Feasting on Politics and Romance at the Iloilo Theater Festival

Never before had I considered eating Filipino food while watching theatre. But there I was, my hidden dream realized as I munched on fishballs, siopao (fluffy pork buns), batchoy (fat-rich noodle soup with pork cracklings), and halo-halo (crushed ice with condensed milk and mix-ins) while walking from short play to short play in Halo-Halo at iba pa (atbp), one of the presentations of the eleventh annual Iloilo Theater Festival (ILOTF).

Founded in 2014, ILOTF takes place at the University of San Agustin in Iloilo City on the island of Panay in the Western Visayas region of the central Philippines. This year’s festival from 3-4 May showcased seventeen different theatre troupes composed of community, undergraduate, and high school casts and crews from Panay and the neighboring island of Negros. In conversation with the city’s recent 2023 honor as a UNESCO City of Gastronomy, the festival’s theme, “Add Theater to Taste,” highlighted the city’s relationships with food and foodways as a metaphor and motif for politics, romance, and more. The humble karinderya (eatery) served as a place to satirize national governance. A family cooking pork adobo turned into a dark allusion for the ethics of local politics. And sweet treats like blueberry cream cupcakes, piaya (sugar-filled flatbread), and sirit-sirit (a lacy fried cassava chip) were essential objects in romantic comedies for generating feelings of kilig (romance-fueled giddiness).

Food can function as another cultural system of meaning, an alternative to spoken language that can convey information and emotions. In this way, the layering of food as an additional cultural touchpoint was serendipitous for me, bridging my verbal language gaps and revealing insights about Western Visayan cultures. I came to ILOTF not only as a theatre artist and journalist, but also as a heritage language learner of Hiligaynon, the third most spoken tongue in the country, which is spoken by approximately 1.93 million households. Though Hiligaynon is more distant to me than my other heritage languages (such as Tagalog or Romanian), I feel it as a chosen and precious vernacular: the language of besties. While not ethnically Ilonggo, my mother grew up in a region where at least four Philippine languages crossed paths. My mother’s best friends and our family’s neighbors spoke Hiligaynon; it is so infused in my family that one of my uncles is nicknamed “Ga,” short for palangga (darling, love).

At ILOTF, I intended not only to review these plays, but also to experience how a heritage language learner encounters theatre in a heritage language that may feel more distant to her. Over the years, I have heard so many Filipino Americans express guilt, shame, regret, and other negative emotions over not knowing Tagalog (not to mention other Philippine languages), and I have heard members of other diasporas express similar sentiments. What happens when a member of a diaspora returns to roots created by language and friendship? Through theatre and taste, what messages come through?

Probing Political Anxieties

Single and fiercely independent, Karen (a flamboyant Faith Alanan), owns a roadside restaurant that functions as more than a place to grab a meal or catch up on gossip. A veritable circus of politicians, student leaders, and vloggers, the karinderya of Teatro Dagami’s Karen-Derya revealed a microcosm of Philippine society. Under the fluid vision of the writer-director team (Retsel Legaspi, Retz Coronado, Christyl Jude Sarabia, and Jevrell Venn Virtucio), the eatery grew increasingly crowded and emotional as townspeople streamed in, airing their desires and grievances. In a bold and hilarious parody of current Vice President Sarah Duterte and President Bongbong “BBM” Marcos, national politicians Sarah Kite Bhutan (a pugnacious Marianne Nicole Muyco) and Bembano Marcause (a forceful Kris Ashwony Gurung) threw down amidst the humble tables, accusing each other of their fathers’ political crimes before breaking into a brief rendition of Wicked’s “Defying Gravity,” only to resume their squabbles.

This bit came at a tense moment in Philippine national and local politics: The festival opened a week and a half before nationwide elections, as well as in the wake of the arrest of former president Rodrigo Duterte and the public feuds between his daughter Sara Duterte and BBM, son of former president and dictator Ferdinand Marcos. Satirizing the politicians transformed the audience’s tension and uncertainty around elections into raucous laughter and revealed the absurdity from the past and present administrations.

Is our hunger a distraction from the social issues at hand? How can we rouse ourselves politically when our stomachs are empty, or something tantalizing tempts us?

Call Lab’s Adobo, written and directed by Kent Tomulto, veered into bleak, biting territory in its approach to politics as a family convened in the kitchen and dining area to cook and eat adobo, the famous vinegared garlic stew with its endless variations throughout the archipelago. With each new ingredient added to the pot, the family members discussed a different social issue, from the opacity of national funds usage, to the housing displacement crisis, to the right of due process. During the conversation, the hearty aroma of adobo wafted among the audience, making us turn to each other and whisper, “I’m hungry!” and place our hands on our bellies. But is our hunger a distraction from the social issues at hand? How can we rouse ourselves politically when our stomachs are empty, or something tantalizing tempts us?

