Near the rear of the Metropolitan Theater as you turn left from Dr. Basa Street in Ermita, Manila, there’s a long, wide studio with open windows facing a wall of mirrors. The dancers of Alice Reyes Dance Philippines (ARDP) are trying on their animal costumes for the first time.

Krislynne Buri, playing Paboreal (peacock), gets into the blue glossy bodysuit, with the train made of tufted layers of tulle inlaid with sequins. “Try practicing with the train on,” National Artist for Dance Alice Reyes, serving as artistic consultant for the new ballet production, tells her. 

The other dancers are still fixing their costumes with the wardrobe crew, some sitting on the matted floor, cutting open the fabric by the toes of their footed bodysuits so they can put their ballet shoes on.

Paboreal turns, looking at the wall of mirrors at our back as we sit on benches, watching her watch herself while she practices her dance. The peacock train is secure, tied around her waist and trailing behind her without falling apart despite her big and complicated movements, but it keeps wrapping around her leg and she has to kick it aside to do her routine. Reyes observes her dance closely, as well as choreographer and storyteller Erl Sorilla.

“Be careful,” Reyes tells Buri as she clears a few quick steps across the floor.

“Just hold the train,” Sorilla says as she performs a kind of arabesque.

After the initial fitting, the company rehearses segments of the dances with the new costumes on. Paboreal practices her duet with Buwaya (Earl John Arisola) in a routine made tricky by the peacock train, but with a level of skill that allows them to pull it off despite some slight graceful fumbles. (A non-dancer, or even a dancer who doesn’t do ballet, cannot imagine dancing that dance and not tripping on the train every few seconds.)

“You’ll have to work out the peacock train in the dance,” Reyes tells Sorilla.

ARDP trainees rehearse both their segments as Kuneho’s friends, wearing pure white “cheerleading” clothes, and as the Gamu-gamu, with their textured costumes of burnished brown-gold open-face bodysuits.  

Later, Reyes initiates a company call and the dancers sit on the floor.

“We thought it was so cute with the rabbits,” Reyes says of the modification in the Pagong versus Kuneho race, where the cheering rabbits were initially meant to be cheering Taumbayan (townsfolk). “And if Erl agrees, we will make you wear regular clothes rather than Maria Clara [type of clothes] and the regional costumes.”

“Because they look better,” Loy Arcenas, who heads the set and costume design, adds, further suggesting specific clothes that the cast can wear when they’re playing Taumbayan. More colorful and flowery. Someone wearing a knapsack. Maybe even someone wearing earplugs.

“Still in the ’50s era?” Sorilla asks, to which Arcenas replies: “No. Not anymore. They can wear jeans, shorts, shredded pants. And let’s see what you can come up with. If we have to, we can buy colorful tops from Divisoria. But we can do that after we’ve seen them [dance in the regular clothes].”

They continue discussing the costumes, with artistic director Ronelson Yadao pitching in once in a while. The company then takes a break before a complete rehearsal run later at 6 p.m. Other guests are coming.

Beginnings

“It started with the idea that it was going to be a children’s finale that the CCP (Cultural Center of the Philippines) was going to produce,” Alice Reyes tells CoverStory.ph, recalling the production’s inception in part originating from her worry that today’s kids are not exposed enough to theater designed for them. “Whatever they watch on television, I thought since this company is very creative, and we’re always making dances, why don’t we design one for children?”

Reyes tapped Sorilla to conceptualize the new dance’s story and head its choreography. “I always feel that [ARDP choreographers] should be given as many opportunities to work,” she says. “And this was a golden opportunity for Erl to sink his teeth into. So he has taken the lead; we’re just in a supporting role.”

Sorilla is in charge of the story and its telling—that is to say, its choreography—and the selection of the cast. During the production’s development stages, he decided on Juan Tamad, the classic Filipino folktale of the lazy boy who is always made a moral example of, and the story most likely to be “translated into dance.” He thought the laziness of the body, too, could be a form of dance.

“It’s kind of interesting, because who would think that?” Sorilla said. “I thought, ‘I can play around with that concept.’”

In the development stage, Mga Kuwento ni Juan Tamad became a fantasy-adventure interwoven with other popular children’s fables that Sorilla found equally “translatable” into dance: Pagong at Kuneho, Ang Gamu-gamu at ang Lampara, and Buwaya and Paboreal. He would synthesize it into the main story where the interwoven stories would flow seamlessly together in the script.

“So each dance is different,” Sorilla said, “and of course each fable has its own moral lesson and something that [Juan] would carry on to his journey.”

But why is Juan Tamad so lazy? Playing the titular character, lead dancer Renzen Arboledo began to explore this question, with encouragement from Sorilla, as a way to more effectively embody Juan’s character. He wrote his own character analysis to put more color into the character, looking beyond the known sloth.

