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Chapter 5

The Choreographic Logic of Moro-Moro Plays

A central argument developed in this chapter is that choreography rather than

plot or theme serves as the organizing element in moro-moro plays. The need to

perform certain choreographic sequences serves as a guide for the playwrights or

diktador in their ordering of scenes. Conventionally, the manner in which scholars

analyze a moro-moro play concentrates on the subject matter, or on the story being

told, and this has led not a few to be frustrated with the confusing flow of the plot. In

contrast, my approach pays attention to the structuring of scenes, why are they

ordered in their peculiar fashion?

In the previous chapter we discussed two village performances, the Arakyo of

Nueva Ecija, and the Komedya of San Dionisio, and we shall continue to ground our

discussion on these two villages. These two communities make for interesting

comparisons because in Nueva Ecija, the same story is performed every year using

the same script, while in San Dionisio, a new play is used for each fiesta. Despite this

difference, in both performances, the structuring of scenes follow conventional moro-

moro choreographic logic. In both villages, the story periodically gives way to

dancing, and scenes are organized in a manner that best showcases movement even if

it is at the expense of the plot. The priviledging of dance numbers plays an important

function connected with the moro-moro's being a devotional act. In both villages, the

plays are staged in fulfillment of a sacred vow or panata, and the performance of

many dances are seen as suitable offerings to the patron saint because they require a

lot of skill, they are physically strenous, and thus, involve a great deal of sacrifice on

the parts of the performers. Some elaborate dance numbers are mere "flourishes", or

demonstrations of virtuosity that play no role in the development of the plot. They
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are inserted into the performance, somewhat illogically - at least to an outsider - but

for the moro-moro performers and audiences, these dances constitute "climactic

moments". If we are mindful of the notion of dance as devotion, we can reconsider

the moro-moro in a new light: what may be viewed as "superfluous" scenes from a

literary standpoint, can be valued as "central" scenes from a choreographic standpoint.

The Arakyo of Peñaranda Town in Nueva Ecija Province

The "Arakyo", sometimes spelled "Arraquio", is Nueva Ecija's version of the

moro-moro. It is a play depicting the search by Queen Elena for the Holy Cross on

which Christ died. Neighboring barangays or villages in the area all perform the

same play, using very similar costumes, choreographic patterns, and music. All the

performances take place in May, and barangays would choose one of the weekends of

the month to stage their play each year. May is also fiesta time in other parts of the

Philippines, and many communities celebrate devotions to the Virgin Mary called

"Flores de Mayo", and to the Holy Cross called "Santacruzan". We can also view the

Arakyo in this light, as a devotion to the Santa Cruz. In Peñaranda town, in particular,

the Holy Cross itself is honored as the town's patron saint, and the Arakyo is

considered by performers as a yearly offering.

In 1999, Nicanor Tiongson published the book Komedya which presented a

study on the Arakyo of Peñaranda based on a performance in Barangay San Jose, held

from May 10 to 11, 1986. The analysis that follows is based on a performance held

in Peñaranda's Barangay Sinasajan, from May 20 to 21, 2005. It is not the same

village as the one in Tiongson's study, but they are close neighbors located within the

same municipality, and Tiongson's study can still be used as a guide for understanding

how the Arakyo was performed in the area twenty years ago.
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The Arakyo performance I observed was performed on bare, open-air stage,

made of cement, elevated some four feet from the ground and was only partially-

roofed, leaving actors exposed to intense sunlight. There is no backstage, but there is

no need for one anyway, for the actors do not have any costume changes. There is

also no lighting because the performance is held at daytime. Also noticeable is the

absence of a backdrop, scenery, and stage effects. In the Arakyo, the story shifts back

and forth, from Rome, to Turkey, to the Holy Land. In many situations, the

characters travel from one place to the next, by just taking a few steps across the

stage. For such sudden transitions, the platform had to be regarded by the audience as

a neutral area, not a specific locale. The stage could be whatever the actors indicate it

to be: a castle, a mountain, a battlefield. The shifts in locale take place in the

spectator's imagination rather than by changes of scenery.

The stage Tiongson observed in 1986 had several features that are absent in

Sinasajan's production in 2005. One such feature is the damara, or a bamboo trellis

covered with coconut leaves which shields the performers from the sun. Another is

the bundok or mountain, a makeshift bamboo passageway, standing on bamboo posts,

and decorated with bamboo railings and coconut leaves, elevated some ten feet high.

Actors used to climb on these bamboo mountains for exciting scenes in the play. I

asked the audience in Sinasajan about this, and they remembered having it in the past.

They said it was more exciting to watch the fight scenes then, when the wooden

structure shook from the movement of the actors as they scurried across.

One feature I found puzzling in Sinasajan's production in 2005 was the fact

that it wasn't only the stage that looked bare. So too did the space in front of the

stage, where an audience should logically have been. On the first day of performance

it seemed like no one had turned up for the show, save for a handful of people. The
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actors seem unfazed by their lack of audience as they continued to perform. They

seemed oblivious to the young man dribbling a basketball and shooting hoops on the

court right in front of the stage, or the kid biking around, or the vendors setting up

their makeshift shops under a cluster of trees. A few curious children have decided to

climb the stage, sitting on the edge, with some of them even walking all the way to

the middle, to sit next to the prompter-director as he dictated the verses to the actors.

Since there was no seating provided for spectators, some would sit on the stage, on

the sides, or on the roofed part where there's some shade, in order to watch the

performance.

On the second and final day of performance, the basketball court began to fill

up, in a peculiar fashion. As the sun moved along, so too did the shadows from the

cluster of trees, and the gathering crowd, in turn, inched across the basketball court

with the advancing shade. At two o’clock, they covered a quarter of the court, with a

few people sitting on the ground. They move forward, in a strangely systematic,

though still disorderly fashion, as the concrete floor cooled. It was an audience that

unhurriedly congregated and casually advanced toward the stage.

By half past four, it seemed like a majority of the people in the barangay had

shown up. The crowd was composed of people from all ages, male and female alike,

from babies to old folk. The gathering had the look and feel of a backyard affair. It is

worth asking: why has the crowd turned up only as the play was about to wrap up?

Audience Involvement in the Arakyo: The "Panata"

To understand the behavior of the spectators, we must consider what function

the Arakyo plays in their lives. Many of the puzzling elements of an Arakyo

performance can be made more intelligible by a basic understanding of what the

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audience expects to get out of the performance. A key concept here, is the notion of

"panata", for it is in this context that the involvement of the producers, performers,

and audience of the Arakyo is framed.

A “panata” is defined in the Filipino-English dictionary as a “vow, meaning a

promise to perform certain religious devotion.”1 In the Nueva Ecija province, stories

abound of how communities that fail to stage an Arakyo performance suffer

repercussions like reduced crop yields. With this logic, community members feel

compelled to safeguard their livelihood through the performance of the time-honored

tradition. A communal panata is made, and there is collective acknowledgement that

it needs to be honored.

The panata is also made on a personal level, for individual intentions. A

parent whose child is stricken with illness, for example, may vow to participate in the

Arakyo in exchange for her child’s health. The panata can be performed by the

parent, and later on, the responsibility to fulfill the panata may be passed on to the

child or other family members, giving the it the function of an infinite thanksgiving

ritual. Besides performing a panata as an expression of gratitude, it may also be done

in the spirit of supplication as a pro-active means of asking for protection and

providence for the coming year. Many parents would participate in the Arakyo

believing that by doing so, they can guarantee a year of good health for their children.

