Entitled First Love, Last Love: A Twinbill, its two plays serve as ruminations on what we choose to hold on to and what we are forced to let go of. In simpler terms, the plays are about bookends in life: the romanticized past and the uncertain future.

A twin bill, in theatre, is a back-to-back presentation of two plays. This presentation, typically with similar or the same themes, allows audiences to see varying interpretations of those themes. Because the plays were curated to amplify each other, such presentations provoke further dialogue or inspire deeper thought. On the other hand, it is a great way to showcase multiple artists without the burden of squeezing everyone into a single play.

The Playbook Club (PBC) is a grassroots production house. The club prides themselves on being a safe space for artists to discover and explore theatre. This commitment is immediately palpable in their most recent twin bill production.

Meditating on the passage of time with Napapanahon 

Napapanahon, which translates to ‘of the moment’ in Filipino, is a resonant play that captures contemporary anxieties about timing. The play’s title also hints at the emotional weight of timing itself, such as the things we had said earlier.

Written by playwright Rafael Jimenez, the 50-minute play sees Ruby Versoza (played by Erika Rafael) defy odds to speak to her former high-school sweetheart Arthur (played by Los Akiyama). 

What makes Napapanahon compelling is its stillness, the tension that lies in the silence between two people with deep history. Director Pia Cruz, and her careful and delicate direction, allows that tension to simmer and just be. Rafael delivers as Ruby, whose conflicting emotions and contemplation feel immensely authentic. Akiyama grounds his portrayal of Arthur, embodying the kind of nostalgia we will inevitably experience a decade from now.

The material confronts the ache of time more than the rekindling of love, as one might initially believe. This ache is reflected in the pacing, which signifies Cruz’s deft handling of the material. The audience does not rush into catharsis. The audience, at the intimate The Mirror Studios at Poblacion, Makati, rather serves as witness to the pauses and hesitations that make this two-hander feel honest. 

In this way, Napapanahon becomes a meditation whose impact lingers long after the curtain call. Its portrayal of a woman asserting her right to feel deeply is resonant and necessary. In a society that prioritizes hasty closures, her assertion is incredibly radical.

Putting a price on love with CoR

CoR (Commission on Relationships) channels the spirit of Black Mirror, delivering a politically charged 1-hour 15-minute play that dares to imagine. Also written by Jimenez, the play is set in a distant (let’s hope!) future where love has become a source of tax revenue. A matter of law. 

The use of Commission in its title immediately places love in the language of government. Love, a human act, has become a commodity, or rather a bureaucratic burden. In a country where the state already plays a huge role in people’s personal lives, whether through policies on divorce or reproductive health, the play feels less like science fiction and more like a chilling extension of reality. Spotlighted here is control and its insidious ways of creeping into even the most intimate of spaces.

Luna (played by Dippy Arceo) and Lau (played by Rafael Jimenez) are at the center of this hostile environment. Their relationship, tender and defiant, blooms despite societal surveillance. 

Arceo and her performance are achingly human. In her eyes, we see love, yet exhaustion prevails. She sells the idea of survival in this world as something that demands both courage and endurance. Acting as both playwright and actor, Jimenez is restrained and effective; this restraint keeps the play pulsing with heart. 

Cholo Ledesma and JV Fulgencio, who both play two characters each, go hand-in-hand together. Individually, they work wonders in selling the play’s absurd comedy. Together, they work wonders in emphasizing political inefficiency. 

The intentional direction of Zoë de Ocampo is engaging. While the dystopian premise tends to overshadow the humanity at its core, the tone remains urgent. Jimenez’s speculative script also has chilling, familiar implications. In a world where the government decides who gets to love, the play becomes an allegory for the state’s desire for control. 

By focusing on one couple caught in the machinery of these extremes, Jimenez keeps the story intimate and the political critique personal. 

First Love, Last Love: A Twinbill has two remaining performances on June 22 (Sunday). Tickets are available at tinyurl.com/FLLLTicketForm.

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