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A Dance in a Day in a Dance

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<div><span class="fr-img-caption fr-fic fr-dib" style="width:950px"><span class="fr-img-wrap"><img src="https://od2-image-api.abs-cbn.com/prod/editorImage/1760421534948KATRENE SAN MIGUEL MICHAEL BARRY QUE IN  I WANNA SAY SOMETHING.jpg" style="width:950px" class="fr-fic fr-dib"/><span class="fr-inner">Katrene San Miguel and Michael Barry Que in &#x27;I Wanna Say Something.&#x27; <em>Cesar Morales</em></span></span></span>MANILA -- Mari Dance Company was thrust into the spotlight Friday night as they premiered their first company production. A year after declaring their existence, they performed &quot;A Dance in a Day in a Dance&quot; at the Doreen Black Box Theater in Areté. </div><p>Mari&#x27;s artistic director, JM Cabling, expressed that this was their way to humbly reintroduce themselves to the entertainment industry, sending a message about the significance of their name. &quot;Mari&quot; was Cabling&#x27;s name, and true to his brand of boldness, it wasn&#x27;t going to be a cookie-cutter, sugary-sweet hello. Along with his co-founders, he proclaimed that Mari would be about possibilities: “Mari, maaari!” Anchored in the belief of possibility, they intend to use contemporary dance for a purpose beyond mere entertainment.</p><p>It sounds idealistic, like an election campaign promise meant to be broken. Contemporary dance in the Philippines has, for this author, been losing ground, with dwindling audiences and a waning capacity to spark conversation and drive change. If it were a different group expressing these idealistic thoughts, I might be skeptical. But I was not. </p><p>From its inception, I sensed this company had power; I, too, believed in their limitless possibilities, their heart, and their vision. If there is any indication that I might be right in my fearless forecast, it&#x27;s the fact that they opened their debut season with a solid 10-show run. </p><p>Sadly, for contemporary dance in the Philippines, we often see only two to three shows at best, with a market that frequently relies on free tickets. Mari, with this simple step of investing in themselves, proves that the norm can evolve in their hands. In a genre that often strings together disparate ideas, Mari dared to build a full-length piece confidently in their own voice and artistic capability. Their performance was far from safe; it was controversial (at least for the dance community or those who understood the weight of its message).</p><div><br/></div><div><strong>The mavericks behind Mari</strong></div><p>So who exactly are the mavericks who dare to ruffle the feathers of an otherwise quiet dance community? Five well-educated “real” dancers who took different paths found their way back to each other on a singular road. </p><p>We have three multifaceted choreographers-turned-artistic directors: Cabling heads Guang Ming, Michael Barry Que heads the Far Eastern University Dance Company, and Sarah Samaniego heads the University of the Philippines. </p><div><span class="fr-img-caption fr-fic fr-dib" style="width:950px"><span class="fr-img-wrap"><img src="https://od2-image-api.abs-cbn.com/prod/editorImage/1760421250966Michael Barry Arbas Que in I Wanna   say Something .jpg" style="width:950px" class="fr-fic fr-dib"/><span class="fr-inner">Michael Barry Que in &#x27;I Wanna Say Something.&#x27; <em>Cesar Morales</em></span></span></span>Then there is Ricca Bautista-Versoza, a recognized dance scholar and experienced arts manager, and Abbey Carlos Que, whose dancing career has led her to multiple international opportunities, including choreography.</div><p>One could say this is a powerhouse team, combining extensive experience as performers, choreographers, restagers, and curators, alongside notable academic and industry accomplishments. Most companies are run administratively by non-dancers, which has its benefits, so I’m curious to find out if these artists can indeed operate both in front of and behind the scenes simultaneously. I found it important to emphasize their backgrounds because it contextualizes what it must have taken to get this far and how personal &quot;A Dance in a Day in a Dance&quot; truly is.</p><p>The program promised to showcase Cabling’s previous work, all of which I saw when it premiered. However, I was curious about how they would stitch it together. Cabling’s &quot;Bent,&quot; &quot;I Wanna Say Something,&quot; &quot;Ang Lihim ni Lea,&quot; and &quot;Nothing Special&quot; all struck a chord in the past, leaving not just a visual memory but an emotional imprint. While Cabling’s work in the theater tends to be more joyful and light, his contemporary voice is anything but. He gives a voice to sensitive stories. Knowing this, I attended the show emotionally prepared. Yet, it seems nothing could have truly prepared me for what unfolded.