One who has made a panata to participate in the Arakyo may do so in a

number of ways. One is by becoming a sponsor of the play, or, in local terminology,

becoming a hermano or hermana. It is considered an honor and privilege by

villagers, such that there is even a waiting list to be one. Currently, there are 12

hermanos and hermanas who collectively spend for the costs of production, from

1
Taken from the Tagalog-English Dictionary by Leo James English published by the Congregation of
the Most Holy Redeemer.
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costume rental, to band fees, and meals for all performers. It is customary for the

Arakyo cast to make a courtesy call at the homes of the hermanos and hermanas to

give them a song and dance demonstration. In return for the private performance,

they are expected to give a cash donation and refreshments, similar to how carolers

are received at Christmas time. This special "preview" staged in various locations in

the village extends the spatial and temporal dimensions of the performance. What I

saw on May 21 and 22, was a continuation of, or culmination of a series of

performances over the last few months.

Another form the panata takes is in the performance of a communal dance. At

the end of the play, the stage is opened up for the community, and members of the

audience come up on stage to perform the pantot or the pasayaw. The dance is

believed to be efficacious, in that it can bring good health and other blessings. Older

women, and babies, are the more common participants of the dance, but I also saw a

couple of men who were carrying babies, joining the dance.

The crowd swelled up towards the end of the play because it is then, when

dances related to the panata were scheduled to be performed. At a little after five

pm, adults carrying babies made their way close to the stage. They were preparing for

the pantot, and getting ready to pass their babies to the actors on stage. Upon the

announcement of the director over the microphone, actors walked towards the edge of

the stage, each reached down to grab a baby from a sea of outstretched arms, and they

performed choreographic patterns on stage. After completing a choreographic

marching sequence, the actors returned the first set of babies to their guardians, and

took another set, over and over, until all babies have had their turn. Different pieces

of lively music were played by the band. It was a very festive sight to behold. The

stage was nearly overflowing with movement. The air was filled with a cacophony of
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sounds from the band, complimented by the excited murmuring of proud parents,

punctuated by the peculiarly joyous sound of some crying babies.

Illustration 13: " The Pantot". Afternoon of the second day. Villagers
have turned up with their babies, and young children, whom actors
carry on stage for a dance. Old women also join the dancing.
Children too old to be carried stand on stage.

After the pantot, there was another dance, a kind of turnover ceremony from

the incumbent to the incoming set of hermanos and hermanas. On the stage a row of

plastic chairs was arranged at the center of the platform and the children of the

incoming hermanos and hermanas were made to sit on them. Behind the chairs, the

four actresses each held an object symbolizing the Arakyo such as the performance

text, the crown of Queen Elena, the crown of King Constantino, and the Moro

princess held a Moro headgear. The band played another waltz, and the actresses

moved around the chairs while artfully flicking the Arakyo objects to the beat of the

music. The dance symbolized not just the formal end of the reign of this year's

hermanos and a “passing of the torch” to the next batch, but also assured everyone of

the continuity of the Arakyo.

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The Arakyo Performance Text: "The Untold Story"

I have intentionally chosen to first describe the nature of the audience's

attendance in watching the Arakyo before discussing the story of the play for good

reason. A discussion of the plot of the Arakyo play requires some qualification,

because the story really often does not get across to the audience. Of the performance

in 1986, Tiongson made the following observation:

As the outsider watches the komedya for hours and tries to make sense of it,
he eventually throws his hands up in despair. Hardly anyone seems to be
interested in what the actors are declaiming. Moreover, as the actors go
through all the other activities (dances, pantot, breaks) that wreak havoc on
the logic of the story, one comes to the realization that in this performance,
the story, dialogue and acting are actually secondary, if not downright
marginal. The play is not the thing. For its meaning seems to lie not in
what goes on on stage per se, but in the fact that the play is staged….What
is important is that it happens…The point is that the komedya is presented
as an offering to the Holy Cross to ensure blessings on both individuals and
the community.2

At the performance I attended in 2005, I observed several factors that hindered

the story from unfolding in an intelligible way. One had to do with poor acoustics.

As was described in the previous chapter, the actors travel to the four corners of the

stage, often beyond the range of the microphone positioned at the center. Thus, only

parts of the dialogue are audible, making it hard to follow what is going on. Another

factor is the asignation of two roles to some of the actors. Coupled with inaudible

dialogue, it is difficult to tell when they've already switched from one character to the

next because there are no changes in costume or scenery to visually guide the

spectator.

And even if acoustics were good, and we were clear on exactly when certain

actors have switched roles, the length of the play would still make it impossible to

follow so many twists and turns in the story. The play is shown a couple of hours in

2
Nicanor Tiongson. 1999. Komedya, Philippine Theater: History and Anthology 2. Diliman:
University of the Philippines Press. p, 215
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the morning, then there's a break for lunch, it resumes for another couple of hours in

the afternoon, then there's an activity in the evening, it resumes the next morning,

then there's another lunch break, and then it is hurriedly rushed in the afternoon of the

second day, to make way for the pantot and other song and dance numbers. Before

each break is taken, the actresses would get together to perform a song and dance. If

one were trying to follow the story, the experience could be quite disjointed, and

frustrating. The audience is also not expected to watch the entire show, they can

come for a while, go home, then come back again, so the director does not feel

pressure to present a coherent plot.

In addition to this incremental mode of consumption and presentation, another

factor that wreaks havoc on the story is the practice of performing scenes out of their

chronological order. There are certain parts of the story that need to be performed at a

certain time. The search for the cross, for instance, is performed at night after the first

day of performance had taken place, and before proceeding to the second half to be

performed the next day. The search for the cross is performed off-stage in village

backyards, and allows for the participation of villagers in searching for the cross, akin

to an "Easter egg hunt". This activity is performed at its scheduled time, even if it

breaks the chronology of action in the story.

The inclination towards omission of sections of the script is yet another major

factor that defeats the story. The maestro in Sinasajan informed me that nowadays,

due to time constraints, they just try to cover as much of the script as they can, ending

it before it gets too dark, whatever point in the story that may be. Skipping the latter

sections of the play effectively changes its plot, in which case, the story as it exists in

the performance text, remains untold.

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The Arakyo performance text used in Peñaranda was recorded, analyzed, and

published by Tiongson, together with his annotations on how the direction written on

the text was executed on stage. His annotations were based on the performance he

saw in 1986. Back then, he already noticed that some of the scenes in the script have

been omitted in the performance. Fortunately for me, the performance I saw in 2005

used the same script, so I was able to compare some of my observations against

Tiongson's annotations. In 2005, there were far more omissions, and some major

components of the play, central to Tiongson's analysis, were no longer performed.

Thus having clarified how the story as it exists in the script may not

necessarily get performed on stage in its entirety, I now provide a summary of the plot

and sub-plots of the Arakyo in Peñaranda. Despite attempts at being concise, the

summary presented here is still lengthy because the episodic play is full of twists and

turns. It has nearly four-dozen scenes, originally suited for a performance that

stretched over a period of several days. Some details may seem superfluous, but they

have been included on purpose, for many ostensibly inconsequential details, which

one may initially consider to be of marginal value to the development of the plot, do

in fact figure prominently in the actual Arakyo performance in surprising ways, and

this will be the subject of analysis in succeeding sections. But let us not get ahead of

ourselves, and get back to the task at hand, that of relaying the plot as it exists in the

performance text. As will soon become obvious to the reader, the typical moro-moro

plot is full of anachronisms, violating the unities of time, place, and action.

The story begins with King Costacio of Rome and

Constantinople leading his generals to capture Jerusalem. They
encounter the Turks, and engage in battle. The Moro Prince
Godimar, nephew of Emperor Costroas of Turkey, sets out on a
journey to find love and happiness. Back in Jerusalem, Costacio is
outnumbered by Moro soldiers, he singlehandedly fights the Moro
soldiers Arcio, Marmolin, Osmalik, and Mahometo and he is
mortally wounded by the Moro general Arcio. The Christian
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soldiers Fernando, Leonato, and Rosauro arrive in the bloody

battlefield and King Costacio mortally wounded but still alive, he
orders them to take him to his wife Queen Elena. Back in Rome,
Queen Elena with her ladies-in-waiting, the two damas Blanca and
Layda, and the general Lucero, receive word from Fernando of
King Costroas being wounded. In Turkey, Emperor Saladino
receives news from Arcio who informs him that King Costroas has
been mortally wounded. In the forest, Lucero is sleeping at the foot
of a tree when the Turkish princess Ordelisa wakes him. Startled, he
fights with her, until he realizes she is a woman, and is in fact the
famed Moro princess, who is well-known for her beauty and the two
fall in love. King Costacio is about to die, Queen Elena is by his
side. He instructs her to bequeath his thrown to their son
Constantino when the latter comes of age. Costacio dies and he is
brought back to Rome for his burial.

