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Lea Salonga, Miss Saigon, My Mother, and Me

26 Wednesday Apr 2017

Posted by danbacalzo in Thoughts

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Artis-Naples, Filipino, Lea Salonga, Miss Saigon, musical, Philippines, The Voice, theatre

Lea Salonga Headshot

Lea Salonga

The first few notes of a song from Miss Saigon began to play, and audience members erupted in applause. However, it was not one of the songs most of the assembled crowd were probably expecting. I know I certainly wasn’t. Lea Salonga delivered a passionate and soulful rendition of “Why God Why?” from the blockbuster musical. For those less familiar with the show, the reason that struck me as odd is that it’s a solo by the character of Chris, an American soldier, singing about the conflicted feelings he now has after spending a night with young Vietnamese prostitute Kim—the part that Salonga originated to great acclaim (including both Olivier and Tony Awards) during the musical’s premiere production.

Salonga sang the number as part of a one-night concert event at Artis-Naples, in Naples, Florida. I took my mother to see the show. Also my aunt, who is visiting from the Philippines. We were far from the only Filipinos in the audience, and I found it a bit amusing that several of the (white) patrons around me were actively commenting on that fact. But Salonga is Filipino royalty, a success story that infuses Filipinos far and wide with pride. She’s also currently one of the coaches on the version of The Voice that is produced in the Philippines, and which my mom watches on TFC (The Filipino Channel). During the car ride over, my mom filled me in on some of the young singers who have been a part of “Team Lea.”

“Why God Why?” happens to be one of my favorite songs from Miss Saigon. I enjoy singing it at late-night karaoke parties, particularly if I’m hanging out with Asian American friends. The soaring melody and overwrought emotions are a delight to dig into, and I loved hearing Salonga do just that in her concert. I know that she would never publicly (or probably privately) say anything negative about Miss Saigon, as she owes her international career to the musical. Nevertheless, I found the number slyly subversive. Seeing the woman who once played Kim crossing race and gender lines to embody the white American G.I. lusting after the sleeping Vietnamese girl he’s just deflowered caused my brain to explode a little bit as I tried to sort out the issues of representation, appropriation, and international politics being invoked.

As you might have guessed, I have a complicated relationship to Miss Saigon. The first time I saw the musical was with my mother and father in London in the early 1990s. Salonga had left the show by then, but we watched another talented Filipina actress play the role of Kim and we all left singing the musical’s praises. I was happy that my parents were sharing in my love of musical theatre, and they couldn’t stop talking about the fact that it was a Filipina who was playing the lead. It wasn’t until years later, when I read Martin F. Manalansan IV’s article “Searching for Community,” which references gay Filipino identification with the show (printed in Asian American Studies Now: A Critical Reader), that I realized that my ethnic identity was coloring my critical faculties in regards to this musical.

While in graduate school at New York University, I read up on the casting controversy surrounding the Broadway premiere of Miss Saigon, centering on the yellow face performance of Jonathan Pryce as the Engineer. I also read about the lesser known protest movement that critiqued the show’s use of racist stereotypes. As a teacher, I’ve used this moment in time as an effective way of bringing up issues of race and representation, gender and sexuality, and protest versus censorship.

Miss Saigon - Alistair Brammer as Chris and Eva Noblezada as Kim - Photo credit Matthew Murphy

Alistair Brammer and Eva Noblezada in the current Broadway production of Miss Saigon
Photo credit: Matthew Murphy

Miss Saigon is currently back on Broadway, and I’m uncertain if I want to go and see the revival. I recently read Diep Tran’s powerful article in American Theatre that articulates the show’s erasure of Vietnamese stories in favor of another “white savior” narrative, and I’m in 100% agreement with it. But I still have a nagging desire to re-experience the musical for myself.

The last time I saw Miss Saigon was in 1999, my first year as a professional theatre journalist. I had interviewed two of the performers from the Broadway cast for the magazine InTheater. And I was curious how I’d react to the musical now that I was more familiar with both its history and the critical race theory I’d been studying at NYU.

