Teatro Victoria

Treatment by Clodualdo del Mundo, Jr.

My name is Victor Adonay III. I was born in 1972. I dropped out of college after two years of what I thought was irrelevant education. I am now an independent filmmaker, which means that I am not doing anything financially productive. Anyway, to get to the point of this story, I am now faced with a problem--not a problem, really, as far as my father is concerned. He wants to sell what used to be a landmark in Manila, the Teatro Victoria. It is now a dilapidated structure; it has been closed since the ‘70s, I believe. Now, my father, who immigrated to the US just about a year or two after I was born, has returned to settle things with the family. But I am getting ahead of this story. Let me begin from the start. The story of my family is the story of Teatro Victoria.

My visit to the Teatro turns out to be a visit to the past. Lolo Entoy, the caretaker of the theater, or what is left of it, acts as my guide. He knows so much about the theater--and the family. Lolo Entoy is family.

1. Teatro Victoria

Teatro Victoria was named after the matriarch of the Adonay family, Doña Victoria Santos-Adonay, my great-great-grandmother. My great-great-grandfather was Don Francisco Adonay. They had eight children, but Lolo Entoy does not know much about them, except for one of the sons, my great grandfather, Florentino Adonay--Señor Tino, as he was called, who managed the Teatro Victoria.

Señor Tino (b. 1875) was the manager of the Teatro at the height of the sarswela-moro-moro “wars.” Don Macario, the patriarch of the moro-moristas, led his troupe in full regalia, astride their handsome horses, and gathered in front of the house of Don Severino, the empresario of a sarswela troupe. Claiming the street as their stage, the moro-moristas shouted to the whole world, “Hindi mamamatay ang moro-rnoro!” It would have been another uneventful day, as far as Señor Tino was concerned, except that he was wooing the princess of the moro-moristas, Soledad (b. 1879), Don Macario’s lovely daughter. And the problem was he had just booked Don Severino’s sarswela troupe. It was a choice between getting the nod of Soledad’s father, the moro-morista, and making a killing at the box-office, through Don Severino’s sarswela. Business took the better of Señor Tino. From then on, he became a persona non grata in the home of the moro-moro patriarch. The Teatro Victoria became a popular venue for the sarswela. Soon, radical playwrights were using the Teatro for their propaganda against the American colonial government. On one occasion, the performance was stopped in the middle of the second act; the playwright, the actors, and Señor Tino were arrested and jailed. Soledad was inconsolable. Don Macario’s moro-moro itself was affected. The feast of San Dionisio was coming and their princess would not step out of her room! It was only when Señor Tino and the sarswela troupe were freed that Soledad came out of her shelter.

The love affair between Señor Tino and Soledad was forbidden still. There was no other recourse but to elope. Don Macario, who was not stupid not to know, allowed the lovers to choose their destiny—after all, Señor Tino and the sarswela were not enemy; they were subversive, too, like Don Macario’s chosen moromoristas who used to be members of the Katipunan.

2. Victory Theater

In the ‘20s, the bodabil started to take over the Teatro Victoria. Lolo Entoy could not remember when the name was changed to Victory Theater; he was just a little boy then. But he could remember the Americans who performed in the theater, and he had heard of the name Marge Tolfus (b. 1898).

Señor Tino and Señora Soledad had one and only child, Victor Adonay (b. 1915), my grandfather. For some reason, Señora Soledad could not give birth anymore; or, perhaps, she willingly decided not to have another child. It was during this time, the ‘20s, when Marge Tolfus came into the life of Señor Tino. Marge was a singer-actress in the vaudeville troupe that performed in Victory Theater. Señor Tino, in his late forties, kept his affair with the American a secret. But how could a secret be kept in the world of the theater?

Don Macario, Soledad’s father, was the picture of the angry Moslem king when he learned about his son-in-law’s affair. Señor Tino’s name would have landed in the obituary had death not overtaken Don Macario. Nonetheless, Señor Tino saw it wiser to stop his affair with Marge Tolfus. It ended when the American troupe left for the Visayas.

But that did not dampen Señor Tino’s libido. Whether by force or persuasion, the fact was he had a child by their housemaid, Caridad Masangkay (b. 1902), who was younger than the middle-aged Señora Soledad, who was already in her forties then. And the child, to my surprise, is the person I now call Lolo Entoy.

Victory Theater was the site of the gaiety of vaudeville. Señor Tino spent most of his time in the theater, perhaps to share in that gaiety. Señora Soledad stayed away from the theater. To the end, she was the unhappy princess.

3. Bikutori

In 1938, Victor, the only son of Señor Tino and Señora Soledad, married the daughter of a middle-class family. It was not difficult to get the blessings of the family; after all, she was a namesake of the matriarch of the Adonay family. Victoria Silvestre (b. 1918) was an educated woman; she studied art history and played the piano pretty well.

Just as the Japanese were entering Manila, Señor Tino died. Since Señora Soledad had practically cursed the Teatro, it was left to Victor to manage. Victor, my grandfather, also managed to have a big family. They had five children: Concha (b. 1938), who was just a little girl when the trauma of a bloody war drove her out of her mind; Manuel (b. 1940), my father; Alberto (b. 1942), my favourite uncle; Victor II (b. 1944), who died a few weeks after being born; and Charito (b. 1946), who is now a nun.

Lolo Entoy and his mom stayed in the theater during the Japanese Occupation, working as caretakers. I dared not ask Lolo Entoy if the family knew about his mom and Señor Tino. I guess they did, but nobody talked about it.