The first eight scenes of the play, as relayed above, took the first half of the

first day to perform. One wonders why the scene introducing the Moro prince

Godimar is inserted in between the fighting scenes between the Christian and Moro

armies. Why didn't the playwright just choose to finish the fighting scene first,

instead of inserting a seemingly anti-climactic speech?

The opening scene which portrays Christian and Moro armies at war, involves

several lengthy choreographic sequences. It starts with the pattern called parada with

mandasyon, where the King executes a march, and "fetches" the other soldiers whom

he leads in a serpentine pattern around the stage. The "march" involves a dynamic

movement, not merely a simple stepping action from left to right foot associated with

the word "march", but rather, a hopping move, with the body crouching low to the

ground, the knees dipping deeply towards the floor and the body leaning into the pose

as the body is thrust energetically from side to side while the serpentine path is

executed. The serpentine sequence ends in a straight line executed by the generals,

formed diagonally across the stage, facing downstage right. Once in the straight line

formation, the bodies of the performers are held taut, and they march in place while

keeping the upper body upright. The King checks this line, making sure it is straight,
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then he breaks the line, leads the soldiers to another marching sequence in serpentine

paths, around the stage, ending in another straight line, diagonally across the stage,

this time facing the opposite direction, downstage left. The repetitions in

choreographic sequences mirrors the repetition in dialogue discussed in the previous

chapter, with an underlying "distributive" logic of giving various sections of the

audience access to the performance.

After the Christian army has performed their parada with mandasyon, the

Moro army would then perform the same sequence just executed by their Christian

counterparts. Once the serpentine and diagonal formations have been completed, the

two factions fall into two columns, and they come "head to head", "army to army", in

a fighting pattern that involves mirror images of each column, moving in a

symmetrical fashion. To the music Christians move forward, Moros move back, then

the reverse is performed, Moros move forward and Christians move back, all the

while there is a crossing of swords. The battle ends rather abruptly, with the Moros

retreating. The fighting will resume in scene 3.

The scene that immediately follows, scene 2, features Godimar, who delivers

dialogue to express restlessness in his heart and his desire to embark on a quest for

love. Before he delivers his speech, the actor playing Godimar is made to perform a

rather long marching sequence, using the same dynamic crouching, knee-dipping

steps performed by the Chrisitan and Moro armies in the preceding scene. From the

standpoint of plot development the amount of time given to Godimar seems out of

proportion, but from another angle, a lengthy dance number may be seen as

appropriate when we consider the fact that the role of this Moro prince is considered

as a plum part, since it is this character that performs opposite the lead female role of

Queen Elena in challenging scenes to come. We have already seen in the previous
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chapter the choreographic sketch of a scene between Godimar and Elena, and it has

been mentioned that the role of Godimar is assigned to the most senior and skilled

male performer. Given this background, it makes sense that Godimar be given an

opportunity to demonstrate his virtuosity with the Arakyo dance steps. The amount of

time given for his dancing is commensurate to his skill level, and despite time

constraints, his dancing is not ommitted.

After Godimar's speech, the battle resumes in scene 3, but by some leap of

logic, King Costroas is alone, separated from his generals, and he has to fight the

Moros alone. Again, from a literary standpoint, this scene makes little sense, why

would the Christian generals simply vanish from the battle scene? What could the

palywright be thinking? Choreographically, however, this makes sense. In the first

scene, two fighting patterns have already been performed: "man versus man" (King

Costroas versus the Moro Arcio), and "army versus army" (Christian column versus

Moro column). In this third scene, a third classic fighting pattern is performed, "man

versus army". We could imagine the playwright to be guided by a desire to assign a

variety of fighting patterns to the lead performers so he structures the scenes in such a

way that choreographic repertoire are best showcased.

This also explains the peculiar placement of the scene between the Christian

general Lucero, and the Moro princess Ordelisa. Their meeting in the forest is too

facile, Lucero just happens to be sleeping in the forest alone - which is quite illogical

given the tense situation in the palace with the news of King Costacio's being mortally

wounded. From the angle of creating a choreographic sequence, however, this scene

showcases yet another classic fighting pattern, this time involving "man versus

woman". We could imagine the playwright attempting to incorporate a variety of

fighting patterns in the first eight scenes so that those who come to watch this part of
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the play will get a chance to see the classic fighting patterns characteristic of the

Arakyo.

The plot continues thus:

King Costacio's death leads to a contestation for power. His

Generals Arnulfo, Nicetas and Vitalino attempt to take the throne.
But loyal generals Fernando and Lucero, save the throne for
Costacio's son, Constantino. Constantino grows older, and assumes
the role of king. He wishes to avenge his father and attacks Turkey.
Meanwhile, Queen Elena, while praying to the Blessed Virgin for
his safety, hears a voice which promises victory for her son. She is
instructed that after he triumphs, she must visit the Holy Land and
retrieve Jesus's Holy Cross. Lucero is sent as emissary to Turkey,
to offer Emperor Saladino a chance to surrender and to warn him
that Consantino's forces are coming. Saladino refuses to surrender
so Constantino's army attacks and Saladino is killed. He is
succeeded by his son Emperor Costroas. Princess Ordelisa is sent
by her father Costroas to be an emissary to the Christian kingdom,
to demand Constantino's surrender and seek redress for the death
of Saladino. She is eager to fulfill her mission, and at the same time
is excited to see the Christian general Lucero with whom she is in
love. When she arrives she is fought by Christian generals, but
Lucero comes to her defense. She delivers her message to
Constantino, asking for him to surrender, but the Christian king
refuses, and he sends Ordelissa back to Turkey with the message to
Emperor Costroas to prepare for war.

From the section of the story relayed above, we get a better sense of the

choreographic symmetry of the moro-moro, that is, of scene patterns being

performed in both the Christian and Moro kingdoms. For instance, the Christian King

Costacio is killed by Moros at the beginning of the story, and later, in turn, the Moro

Emperor Saladino is killed by Christians. The choreographic sequences performed at

the start of the play are repeated again in the mid-section of the play. As was

mentioned in Chapter 3, the moro-moro audience consumes the play in bits and

pieces, and repetition functions as a means of distributing access to the story. We can

think of repeated choreographic patterns in the same way, as a distributive strategy.

A symmetrical unfolding of events on both Christian and Moro kingdoms is likewise

a repetition. The Christian General Lucero is sent as an emissary to the Moorish

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Kingdom of Turkey, so he will perform a pageembahada (ambassadorial scene). And

later, his counterpart, the Moro princess Ordelissa is sent as an emissary to Rome,

and performs the same pageembahada (amnbassadorial scene) in the Christian

kingdom.

Another type of repetition can be seen in the way certain characters

"continue", or perhaps "collapse" into each other seamlessly, that is they are conflated

-- they are two roles that are played by the same actor. The actor playing the role of

King Costacio at the start of the play becomes his son King Constantino later on,

which is the same case with Emperor Saladino who turns into Emperor Costroas. If

we were to be mindful of the unity of time, we would see how illogical it is for the

same retinue of generals to be accompanying both the older king as well as the

younger one - for wouldn't the other characters logically be older by this time? The

lovers Lucero and Ordelisa, for instance, should have gotten older already, instead,

they remain the same age and the young Constantino grows older "in an instant" to

assume the role of king. If we view these characters as choreographic units however,

the older Costacio and the younger Constantino can be read as a single entity - as the

"Christian king"; in the same way that the older Saladino and younger Costroas may

both be read as the "Moro emperor". The dance moves for leading their soldiers into

battle are the same for the older and younger king/emperor, and to the moro-moro

viewer, who is accustomed to seeing the Christian king and Moro emperor leading

their armies into war, little details such as whether it is the older or younger

king/emperor do not matter at all. For the regular audience of the Arakyo, that actors

play two roles does not seem to be a source of confusion.

