Actress-singer Karylle reads to children from Child Haus and PGH at the Philippine Daily Inquirer’s read-along session Saturday, April 26, 2014. Video by INQUIRER.net’s Noy Morcoso
“Memory after almost sixty years is not to be relied on, but there are a few events, faces, meetings, partings that do cling to the brain unaltered,” wrote Arthur Miller in his elegant introduction to a new edition of Tennessee Williams’ “A Streetcar Named Desire” which came out in 2004.
I made the mistake of signing up on Spotify at three in the morning. Later, when the sun was up, I was still wide awake, swimming in endless musical possibilities.
Anyone who’s grown up with brothers and sisters knows about the drama of bickering and scuffles at home.
Except for an unaccounted minority that has made efforts to broaden its musical perspective by scouring cyberspace for iPod-worthy artists, the only recognizable artist the Philippines has experienced when it comes to Danish music, sadly, is Michael Learns to Rock.
In the age of many a self-proclaimed food “expert,” where anyone with a smartphone can snap a photo of a plated dish, upload it to a website or Instagram along with a few choice adjectives ranging from delicious to scrumptious to blah, it must be maddening for chefs to have their oeuvres scrutinized, dissected and nitpicked by anyone on social media.
The magic wand of theater first beckoned to Ramon Gil (Chinggoy) Alonso when he was a child growing up in Manila during the 1950s, as he watched his parents Ramon and Erlina Alonso perform at the Arena Theater of Severino Montano (later National Artist) at the Philippine Normal College (now a university).
Niccolo Manahan can be self-deprecating to a fault. “I hate the sound of my voice, and I hate looking at myself,” says the 35-year-old actor who recently played M in Red Turnip Theater’s “Cock.”
The streets of Intramuros were abuzz that night. Hundreds of people were trying to figure out where to go. It didn’t help that none in our group was familiar with the place. Add to that, the map we had was only a sketch of the entire walled city sans the street names or landmarks.
Remember that story about the fair-skinned, virginal girl with the evil stepmother whose talking mirror has dreams of becoming a Miss Universe pageant judge? How about the one with the girl in supposedly eternal sleep, who can be awakened only by the kiss of a stranger? And the farm boy who scales a beanstalk and earns the ire of a giant apparently living in the stratosphere?
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