What I remember most about the production was the performance by one of the actors I’d interviewed, Margaret Ann Gates, who played Ellen, the wife that Chris has married in the United States after being forced to abandon Kim during the fall of Saigon. Gates is an actress of Asian descent, and this was a bold casting choice that changed the way I viewed the musical, and the character of Chris. It was clear that Ellen was Chris’s attempt to replace Kim with someone he consciously or unconsciously chose because she reminded him of his lost love. The moment when Ellen and Kim meet for the first time was utterly heartbreaking, as it seemed (to me at least) that both of those characters come to the same realization in that moment, literally seeing themselves in one another.

Let’s just say that Chris didn’t come across all that favorably to me in this production. However, what I did find poignant were the stories of collateral damage resulting from American ignorance. Those themes were, of course, already in the show, with Kim’s violent act of self-sacrifice at the end as the most obvious example. But somehow it seemed different when there was another face—an Asian American face—that I could focus my identification through at the end of the story. One that survives, and who must come to grips with how she will deal with the mess left behind by her husband. I wondered if Ellen would leave Chris. If I were her, I certainly would.

None of this, of course, negates any of the critiques leveled against Miss Saigon in terms of racial representation and imperialist mindsets. Still, I was surprised by how easily the musical tugged at my emotions. And even now, I’m amazed by how so many of the songs remain stuck in my head even though it’s been years since I’ve seen the show or listened to the original cast recording.

Miss Saigon Cast Recording

Miss Saigon Original Cast Recording

I can’t remember now if I bought the recording before or after I saw the musical with my parents in London. I do know that I used to play it all the time; it was one of my guilty pleasures even after I became conscious of the musical’s problematic racial overtones. I finally gave the CD away, during one of the purges that always preceded a move from one apartment to another. And if I’m honest, I regret doing so, as I enjoyed listening to the songs—even though I continue to hate some of the explicitly racist lyrics.

My love for the Miss Saigon original cast recording has a lot to do with Lea Salonga. Her voice comes across as so lush and pure. And even though I’ve never seen her in the musical, she’s who I picture whenever I think about the show.

And I still love to hear her sing. My mother’s favorite moment from the concert in Naples was Salonga’s extended version of the song “Reflection,” from Disney’s Mulan (a movie that also brings up complex feelings that are perhaps better reserved for a future blog post). I quite enjoyed Salonga’s rendition of “Burn,” from the most popular musical currently on Broadway, Hamilton. I also got a kick out of her take on the One Direction song, “Story of My Life.” But the moment I found most affecting was the duet she did with a man named Bernie, who was volunteered by his wife to sing “A Whole New World” (from Aladdin) up on stage with Salonga. Bernie was, perhaps predictably, Filipino. And as a (white) woman I overheard say to her (also white) friend after the show, “All Filipinos are good singers.” I don’t think that’s actually true, by the way, but for now I’ll embrace the stereotype.

Bernie’s performance wasn’t perfect, as he lost his place in the lyrics at least once. But (with some assistance from Salonga) he was always able to get back on track. And he sounded good! I found myself leaping to my feet after the end of the song—something I rarely do. And it wasn’t like a peer pressure standing ovation, as I was one of only a handful of people so moved to stand and applaud at that juncture.

I think I stood because I felt overcome by a feeling of identification and community—even though I don’t know Bernie, and have only spoken to Lea Salonga once (when I interviewed her via phone for an article). But I was there at Artis-Naples with my mom, in an auditorium with more Filipinos than I have ever seen in any other theatre in Southwest Florida, listening to a Filipino performer sing some of my favorite songs. And at that moment, I felt free enough to cast aside the critical objectivity I spent such a long time cultivating when I worked as a journalist, and just reveled in the joy of the moment.

