On 9:45, xenogears, the metropolis and Freud

This morning, I got my coat, grabbed my SLR and commuted all the way to Canlubang to see a play in which Jordan, a good friend of mine, played a part in. The trip was uneventful, a change welcomed, as a regular trip to Manila would pit you against countless adversaries – drivers from hell, noxious exhausts from the automobile bellies and those passengers who are not acquainted with the word fragrant. I reached Paseo de Santa Rosa at 11:30 am.

Immediately after meeting Jordan at Paseo, we started talking about photography and went to this restaurant where the price is reasonable, the food is good and has hefty servings of it. This combination is such a rarity for me, having been raised on the commercial formula that the carinderias and fastfoods in Manila – the small-serving-expensive-delicious formula, useless-cheap-bland-stomach-filler formula and those that restaurants that you simply will refuse to take a step across the doorway because of hygienic reasons.

So with my stomach satisfied, I felt ready to fill my mind.

The play started at around 3:00 in the afternoon and it is basically about a young nurse, Annette, whose guilt from the death of an infant and sexual abuse drove her to create an alter ego to handle the emotions that suddenly welled up from deep inside her. She had created “system id” as all players of the game xenogears (from PS1, xenosaga sucks) know. This System Id, which is a Freudian concept btw, is an alter ego of the schizophrenic main character Fei Fong Wong. This System Id is very powerful and can destroy giant robots with a couple of deathblows, just like Antoinette who is the alter ego of Annette (sorry for the digression but I am a xenogears geek haha). This alter ego acts like a prostitute and kills those she seduces, as retribution to the faceless rapist. This is the plot line of the play 9:45. Oh the title? The title is 9:45 because the alter ego emerges only after 9:45 pm. Imagine, an alter ego with a timeslot. Haha.

I really have to say this because it was such a pleasant shock for me - the birth scene, in where the alter ego of Annette surfaced, was the one which struck me. It was simply… intense. The depression of the character from the death of the infant under her care, the liberation of those suppressed (oh, Freudian!) rage and the descent into madness was forcefully imprinted unto your mind. The madness of Annette makes you want to look away and yet you revel in the liberation of this poor young girl. You feel the power of her alter ego Antoinette, her rage from her suppression and her vow of retribution towards those who had hurt her ego Annette. Antoinette takes Annette into her arms, protecting her and at the same time she kills those who harm her. The emotion that Regine (who portrayed Annette/Antoinette) showed me proves my incompetence as a writer – I can’t translate it to words. It can only be seen, be felt. So Regine, you deserve a hundred ovations from me (which I did not do, due to physical and time limitations).

Sadly, this is the play’s most emotionally charged scene, if you don’t count the ending. The rage that Antoinette showed the audience did not surface again, at least not with the same intensity as the birth scene. The ending scene is to be noted though, because the dancers (may I call them dancers Jordan?) were… uhmmm… very… expressive. I still have regrets of not taking a photograph of that scene because it was… alluring. But as I have heard from the play’s most excellent playwright and read from the play souvenir/programme, it was not really the final scene. The final scene is in an asylum (Annette was captured by the police) where Annette and Antoinette confronts each other in a mental duel, as written in the programme (what? A mental duel? I would fork over more money to see that). This probably explains why the ending was so abrupt, like an anvil suddenly dropping from the heavens and conveniently ending the story. I was left precariously hanging. The birth scene promised something intense and yet, after the last scene, I was still waiting for the blow. So Jordan, you better give me a copy of the taped performance – I really have to see the true ending.

I went home shortly after the play and commuting home was a surreal experience. Thinking about it, the last time I went home from LaSalle Canlubang was a surreal experience too. It was probably the transition of the tree-lined avenues, vast grass covered plains and that ayala alabang feel (with the architecture minus the pollution and the poseurs) to grimy roads and neon shop lights. I almost envy Jordan for studying in LaSalle Canlubang. He is totally at home with the delicious food, the clean environment and the intellectual air that surrounds his friends. While I am here with the pollution, the dirt, food which makes you want to smoke instead and to the college (read: UST) which is densely populated by stupid people.

But what the hey, I live in the metropolis. This is where I belong. Damn.