Continuing on with the story:

Meanwhile, Elena and her entourage search for the cross in the
Holy Land. The Turkish general Marmolin encounters them, and he
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reports to Emperor Costroas that he saw Elena with the Holy Cross.
Costroas and his Moro retinue catch Queen Elena while she is
alone, separated from her Christian companions, and they succeed
in wrestling the cross away from her. One of the Moros is Godimar,
who has fallen in love with Elena. When Costroas and his men leave
Elena, and she is left on her own, Godimar declares his love for her
and she rejects him. She scurries away, only to come face to face
with Princess Ordelisa. The Christian queen and Moro princess
engage in a sword fight. Godimar, who was following Elena, sees
his cousin Ordelisa in a swordfight with the woman he loves, so he
attempts to stop them. Ordelisa and Godimar leave Elena
unharmed, and they return to Turkey. Elena prays to the Blessed
Virgin for help, and she is reunited with the other Christians. She
bids the soldier Alberto to find Constantino to tell him that the Holy
Cross is with the Moors.

This section of the story is choreographically demanding for the actress

playing the lead role of Queen Elena. She will be cornered by Moros, and in their

battle for custody of the Holy Cross, she will engage with a Moro in a unique war

dance. Each dancer's left hand will be holding on to a crucifix while the right hand is

used for the crossing of swords. Right after the scene when the cross is wrestled away

from her, she will have the courtship scene with Godimar, which was discussed in the

previous chapter. This scene requires skills in delivery of dialogue and well-timed

movements and gesture between Elena and Godimar. This will be intensified further

in the following scene when Ordelisa is added to the mix, and Elena and Ordelisa first

engage in a fighting pattern "woman versus woman", and Godimar attempts to stop

them, thus ushering in a challenging sequence where all three characters coordinate

their dialogues and movements.

The latter part of the plot proceeds thus:

Alberto intercepts King Constantino as he heads his army to war.

Alberto returns to Elena to tell her that the Christian army is headed
towards Turkey, and Elena decides to follow Constantino, and they
meet outside the gates of the Moro Kingdom. Constantino sends
Lucero into the gates as emissary to speak with Emperor Costroas.
Meanwhile, Costroas entrusts the Holy Cross to Princess Ordelisa
for safekeeping. The soldiers Marmolin, Osmalik, Godimar, and
Mahometo protest to Costroas, claiming that a woman should not
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be entrusted with a relic so important. Ordelisa is slighted by their

remarks, and strikes at each of them, but they block her blows with
their swords. She storms out in disgust, and meets Lucero on her
way out. He tries to woo her, but since she is in a foul mood, she
dismisses him. Lucero is then captured by the Moros. When he fails
to rejoin his army, Constantino sends generals Fernando and
Leonato to try to reason with the Moro emperor. When they arrived
at Emperor Costroas's court, a fight erupts between the Christian
and Moro generals. Fernando is left behind, and Leonato goes to
Constantino to ask for help. Now the entire Christian army plans to
attack Turkey and to return for Lucero and Fernando who were
about to be executed. Constantino's army arrive in time, invading
Turkey just before Lucero and Fernando are killed. Princess
Ordelisa decides to help the two prisoners escape. The Christians
attack Turkey, and Lucero and Fernando rejoin their army.
Fighting ensues, and the Christian generals beat the Moros.
Meanwhile Elena and Ordelisa are engaged in a sword fight.
Lucero intervenes and begs Elena to spare Ordelisa, explaining how
he loves her. Ordelisa decides to be baptized, and she and Elena
embrace. Back at the Emperor's court, the defeated Moro generals
blame Ordelisa for their defeat in battle. Elena and Ordelisa enter
arm in arm, and Costroas is crushed at the sight of his daughter's
betrayal. Constantino offers the Moros the opportunity to be
baptized. The Moro generals agree, and Costroas vehemently
refuses to be converted. Lucero kneels before him, begging Costroas
to be baptized so he can redeem the Turkish kingdom, and he finally
agrees. Ordelisa produces the Holy Cross and gives it to Elena. A
baptism is organized, with plans for Lucero and Ordelisa to wed
soon after. The play ends with the baptism of the Moro characters
who are each given their new Christian names.

The scenes described above show a number of repeated choreographic

sequences. We see a courtship scene where the Moro princess Ordelisa ignores the

Christian general Lucero, which is the "Moro counterpart" of the "Christian"

courtship scene where the Christian Queen Elena ignores the Moro prince Godimar.

We also see a scene where Elena and Ordelisa again engage in a fighting pattern

"woman versus woman", but Lucero intervenes - this is a repetition of the

choreographic sequence performed earlier, but with Godimar intervening.

Today's performances no longer end in baptism, and this will be discussed in

more detail in chapter 7. Due to time constraints also, many scenes are skipped by the
 152

diktador. He does not reduce the amount of dancing, however, and the scenes that are

choreographically challenging are retained.

In addition to the dancing that are part of the story, there are also other dances

that are inserted into the performance. Discussed earlier in the chapter are the pantot,

which brings babies and old women up on stage; and the dance that serves as a turn-

over ceremony from this year's batch of sponsors to the next year's incoming group of

sponsors. And there is also the song and dance number performed by the female

performers. Why is it that there is so much dancing in the moro-moro? It is within

the power of the diktador to lessen the number of dance sequences involved so that

there would be more time to devote to the development of the plot. But instead of

lessening or shortening the dance scenes, the diktador choses to retain them. So much

of performance time is devoted to entrances and marches, and repeated fighting

patterns. What is the motivation behind these choices?

Panata, Performance, and Power

We have mentioned earlier in this essay that the villagers arrive at the end of

the performance to participate in the pantot to have the actors carry their babies. The

performers are seen to be worthy conduits through whom positive energy flow, and

by carrying the babies, they can pass on this energy. In the Javanese conception of

power, energy is seen as a substance that animates every aspect of the natural world,

and that this power can be accumulated, or diffused. Power can be accumulated

through various practices that involve sacrifices in order to "focus" or "concentrate" in

oneself, the energy diffusing in the universe. Ileto has shown in his study of Tagalog

peasants, how local notions of potency in the Philippines are similar to the Javanese.

The peasant's attachment to anting-anting or amulets, for instance, is premised on the

 153

belief that proximity to them may enable the wearer to absorb some its power. For

an amulet to take effect, or for its power to be absorbed by the wearer, the latter's

inner being or loob must be properly cultivated through ascetic practices (like prayer,

controlled movement, and other forms of self discipline). The amulet or anting-

anting does not just magically protect their wearers, the possessor must have

undergone renewal and purification.3

When applied to our study of the Arakyo performance, we can liken the script

to an anting-anting, a source of power like a pusaka (heirloom) is for Indonesians.

For the script to be efficacious, it must be performed, and not just in any way, but in a

"correct" way. It falls upon the diktador, who is also the director and maestro, to

teach the performers in what he views to be the correct way, and it also falls on him to

orchestrate the performance suitably. The actors and performers, through their many

months of practice, and many hours of dancing and declaiming, especially in the heat

of the sun (which further increases the intensity of their sacrifice), are able to

concetrate power, or energy, upon themselves. At the end of two days of

performance and the months of rehearsals that came before, when they are believed to

have already accumulated power, their dancing with the babies in their arms can

transfer some of their positive energy to the babies. The children who are already too

old to be carried, come up on stage, so that through proximity, they may access the

concentration of power permeating the performance space.

