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| Special To the Times: My Journey with Morrie |
| by Bart Guingona |
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| Bart shares his experiences doing Tuesdays With Morrie and acting with Jose Mari Avellana |
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Before I was asked to do the stage version of the book, I think I must have been one of the very few people on earth who’d never read Mitch Albom’s Tuesdays With Morrie. The idea of staging a play based on the best-selling book was first brought to my attention years ago by Tita Paz Yunchengco, a dear friend and a pillar of support for local theater. By the time she passed away a couple of years back, a lot of my friends and relatives had repeatedly urged me to read the book. But (and I’m sure many of you will relate to this) I simply added it to the backlog reading list that occasionally nags me but more often takes a backseat to the urgencies of the moment.
While I was directing “Loves Labor’s Lost” for Repertory last year, Tita Baby Barredo approached me to do the Mitch Albom role in the play version (which he adapted from his own book). I had the vaguest idea what the play was all about and to be really frank, I was wary that it would be chock-filled with platitudes and feel-good clichés, (The book is found in the “inspirational” or self-help sections of bookstores) but the whole autobiographical premise was just too alluring to resist. After talking briefly about who should play Morrie Schwartz and finally settling on Mari Avellana, I eventually reached the point of no return.
Mari is an astonishingly intelligent and instinctive actor whose body of works has stamped him as one of the genuine thespians in the country. Totally underrated and very seldom seen, his “Cyrano de Bergerac” for the Tanghalang Pilipino theater group is considered one of the all-time legendary performances in recent Philippine theater history.
Mari and I had worked together once in another two-hander, “The Woman in Black” under Joy Virata’s direction for Repertory in 2000. A few other minor projects (a couple of staged readings, minor roles in foreign films here and there) brought us in touch on occasion. But I had been itching to do serious stuff with him again. Finally, here it is.
The Christmas season was just about to start when we had our first reading at Tita Baby’s house. It then dawned on me that we would be spending the holiday season rehearsing a play about death on a daily basis. That took some swallowing and I had to steel myself to not only be harassed during the season, but depressed as well.
Being the kind of person I tend to be, a bit cynical and often detached, my greatest fear about doing the play was that it would be mawkish and sentimental—two things I was constantly wary about as an artist and as a person. I said as much one day early in the rehearsal process. But Mari and Tita Baby agreed that we should keep the integrity of the play by not lending ourselves to the temptation of playing for the easy emotions. We agreed to explore the play together, to give the journey its own chance to unfold.
I went to a bookstore and acquired copies of the book for Mari and Ria (our production manager) and finally read Albom’s opus. I could almost hear Tita Paz sighing in approval, “FINALLY!” I also went to YouTube to see Morrie talk to Ted Koppel in an attempt to unearth all I could about what made the piece so resonant. I was made humble by the wisdom of Morrie, a wisdom I almost dismissed for the arrogance of my preconceptions.
So everyday, including Christmas Eve and New Year’s Eve, we made the journey together. It was the journey of teacher and student, parent and son, peers and friends. It was a journey that mapped the landscapes of insecurities and anger, of weakness and strength. It was a journey that brought us all face to face with Morrie Schwartz and Mitch Albom and made them into real people whose stories we now own. By the end of the year (literally), we were Morrie and Mitch and we were telling a story not of death, nor sadness and pain (although there is much of that, naturally) but, surprise, surprise, a story of life and affirmation.
So here we are about to embark on the next phase of our journey, the real journey—because in truth, the end of rehearsals only means the beginning of the voyage we now take with an audience—and I can’t help thinking that I couldn’t have spent a better holiday season than this way: not lamenting the brevity of life but celebrating the journeys we are allowed to take in the time we have been given. Wow. It really is a Happy New Year.
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