 

Carlos Celdran’s Livin’ La Vida Imelda

23 Sunday Nov 2014

Posted by danbacalzo in Reviews

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Tags

Carlos Celdran, Filipino, Imelda Marcos, Livin' La Vida Imelda, Ma-Yi Theater, Philippines, Ralph Peña

Carlos Celdran in Livin' La Vida ImeldaCourtesy Ma-Yi Theater Company

Carlos Celdran in Livin’ La Vida Imelda
Courtesy Ma-Yi Theater Company

Carlos Celdran is a fabulous storyteller. The charismatic performer projects an air of warmth and humor that draws the audience into his well-crafted solo show, Livin’ La Vida Imelda. Presented by Ma-Yi Theater Company and smartly directed by Ralph B. Peña, the piece is both entertaining and educational as it paints a multilayered portrait of the former First Lady of the Philippines, Imelda Marcos.

Celdran frames his remarks as chismis, or gossip. This is not to say that he doesn’t care about facts. The show is obviously well researched, and was actually born out of Celdran’s experience as a tour guide in the Philippines. However, the writer/performer is as much interested in the mythology surrounding Imelda as he is in the documented details of her life. And sometimes the line between the two is blurred.

He dishes about the scandal surrounding the 1951 Miss Manila beauty pageant, which Imelda officially lost. However, she was able to persuade the city’s mayor to award her the crown, anyway. There’s more than a suggestion of impropriety surrounding the birth of her first daughter Imee, including the rumor that rising Congressman Ferdinand Marcos—whom Imelda married after a courtship lasting less than two weeks—was not actually the biological father. Celdran also delights in telling the audience about Imelda’s schemes to marry off Imee to none other than Prince Charles.

A central thesis within the show is that Imelda’s primary contribution to the Philippines was utilizing art and culture to create a brand for the country that could be leveraged as political power. A significant portion of the performance is dedicated to Imelda’s passion for architectural projects, starting with the Cultural Center of the Philippines, designed by Leandro Locsin. Celdran argues that this gave the country an entrée onto the world stage, even as it created questions about the accessibility of these spaces to the average Filipino and the lengths to which Imelda would go—including paving over the bodies of dead construction workers—in order to demonstrate an outward appearance of perfection.

Carlos Celdran in Livin' La Vida Imelda Courtesy Ma-Yi Theater Company

Carlos Celdran in Livin’ La Vida Imelda
Courtesy Ma-Yi Theater Company

Celdran displays both admiration and critique of Imelda. At times, he seems sincerely impressed by her achievements. A recounting of Imelda’s crucial role in getting Libyan leader Muammar Gaddafi to stop funding the Moro National Liberation Front’s efforts to set up a separate Islamic state within the Philippines is presented in a fairly complimentary manner. And yet, this story also glosses over any reasons for why the Muslims in the southern region of Mindanao felt discontented.

However, there is no mistaking the anger that accompanies Celdran’s discussion of the human rights abuses that followed President Ferdinand Marcos’ declaration of martial law. One of the most moving moments in the show has Celdran standing silently, back to the audience, staring at the projection of a long list of names of Filipinos who were tortured, disappeared, or executed during the Marcos regime.

Designer Hannah Wasileski is responsible for the spot-on projections, which also incorporate photographs, newspaper articles, and drawings. Also making an impression is Fabian Obispo’s evocative sound design, which helps set the tone with an eclectic range of musical selections as well as the sounds of helicopters, collapsing buildings, and more. A particularly nice touch is cutting off Celdran’s microphone during a segment chronicling the initial declaration of martial law.

At show’s end, Celdran reminds us of Imelda’s continued relevance, especially now that she’s back in the Philippines and an elected member of the House of Representatives. He has a cynical view on Filipino politics, but his well-informed perspective may make you consider events from the country’s last few decades in a different light.

—————-

Livin’ La Vida Imelda is presented by Ma-Yi Theater Company at the Clurman Theater at Theater Row (410 West 42nd Street) through November 23. For more information, visit ma-yitheatre.org.

