REVIEW: “First Love, Last Love” tackles the price people are willing to pay for love
“This twin bill production featuring plays by Rafael Jimenez explores alternative universes where love somehow still prevails.”
People defying great odds to pursue love may be familiar territory, but the complexity and profundity of human relationships is such that it is a rich mine of stories well worth revisiting. What The Playbook Club’s First Love, Last Love twin bill production manages to achieve, through two distinct futuristic scenarios, is to present how, no matter how much time passes and how many things change in society, culture, technology, what will remain constant is humanity’s desire to find love.
The characters in both plays must confront more than their fair share of adversity before they can have a chance of a happy ending. Beyond the usual internal conflicts that occur between couples such as impending separation because one has gotten a scholarship abroad or insecurity over differences in socio-economic status, the characters must also contend with the unique circumstances of their future worlds.
In Napapanahon (directed by Pia Cruz), time travel is possible, which enables Ruby (Erika Rafael) to travel back twelve years to visit her ex, Arthur (Los Akiyama), during their senior year of high school. In CoR (Commission on Relationships), directed by Zoë De Ocampo, the government has imposed an obligation to register and a hefty tax on all people seeking to enter romantic relationships, which becomes a major roadblock for lovers Lau (Rafael Jimenez) and Luna (Dippy Arceo).
Character over concept
Both plays introduce high concepts but do not explore these comprehensively enough, opting instead to focus on character relationships. This limitation is a minor flaw in Napapanahon, where time travel is merely a device to facilitate a life-changing conversation between two characters. But CoR presents a vastly more ambitious scenario, a complex socio-political set-up that has far-reaching consequences.
It is mentioned that divorce has been legalized at the same time as the government has started regulating all romantic relationships, and people are prohibited from showing physical displays of affection. The play focuses on how these broad, socio-political shifts affect the two main characters and while they have a few brush-ins with the law in their initial attempts to hide their love, these are not enough to show how much the world of CoR has changed and how many people have been adversely affected by this new layer of governmental control. There are many other elements of this new world that are not fully interrogated because of the limited point of view.
Ultimately, the plays succeed more when they focus on the dynamics between their central couples. In a very short time, each pair manages to convince the audience of their profound connection with one another. Their portrayals are so engaging that, in spite of the futuristic settings, their experiences remain relatable.
Akiyama plays Arthur with an undeniable charm and infectious cheerfulness, particularly as he excitedly discusses his dreams of becoming a successful musician. Rafael, burdened with a tricky balancing act, succeeds in showing a mature and somber Ruby, who still cares deeply about her childhood sweetheart. They also communicate through song and perform a few musical numbers with technical prowess and emotional resonance.
Jimenez and Arceo are a delight, exhibiting effortless chemistry with one another as they go through the different stages of the couple’s relationship, from the awkward courtship to genuine friendship to ardent declarations of love and then inevitable arguments. Their affection is evident even when they have simple conversations about their work, but they are also not afraid to show more passion when appropriate (Missy Maramara served as intimacy coordinator).
The two leads of CoR are given tremendous support by Cholo Ledesma as both Fr. Aris, Lau’s supportive friend, and as a sarcastic government administrator, and by JV Fulgencio as the senator who spearheaded the creation of the Commission of Relationships, a stern officer, and an insufferable bureaucrat who makes Lau’s break-up filing even more painful than it needs to be.
The sets (with lighting design by G Roi Reyno and sound design by Uriel Tibayan) are intentionally simple: a few desks, some textbooks, and a blackboard for Napapanahon, and boxes that the characters carry from place to place for CoR, to convey the variety of venues like a dance floor at a wedding, the characters’ apartments, a government office, and even the confessional booth at a church. The audience’s attention is always focused on what is going on between the people.
Rewriting the past
Erika Rafael and Los Akiyama; Photo Credit: Earl Rafael
Napapanahon, true to its title, explores the idea of things happening at the “right time.” Future Ruby visits her past love just days before she is about to get married, while past Arthur still has no idea of what lies ahead. Initially, it seems like she is trying to get some closure for some past grief, but it turns out, that going back in time opens up a new, alternate timeline, and she is actually paving the way for a happier future.
In the end, Napapanahon is less about a gimmick that allows for Ruby to have this fateful encounter with an old flame, but ultimately about how much she is willing to do, not just for her own healing, but to enable a better life for Arthur too. That is the bittersweet sacrifice at the heart of the story that reinforces the theme of paying the price for love.
The price of love
L-R: Rafael Jimenez, JV Fulgencio, Dippy Arceo, Cholo Ledesma; Photos by Earl Rafael
In CoR, the theme is further explored, literally and figuratively. Even when both Lau and Luna admit their feelings for each other, Luna is hesitant about making things official by paying the hefty relationship tax, so they are forced to keep their romance a secret, for fear of being brutally separated. Eventually, Luna does finally agree for them to get registered but in trying to scrounge up the money for the registration fee, she compromises her values and makes a decision she comes to regret for the rest of her life.
The play’s world-building is fascinating, if a bit constrained. Lau and Luna’s guarded behavior subtly shows a culture of fear and repression that has formed as a result of this additional layer of government control of human activity, a different kind of curtailment of fundamental freedoms. Where people are already hesitant or afraid of opening themselves to love even without governmental regulation, the world of CoR raises the stakes so much higher. This aspect of the play, however, never goes beyond the world of its two leads.
The exploration of relationship dynamics in CoR is painfully realistic. Lau and Luna run through the whole gamut of human emotions efficiently and effectively, taking the audience on a similar roller coaster ride. The government restrictions on relationships put an additional strain on theirs, and when they eventually break up, the audience grieves with them.
Luna reacts to the break-up by moving away while Lau becomes a rebel, writing love poetry to defy the government and its restrictions. He eventually lands in prison, and Luna learns of his fate in a letter. Despite the tragic conclusion to their relationship, CoR ends with a scene of Lau and Luna dancing together, mirroring their first meeting, and a clear indication that they had still made the right call in pursuing a relationship.
For all its ambitious elements, First Love, Last Love succeeds most by reinforcing a simple but profound message: in the words of French playwright Françoise Sagan, “Love is worth whatever it costs.”
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