The world in an elevator

What happens when the tiny space that is the Tanghalang Huseng Batute at the country’s cultural center is deemed too large? What happens when it is made into the two walls and two doors of a condominium elevator with the one constant presence within it? Some really creative funny theater, that’s what. Written by Rae Red and directed by Paolo O’Hara, Kawala shows us aspects of our urban contemporary life in Manila within an elevator that has no truth other than that of the young man who tends to it, the elevator boy. Alwin (Cris Pasturan) is a fresh graduate, ready to move on and away from the oppressive walls of the elevator. In the course of a day, he articulates this unfreedom, as he shows how this world revolves around him, trusted as he is by the condominium’s tenants, central as he is to their existence. Familiarity is easy, friendliness is default. It is here that you realize this boy’s life is beyond that elevator’s walls, because there is much to be said about opening those doors. And so it becomes understandable why the big shot sleazy dirty old man, the ex-bold star turned serious actor, the gold digger stalking her prey all hop into this elevator and demand a friendship of sorts with Alwin. He must hear no evil, see no evil, speak no…. Except that this is also the one defense he has, doesn’t he? Alwin’s centrality to this condominium is premised on his freedom to speak, and how he navigates this freedom vis a vis his status versus every person who gets on that elevator. So while he might strike a friendship of sorts with ex-bold star, Alwin is careful not to ruffle his feathers; while sleazy DOM owes him big time, Alwin is agreeable with anything he says.

In that sense Alwin’s stuck in that elevator in more ways than one, and his liberation is about everything this space of service limits him to. Friendships are flimsy, relationships are imaginary the moment you are put in your place as the one who cleans up after people, who presses the button to their floors in that condominium. Class differences are never breached, not even by the dynamics of power within that elevator. What Kawala proves is that humor bridges this gap, if fleetingly. Here, Alwin is allowed to be central to the laughter, practically deciding on how it unfolds. With tenant Angel (Regina De Vera) who got on the elevator more often than most that day, everyone was Alwin’s punchline, as the stories were slowly revealed, the characters unraveled, and the truths about this tiny space of oppression Alvin wanted freedom from became more and more clear. He was not the only one stuck there. In fact in the context of the characters who lived in that condominium, he was freer than most. Those lives were funny, the events surrounding that elevator absurd, but Alwin was an onlooker in all of these: he was not responsible for any of it, was extraneous to it in fact. It seems his was an oppression that kept him free, his difference making him invisible when he needed to be, but always necessarily visible to the ones who had much to lose by ignoring him: in a country like ours where rumors can be vicious you want a guy like Alwin on your side. In that sense it was he who held these people in a cage in the minutes they spent in the elevator, alone to be brought to a floor not theirs, or with someone they weren’t supposed to be with. In that sense, pagkawala wasn’t just Alwin’s to aspire for, but for everybody else in that elevator, in that building. In a sense it is also pagkawala, the loss of, the disappearance of a sense of truth in an elevator that can only be about transience, where moments disappear and are only left for Alwin to chew on. That there is this much in a small space, in a one-act play, and that it can mean guffawing in the most un-ladylike way (complete with head throw and stomping of one’s foot), is the gift of Red as playwright. Here is a rendering of a fraction of our contemporary lives as real and funny, where tiny spaces and random exchanges prove to matter in lives sad and unstable. That this is navigated by Kawala is Red’s gift to humor, a rare thing in these shores. This script hits the jackpot with talents like Pasturan and De Vera. The latter’s portrayal is a template for the mild-mannered, calm and collected Pinay, who can be interested enough in her new neighbors, friendly enough to talk to the elevator boy, and yet consistently in character even as she herself unravels. Pasturan meanwhile is the gem of this show, with an Alwin that’s so believable, a comedic timing that’s impeccable, a portrayal of the working class that’s powerful in its double-edged self-deprecation. Pasturan seems to have taken this character and wrapped it around his little finger, and there is nothing here that will tell you otherwise. What Kawala tells us all though is that the funny is in the mundane and everyday, the better to deal with the oppressions we survive, at least until we decide to truly get off that elevator that goes nowhere. Such is life. (Kawala is part of Virgin Labfest 7, which runs until July 10, 2011 at the Cultural Center of the Philippines.)