Fridae

I found myself on my feet as the crowd around me erupted in wild cheering and clapping. In my mind, one word kept repeating itself.

"Ohmigod."

I'd just finished watching Dreamgirls, a magnificent musical that had been running for a few weeks at the Onstage Theater in Makati's old Greenbelt Mall. With some surprise, I realised that three hours had passed swiftly since the show started. Despite the length of time, I wished the show wasn't over. That's how good it was.

I rarely wax effusive with my praise, but Bituin Escalante was magnificent as the not-so-pretty but immensely gifted Effie White. I'd heard and seen her before, and I'd always thought she was good. But this time, her performance was nothing short of divine. I clearly remember one scene when she was being shoved around the stage, and crawling on her knees, all the while her voice stayed true, powerful and poignant. Oh, and black.

Dreamgirls is the story of three young black women and their rise to fame in the 60s. Some critics argue that it's really the story of the Supremes. I tend to agree - even if I wasn't a fan of the Supremes (I am now), some of the songs sound like obvious re-writes of their hits.

Which is not surprising that, on the day I watched the matinee, you could count on one hand the number of REAL women in the audience. Everyone else was gay, the degrees just varied. After all, how could any green-blooded gay man resist. Music, dancing, Diana Ross, wigs, fabulous costumes, sequins, feathers, arm-length gloves, stage - all the things we hold dear were in abundance. I am somewhat disappointed with some of the outfits, though. Dreamgirls would have been any gay costume designer's wet dream come true. But some scenes, the outfits fell far short of the talent of the singers.

But the music, that was glorious. I've always like non-traditional shows, like the rock musicals of Rent and Jesus Christ Superstar. Dreamgirls walked the line between pop and soul, both in the plot and the execution, and did it with a panache that was surprising for Filipino stage. I'll admit, I was impressed - I'd walked in expecting to be disappointed, and came out feeling transcendently pleased. When another company did Rent a few years ago, I felt that it paled in comparison to the original performance I'd watched in NYC's Nederlander theater. This rendition of Dreamgirls, though, I felt could have given the original a good run for its money.

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Maybe the reason the musical was so powerful for me was because I felt that the music spoke to me on some personal level. I'm not too superstitious, but when songs like "Heavy" (about how someone had gotten so heavy to carry emotionally) and "I Am Not Leaving" (about how we keep stubbornly hold on and refuse to let go of dead relationships), I couldn't help but look at the young lad watching raptly beside me, and thinking how apt those words were. Or maybe I was just hearing things I needed to hear. The show did put us in a wonderful frame of mind, though, banishing, even for just awhile, all the things bothering us. And for that alone, the show was worth gold to me.

In truth, though, the undercurrents and messages in Dreamgirls should be of particular meaning to gay men. Morals about learning to forgive and to stop clinging to the past, to giving up an obviously wrong relationship and rediscovering self-love, to never losing sight of your dreams, no matter the price, those are all things we need to keep in mind. Too often, we give up too much of ourselves for the men we love. Fearing the dread spectre of loneliness, we grind our own pride and self-worth down in vain hope of keeping a partnership alive. And too often, we end up being hurt, again and again, because we fail to realise that the things we pursue aren't really what we're looking for. They just look good and give great head.

But perhaps one of the most significant messages is its message of hope. In the 1960s, no one wanted to watch black performers. No music hall would accept them till perseverance, work and an inordinate amount of luck gave them their break. Think of it. If three young, black women could win the hearts of predominantly white America in the 1960s, if they could overcome the scorn accorded being "black" and translate it into reverence, couldn't the same thing happen to being "gay"?

Who knows. For now, sing it with me. "We are dreamgirls..."