Was it Romantic or Purely Platonic?

A review [more of a reflection] of the stage play entitled Ismail and Isabel presented by the Philippine Educational Theater Association shown at PETA Theater Center on August 30, 2009, 3:00 pm.

It was almost 9:30 pm at Acacia Lane. There were drops of rain subtly falling from the sky. It was dark but bravely dim. “Ominous weather,” I told myself. Whenever a public utility vehicle stopped, a lot of people would try to push other passengers to get a seat for themselves. Luckily, I was spared of the body wrestling and my butt was given barely half a seat. I was trying to comfortably settle on my prize when a child, barely 12 years old, entered the vehicle. He slowly walked down the narrow isle distributing envelopes with a short letter: “Koya, pangkain lang po.” The letters were barely readable – I could easily imagine how the boy tried his best to scribble down the note. I told myself, “Here’s another Ismail and Isabel, another victim – perhaps not of a war in Mindanao – but of another greater and more complicated battle against poverty, crises, and social injustice.”

I asked the boy what his name was. And in an almost inaudible voice, he said, “Toto po.” I looked at the people around me and noticed that no one really got bothered to even look at Toto. “Poor boy,” my mind whispered to myself. “His heart will be as empty of sympathy as his envelopes of pennies.” I could blame no one. Everyone looked so tired and weary that, at that moment, the sole individual concern was to go home safely to lay his or her back – and be dead until the next morning.

“Toto?” I repeated. The boy simply nodded.

Instead of putting some coins in his envelope, I gave him the crackers I had in my bag. Not far from where he rode with us, he collected all the empty envelopes and get off the jeepney as fast as he could. In a second or two, he was gone – out of sight, but not from mind. Not of my thought about Toto, or of Ismail and Isabel. Words began to find their paths to weave questions in my head: Was he also from Dilangawen? Does he also dream of adventures? Does he also try to fill his wanting stomach with folktales? Or has he readily stopped dreaming and hoping that someday he could make his own great and triumphant story to tell? “How would he,” I reflectively said, “if his immediate concern is how to live today so that he could at least see the flickering light of someday.” I made sense I know.

The narrative of Ismail and Isabel, or of Toto’s story, is not a new thing for Filipinos. The conflict in Mindanao has become an endless story about grieving parents, abused children, and dying civilians. Many, if not all, have become like my co-passengers at the jeepney – numb and oblivious of all that is happening in the South. Why? Because the war has readily become like a social norm in the Philippines. Filipinos have become adapted to it. Or simply put – in an artistic language – the war in Mindanao has become a piece of story devoid of aesthetic elements – of creativity, primarily.

Ismail and Isabel may not be a new tale of struggle, but its presentation was fresh and dynamic. I might not have seen the adeptness in the actors’ stage performances, but I have felt their awareness of what they were presenting. They were not really professionals yet, but their intentions to ingrain in our hearts the strong message of the alms seekers transcended the boundaries of professionalism. I also could not help but admire Rody Vera on his idea that – amidst our worries that the victims of war may lose access to basic needs such as shelter, food, and clothing – the bigger concern are not really those but that these children may lose their “power to dream, to imagine, and to hope.”

“It was not a bad idea that our longing for material needs could be substituted by the abundance of our imaginations’ produce,” the implied said of the play. But I said, “What if the minds could no longer work to produce and weave consumable literature? Besides, will the seed of written art sprout in a hungry mind which is no different from a barren soil?”

I must say the performers were cool. They were just great – terribly great. For their age, they definitely deserve applause and approval. Despite their squeaking voices and not so identifiable voices, I must say they have the talents to reflect emotions. The choreography was also one thing worthy of our respect. No doubt Carlon Matobato is a pro. Sometimes though, I couldn’t make sense on why they needed to do summersaults and break dancing. It made a show within a show. Were those really needed?

And the last, issue into which all my reviews will boil into: The relationship between Ismail and Isabel that the narrative would want to tell. Was it romantic or purely platonic? Was it the opposite sex kind of love or the brotherly-sisterly love? In some acts, the play would almost always like to suggest that the two characters would end up together as lovers. But when the audience was about to be convinced, Isabel would suddenly call Ismael as “Kuya,” instantly dismissing the tingling feeling from the viewers. What was really that? Did the play really want to say that amidst crime, violence, and war, there would always be a hope, a romantic love that would bloom?

Where’s Miss Maribel Legarda? Can you rewind the show and further explain the issue for us?



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This essay was submitted to Dr. Del Fierro as a requirement for her class in Foundations of Language.