketches were tacked up on another. A third
was covered with pictures of her large family, while the last was obsessively plastered with photos of her and Bulan and her finished mechanical inventions from the four productions they
collaborated in for the last 19 years.

We chatted about many things found on those four walls, including her partnership with Bulan. The saddest of her stories was how she and Bulan grew especially close after her second husband died
from a mugging incident. Bernardino—who will become a grandmother for the first time next month, recounted how, soon after the funeral, she marched into his office in the Sherwood-Fuller
theater in Makati, four months pregnant and demanding she be given work, and he told her to make the first thing that came to her mind.

“You have to understand, he never throws anything away,
kaya ang daming kalat sa opisina niya
(his office is a mess),” she shared. “In an hour, I assembled a sloppy
handgun from old computer parts. Then he opened his book of epics to the table of contents, closed his eyes, and pointed randomly. Then he looks up at me and says, ‘Ely, we’re staging
the
Hinilawod
as a gang war.
Keri ba?’
”

“And I threw myself into the work until the day I broke down crying while building the rotating stage—
alam mo ba yung ginawa niya noon
(You know what he did then)? He took
me by the hand and taught me how to cha-cha until I laughed.”

When we finally came to the subject of
Noladi
, Bernardino said, “They say artists approach the border to insanity when making art. Jerald Bulan has not only crossed over to
insanity—he dances the cha-cha with it.”

She then pulled from a shelf a sizeable sketchbook labelled ‘NOLADI,’ the pages of which were filled from end to end with production notes in her neat cursive and sketches of
whimsical designs of backdrops, prop buildings, monsters. There appeared to have been plans of a giant animatronic squid and the façade of a pearl palace capable of folding into itself
onstage.

It seems that Bulan’s perfectionism and Bernardino’s ingenuity complemented one another. So what made Bernardino quit the production?

“I know he can be a bit of a slave-driver—that was fine with me
dahil alam ko na kung paano siya mag-isip
(because I know how he thinks),
pero
it was hell for
everyone else,” said Bernardino, whose leaving the production effectively ended her partnership with Bulan.
“May
rumors
nga
that Cheryl almost miscarried because of
him. Then he brought in that Tikbalang, but I still stuck with him—even when he brought in the Tianak. That is what you do for friends, and he was the best of mine. I hadn’t been as
open to anyone since Anthony [her second husband] died.”

Then she sighed and seemed to melt into her armchair with sadness, and it was quite difficult not to feel compassion for her upon hearing her next words. “But I knew I had to leave when he
turned the Higanteng Pusit (Giant Squid) into a role instead of leaving it as a prop. It was just too much, too much—even for Jerald. At what cost, though?
Ayaw na niya akong
kausapin
(He won’t speak to me).”

The many faces of skepticism

BUT OTHERS ARE not as kind in their assessments of both Bulan and the production.

All sorts of people flocked to the rally outside the CCP that Sunday: young and old, male and female, Christian and Muslim. Priests, nuns, albularyos, folklorists, teachers, students, writers,
artists, celebrities, government employees, mythic rights activists, former cast and crew.

“For all his confidence, Bulan does not know what he’s done,” said veteran stage actor Julio Tan, who was set to play fourth suitor Prinsipe Haraya before Bulan brought in the
mythic beings. Tan, who was among the opening night protesters, added,
“Mamaya, baka kainin yung audience nang mga
mythic beings
na ‘yan
(Those mythics might eat the
audience)!”

An adamantine resistance to
Noladi
’s staging was what united the differing reasons behind the two organizers—multi-Palanca-winning playwright B.M. Monsanto and National
Artist for Literature Emilio N. Derije—beginning a Change.org petition demanding that the CCP revoke the production’s three-month run.

This petition, alongside the mysterious incident of grave vandalism against the Sherwood-Fuller Theater—the venue for many of the rehearsals—was one of the strongest signals of
public disapproval toward the play before the opening night demonstration. It was 300 signatures short of its 3,000-signature goal as of opening night; but over a thousand signatories showed up for
the protest.

