The Playbook Club’s Twinbill ‘First Love, Last Love’: A Bleak Take on Love and Relationships
The Playbook Club’s Twinbill ‘First Love, Last Love’: A Bleak Take on Love and Relationships
From a very young age we are mentally conditioned to seek The One with whom we’ll spend our entire life with. Countless children’s novels, Disney films, and—for the lucky ones—loving parents all instill the idea of finding a partner and living out that Happily Ever After. But reality eventually sets in; maturity replaces the naïveté of fiction and hearts inevitably get broken. Still, first love is often remembered with fondness—and for some, a hint of disgust—along with lingering thoughts of what could have been, if the stars had just aligned and things had ended differently.
Rafael Jimenez’s twinbill First Love, Last Love tackles the immaturity that accompanies inexperienced love. That love, like everything else, is shaped by forces outside one’s control: future events, societal laws, and government policies. The first play attempts to rewrite the past, while the second confronts a future handicapped by legal limitations.
Erika Rafael and Los Akiyama in Napapanahon. Directed by Pia Cruz and written by Rafael Jimenez. Retrieved from The Playbook Club’s Instagram account.
Despite its title, Napapanahon is not rooted in current reality—having no time machines as of date—but its timeliness lies in the persistent hope of changing what has already transpired. The story begins by the action of Ruby (Erika Rafael) traveling back to her last moment with her high school sweetheart Arthur (Los Akiyama). Her initial fascination and confusion sell the premise of someone returning to the past with memories, blurred and in need of unearthing.
The secret of her time-traveling is eventually revealed and Arthur responds with ridicule, as expected of anyone encountering a supposed time traveler. But then secrets emerge, questions build, and the inevitable is asked: Why are you here? Ruby’s silent hesitation says it all, yet her final revelation seals the grim reality that haunts them both in different ways.
The play makes clever choices to avoid narrative inconsistencies, most notably its decision to prevent characters from existing in the same universe across timelines. It avoids timeline mismatches that have plagued recent films and plays—including one that has been recently staged this year (to be tackled in a different review)—making the entire story convoluted and disengaging.
By embracing its own limits, the play becomes the best version of itself, intermingling its humor and poignancy in ways that hit when it matters. And its topics of past regrets, future sorrows, and every experience in between urges us to reflect on those rose-colored moments; when the greatest worry was getting into the same college as your current partner. Napapanahon is nostalgic and sincere; a bittersweet meditation on the could-have-beens of young love.
Rafael Jimenez and Dippy Arceo in Commission on Relationships. Directed by Zoë De Ocampo and written by Rafael Jimenez. Retrieved from The Playbook Club’s Instagram account.
Given the absurdities of how the Philippine government is run, it’s not entirely far-fetched to imagine something like a Commission on Relationships becoming a reality. In this imagined future, to thwart further overpopulation, the government outlaws unregistered relationships and imposes taxes on any romantic involvement. Amidst this Lanthimos-esque future lies Lau (Rafael Jimenez) and Luna (Dippy Arceo), navigating their affairs in a society drained of meaningful connection. One withholds complete commitment; the other gives everything. The play shows vignettes that capture the highs and lows of a relationship shaped by defiance and circumstance.
While the problem stems from a draconian and panoptic law, the core of the story comes from the slow unraveling of each character’s flaws. Luna is afraid of commitment, whether to her partner or the supposed fundraiser for a carinderia owner she frequented. She is not without conviction, but her inaction causes her words to vanish after utterance. On the opposite end, Lau lacks emotional awareness and his tendency to brush aside every issue prevents any meaningful resolution.
A relationship can’t magically fix itself unless both parties confront its problems, and their refusal to initiate that conversation inevitably leads to their deservingly earned downfall. It is then not surprising that their most compelling moments come when they are at their most honest. Even with this, nothing quite matches the energy of the background characters, portrayed brilliantly by Cholo Ledesma and JV Fulgencio, who seamlessly shift from priest to clerk to officer to senator as each sequence demands.
The play itself reads as a metaphor for rushed relationships, where adults treat marriage and childbirth as boxes to tick off or milestones to achieve. Commission on Relationships is a reminder to slow down and to remain critical when discomfort arises—whether in a relationship or under a government.
What is admirable throughout the entire twinbill is the platform it provides for emerging theatre talent. In a space often insular and heavily gate-kept, allowing young and promising artists to shine is nothing short of invaluable. This includes not only the actors but also the minds and creatives behind the production. Notably its playwright, Rafael Jimenez, delivers yet another set of original work following his acclaimed Patintero sa Ayala Avenue, a piece I have the misfortune to have missed. Personally, it’s inspiring to see a young talent achieve such feats and conquer areas traditionally occupied by privilege and connection. The hope now is to see more from these up-and-comers to shake the stage so long held by the status quo.
