Why do some of us have the tendency to put down our own? Why do some consider folk dance a lesser form of art than ballet, than dance with “real training” involved? Is it a weird form of elitism, some twisted colonial mentality?
Familiarity breeds contempt, they say. We recall our own school days with haphazardly put together Buwan ng Wika performances and think, if we could do it, then it must be easy. And if it’s easy, then it must be inferior.
But that ignorant belief shatters when one beholds the grandest dance recital ever: ROFG’s 50th anniversary concert featuring choreography by four of the Maestro’s loyal students (Jhunnard Jhordan Cruz, Lyle Eymard Villahermosa, Marciano Viri, and Cherry Ylanan-Villanueva). It was a staggeringly epic mix of old and new in seven sumptuous suites, each one outshining the next. Legacy merged with technology in an all-engulfing feast for eyes and ears, and heart.
Director Floy Quintos proves why he is the most in-demand director in the business with his straightforward yet moving script that strung together all the suites in two acts. There were times this audience member’s emotions overwhelmed her as a tearful waterfall, deeply moved by the elegant direction and a script that enlightens, explaining complex societal and historical issues in words every Juan can understand.
Back in 2019, he almost single handedly changed the narrative about the Southeast Asian Games, causing the media to stop focusing on our screw ups as a host country, and zeroing in on the truly magnificent opening ceremony which showed the history of our country in the form of dance suites. People who had been ashamed of their country suddenly became the proudest of Filipinos after Quintos and his team stunned and amazed the world with that historical opening program.
Having watched the glory of that accomplishment via screen, it was another thing entirely to see that same all-encompassing vision on a smaller scale (100+ dancers instead of a thousand on the stage of the Metropolitan Theater). Smaller, but not necessarily less in importance, nor less in sheer artistry. That’s still a lot of dancers! No review can do justice to the magic of seeing all of them move as one, draped in robes of every hue, dancing so proudly the steps of our ancestors as researched and documented by National Artist Ramon Obusan.
With the aid of Stevenson Tantiongco’s graphics projected onscreen, dramatic lighting by Meliton Roxas Jr., the simple yet tasteful set of Ricardo Eric Cruz was utterly transformed. It was amazing to see a primarily empty stage (a must when you have that many dancers at one time) become moving canvases and glorious masterpieces. One appreciates how, despite the grandeur of the lights and graphics, they never detracted from the main attraction: the dancers themselves.
Suite I (Dancing with the Masters) was the grandest opening one could wish for. Portraits and landscape paintings by the likes of Hidalgo and Luna were projected onscreen, then made flesh by groups of dancers. Each time the art work came to life, the painting’s image within a frame (imitating how it might be displayed in a museum) would zoom outward, eliciting sighs of pleasure from the crowd as we felt ourselves inside the moving picture from such a pretty idyllic past.
It’s that feeling of inclusion that struck me from the very first, and it lasted until the end.
And this is what makes ROFG different from all the other ballet companies’ offerings.
Filipino music and dances were a way of life, an integral part of the waking world. It wasn’t strictly a performance, as understood in the Western context with the never-bridged divide between performer and audience. Filipinos made no distinction between the two while we sang as we worked, or danced as part of a sacred rite.
This is the context that Filipino dance must not be removed from, or else it runs the risk of commodification that cheapens, or make it seem like part of a school Buwan ng Wika program.
What ROFG does so well is perform our people’s songs and dances (they sing WHILE dancing! And mostly with live accompanying rondalla and agung music) in as close to the original context as possible. Their founder, after all, spent years amongst the different indigenous peoples, taking videos and recordings of chants and dances, living amongst them instead of merely watching them. This is dance as a part of life.
Six more suites followed, ranging from the traditional dances of the Tingguian, Blaan, the Tausug and Badjao (to name only some), but showcasing Hispanic ones as well. Who can forget that incredibly moving “Mutya ng Pasig” that paid tribute not just to rich mestizas, but the working women who did their laundry and bathed in the river waters?
A highlight of the show was the third suite (Walang Bastusan), which was wonderfully edifying as well as theatrically thrilling to watch. Jhunnard Cruz highlighted the babaylan of our precolonial past, when men wore women’s skirts to honor the masculine and feminine (our own yin and yang). It is still being done among the Umayamnon of Bukidnon and the Inagta of Negros Occidental. Next, a montage of festivals with phallic symbols were presented, from the Baliw-Baliw of Olanggo Island, Cebu, to the Dyanggo and Lukayo of Cagayan Valley and Laguna.
While some dancers onstage were dressed in the traditional white robes of a solemn Catholic procession, others crossdressed and carried giant members, tossing them joyfully about, only to be silenced momentarily as the oppressive sound of the church bell rang. But then the party resumes as the dying peals faded away.
I was deeply moved by the fifth suite as well (Lumin-awa: A Kalinga Festival). Marciano Tiri recounted how the youth in Lubuagan still joyfully dance in modern clothes, even without traditional attire.
In an inspired piece of directing, we see a teenaged barkada take a cellphone groufie, and suddenly a century-old black and white photograph of an ancestor appears on the screen behind them. At the same time, three rows of Kalinga, arms intertwined, dance and sing Salidummay behind the youth. My tears fell then at this visual representation of what lies behind every Filipino, every selfie. In our faces we can see theirs. Our forefathers live in us.
I especially loved how dancers of all ages and body types were represented, with the more dignified ROFG alumni for more stately quadrilles, and the younger students doing the faster and physically challenging stunts. This is truly dance as part of life, where everyone who can move is a dancer, and not merely when you were born blessed with a waifishly thin torso.
Now that the school year starts at the end of August, which allows for little to no time at all to study national dances for Buwan ng Wika programs in schools, ROFG’s mission is ever more vital. To preserve, yes, but also to adapt and make old dances fresh again. As the curtain fell, the dancers cheered, “Ang kultura ay buhay at magpapatuloy!” and it was a joyful prophecy we can believe in, for as long as ROFG is there. This is art at its most democratic and patriotic. Few shows make me want to get up on the stage and dance along with the performers. Salamat, ROFG, for this most joyful gift!
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