“Art is about the imitation of life,” explained Monsanto, who along with Derije, spearheaded the protests. Monsanto’s most well-known play was his autobiographical traumatic
encounter with a Kapre in his hometown of Leyte in the 70s. “But life imitating art? Unheard of.
Binababoy ni
Bulan
ang patakaran ng sining.
(Bulan besmirches art’s
purpose).”

“This epic was not even written by people,” chimed in Derije, whose novel about the indiscretions of fictional elite families in Manila,
The Fifteen Mansions of Death
, was
longlisted for the Man Asian Literary Prize last year. “Nor was it written for people. If this little experiment of Bulan’s catches on, who knows—
baka mawalan nang trabaho ang
lahat ng mga alagad ng sining
(artists may not have jobs)!”

“And what do you think Bulan is paying his…cast? Money?” added Monsanto. “For all you know, Bulan could have agreed to pay those mythics in human souls! Down with this
production!”

Ironically, Monsanto admitted to not having watched a single rehearsal. Neither had Derije, although he claims to have read the entire script and the epic itself.

“This trend better not catch on,” said Fr. Noel Saavedra, when told of Derije’s remarks. Saavedra, the host of prominent Catholic radio show “Radyo Chi-Ro,” watched
three rehearsals at the Sherwood-Fuller Theater last year and deemed it inappropriate enough for him and his fellow priests to take a stand.

“This play will promulgate sexual immorality among our youth, especially among the young women,” he explained.
“Hindi gaya ni
Secretary Pilapil-Quiroz,
di kami
papayag na mangyari ito
(We won’t allow this to happen like Secretary Pilapil-Quiroz did)!”

Pilapil-Quiroz herself has confirmed attendance for opening night. In a statement to the press on Thursday, she emphasized that she would watch
Noladi
not just for her son Nathan, but
also to gauge the play’s allegedly exploitative nature in addition to investigations conducted by her department since
Noladi’
s cast began rehearsing.

“I have received a copy of the script and a copy of the original epic, as well as watched a few rehearsals and interviewed as much of the cast as was permissible with the help of a team of
translators,” read the statement.

“Initially, I did not find any evidence pertaining to the production’s exploitative nature, nor the historical and textual inaccuracies that some members of the academe claim to
exist in lieu of Director Bulan’s addition of forty-five songs. However, this does not mean I already know how the entire production will hang together. Rest assured, if the alleged
exploitation reveals itself in any manner during the performance proper, I will see that it is put a stop.”

Meanwhile, mythic rights activist Mary Christine Cruz does not share the sentiments of the two writers or the priest. However, she and the Association for the Protection of Mythic Rights (APMR)
demonstrated just as loudly as they.

“Plain and simple,
ine-
exploit
nang produksyong ito ang mga rights ng mga hiwaga,
(the production exploits the rights of mythics),” explained Cruz, who has also not
watched a rehearsal. “Specifically, their right to freedom and silence.
Para lang siyang
capturing wild animals and making them perform at circuses and water park shows and casino
magic shows for the rich.”

She added, “Bulan may think that he is helping give mythics a leg up to equality,
pero
all this is is sheer tokenism and proof that this madman is suffering from Intelligentsia
Complex!”

Intelligentsia Complex, as certain psychiatrists and members of the academe have coined it, occurs when a highly-educated human being takes it upon himself or herself to champion the cause of
mythics in the name of freedom and equality, often for their own personal gain and to disastrous results.

Deus ex machina

DESPITE ALL THIS, the evening’s surprises were just beginning.

A cement mixer and a 10-wheeler truck loaded with gallons upon gallons of water—presumably for the Giant Squid’s vast aquarium—also helped stall traffic along Roxas Boulevard
for a few hours. According to subsequent police reports, at 5:43 p.m., the top of the cement mixer cracked and a jet of salt water sprayed everyone in the vicinity.

For several frightening moments, it seemed as if a tsunami had travelled far inland, for the water formed a wave that gave a whole line of cars a premature washing and parted a panicked crowd of
protesters and would-be-theater-goers for a while. It assumed the form of the sea god Haik at the CCP’s front steps.

With the exception of the Duwende from earlier, the mythic community has so far been largely silent on the matter of the first-ever mythic epic adapted to a play for a human audience. At least,
until the portly sea god himself arrived at the CCP.