Perhaps the answer is in knowing how that dish (symbolic for an encounter, experience, or event) is made. Right before the family dug into their supper, a chilling announcement aired on the radio, casting doubt on the real ingredients and the dubious lengths the family went to acquire them. The daughter, Nene (a quiet and graceful Je-ann Palmaira), turning eighteen and having never eaten her family’s adobo before, faced a choice in whether or not to consume the dish. Her decision served as a metaphor for the dilemma of whether or not we swallow our complicity in the terror of the past and the darkness of the present. How do we digest such heavy bones?

In line with the Philippines’ deep history of protest theatre, two other highlights include Balangaw Artists Collective’s Kakusog, Kabakod, Kaanyag, kag Kagutom (Vigor, Strength, Beauty, and Hunger) and the Negros Occidental-based Teatro Laragway’s Lab-as nga Paglaum (Fresh Hope). Written by Jalene Isabel Dumancas and directed by Andy Abellar, the former performance presented the perspective of young children caught in a war zone. As an animated rocket hurtled on the projection behind them, four children prayed that it was a shooting star before it exploded. Final words of the play included projections of photographs and commentary detailing the devastating plight of children in Gaza, Marawi City in the southern Philippines, Jordan, and Lebanon, tying together children’s rights and urging for solidarity and action to end war on a global scale.

Lab-as nga Paglaum, written and directed by Raffy Berina, also featured the perspective of youth, inspired by stories from the theatremakers’ local coastal villages about the systemic destruction of their municipal waters. Holding posters of Facebook posts and juxtaposing their silhouettes against alternating images of sunset, sea, and hashtags (the simple and evocative design by Rikki Palmares and Bernadeth Figuerora), the ensemble’s rousing songs, dance, and ultimate anthem called for environmental justice and stewardship of their waters.

Crafting Collective Kilig

Ah, kilig. I’ve heard many translations over the years: exhilaration, butterflies in your tummy, big crush energy. You know what it is when you feel it, when you see that special someone or you watch a rom-com that hits the spot. But to experience it in a theatre—live, with hundreds of people, all thrumming their hands on their knees, bouncing in their seats, howling in elated laughter to a fevered pitch—this was the gift of the romantic comedies at ILOTF, a kaleidoscope of butterflies released at once. A chance to get lost in love.

In Kapawa Performing Arts Inc.’s Mitnamit Ka Ya! (Mmm, You’re Tasty!) by Narold B. Castellano, a love triangle between three kakanin (native sweet snacks) vendors whipped their countryside townspeople into a frenzy. The high-octane performances of bibingka hawker Nene Tining (Ashley Nicole Quinitio) and sirit-sirit seller Inday Nating (Marianne Sophia Josue) were the most commendable, as the two women proclaimed love, spread gossip, threw tantrums, and fought with each other and their friends in their attraction over sweet-natured, gangling laborer and but-ong vendor Manoy Logo (Carl Angelo P. Solis). Including modern dances and pop music, director and choreographer Elijohn Derick B. Manikan’s punchy vision made the tangled love between these three an entire village fiesta affair.

Love and its fallout in these plays are enacted as ostentatious, bold, and always shared with the community—yet at the same time, never quite consummated, leaving the audience to complete the feelings of desire. Bacolod City-based Kanlaon Theater Guild’s Pasalubong Overload: Gugma nga indi Mapunggan (Unstoppable Love), a sarsuwela by Armin Paredes, centered on Bining, a young Overseas Filipino Worker recently returned from Japan with loads of pasalubong (souvenir or snack gifts from abroad) and rekindling a relationship with Atoy, despite their mothers’ interference. Director Ricardo Sanalap, Jr.’s poignant stage images included Bining (a delightful Prezan Dioso) and Atoy (a loveably gawky Brian Reveche), holding circles of piaya, flirting with each other by intertwining their arms and taking a bite out of the sugary pasalubong. It’s a stand-in for a kiss—or more erotic activities—and it has the audience screaming in glee. When a townsperson interrupts the lovers, the audience breaks into another wave of giddy laughter.

Love and longing took a sentimental turn—yet was still peppered with irreverent humor—in the historical melodrama with Maskara Theatre Ensemble’s Pabalon (Provisions), written and directed by Roger Joshua Venzal. Three women during the 1898 revolution in Negros reflected on the last meals they made for their husbands and their dreams for the future rendered uncertain by the war. Adobo, laswa (Ilonggo vegetable soup), and fresh fish were celebrated and remembered, but the nostalgia was brought back to earth and humor as the husbands returned from war—only to run to the bathroom with troubled stomachs.