We can thus better appreciate the efforts of actors who dance with gusto for

hours even when there is no one watching. In connecting scenes, when soldiers

"march" off to war, the "march", doesn't really look like the regular marching of a

soldier. It is a more strenuous and dynamic version. Instead of a simple step, there is

3
Ileto., Pasyon p. 25
 154

a jump or a hop, to initiate the sequence. They do not hold their bodies upright, like

soldiers do on parade, but rather, crouch down towards the ground, knees dipping

quite low, with the weight kept on the hind leg, as the front leg swings forward across

the body, the swords sweeping sideways. The movements thrust the dancers' bodies

dynamically, causing them to lean into the step, and to bend even deeper at the knee.

It is sprightly, and tiring, requiring strength of the knees, and physical endurance.

Actors are able to cover a significant area of the stage in a few strides, and they do

this repeatedly, and perform the sequences with vigor even in the scorching heat.

A staple of the moro-moro, of course, are the fighting scenes which come in a

number of patterns: one person against one person; one person against an army; and

the Christian army versus the Moro army. All of these combinations are performed

several times over in the period of two days.

To understand the appeal of battle scenes as a "choice offering" for the patron

saint, we can borrow from Jan Mrazek's "preliminary thoughts on the pleasures of

fighting" in Javanese wayang: "the battle scenes are demonstration of the performer's

virtuosity -- and the combination of violence, fast movements, loud music, sound

effects, and so on -- all combine to produce climactic moments, moments during

which the theater and its techniques, can show off in their most spectacular."4

While the dynamics of wayang are entirely different from the moro-moro, we

can fruitfully make use of the concept of battle scenes as demonstrations of virtuosity.

The fight scenes are seen as suitable offerings, because they show off the performer's

skills, they require strength and endurance, and coordination. The fighting pattern of

an army versus another army brings together majority of the cast and requires their

coordination as a group. This does not mean only fight scenes show off virtuosity, of

4
Mrazek, Phenomenology….p. 189
 155

course. The ladies, Moro and Christian together as a group, always perform a dance

before actors leave the stage to take a break. Their supposed separation by religion is

ignored periodically throughout the two days, as their group song and dance numbers

are performed. These performances have nothing to do with the story but they

showcase the women's grace and skill, which may explain why they are performed

many times.

Illustration 14. Some Arakyo Fighting Patterns

Woman versus Woman Man versus Woman.

Man versus Man Man versus Army

Army versus Army Marching off to war

 156

Illustration 15. Ladies dancing to the tune of "Paper Roses"

One might be distracted by the music to which the ladies performed their folk

dance - it was the song entitled Paper Roses. 5 If we look past the music from the

West, and the lyrics that seem to be quite out of place in the Arakyo environment, we

would see a dance that is linked to local and Southeast Asian dance patterns. The

dance performed by the ladies during the Arakyo is analogous in movement to other

devotional dances performed elsewhere in the Philippines. Sally Ann Ness offers

excellent descriptions and analysis of the symbolism of ritual dances in Cebu City.

Her description of the wrist movements of the dancers of the sinulog, reminded me of

the flick of the wrist of the dance in the Arakyo. While watching the dance, a woman

in the audience explained to me that the they must flick their wrist "na parang

pumipitas", "as though plucking a fruit or flower". Ness identifies the use of "distal

body parts to initiate movement", such as using the hands or wrist to initiate an arm

gesture, as a feature of Asian dances. She notes how Cambodian, Javanese, Balinese,

5
Paper Roses was made popular in 1960 by Anita Bryant; then again by Marie Osmond in 1973 in the
US; and in the Philippines, local renditions were sung by pop stars like Nora Aunor, and Jolina
Magdangal. There are a variety of songs used to accompany Arakyo dancing. According to Tiongson,
the songs used are not contemporary pop but "semi-classical" songs mostly from the 1950s and 1960s.
They are a combination of Tagalog songs such as "Paru-Parung Bukid" andd "Santa Clara", "Bahay
Kubo", and songs in English such as "Don't You Go to Far Zamboanga", and hits from the US like
Elvis Presley's "Wooden Heart", or "It's Now or Never". See Tiongson, Komedya pp. 210-211; and for
the melodies of the songs pp, 219-257.
 157

classical Thai and Burmese dances, show similar initiation patterning; also citing how

hands are considered the "flowers" of Balinese dancing.6

The basic movements, which involve the flicking of the wrist, and the gentle

swaying movement of the hips, are repeated over and over throughout the song; and

are the same basic movements performed with other songs. Neither the dancers nor

the audience tire of the repitition, which only highlighted their virtuosity. For the

Arakyo performers and local villagers, repititiousness is valued, and seen not as a

hindrance, or as a source of boredom, but as an expression of virtuosity and

endurance. This is why the dances, the dialogue, and the very act of presenting the

Arakyo, are repeated over and over. And for the community, with the staging of the

Arakyo comes their opportunity to fulfill their panata, a promise to dance.

For Tiongson, the communal dancing of the Arakyo is identical in motive and

analogous in movement to the dancing done by devotees in other areas, such as the

dance in Obando, Bulacan for the patron claint Santa Clara, and in Cebu City for the

Santo Niño. Tiongson adds "in essence, these dances, though 'Christian', are no

different in purpose and context from those that our ancestors performed when asking

for favors from the anito."7 This point is even more emphasized in the Arakyo if we

consider how two very important "Christian" aspects of the Arakyo which Tiongson

observed in 1986, are missing in the Arakyo performance I saw tweny years later: the

mountain on which the search for the cross, and the exciting "fight/chase" between

Christians and Moros takes place; and the culminating scene of Christian victory, and

baptism of Moros - both scenes are gone. In their place are new "pagan" final scenes:

first is the communal dance, the pantot with the village's old and young taking the

6
Sally Ann Ness. 1992. Body, Movement and Culture: Kinesthetic and Visual Symbolism in a
Philippine Community. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. pp. 257
7
Tiongson, p. 216.
 158

stage; and second, at the very, very end: the war dance -- the culminating battle scene

where the Christian and Moro soldiers lunge at each other with real force and start

wrestling and rolling on the ground to the delight of the crowd. The energized music

from the band, the shrieking of young children, and the awesome melee among

Christian and Moro actors on stage, all end at the signal of the diktador… and just

like that, with no winners or losers, the Arakyo ends, and the panata is fulfilled.

From our discussion of the Arakyo of Nueva Ecija we shift our attention to the

Komedya of San Dionisio. Unlike the Arakyo, a new play is presented at each fiesta

in San Dionisio. As mentioned in the previous chapter, dictation has been done away

with, and memorization is the new preferred mode of delivery. This does not mean,

however, that the performances have become shorter as a result. Instead, long dance

sequences have been inserted into the performance in Parañaque. Despite the new

mode of delivery, and the hi-tech presentation, the Komedya of San Dionisio retains

its moro-moro choreographic logic in the structuring and organization of the

sequences.

How Prinsipe Reynaldo Unfolds

Rather than providing a cogent, brief, and efficient synopsis of the play

Prinsipe Reynaldo, I will attempt to give the reader a feel of how a grand moro-moro

performance unfolds at fiesta time in San Dionisio. My purpose for not relaying a

simple and short synopsis shall soon become apparent (the play does not unfold in a

short and simple manner at all). Conventionally, plays are episodic, unfolding in

about fifty scenes or so, sometimes a little less, and in the case of Prinsipe Reynaldo,

a little bit more. I shall describe in detail only a quarter of scenes performed at the

start of the performance because they will suffice to establish for us the patterns that

will be repeated throughout the ten-hour play -- later in the play, the same stock
 159

characters will face the same stock situations, only it will be in a different kingdom,

and will involve a different set of princes and princesses. The first 30 scenes of the

play were scheduled to be performed on the first night of performance, from 7:30 in

the evening onwards. The performance started at 8 in the evening on May 13, 2006,

and after the huge cast was introduced, the play was finally underway.