“
Bakit kayo nagugulat sa aking pagdating
(Why does my presence surprise you all)?” Haik addressed the crowd—whereupon two Kapre immediately fell from their trees to
their knees.

“
Gusto ko lang mapanood ang aking sarili na ipinapahiya ang napakayabang na Tikbalang na si Noladi, gaya nang nangyari noong sinaunang panahon. Bukod sa pagiging Panginoon ng Dagat,
wala akong ipinagkaiba sa mga hiwagang gustong panoorin itong dula
(I just want to watch myself humiliate Noladi like I did long ago. I am no different from the mythics who want to watch this
play, though I am the Sea Lord),” he said.
“Nawa’y mayroon ngang salumpuwit na inilahad para sa akin lamang ni
Bulan (I hope Bulan reserved a seat for me).”

Honestly, what could anyone answer to that? Before sauntering inside unhindered, Haik told me that he would only be watching tonight’s show, but that the other gods of the
archipelago’s pantheon would pop in on other nights.

Never having been that close to a god before, I was dumbstruck—and apparently, I wasn’t the only one. A long, stunned silence descended in the Sea Lord’s wake; but soon enough,
albeit rather diminished in volume, the protesters took up their chants and signboards once more.

When asked for his reaction to all the negative responses, Bulan shook his head and had only this to say:
“Hindi ko maintindihan ang tao minsan
(I don’t get people
sometimes). I just want to stage a great play.”

Whether you love or hate Jerald Bulan’s work, whether you have an opinion on his newest production or not, it is certain that
Noladi
will remain in public memory for a long time
to come. Catch shows from September 1 to December 1.

Michael Aaron Gomez is an on-and-off college student currently based in Dauin, Negros Oriental, now returning this year to finish his Creative Writing
degree at Silliman University in Dumaguete--for good. His foray into the world of Literature has yielded these results: writing fellowships in both the 51st Silliman University National Writers
Workshop (2012) and the 13th Iyas Creative Writing Workshop (2013) and publications in
The Philippines Graphic, The Nomads Quarterly
—an indie literary journal published by indie
artists/writers in Cebu—and the special literary issue of
The Silliman Journal.
While he is no visual artist, he confesses to a fixation with movies, particularly the
animated/foreign kind, and he doesn’t really care if this admission smacks of crippling pretentiousness. Booksale is his home away from home.

AFTER PISSING ON a wall marked with graffiti that said
IRO RAY MANGIHI DINHI
(ONLY DOGS PISS HERE), John Joe Gregorio suddenly found himself transformed into a dog.
The wall had been a crude one made of hollow blocks, constructed beside the Shell station and convenience store on the same street as the Ceres bus terminal: the young man—twenty-three years
old—had come to the gas station (which had become a Dumaguete nightspot in its own right) with his
barkada
that cool October night to drink and hang out, when he suddenly had to take
a piss somewhere but could not be bothered to use the comfort room at the side of the store. Still, John Joe’s transformation was not all that bad, at least superficially, since he had
completely retained his human features—what had changed in him was that now he thought like a dog, talked like a dog, walked like a dog.

Undoubtedly, his friends—and all the rest of the people in the place—were baffled when they saw him return to their table: not only did he advance toward them on all fours, he also
planted his nose on the ground every three steps or so. He wiggled his butt in the air more than a couple of times, trying to wag an invisible tail. And when he saw other dogs passing by on the
sidewalk, he barked at them—the other dogs stopped in their tracks, observed him, and then approached him warily. They sniffed him from his nose to his behind—John crouched lower and
barked more loudly—and when they were done inspecting him, they simply left the hapless John Joe alone: he went on barking until he reached his friends’ table—he sat on the cement
beside them.

They asked John what the fuck happened to him. The dog-man cocked his head to the side, stared at them quizzically, and then scratched his neck using his legs: the dirt stuck in the soles of his
Nike sneakers got flicked onto his face, which he promptly began to lick off—his friends yelled out various expletives and frantically stopped him from trying to clean himself. Most of the
other customers laughed at the spectacle, while the rest fell eerily silent—only their eyes bulging out of their sockets and their mouths hanging from their jaws betrayed any emotion.