“It’s not final, but I started with his childhood, because you know how our upbringing is very crucial in how we’re shaped into who we are,” Arboledo explains in a mix of English and Filipino.

As the production work began, each character’s story began to unfold into different interpretations primarily rendered through dance—a Pagong (John Ababon) who thinks he’s fast because everything around him moves in flashes, and a Kuneho (Monica Gana) who has known only hyperactivity brought about by her speed; a Juan Tamad who is seen as lazy because he is uniquely connected to nature with his ability to communicate with animals (in fact he chooses to be with animals, especially with his best friend Matsing, instead of with other people who seem only to ostracize him). This is also partly why the show is not strictly just dance, as most of ARDP productions usually are. Although sparse, there are spoken lines, too, as Juan Tamad talks to the animals he encounters.

“The distinguishing characteristic that makes him Juan Tamad is his gift of being able to talk to animals, so it only makes sense that I would speak [as Juan Tamad] to talk to the animals,” Arboledo says. On the other hand, this posed quite a challenge for the dancer, who describes himself as “not a professionally trained actor.” They do act, by way of their body movements and facial expressions, but projecting the voice and conveying the emotions behind the speech is a different skill altogether.

“Mostly, I think it helps that I loved role-playing in school,” Arboledo notes. “Though I won’t say I’m that great, I do enjoy role-playing, so maybe naturally, I get that familiarity in what I’m doing, at least.”

For Sorilla, the voice is a part of the body that the dancers can tap into with the same skill as controlling the body. He adds that the dancers can “speak up,” supplemented by the acting workshops they take for their roles.

Song and dance

Sorilla is sitting on the bench against the mirrors with a tablet where he plays the songs. At the center of the matted floor are Arboleda as Juan and Dan Dayo as Matsing. Arboleda stands in a relaxed pose, and seems to be figuring something out.

“Let’s take it to the tail-end of the ‘Gintong Niyog Challenge,’” Sorilla says, tapping on the tablet to play the last few seconds of a song so the performers can take their cue.

All at once, Arboledo moves with much energy to the side, right by Matsing who sits with his folded knees tucked to his chest, the soles of his feet firm on the floor, turning to follow Juan’s movement with a clownish look on his face.

Juan is holding something like a lustrous shell hanging on a string like a necklace. It’s a piece of the gintong niyog that would drive Juan and Matsing’s adventure into the woods. Before he goes on his search for the gintong niyog meant to seek approval from his darling Maria Masipag’s parents and win back her hand, Juan laments his task to Matsin and the seeming futility of it all in the vast forest. Matsing makes monkey noises and gestures for Juan to pray.

Juan obliges and slides down to his knees, praying to God that he may survive his ordeal. Here, an acoustic guitar is playing on the speaker—the beginning of the next song: “Mariang Masipag.”

And then the lead dancer moves to the sound of his own singing pre-recorded on a track, with accompaniment from some of his fellow dancers. The song is uncomplicated, its simplicity a reminder that this performance is meant for children.

“Yeah, so for context,” Arboledo explains to CoverStory, laughing a little, “what they had planned initially was for the show to include singing and dancing.” Because the show is not like any other musical where you can dance and sing at the same time due to the level of complexity, intensity, and difficulty in the dancing, they decided that the singing be recorded instead—but still with Arboledo doing the singing.

“Because some of them can sing,” Sorilla says. “It’s still part of the range of what’s possible with dance. So, why not use [their] voices? That’s why I made them sing.”

Sorilla had Arboledo meet Toto Sorioso, the show’s composer, asking the musikero to make sure the songs wouldn’t be too difficult for the dancers to sing. Some dancers  were made to audition to capture their range, and Sorioso composed the songs accordingly.

“It doesn’t remove the authenticity, because even though it’s recorded, it’s the dancer who’s actually singing,” Arboledo says of his recording experience.“ But I’m not really a singer.”

Later, in another segment rehearsal before the 6 p.m. complete run-through, Reyes hears the recorded track of Arboledo singing, and notes that “may tono si Renzen (he can carry a tune) .” She calls out to him directly: “Renzen, you can sing!”

But they will not sing live—yet. Arboledo says there are no plans for that for now, as he and the other dancers have yet to be technically trained to sing (even if they sing on karaoke).

“That’s why it’s also a challenge for me. And it helps that there’s autotune,” Arboledo says, laughing. “But I just said to myself, I can’t give what I don’t have, so I’ll just give what I’ve got. I did get guidance, too, and I’m really grateful for it. It turned out great, despite my not really being a singer.”

Sorilla had thought of making the show “multi-disciplinary,” which is incidental to the fact that he played on many concepts for the children’s theater show.

“For me, it’s also quite tiring if it’s just dancing,” he says, finding that the singing/speaking was doable for the performers although “our main language is really dance.”

It was also an opportunity to work more closely with Sorioso, the production’s primary creative process being anchored on collaboration.