The opening scenes are called Pagkokonseho, where royal personages, usually

the king or sultan, or sometimes the prince and princesses, hold court, or gather their

council of advisers and knights to relay plans, and consult with them. The band

strikes up the familiar march, it is a signal to the people of San Dionisio that this

year's performance has finally started. The characters enter, in a stately, dignified,

and deliberate march. The king and queen in a Christian kingdom, or the sultan in a

Moro kingdom, are followed by princes or princesses, and some eight to ten men.

The procession is unhurried, and the audience enjoys watching people from the

neighborhood parading in costume. Characters enter from stage left when when

representing a Christian kingdom, and stage right when representing a Moro kingdom.

They cross from one end of the stage to the other, and upon reaching the end, the

procession executes a curve and snakes back towards center stage where the

personahes form a line, facing the audience, with the king and queen in the middle,

and the soldiers at their sides, in preparation for the delivery of dialogue. This

procession, in it's being unhurried and deliberate, is reminiscent of other

choreographic phenomena involved in Christian devotions and rituals such as

religious processions during Holy Week when the town's important families walk

through the streets with a carosa carrying a religious image that their family has

sponsored; or the Santacruzan in May, when the beautiful women of the village dress

in elegant gowns, and are escorted by handsome men, and they parade around the
 160

streets of the town; or even the ceremonious walking down the aisle of principal

sponsors (ninongs and ninangs or godparents of the bride and groom), and the rest of

the relatively large entourage at a typical Catholic Filipino wedding.

Once in the proper position, the music stops, the king or sultan delivers

dialogue explaining a situation, and he poses a question to his court. The other

characters offer responses, in a highly stylized manner. A soldier addressing the king,

shall first execute a bow, before delivering his lines. The dialogue may be delivered,

one soldier at a time, each soldier bowing with ceremony before speaking, or the

group may respond in unison and the audience usually laughs when they fail to recite

the lines all at the same time…without the diktador to cue them with the timing, there

is a certain discernible hesitation. And after lines have been delivered by the

characters, the band strikes up again, and they exit the stage as regally, and unurriedly

as they enterred.

The first four scenes unfold as follows:

Scene 1: In the Kingdom of Bohemia

Pagkokonseho. The king Don Pedro the father of Prince Reynaldo
reminds his son about guarding the kingdom from possible attacks.

Scene 2: In the Kingdom of Turkey

Pagkokonseho. Sultan Baysito, father of Floresinda announces his
plans to attack nearby kingdoms to expand his territory.

Scene 3: In the Kingdom of Berbania

Pagkokonseho. King Enrico with Queen Amalia and their daughter
Prinsess Cecilia are given a warning that they should prepare for the
planned attack by the Moors.

Scene 4: In the Kingdom of Napolis

Pagkokonseho. Prince Garcelis together with his sister Princess
Rosalina reminds their court to prepare for impending attacks.

From the scenes relayed above, we see how nearly thirty minutes have gone

by, and in that time, very little has been relayed about the story, the audience only
 161

finds out that these kingdoms are preparing for war. It could have taken a minute for

a narrator to just relay to the audience this fact, but playing out these Pagkokonseho

scenes plays an important function. It creates space for more villagers to participate in

the play. When the king consults his men, one by one, the actors playing minor roles

(such as kawal, or soldier), have the chance to deliver dialogue. Some soldiers

appear in several kingdoms - this does not mean that there are not enough volunteers,

and the actors must perform dual roles because of the shortage of participants - rather,

the actors playing minor roles, are given an opportunity to appear on stage longer, and

have more speaking lines, even if they're not in the lead role. Their enthusiastic

families sponsor the expenses for clothing, and appearing in multiple minor roles in

several kingdoms allows them the opportunity to have a number of costume changes.

They are also working their way up to playing lead roles in the future, and more

exposure on stage will provide them with experience that will serve them well when

they get juicier roles.

A spontaneous outbreak of applause from a small group of friends may follow

the delivery of some unimportant lines from a minor character. The friends in the

audience do this to tease the poor actor, but the cheering probably makes him more

noticed, and neither he, nor the rest of the cast and audience really mind, and good

natured laughter follow such intimate displays from fellow villagers. These kinds of

interaction between San Dionisio's actors and audience adds to the festive mood.

The structural elements of the play, the slow procession, and the

pagkokonseho's mode of delivery of dialogue are distributive features that allow for

more villagers to partake more significantly of the moro-moro stage. In the previous

chapter, we have already explained that in the context of a panata, repititions are not

hindrances, but are seen to be desireable. What can be said in one line, is stretched to
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an entire scene, and what one character can say, is divided among several characters.

Relaying the story in a coherent manner takes a backseat to the needs of the

community. Even if relaying the story may not be the point of the performance, let us

continue with the plot, to get a sense of the features of a traditional moro-moro.

Scenes 5 to 7 show our characters embarking on a journey, and we will see, in scene

8, the first encounter, among many encounters, that will be shown throughout the

play, which will bring characters from different kingdoms together.

Scene 5: In the Kingdom of Bohemia

Prince Reynaldo informs his father, the king Don Pedro that he will
journey to Turkiya to pursue the beautiful Princess Floresinda whom
he has been dreaming about.

Scene 6: In the Kingdom of Turkiya

Sultan Baysito and his daughter Floresinda, together with their army,
set out for the forest to go hunting.

Scene 7: In the Kingdom of Marueko

Prince Miramulin announces that he will travel to Turkiya to pursue
Floresinda.

Scene 8: In the Forest

Prince Reynaldo, disguised as a commoner, travels from Bohemia and
arrives in a mountain in the territory of Turkiya. He comes upon
Floresinda who has been separated from her group and was being
attacked by two lions. He saves her and he wins her gratitude and
affection.

In the previous section, we discussed a scene between Queen Elena and

Godimar, in the Arakyo of Nueva Ecija Province. Elena was separated from her

group and encounters Godimar in the forest. In the same fashion, the main female

protagonist in Prinsipe Reynaldo, in this case the Moro princess Floresinda, is

separated from her group during a hunting trip. She encounters lions in the forest, but

she is fortunately saved by our hero Reynaldo, who had just set out for Turkiya, from

Bohemia, to pursue its famed princess (who is of course no other than Floresinda).

In the world of the moro-moro, the hero and heroine immediately fall in love. And
 163

they usually meet in the forest, which is the realm of possibility, where religion

cannot get in the way of love.

The scene where Floresinda is attacked by a lion causes a great deal of

excitement for the audience. Encountering powerful creatures is another conventional

feature of moro-moro stories. Lions are typically used, but so too are giants and

dragons. Various props are used to portray these creatures, in Ilocos for example,

paper mache lions attached to bamboo sticks are thrust on the stage floor, and

manipulated back and forth, reminiscent of Vietnamese water puppets being

manipulated across a rice field. In Iligan, a dragon was constructed out of ply wood

and was manipulated manually. In Prinsipe Reynaldo, the furry lion costumes

looked "mascot" like, with a huge full head mask made of fur.

Illustration 16

Prince
Reynaldo
saves Princess
Floresinda
from lions

The persons who wore the lion costumes had to cross the stage on all fours, to

look like lions. The fighting scenes between Floresinda and the lions, and later

Reynaldo and the lions, were quite vigorous and action-filled. During and after the

scene, the audience was audibly and visibly enjoying the show. When the lions are

driven away, and Reynaldo and Floresinda are left alone, the crowd starts teasing the

lovers on stage, with a collective "uuuuuuy" to urge them to come closer to each

other.
 164

Briefly, in the next few scenes:

Scene 9: Somewhere in the Mountain

Floresinda, who was separated from her father Sultan Baysito and
his soldiers, rejoins them and relays her being saved from lions.

