Memories of a nation
August 19, 2002 | 12:00am
I first heard the music of Hibik at Himagsik ni Victoria Laktaw over DZFE 98.7 last week. I was reading my e-mail when I stopped, transfixed by the stirring music coming from the station.
Dr. Bienvenido Lumbera’s zarzuela won a prize in the Centennial Literary Awards in 1998. It returns for a limited engagement in tribute to the late, much-lamented Dr. Doreen G. Fernandez and to commemorate the marginal voices of the Philippine-American War.
In his author’s notes, Dr. Lumbera said that "in the beginning, [Victoria Laktaw] was just a signature. There was a poem in El Heraldo Filipino’s issue of Feb. 17, 1899. Nine women’s names shared authorship of "Hibik Namin," a versified manifesto which called on all Filipinos to heed the plight of women victims of rape by American soldiers. All the names were clearly allegorical in keeping with the practice of Katipunan members who hid their identity behind names bespeaking virtues or ideals they identified with…."
Victoria Laktaw, Felipa Kapuloan, Feliza Kahatol, Victoria Mausig, Patricia Himagsik, Salvadora Dimagiba, Dolores Katindig, Honorata Dimainga, and Deodata Liwanag were the names used by the women. Dr. Lumbera set the play in Lipa City, Batangas, because these "expressive indigenous names" are still being used there. He also wanted to remind the audience – especially in this day and age of MTV, the Internet, and the return of American troops, thanks to your current President – that Filipinos waged a brave war against the Americans at the turn of the century. Although that war killed a million Filipinos, it is still dismissed in American and early Philippine history books as a "mere insurrection." Moreover, a bright streak of feminism also runs in the play, since the librettist wanted to foreground "the silencing of women in the narration of our revolutionary struggle."
Such an ideological load would have been unbearable in the hands of lesser talents. But we are in the presence of the finest artists in the land.
The libretto is clear-eyed and rises to poetry. Its pure and beautiful Batangas Tagalog revolves around love of country and love of woman – the twin themes of the zarzuela writers. Lucien Letaba’s music is so intense I could hear my heart drumming in my chest, especially in Act II of the play. Notable songs include "Babae ng Nubenta’y Nuwebe," "Sa Panahong Ito," and "Awit sa Kabundukan" which, for my money, will be the next anthem of the nationalist movement. The kundiman, harana, balitaw and pasyon are used to show the rise and fall of the revolution, and of the passions that inflamed the characters caught in the eye of history.
And history becomes sharper with the vintage photographs projected on a screen. They are photographs of old houses and forgotten people, photographs of American soldiers and dead Filipino revolutionaries. They were the same photographs I only saw years after I studied in college, for like many of us and to my utter shame, I did not know that the Filipinos waged a brave war against the mighty American colonizers 100 years ago.
Salvador Bernal’s twin-panel revolving door assumes shapes and images as the play moves on. It becomes a page that one turns again and again, watching the war wax and wane. It becomes a window opening into the flame of young love, a frame that highlights the sadness of war, a paper screen showing the purity of one’s love of country.
Butch de Juan, the musical director, tutored some of the loveliest young voices I heard. I’ve seen many musicals abroad and have marveled at those singers. They have technique and they have been taught well, but many of them sing with their heads. In Hibik at Himagsik ni Victoria Laktaw, the actors sing with their hearts. Once again, it showcases the musicality and passion that Filipino singers have – something that no music school in the world can teach. Michelle Montero as Chayong and Agnes Barredo as Conching deserve mention for their sheer lyrical gifts.
Myra Beltran’s choreography is effective because it is not intrusive. It does not call attention to itself but instead blends with the narrative and the music. Witness the movements in the singing of the pasyon, when the women satirize the "female arts" they have learnt in school, which boils down to obedience to authority. Or the scene with Gen. Miguel Malvar, when the actors move deftly, until you realize that all those bodies pointed forward have assumed the sharp shape of a sword.
And the director Alex Cortez, he weaves all these threads and themes together into one seamless and impressive whole. One leaves the theater with the songs still humming in one’s head – which is the measure of a good musical. But better, one leaves the theater with a feeling that we have to make this country less sad. One way to do is to have more plays as brave and beautiful as this one.
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