“We’re all putting our hands together,” Reyes says while the wardrobe crew works on the costumes in the other room across the hall from the studio. “I mean, [costume designer Arcenas] is a multi-awarded New York designer, and yet he is open to whatever I want to contribute.” Later, they would move the materials to the studio to show the choreographer Sorilla and the artistic director Yadao.

“Always collaborative,” the National Artist continues. “There are some people who don’t collaborate. [But] I’ve always found that drawing on other people’s expertise makes sense… That recipe works.”

This value in collaboration also leads to an openness to what works and what doesn’t along the way, all the while making sure that the clarity in the story-telling and the expression of ideas come through.

“What you might see today during these open rehearsals, you might look for on [Nov. 10]”—the date of the show’s premiere—“and not find it because we have changed it,” Reyes says. “Because if there’s a better way, if the story-telling gets to a point where it’s not clear, then you [have to] say, ‘What are we going to do to make it clear?’”

For instance, the metaphors. Buwaya, with his huge fork and knife that he would wield during the culminating scene with Juan and Matsing, represents greed, and Paboreal, with her shining tulle train and many jewels, represents pageantry. These are easy to interpret, but are still open to more, so that despite being made for children, the show is for everyone to enjoy.

“It’s a bit campy, actually … It’s larger than life, but you have to go to the children’s level and play a little,” Sorilla explains. “There’s subtlety. But it still has to be fun. You shouldn’t really take it seriously [even with the metaphors)]”

In the moment

Karla Santos, who plays Maria Masipag, keeps that clarity and synergy in mind before beginning her routine.

“There should be acting, but it’s more than that. The story should be very clear,” Santos tells CoverStory. “It shouldn’t be too scripted; I should be fully in the moment. If I was there, how would I be sweeping? If I was there, how would I be looking [Juan] in the eye?”

On the other hand, she also thinks about which parts she has to be attentive to in the story-telling, so that despite enjoying her portrayal of the charming and energetic Maria Masipag—mixed with the excitement of playing a role molded specifically for her—she still looks to her colleagues on how to act, how to express emotion correctly through face and body movements. (She and the Masipag parents, played by dancer couple Lester Reguindin and Sarah Alejandro, do not have speaking lines.)

The character of Maria Masipag is what essentially makes Mga Kuwento ni Juan Tamad a love story. Sorilla had the idea to further challenge Juan’s seemingly “permanent” reputation of laziness, and catalyze the most effective way for someone to want to change themselves: when they fall in love.

“At first, it was all kilig-kilig,” Santos says of Juan and Maria’s thrilling love story. And then: “The feelings were deepening, and then the parents would catch her, and she couldn’t understand at first why they wanted to separate them.”

She particularly found the “lullaby” segment lovely, but tricky to perform. It was the part of the story where Juan was at a challenging point in his journey, deeply missing Maria but uncertain if he would win her at all.

“I found it difficult,” Santos says of the supposed unreality of the situation and the complexity of the emotion that needed to be conveyed bodily. “I knew how to play kilig, but I initially didn’t know how to approach that part.”

In this dance, Maria walks slowly toward Juan, and they move briefly to his singing in the background. Lampara then “replaces” Maria. Like a dream, Juan imagines her to be there although he is still in the middle of the jungle now surrounded by the Gamu-gamu.

For all its camp, the dancers seem to move to the feeling of this scene against a simple song played by acoustic guitar—as though every lift, every step and turn were natural and not precisely choreographed.

Improv

There is much openness to improvisation in the creative process. But there is an underlying structure that they follow for the most part, story- and style-wise—something like a thesis, a common ground.

Sorilla explains their process: “At first, we had to break down the scenes. We played around, a lot of improvs in what can happen in this situation, this scene. And then we just edit it. That’s our process. We already have the structure of the story, but the moment they come in, we have to see how they can play around in that context.”

It was apparent during the 6 p.m. complete rehearsal run, which, despite there being portions slightly unrefined—especially because some dancers had just started rehearsing in their new costumes, and the choreography is yet to be modified to work around some of the costumes—the overarching themes and the story-telling itself were clear-cut.

“It’s still quite raw,” Sorilla noted after the run, although what simply remained now were the polishing and the adjustments. As Reyes said, there is no telling what would change, what would remain, and what would be removed. It’s for one to find out on premiere night.

In the original folktale, Juan is portrayed as lying under a tree, indolently waiting for the fruit to fall into his mouth. In this show, he has come a long way, continually changed by the creativity and dedication of others, and open to what he can be. As obvious and cheesy as it may sound, how else do you become masipag?

It’s always because of love. 

Mga Kuwento ni Juan Tamad by Alice Reyes Dance Philippines will premiere on Nov. 10 at the Samsung Performing Arts Theater at Circuit Makati.

Read more: ‘Ibalon’: powerful display of love in dance and music