Likewise, in 033 Playhouse’s Cupcakes by Qz Martin, where a present-day café served as a playground for potential lovers to meet, a similar irreverent humor and relationship to food could be found. Under Martin’s energetic direction, Jastine Lemos sparkled as the lovelorn yet optimistic Arvee, escalating the flirtation with her dates with excellent comedic timing before eventually accepting her independence and worth apart from them. Cupcakes—in all their variety of flavors and sweetness—became symbolic of an ideal romantic partner, only to crumble or burn when the real dates materialized and dashed the illusions of romance. With the audience members having been handed cupcakes before the show, the message was all the more potent as Arvee and the other lovers’ infatuation unfolded into quarrels: The sweetness was only momentary.

Shaping Scripts and Performances

This slice of Philippine theatre gave me glimpses into a performance culture that is deeply interdisciplinary and integrative. Many of these scripts are devised within the theatre groups, with theatremakers sharing many roles. As the host location, University of San Agustin has a rich history of using devised theatre as a tool for social justice efforts, such as developing a show in response to the deadly 2013 supertyphoon Yolanda and restaging it (with permission from survivors and trauma professionals) in crisis centers, abandoned playgrounds, and churches, accompanied with donations of food and supplies. Theatre is part of a larger humanitarian effort to bring meaning and wholeness to a community, and ILOTF artistic director Eric Divinagracia considers devising a crucial practice that goes beyond the artform.

“Creative citizenship is part of devising,” Divinagracia explained, referring not only to the Yolanda show, but also a recent show around the effects of social media cancel culture on family, mental health, and poverty/celebrity status. “I’m just the facilitator.”

He added, “Usually I make a play when I don’t understand something, and I want to know more.”

And even if prompts for the plays seem light-hearted, such as this year’s topic of gastronomy, the devisers draw in complex social issues. In the case of University of San Agustin Little Theater’s Halo-halo, atbp., directed by Gerlin Cardines and Ketchie Marie Tinagan, there is a food crawl leading the audience through the university, each short play related to university life and often playing on the names of the city’s iconic delicacies. Af Bri Sta. Lucia’s Sa Kapehan welcomed the audience with fresh coffee and guitar serenades. Fishballs inspired Fees Buhol by Jon Evan Terence (where buhol is Hiligaynon for “tangled” or “difficult”) featured two students from different socioeconomic income brackets discussing the hardship and choices in how they would spend their pesos (fishballs or school supplies?). Siopao turned into Cardines’ Issue-Pao!, a raucous comedy with two television hosts reading verbatim posts from local students’ freedom walls, online spaces where students can anonymously confess and criticize, leading to questions about free speech and accountability. And batchoy became Tinagan’s Batch’s Choice, detailing the day in a life of a young woman caught between her duties as a batchmate (classmate), working professional, and mother to an infant.

Structured within schools’ curricula, theatre overlaps with classes in arts, music, dance, and physical education, producing performances with large casts that are skilled in group physical movement. Showcasing this blend of arts and athleticism was Teatro Tayo’s breathtaking Luuk Banca, conceived and choreographed by Jemuel B. Garcia Jr., recounting the story of a young Badjao man from Tawi-Tawi in the southern Philippines who ventures to Iloilo to seek a new life. Garcia’s choreography based on Mindanaoan tradition, including Tausug pangalay and Maranao fan dances, transformed the actors on an epic scale into both sailor and sea. Rowing their arms in unison and dipping their bodies like waves, they hoisted each other on bamboo sticks as they sang to the tones of flutes and kulintang gongs. This performance was more than a musical about longing for home and tribulations in a new city—it was a passionate ceremony for the entwined, shared life of humans and land.

These ILOTF encounters with ceremony, laughter, and nourishment bridged my language gaps and barriers in a way that I hope inspires other heritage language learners to experience theatre in their linguistic lineages and explore connections to their communities. In past foreign language theatre experiences, such as international festivals or my own excursions with native speaker friends in other countries, I typically become more attuned to the gestures, design, and musicality of the plays, allowing the language to wash over me and releasing expectations of precise meaning.

The theatre community swelled to meet me where I was, enveloping me in care. Not simply an audience member, I was also an earnest seeker in search of her roots.

ILOTF had an additional ingredient: The theatre community swelled to meet me where I was, enveloping me in care. Not simply an audience member, I was also an earnest seeker in search of her roots. With my understanding of the shows less reliant on language—sans subtitles or written summaries as a guide or authority—I became more relational with the other theatregoers. During intermissions, professors and students alike would whisper English translations of lines, confirm emotions that I had intuited onstage, or offer explanations of cultural or technical nuances, often before I even asked. Expressing my curiosity and hunger to learn more about Ilonggo culture and Hiligaynon, I was invited to more than just a theatre festival. I was invited to a feast.