Scene 10: In the Kingdom of Turkiya

A Pagkokonseho scene, Sultan Baysito expresses relief and gratitude
that Floresinda was saved. A prince arrives, named Miramulin from
Marueko, presents himself to the Sultan and expresses his desire to
join the tournament for Floresinda's hand in marriage. Let us note
here, that all the entrances to these scenes are done in a dignified
procession. Even the entrance of Miramulin is done with a march.

Scene 11: In the Kingdom of Turkiya

Prinsipe Reynaldo arrives, also to join the tournament. To conceal
his Christian identity, he dressed as a commoner and worked as a
gardener in the palace.

Scene 12: In the Garden

Floresinda and Reynaldo meet in the garden, and when she sees him
(and we must remember he is in disguise as a commoner) she
suspects that it was he who saved her from the lions in the
mountains, but he denies his identity to her.

Scene 13: Kingdom of Berbania

Queen Amalia expresses her sadness over the prospect of parting
with her daughter, who will soon be married off. (This scene doesn't
seem to fit the general flow of the story, but the queen is a leading
role and must be given special speaking lines).

Scene 14: In the Garden, in the Kingdom of Turkiya

Floresinda catches Reynaldo off guard in the garden and uncovers
his true identity. She convinces him to join the tournament so he
could win her hand in marriage.

I shall pause here to describe scene 15 at length, for in the actual

performance, this scene takes longer than most other scenes. It is the Torneo scene,

the tournament where suitors compete for Floresinda's hand in marriage. There are

many exciting dances that are shown off in a Torneo, and actors and audiences alike

look forward to them. But before the tournament begins, Floresinda requests for

dancers to be called.
 165

Illustration 17

Singkil dance
inserted into
the play

And a "Singkil" dance is inserted into the moro-moro performance. This folk

dance is not usually a part of the moro-moro, and its insertion is an innovation. The

director intimated to me that they decided to include this dance because it is, in their

view, an "authentic" Moro dance from Mindanao.8 Some two dozen young dancers

occupy the stage, wearing the standard Singkil costume, and using indigenous

percussion instruments. Never mind that the play is supposed to be set in the

kingdom of Turkiya in medieval Europe, to the play's producers, the inclusion of a

"native" Mindanao dance is a nationalistic touch. The moro-moro always had this

inexhaustive incorporative capacity, and throughout its history, song and dance

numbers have been inserted into the scenes.

After the "Singkil" dance had been performed, and the dancers have vacated,

the more traditional moro-moro dance choreography could at last be performed. The

Singkil dance, rather than annoying the audience for disrupting the natural flow of

8
The authenticity of the Singkil has been challenged by researchers who point out the various
misrepresentations in terms of exagerrated movements and costumes. The National Artist for Dance
Lucrecia Urtula-Reyes mounted the Singkil for the stage for the Bayanihan Folk Dance Company, a
choreographed version of a dance supposedly taught to her by a Maranao princess. There are some
discrepancies between the original and staged versions, such as the partnering of male and female
dancers on stage. In Maranao culture, dancing between males and females is discouraged.
 166

events, heightened the anticipation for the signature komedya choreographic

sequences unique to San Dionisio. The insertion of the Singkil also further

emphasized the grander scale of this year's performance because the additional

number of people on stage is an expression of a huge budget (more people requires

more refreshments).

Paseo

And now we get to the signature dances in San Dionisio. The first dance is the

paseo, a marching dance where the participants in the tournament perform columnar,

serpentine, and circular sequences that display the groups' coordination. As Doreen

Fernandez notes:

"The paseo has no role in the story, but is simply a flourish, a

display, being a series of marching patterns to music: figure eights, chains,
circles, lines with spears held diagonally to form a canopy, or swords held
downward, point to point. This involves all Moro and Christian soldiers, the
two lines led by marching masters who cue each other with a look, and
thread the lines in and out and around each other in intricate, precisely
sequenced patterns. The paseo is a favorite with the audience, even though it
has no part in neither love nor war. It demonstrates marching prowess,
grace, and pageantry. The continuous changing of patters thrills because of
intricacy amd skill. Again, the nonverbal declaration being made is: '9Look
at me - us - aren't we splendid; isn't it fun?'

The paseo performed this year not only maximized the entire stage, the

columnar formations also spilled over to the audience area through a ramp.

Spotlights, mood lights, and even laser lights which projected moving images all over

the ceiling added even more visual interest to the already impressive marching

formations being executed by the performers.

Each actor wore a different costume, and there was a mixing of iconographic

references from a vast range of epochs. Anachronisms abound in the Komedya of

course, and this is celebrated as an opportunity to give the imagination free reigh in

conjuring up costumes.

9
Fernandez., p. 163
 167

Illustration 18

A paseo
innovation:
leaving the
stage to get
closer to the
audience.

One soldier looked like one of the three Musketeers, another looked like a gladiator,

and another one looked like a Europeanized "panday" which is an iconic image made

popular by Filipino movie actor-turned presidential candidate, Fernando Poe. The

pageantry and skill made the paseo enjoyable to watch. The lively march music

(which I play in my head as I write this), was infectuous, and a little boy in front of

me, who seemed like he'd just recently learned to walk, copied the marching

movement and did so impressively well, to the beat of the music.

Escaramosa

After the paseo, another popular dance was performed. The music changed

from a march to a waltz, and thus cued by the change in tempo, the audience was

alerted that it was time for another San Dionisio "signature" choreography. It is

called escaramosa, and Fernandez described it as follows:

Each one waltzes, alone or alongside one from the opposite rank,
sword or lance in hand, down towards front stage center, then
towards the king upstage center. There he turns around and bows to
the audience. There may be teasing and hooting while this is done.
There may be a clumsy clumping of boots, or an awkwardness with
the waltz, but no soldier is embarrassed, because this is proper to
 168

the warrior, just as much as are the threats and the skill with the
sword."

This dance is very popular with the audience because the swaying from side to

side, to the tune of the waltz, man facing man dancing to each other, offers many

opportunities for teasing. This is also an opportune moment for the gay members of

the cast, to openly "perform" their sexual orientation through a momentary release

from "masculine" demeanor, to a softer, more effeminate one.

This is another way the Komedya reflects social change. It was only recently

that openly gay villagers have been allowed to join the performances. Many elders

and conservative villagers frowned upon this development, arguing that the roles of

princes and soldiers must be performed by "morally upright" and "strong" men. The

new batch of leaders argued that gay villagers played important functions in the

production, such as helping with costumes and providing free make-up, which saves a

lot of money. And besides, they can act as capably as the men, when on stage. True

enough, they march and perform the fighting scenes in as masculine a way as any.

In the escaramosa, however, they have a choice to make, of either dancing

like the men, or swaying with just a bit more gaiety. And the audience awaits their

decision. In one case, as it became one dancer's turn to dance in front, the audience

began jeering, some were saying "bumigay ka na" (give in!, let go!), and this person

started shaking his head while dancing - as if playfully telling the audience that he

will stand his ground, and keep in character- holding his head proudly while

performing the waltz in the prescribed way. Far from being boring, the repetitive

choreographic sequence that called for dancers to take centerstage one pair at a time,

allowed ample time for the audience to watch how each dancer renders the steps.

The three dances mentioned, the Singkil, paseo, and escaramosa, were all just

preludes to the torneo where the swordplays were performed.

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Batalla Dance Sequence: Giri, Kuratsa, and Laban

The batalya scenes showcase their skill, as well as test their endurance.