Forgetting the Details at FringeNYC

15 Friday Aug 2014

Posted by danbacalzo in Reviews

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Alzheimer's, Filipino, Forgetting the Details, FringeNYC, New York International Fringe Festival, Nicole Maxali

Nicole Maxali in Forgetting the Details Photo Credit: Ray Jun

Nicole Maxali in Forgetting the Details
Photo Credit: Ray Jun 

 

“How do you hold onto noteworthy memories?” asks Nicole Maxali at the beginning of Forgetting the Details, part of the New York International Fringe Festival. One way is to do a solo show about them!

Although some aspects of the piece are not rendered as complexly as they could be, the autobiographically-based performance remains a funny and heartfelt exploration of the author’s Filipino American family.

The show centers on Maxali’s relationships with her father and paternal grandmother. Her mother gets a featured role in the performance’s initial story, then oddly fades away as the main narrative takes shape. Following her parents’ divorce, it was the writer/performer’s grandmother—affectionately referred to as Lola—who raised her. The girl’s mother attended night school and worked three jobs, while her musician father Max went into rehab for drug addiction.

Maxali tells an endearing tale early on about how Lola would visit her during elementary school recess and hand out ice cream to Nikki and all of her friends—as well as kids who might want to be her friends in order to get the free ice cream! While a source of embarrassment at the time, Nikki (as her family calls her) later came to appreciate her grandmother’s devotion. The story contrasts sharply with a later account of Lola’s Alzheimer’s-related dementia.

At several points in the performance, Maxali takes on the personas of her grandmother and father. She tends to indicate the roles, relying on broad mannerisms and speech patterns such as a Filipino accent for Lola and a hippie-like characterization for her pot-smoking Dad that makes frequent use of the word “man” to begin nearly every sentence.

In one speech, Lola addresses her frustration about not being believed when she assures her granddaughter that she is fine. Max gets an angry monologue in which he vents about how he is now saddled with his mother’s care. However, these glimpses into their inner lives are fleeting, and a little more character development could help to ground Maxali’s stories even further.

I would also like to see the author take a closer look into the way she depicts herself as the autobiographical narrator. She doesn’t really interrogate her own faults, which makes her tales about her contentious relationship with her father come across as somewhat one-sided.

What the script does have in its favor are a number of amusing and insightful observations. The most profound comes towards the end of the piece as Maxali talks about how her father showed her an outdoor mural that he worked on. He had to learn not to be obsessed over getting every little thing right—which gives a different meaning to the show’s title than just a reference to Lola’s Alzheimer’s. “Sometimes we get so caught up in the small details that we let fear in,” she tells us. “When we choose to step back from the wall and to forget the details, we finally see the bigger picture.”

That picture allows for compassion and for forgiveness—an important reminder for anyone with unresolved feelings towards a loved one, particularly once that person has passed on.

————

Forgetting the Details, part of the New York International Fringe Festival, performs at The White Box at 440 Studios (440 Lafayette Street) through August 23. Tickets are $18 in advance, $24 at the door. The show plays a variable schedule. For more information, visit www.nicolemaxali.com or www.fringenyc.org.

For more of my FringeNYC coverage, also check out my list of shows with Asian or Asian American connections and reviews of Nisei and Princess Pyunggang on this blog, my preview of LGBT-inclusive works that I wrote for GLAAD, and my NiteLife Exchange reviews of MANish BOY, No One Asked Me, Bedroom Secrets, and Joel Creasey: Rock God.

 

 

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danbacalzo

Dan Bacalzo joined the faculty of Florida Gulf Coast University as Assistant Professor of Theatre in Fall 2015. He received his Ph.D. in Performance Studies from New York University and has previously taught in the Dept. of Drama at New York University and the Asian American Studies Program at Hunter College. He is the former artistic director of Peeling, an Asian American writing/performance collective. He wrote and performed in the solo shows I’m Sorry, But I Don’t Speak the Language and Sort of Where I’m Coming From, and is also the author of the one-act play Say Something. He currently serves on the literary board and as dramaturg for Guinea Pig Lab Theatre. He worked over 15 years as a theatre editor and critic in New York City, including eight years as managing editor of TheaterMania.com. His academic publications include articles and/or reviews in Theatre Journal, TDR, and The Journal of American Drama and Theatre.

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