The fire of theater will continue to burn
It was March 12, 2020. I was in rehearsals for Nilo Cruz's Anna in The Tropics, a play that was to open that very weekend in the longtime theater of Repertory Philippines, Greenbelt Onstage (a theater that is now no longer there; Rep now resides in Eastwood).
It had just been announced that there was to be a nationwide lockdown on March 15, 2020 due to the threat of COVID-19. All theater productions were to be canceled until further notice.“Matagal kaya ‘to?” I asked my co-actor. “Hindi iyan,” he said. And we joked, “See you in a week!” Little did we know that week became the next couple of years, and the next time I was to step back on stage would be nearly three years later.
During the pandemic, we were deemed “nonessential workers.” Not only the actors, but the entire village required for a theater production to come to existence. We were storytellers who couldn't tell stories and we resorted to many different ways to survive. Some started livestreaming on Kumu; we even formed an online community called “PAK!” or Performing Artists on Kumu. There were online fundraisers, and we supported each other’s small businesses (siomai, cookies, kombucha, you name it!).
But when Ang Huling El Bimbo: The Musical streamed for free on YouTube in May 2020, we felt a shift take place. There grew a fire, a hunger, a need, and maybe even a certain kind of desperation. In some strange, ironic feat, while the theaters were dark, a new generation of curious, excited theater kids was born. And just like us, they too had to wait for the curtains to rise again.
We’re all familiar with what Philippine theater is like post-pandemic. They called it “revenge theater,” a show (or two!) to watch every weekend, the emergence of fringe theater companies, TeatroPH on Reddit, and movies being turned into plays.
But allow me to go back just a bit: only a decade ago, a professional theater actor would be considered lucky to be able to book even just two major productions per year. An actor being hired for multiple productions throughout the year was not necessarily the norm. Prior to the pandemic, actors were scrambling for a role or part in the ensemble because of limited opportunities. Today, dare I say, theater companies are the ones in need of more actors to join their productions.
It is now July 2025. The year is far from over, but I have already seen 33 live performances by different companies, both commercial and independent, in both massive and intimate theaters. So far, I’ve done CAST PH's rerun of Othello and Barefoot Theatre Collaborative's We Aren't Kids Anymore, and I'm set to do two more productions.
Also, there’s this building along Kalayaan Ave. with multiple theater companies rehearsing under its roof. Just recently, they had Trumpets’ Joseph The Dreamer on the second floor, The Sandbox Collective's Side Show on the third floor, and The Mirror Studio Theater on the fifth floor hosting one production after another. It's so wonderful that I get to witness and experience all of this in this lifetime.
The Philippine theater industry has been evolving for decades, and today, some would say that it is thriving. Can a theater career in the Philippines now be considered sustainable and sufficient? If I'm being completely honest, as solely an actor, no, not yet. As a theater practitioner with multiple hats, maybe.
But if we compare the pre-pandemic landscape of Philippine theater to what it is today, being a full-time theater practitioner isn't as far-fetched a dream as it used to be. The theater community is growing, and it’s so important to acknowledge its tremendous progress through the years. If there's anything I learned from not being able to do the one thing that I love to do, there truly is no day but today (Yes, your girl is quoting Rent!). I honestly think putting yourself out there, telling stories, and actually making theater became a lot less scary because we’d already faced not being able to do it at all (that was scarier).
Being a full-time theater practitioner isn't as far-fetched a dream as it used to be.
If you ask me where I think the Philippine theater industry is headed, I will be truthful: I don't know. From what we've been seeing the past few years, there is almost no pattern. The stories being told vary from international to original Filipino work, jukebox musicals to the classics; there are shows that easily sell out, but there are productions that need to make the extra effort of finding their people. Audience behavior changes quarterly; we are still learning as an industry, methinks. But in my opinion, I think the local theater community is more alive, more vigorous than it has ever been, and it is the very people that belong in it, both theatergoer and theatermaker, that continue to nurture it and allow it to flourish.
Of course, a part of me sometimes (always) wonders what it would be like if there were more support for the arts from the government, or what the possibilities of touring locally are if there were more funding, or if there were more theaters across the country so it could become more accessible… This is me dreaming out loud. Years ago, I wrote a status on Facebook wishing that one day, Filipinos would line up for tickets to local productions the same way they lined up for Hamilton. Today, we get to see that every so often. Malayo pa, pero malayo na.
For a story back in 2021, I wrote: “...it seems like I've been doing it a long time, it also feels like I've only just begun. I say this with hope amidst this pandemic that has put the theater industry to a halt. I firmly believe we'll be back better and stronger. We'll be coming home soon.”
And boy, have we come home, haven't we? It almost feels like a rebirth. I could go on and on about what we, as a community, can or shouldn't do, but I will end with words from every theater kid's LSS song, My Days from The Notebook The Musical: “I can feel it, something's growing— it is small but it's shifting the ground.”
The fire continues to burn. And it will for a long, long time.