There are choreographic sequences to be followed, all signature moves unique to San

Dionisio. Before engaging in a fight, preparatory stances are executed called giri,

which is likened to the posturing of a rooster before a cockfight: with dagger in one

hand and sword in the other, a number of positions are held for four counts - standing

on one foot with dagger and sword in front of the body; then another four counts,

crouching with one knee bent and the other leg stretched, body leaning on the bent

leg; and another four counts - the sword is thrust deliberately, and slowly, in the

direction of the opponent, body weight shifting from one leg to another, almost in

slow motion. These sound easy, but the positions require balance, and an actor can

occasionally falter and do a balance check, which the audience would surely notice.

Then there is the kuratsa (curacha), a two step dance with sword and dagger.

At the Komedya conference, Hermie Hernandez, the chairman of KSD, and San

Dionisio's "Mr. Komedya", for he has been greatly involved in the komedya as actor,

director, and organizer for six decades already, demonstrated the conventional

kuratsa. With a lightness of step that belied his years, he executed the two step, with

knees slightly bent, and arms held to the sides, being raised from thigh level, up to

chest level in small increments, while traveling in a semi-circular pattern. It was

graceful, and enjoyable to watch. There was no music when he gave this

demonstration, but his gait, and the rhythmic pulsing of his arms, made one hear in

one's head, the conventional melody that goes along with the dance.

Ka Hermie then called another veteran performer, Jimmy Nery, who is KSD's

President, to demonstrate innovations to the basic kuratsa. When Fernandez wrote

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her study in 1982, she noted that Jimmy Nery had been playing the leading role of the

prince for 15 years already, and at that time he was telling people he was really going

to retire. Ka Jimmy executed the same basic steps, then began twirling his sword,

first holding it down at thigh level, then he crosses his arms while still twirling, and to

make it even more spectacular, he raises his arms even higher, almost like a

helicopter, while maintaining the rhtyhm of the same basic two-step, and the same

body posture, his torso, almost unmoving, and his wrists and arms doing all the fancy

expressions. These innovations made Ka Jimmy famous in San Dionisio, and the

audience used to go wild when he performed his signature moves. New generations

of princess and princesses now learn this choreography, and it has become part of the

new repertoire of kuratsa basic steps.

After the preparatory giri, and kuratsa, the third stage of the actual batalya is

the laban (fight), or the actual encounter itself, where actors engage in combat. The

choreography for laban scenes is initiated by a series of steps taken from the national

martial art caled arnis. The sequence involves striking and blocking thrusts to the

neck, and body, done in a rhtyhmic and controlled fashion. After a series of these

measured strikes, the combatants will lock swords, and push away from each other,

with real force, then return to executing the striking sequence again.

Going back to our story, we are still in scene 15, in the torneo scene, and

participants at the tournament are preparing to battle each other for the hand of

Princess Floresinda. The first batch of contenders are all Moro noblemen, led my

Prince Miramulin from Marueko, who fights and wins over Avensirik first, then

Alimudin, second. Then three other nobles descend upon Miramulin, and he beats

them all. Princess Floresinda then asks for the bilyano or commoners to come

forward and to also join the contest. Prince Reynaldo (who is a Christian prince
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disguised as a commoner in this Moro Kingdom), is one of the combatants and he is

able to beat one other bilyano, and then another, and three more men descend upon

him all at the same time, and he conquers them all. Prince Miramulin then

challenges Reynaldo, and by this time the audience has been conditioned to see that

both contenders are men of prowess, and it makes for an exciting fight. Reynaldo

was just about to defeat Miramulin when six of the torneadores (or those who are

participating in the tournament) descend upon him, and he continues to fight them all.

The Sultan calls off the fight, which Reynaldo clearly won, but there are protests from

the members of the king's court against Princess Floresinda marrying a commoner.

The Sultan heeds the advice of his council, and rules Reynaldo's victory to be void.

Princess Floresinda appeals his decision, (for she is in love with Reynaldo), but the

Sultan is angered by her appeal and ends up slapping her.

And so ends scene 15, in a dramatic moment. When the lights fade at the end

of the scene, the audience's applause is thunderous. I shall very briefly talk about the

next three scenes, and their practical function in the play.

Scene 16: Kingdom of Napolis

Princess Rosalina enters, marching solo across the stage. She
expresses her worries over her brother Garcelis who is still mourning
the death of their parents, and who is having difficulty recovering
from their loss.

Scene 17: Garden in Turkey

Prince Reynaldo appears, and begins his lamentations about the
unfortunate turn of events at the torneo. Princess Floresinda
appears, and she also expresses her sadness over her father's
decision. The two lovers spot each other, and promise their love to
each other.

Scene 18: Kingdom of Berbania

Queen Amalia appears with her daughter Princess Cecilia and they
talk about the tournament that is about to be held among the latter's
suitors.
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It seems like the amount of time given to scene 16 is disproportionate to the

message it conveys. Rosalina performs the pasa doble all across the stage, then

upstage along the side, then towards downstage center. The long march not only

represents traveling a long distance, it also has a practical purpose. With scene 15

being so demanding, with nearly all of the cast involved in it, the extended march

performed by a lone character in scene 16 makes sense. It buys time for the cast

backstage to settle down. It also gives the lead characters Prince Reynaldo and

Princess Floresinda, a chance to catch their breath, for they will appear in the next

scene. The reappearance of Reynaldo and Floresinda immediately after the

challenging scenes they just portrayed in scene 15, gives us an idea of just how

challenging and demanding it is to be a komedya prince or princess. Not only do

these actors have to look good, they also need to be athletic.

Princess Floresinda has to have a lithe body, for the costumes designed for her

require a flat belly, and shapely legs. She has many scenes to handle - she will be

slapped, she will have to kiss her counterpart, engage in many batalyas, change into

many costumes, and even ride a horse. She also has to memorize hundreds of lines,

and if she has to deliver them right after a dance, she cannot be panting, for the lapel

microphones will capture her breathing.

The moro-moro is fun, but it is no joke to participate in one. Months of

rehearsals had to take place. And at the rehearsals, villagers would come to watch

and freely give unsolicited advice, telling actors "di dapat ganyan, dapat ganito" (you

shouldn't do it that way, you should do it this way). The observers at rehearsals

include San Dionisio's Komedya connoisseurs who have invested emotionally in the

performance, for it is the community's panata to Tata Dune, and they will take

offense if they feel their tradition is not being given justice by poor acting. Also,
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there are a number of princes and princesses in any given play, each one being given

many scenes to perform. Within one performance, there is an opportunity to compare

who are the better and more gifted performers. Watching the komedya is like

watching a play, a sports competition, a beauty pageant, and dance contest, all in one

sitting.

In scene 18, the audience is informed that another torneo will take place, this

time for the hand of a Christian princess in a Christian kingdom. The patterns I have

described, the pagkokonseho, the paseo, escaramosa, and the batalya's giri, kuratsa,

and laban will be repeated several times more. There will be many more twists and

turns to the story, which ultimately ends in the reunion of lovers Reynaldo and

Floresinda, and the other couples we have not discussed here, such as the Christian

Princess Rosalina and the Moro Prince Maramulin; and Princess Cecilia and Prince

Gracelis which results in the inter-linking of the different kingdoms introduced at the

start of the play. In the end, there is no longer a baptism scene. Sultan Baysito

simply acknowledges the errors of his ways and expresses remorse for hindering

Reynaldo and Floresinda's love.

Many features differentiate the Komedya of San Dionisio from the Arakyo of

Nueva Ecija. The scale of the production, the size of the cast, the emphasis on

costumes, the stories being told. Despite these differences, there are some key

elements that they share in common: the panata as motivation for staging the plays,

the stock characters and stock situations in the plays, and the underlying

choreographic logic that structures the performance. In both the Arakyo and San

Dionisio performances, dancing remains important, and to this day, just as in previous

centuries, the lengthy performance continues to be liberally injected with the war

dance at every possible turn. The dance-intensive scenes are challenging to perform,
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requiring skill, expertise, and coordination. And because they are repeated

throughout two days of performance, they are strenuous and also require endurance.

As such, they are seen as worthy offerings to the patron saint.