Every so very often, a peculiar phenomenon – like People Power or the Pokemon fad – surfaces without warning to literally grip the always-willing Filipino people by the throat. Watching ABS-CBN’s Happy 50 TV Concert, I was able to witness with my very ignorant eyes the Chinovela pop storm that has completely enveloped the country much like a Shanghai spring roll.
The car and foot trek to Fort Bonifacio was a surreal experience in demography. Avoiding the vehicle congestion on Mckinley Road, I, together with STAR’s Philip Cu-Unjieng first-geared our way through the C-5 highway only to be flanked by several lines of people who tightly held their tickets like Novena leaflets. An unconfirmed 30,000 Chinovela and Talent Center fans, comprised of minors, senior citizens, groupies, and clans marched forward against the November night breeze to catch the Philippine-Sino production. A few kilometers later and past two thousand eager faces, we finally stepped down from the van at the MYX Gate. Apparently, the entire open-air complex had been fortified with a circular wall controlled by several gates named after the most popular shows of the network. Together with the long queues, florescent lighting, and roaming marshals, the compound looked much like a modern Intramuros with a feria twist due to the smell of fried food in the air.
"Hey guys," greeted Monchet Olives, taking a break from giving orders through his headset shortwave radio.
"You guys look like you are running your own country here," I candidly blurted out.
"Actually, they already do," laughed Philip. The serendipitous sighting of this network veteran executive together with his band of security brought us from the well-lit exterior gate to the shadowy hallways of the backstage driveway. "Move! Move! Move!" a male voice from the back exclaimed as an arm carefully brushed me aside. Expecting to see the Philippine President or some other political VIPs crossing the area, I instead caught comedienne Ai-Ai de las Alas attempting to bodily transport her heavy outfit and headpiece to the dressing room. Passing the side of the steel platform stage and crossing into the first row, we were then greeted by the entrepreneurial trio of Ben Chan, Miguel Pastor, and Keren Pascual who all manifested an aura of excitement to catch the performance of their newest Bench image model. Inching towards our seats in the fourth row, several convoluting commentaries were being thrown in the night air.
"I left my children and grandchildren just for tonight so I could watch F2!" one soul screamed.
"Those people over there flew in from Hong Kong just to catch them," another one cried out while pointing at the Chinese group that proudly held blue neon-lit placards on top of their heads.
Meanwhile, seated right beside us, designer Mich Dulce, waving a signature battery powered heart shaped wand, bared, "My heart belongs to you Jerry!" as her celebrity companion Ciara Sotto just bashfully laughed on the side.
Arriving in the middle of the program posed no problem as the large array of Philippine stars strutted, hosted, and sang to the delight of the crowd that stretched until the far distance. Although I had an excellent seat which supposedly retailed out at Php 15,000, I, together with the rest of the audience, still often relied on the huge TV projection screens that were scattered all over the complex to watch the show. Such technology magically transformed the unidentifiable men and women on-stage into literally larger-than-life celebrities the likes of Bayani Agbayani, Vina Morales, Diether Ocampo, Piolo Pascual, and Claudine Barretto. After several spiels and dance numbers, including a prolonged
Ocho-ocho and
Spaghetti song face off, the Filipino entertainers seamlessly exited the stage one by one. Based on their body movements, it was finally time for the imported stars of the show to make their grand entrance.
With sparks flying in the air and smoke crawling on the floor, a rolling elevator emerged from the industrial-looking stage background. Suddenly, as if the Buddha had oddly granted the fervent wishes of the mostly Catholic local population, the spotlights suddenly opened to reveal the first Chinese import of the night, Vic Zhou. Stepping out from the elevator, I immediately and humorously noticed that with his long uneven reddish haircut, he could be a dead ringer for Alex Carbonell, one of the country’s top hairstylists. Grooming observations aside, he began his performance by simply saying "Hello." In spite of the muffled Taiwanese accent, his frail voice on the microphone created a sonic upsurge from the fans. From that time on, no more Anglo-Saxon words were uttered by the Chinese pop star as he quickly sang three Chinese song numbers. As I tried to impossibly translate the lyrics which were displayed at the foot of the screens, the entire open field began singing along in the foreign language, as if the Holy Spirit had come to specifically train the Pinoy tongues in Chinese karaoke. Next, as quickly as he entered, the star waved goodbye to the crowd which seemed to still be in denial about the live presence of the Chinovela actor.
Still trying to deconstruct the crowd hysteria that just took place, I noticed yet another hidden elevator jutting out from the already compartmentalized stage set. With thousands of gasps and exhales from the audience, as well as from the normally unfazed Philippine celebrities on-stage, a Chinese superstar by the name of Jerry Yan at last appeared from the smoke to indulge the Sino-hungry masses. To the tune of three more Mainland songs, people, once again, danced, screamed, prayed, jumped, and cried, among many other verbs, at the sight and sound of the tall foreigner who looked exactly like his printed self in the broadsheets and glossies. Without the assistance of the female Chinese translator, Jerry would repeatedly utter to the microphone: "
Mahal ko kayo!", sentencing the onlookers into a periodic frenzy. Meanwhile, as I was trying to recall the recent national events which eventually led to the importation of such a pop star, I was surprised that I knew some lines from of one of his songs aka "My baby baby baby." Honesty aside, after throwing a sweaty handkerchief, kissing a kid, and braving the comedic marriage proposals of the Filipino hosts, Mr. Yan, for the second time in a span of two months, officially bid goodbye to the more than enthralled Filipino audience.
With the subsequent fireworks and the finale of the local showbiz stars on-stage, I realized that the Chinovela phenomenon, beyond the confines of kitchen conversation and editorial debate, was a truly sight to behold. With the two-hour transformation of the Bonficacio Global City into a somewhat more tropical hybrid of the Forbidden City, this sociological creature, together with the stylish hair and the Mandarin lyrics, had undeniably earned a place in Pinoy pop culture. Actually, let’s make that an emperor’s seat.
E-mail the author at mybubbleboy@hotmail.com