An interesting story that Lolo Entoy told me was Lolo Victor’s friendship with Nakamura Kenji, the Japanese who knew how to play the flute. Kenji-san was a journalist and was here in the country a few years before the outbreak of the Pacific War. Somehow, Kenji and Victor became good friends--good enough for Victor to hide Kenji in the theater when the Japanese were being rounded up after news of the bombing of Pearl Harbor reached Manila. That started a long talk on giri, the Japanese equivalent of utang na loob. Kenji owed Victor a debt of gratitude and he would not be content until he had repaid it.

Events unfolded rapidly and the Japanese took over the country. Kenji was assigned to be the chief representative of the Japanese censorship bureau, the Eiga Heikusa, to oversee the programs in vaudeville theaters. Victory Theater, now under its Japanese name, Bikutori, soon re-opened with a stage show. Kenji visited the theater, not only as the chief censor, but more so as Victor’s friend. It was here that Kenji was introduced to Carmen Delgado, a movie actress who turned to the stage show for work.

The friendship between Kenji and Carmen soon developed into a love affair. It was a practical move for Carmen, for it meant extra food rations for her family. The Filipinos were getting used to the Japanese when Carmen became pregnant with Kenji’s child. But the romance between the Japanese censor and the Filipino actress was not accepted by the theater people. The movements of the two lovers were being monitored by some guerrillas, until a tragic incident happened--an encounter between a band of guerrillas and some Japanese soldiers caught Carmen in the crossfire. As she lay dying outside the theater, Kenji tried to save the unborn child, but the situation was hopeless.

On that fateful night, the stage show went on. Lolo Entoy remembers the scene quite well: A woman was singing “Sa Ugoy ng Duyan,” a melancholy love song of a mother for her child. Backstage, he saw Kenji-san, playing the flute, accompanying the song.

Shortly afterwards, Victor was arrested by the kempeitai and taken to the dreaded Fort Santiago. Kenji-san interceded for his friend. Finally, the Japanese had repaid his debt of gratitude to his Filipino friend.

4. Sine Victoria

The theater continued to operate after the war. The movie industry came to life once more and our theater became Sine Victoria. While my grandfather continued to manage the theater, my grandma Victoria set up a company to produce movies.

The fifties was relatively a period of prosperity; the country had nowhere to go but rise from the ashes of war. Life for the Adonay family was relatively good, despite a few problems. Manuel and Alberto went to an exclusive school; Charito, to a convent school. Concha, the daughter who was traumatized during the war was kept in an institution. My great grandmother Soledad passed away quietly.

Manuel, my father, met my mother, Aurora Garcia (b. 1943), in a soiree organized by the junior classes of their equally exclusive schools. My Tito Alberto was also smitten by the lovely coed (and I learned from Lolo Entoy that Aurora was really in love with my uncle), but my father took her by force. The brothers became mortal enemies; Tito Alberto left the house.

5. Victoria Palace

In the ‘70s, my Lolo Victor died and my father continued to manage the theatre. Bomba movies became the craze; the industry was in the pits. My grandmother could not take this turn of events in moviemaking and her movie company folded up. But my father was too shrewd to close the theater.

The ‘70s was also the period of activism. My Tito Alberto was the opposite of my father. While my father was busy doing business, Tito Alberto was active in the underground movement. I learned that he got too involved with the movement. Somewhere in Davao, the family received the news that he was salvaged by some military soldiers, together with two or three other members of their radical group. This happened just a few months after I was born. My mother, who was already a practising doctor, was deeply affected by the news. Lolo Entoy could not tell what the argument between my dad and my mom was all about, but he was certain it was my mom who went to Davao to check the body of Tito Alberto.

Soon after that event, my father left for the U.S. My mother was left to manage the family. Since she was not into business, she decided to close the Victoria Palace.

6. Sarado

I practically grew up without my father. He did visit the country a few times.

However, his yearly visits became rarer as the years went by. During these rare visits, I remember the long arguments between my dad and my mom about immigrating to the States. But my mom was stubborn and would not even entertain the idea of leaving the country, not even for a vacation. Later, I received from my dad that he was living in with another Filipina in LA. He wanted my Lola Victoria to give him his share of the inheritance; he wanted the family to sell the lot where the theater was standing, to give way to a parking lot or a mall. He did get a share of his inheritance, but the theater remained with my mom.

This family crisis was happening when the Ninoy Aquino assassination took place. My mother became active in the Justice Movement. Since the theater was not being used, she offered to open it for the clandestine meetings. When the snap elections were called, she also got involved in the campaign against Marcos, the dictator. All this she did while working as a doctor.

In 1986, the nonviolent revolution happened. My mom took me to EDSA. The euphoria of that victory could not be easily forgotten.

7. Pamana

Lola Victoria just passed away. The Teatro was left to my mom. Now she has transferred the title to my name.

The remains or what used to be Teatro Victoria bring back scenes from the past. Now that Lolo Entoy has shared his memories with me, I can now store these memories in my own mind. The family has become more alive--Señor Tino, Señora Soledad, Marge Tolfus, Caridad Masangkay, Lolo Victor and Lola Victoria. Kenjisan and Carmen, Lolo Victor and Lola Victoria’s children, my mom. Although Lolo Entoy did not tell me the entire story between my mom and Tito Alberto, I could fill in between the lines that they had a closer relationship than he would dare to tell me. Let it be a secret if that is what the family wants it to be.

Now, I realize that there is so much in this Teatro--so much of the past that it would be a desecration to turn it into a parking lot or a mall. Perhaps, I could do something about this. Revive the Teatro, perhaps. Make it alive once more. To continue our story.