Jon Santos believes theater can forge ways forward
Jon Santos has been around for nearly four decades now—a stature that not only attests to the longevity of his career as an artist and storyteller but also his impact on local entertainment, whether onscreen or onstage.
His work, parallel to his catalog of wigs, costumes, and facial prosthetics, ranges a vast wealth of experience, from the most glowing to the most controversial.
He attributes this decades-long presence to his roots. “I was very lucky in stand-up comedy and in satire (because) I was guided by co-writers and by my discoverers, Willie Nepomuceno and Tessie Tomas, to be equal opportunity offenders,” he says.
“Lahat na lang i-punchline mo. Lahat na lang ng kulay. From the yellow to the pink, to the red, to the red, white and blue, from different parties. I learned that it’s a nice challenge to make sure that you get to punchline everybody. That no one is left out, no one is protected, everybody gets spoofed.”
Last June, Santos steered Bawat Bonggang Bagay, the one-act staging adapted into the Filipino by Guelan Varela-Luarca from Duncan Macmillan and Jonny Donahoe’s Every Brilliant Thing, to another sold-out run since its first iteration at the Sandbox Festival in July last year.
The Philippine STAR, now almost forty years since its inception, caught up with Santos to interrogate and locate the place of theater and art at large in moving people and forging ways forward, especially amid the terrain of information disorder that our tech-addled world contends with.
Local theater’s renaissance post-lockdown
At the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, local theater was among many industries deemed non-essential by the government, forcing the community to endure heavy hitters. But after such a fraught time, the scene has been gaining renewed momentum, as a torrent of comebacks, reruns, and original stagings begin to crop up, drawing in new, if not younger, audiences.
Santos cites the resonance of the stagings prior to the global health threat as the impetus for this resurgence. “I know it will sound really, really biased. Ang Huling El Bimbo is the example I will use and Rak of Aegis. I think Mula sa Buwan also already came out, pre-pandemic. So those pieces before the pandemic were plays that resonated with the young. So when the theater came back, the young came back also. They were very, very vocal about how they felt about the shows.”
“I feel like the pieces that welcomed them back from the pandemic to go physically to a theater were pieces that mattered to them, messages that resonated with them. And performers who, with their gifts and charm, were able to draw this young demographic in.”
Santos notes, “The momentum can only be sustained if the support is also sustained in the form of grants and (coverage from media) outlets.”
“I think a lot of the success of the comeback of theater also was caused by communicators like you who kept spreading the word and reviewing them and making us cultural entities that matter,” he explains.
Theater as a ‘direct communion’
But apart from keeping local theater’s rekindled energy going, Santos reiterates the possibility for theater to be shaped and sharpened as an active way to surface realities on the fringes, especially after just leading a show that draws focus to conversations about mental health.
“I have experienced theater as an audience member and being in a darkened theater face to face right there in front of the actor, real-time, not streaming, not taped, not replayed, not edited. For me, it’s a very direct communion of the performer and actor. It’s transformative,” Santos shares.
For me, (theater is) a very direct communion of the performer and actor. It’s transformative.
“In fact, I have come home from a play (where) my takeaway is, ‘I am going to have conversations about this theme. I am going to have conversations about this particular story.’”
Santos has also witnessed this as a stage actor, like in Bawat Bonggang Bagay. “Usually after the show, I (would) receive feedback about how they appreciate hearing the story, how they have all started their own lists. A kid commented that I made him start thinking about listing the things he should be grateful for.”
Past this, he reiterates how live theater “removes the gray area of streaming.” “Sometimes fake internet news clutters the things that keep us in —I will try to use a term that I’m not sure of—echo chambers. (Theater) takes away all of that gray. It’s direct. I am in front of the performer or audience member na umiyak, ngumiti, nakitawa at sumulat after. Sabi niya, ‘So happy I got to see it. The play had me start my own conversations with my very close friends about mental health.’”
The art form can also be an extension of care, observes Santos. “As a part of a theater company, I had the blessing of being taken by my teacher to two places: the Correctional Institute for Women and the Correctional Institute for Men. Mandaluyong ‘yung women, ‘yung sa men, medium security, sa Muntinlupa,” recalls the master impersonator.
“They have theater subjects (that) give them opportunities to explore Shakespeare in English first and then they memorize (and) translate it on their own in Tagalog. These opportunities to act in a classroom, in a safe space, and be these different characters, these different people. I could see it transform them by giving them inspiration (and) hope. And it’s amazing how that was just because of a script and a teacher who cared. So, on those three levels, as a viewer, as a performer, as a witness in an acting workshop, or suddenly Shakespearean inmates, these people who are enclosed in four walls, sa piitan, they’re suddenly inspired, they’re memorizing, they’re making costumes, they have art in their lives. They are taken out of the dark places where they could have ended up in.”
Roles of institutions
Santos, above anything, points to larger institutions for theater to be more accessible and reach otherwise “unreachable” communities.
The actor particularly zeroes in on educational institutions. “I would love to hear that schools have decided to give theater a special part in the curriculum, that schools make it easy for productions to tour, that partnerships between schools and theater companies can happen. I think it has.”
He adds, “Theater companies really go around. They have performed in places that are not schools, that don’t have walls. I have seen theater happen on top of a flatbed truck. I have seen theater happen in a factory, normally (it happens on a) basketball court, the gym, audiovisual room. I think touring companies, touring stories, and portable mobile theater experiences will help. And for our teachers to encourage developing pieces, also organically grown from their own students, from their own English department, Filipino department, communication arts department.”
More broadly, Santos hopes for state leaders to nurture and see the merit of theater and cultural work at large in rendering more livable lives. “When they give opportunities for constituents to have a good life, I think they tend to go to the next level and they find themselves able and inspired to nourish their soul. I have seen festivals succeed in barrios. I have seen festivals succeed in subdivisions and Christmas parties, all the men and women dancing and singing. Every corner there is a beauty pageant, Miss Ganito, Mr. Ganyan, and art contests. A lot of these, I feel, were organized by leaders and barangay captains and supported by mayors.”
“Sana meron ding kalye (na) may maliliit at malalaking teatro. Tapos sabay-sabay. Pipili ka. Palabas dito ang Rak of Aegis, palabas dito bagong work, palabas dito ang Grace. ‘Yung magkaroon ng area, ng theater street where plays are showing simultaneously.”
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Jon Santos is a performer and writer for television, film, and theater.