</p><p>The pieces were reframed to share the plight of a dancer. Each piece, once distinct, now spoke to the others, creating a larger, more resonant narrative about the real challenges of being a dancer. Al Garcia took on the taxing role of the tyrannical choreographer, and the ensemble embodied the role of the dancer. The cast took me back to a life that was really close to home. To me, it seemed like an autobiography of any dancer&#x27;s life. It takes you through the physical bruises, the extreme exhaustion, the weight of competition, and the emotional ache one might go through in a toxic dance environment.</p><div><br/></div><div><strong>Silenced voices in the studio</strong></div><div><span class="fr-img-caption fr-fic fr-dib" style="width:950px"><span class="fr-img-wrap"><img src="https://od2-image-api.abs-cbn.com/prod/editorImage/1760421040782ENSEMBLE IN CLASS.jpg" style="width:950px" class="fr-fic fr-dib"/><span class="fr-inner">Ensemble in class. <em>Cesar Morales</em></span></span></span>&quot;I Wanna Say Something,&quot; which was developed and performed as part of the CCP&#x27;s Professional Dance Support Program in 2021, was originally framed as the difficulty of someone who can&#x27;t express themselves. This curation brings to light something more unique to the dancer. As a dancer, I&#x27;ve heard this said to me, and I reckon, as a dance teacher, I have said it myself. Inside the studio, it is not a democracy. </div><p>While different environments enforce this in different ways, in this production, the choreographer Al Garcia is armed with a stick meant to tame, teach, and threaten. It seems so outdated, but the reality is many dancers have lived this. Sometimes it&#x27;s a different inanimate object, but it&#x27;s an object that establishes the rules in the studio. The discipline is, no one is allowed to speak until they are given permission.</p><p>So yes, a dancer does have difficulties in expressing themselves, not just because it is not a social norm, but also because their words have repercussions: a lost role, a lost opportunity.</p><p>When the dancer is finally free to perform, ironically, a dancer is said to express themselves through movement, but the reality is the dancer is expressing the voice of the choreographer, not their own. In the piece, Cabling uses a microphone that Michael Que tries to conquer, the elusive microphone that gets thrown around the room, looping in with it the tension. He tries not to get hit but doesn’t use the microphone well, often with the ensemble hovering over him. At the end of this dance day, Michael Que took a step at finding his voice, perhaps that was enough for now.</p><div><br/></div><div><strong>The wounds of creation</strong></div><div><span class="fr-img-caption fr-fic fr-dib" style="width:950px"><span class="fr-img-wrap"><img src="https://od2-image-api.abs-cbn.com/prod/editorImage/1760420983002KATRENE SAN MIGUEL IN LIHIM NI LEA.jpg" style="width:950px" class="fr-fic fr-dib"/><span class="fr-inner">Katrene San Miguel in &#x27;Ang Lihim ni Lea.&#x27; <em>Cesar Morales</em></span></span></span>&quot;Ang Lihim ni Lea&quot; is an adaptation of a book about a child who believes she can fly through walls, only to discover that it is her mind escaping the reality of abuse and molestation. This piece was originally created by Cabling for &quot;Neo Filipino&quot; in 2019. Al Garcia took on the role of the predatory father who abuses Lea, played by Katrene San Miguel. While the parallelism is disturbing, it highlights that for many, this is a reality in both dance and art.</div><p>When the 30-minute, emotionally distressing visual piece concludes, Garcia ends rehearsals. He transitions to the next piece, &quot;Nothing Special.&quot; He navigates his daily commute, opening doors and facing obstacles, utterly exhausted from rehearsals. He returns home, attempting to settle down, but the art consumes him with a persistent tick, a ripple of his fingers, and a flick of his foot. Anxiety settles in as he succumbs to the need to move and create despite his weariness. He looks back and sees someone smiling, prompting him to run and leap with another dancer, embracing and breaking his fall. It’s a pas de deux of acceptance and love; the second person represents Garcia&#x27;s younger self, enamored with his art.</p><div><span class="fr-img-caption fr-fic fr-dib" style="width:950px"><span class="fr-img-wrap"><img src="https://od2-image-api.abs-cbn.com/prod/editorImage/1760420911844NOTHING SPECIAL AL GARCIA.jpg" style="width:950px" class="fr-fic fr-dib"/><span class="fr-inner">Al Garcia in &#x27;Nothing Special.&#x27;<em> Cesar Morales </em></span></span></span>When &quot;Nothing Special&quot; premiered in 2017 at Koryolab, it symbolized a growing acceptance of autism as a strength rather than a disability. In this restaging, the piece conveys the exhaustion of being a dancer, capturing the temptation to procrastinate, overthink, and resent one’s work while craving validation. Dancers work tirelessly for artistic perfection, often crushed by disapproving words. The only remedy is accepting where you are as a dancer and choreographer. Similarly, the message of &quot;Nothing Special&quot; remains unchanged: your disability can be your strength if you recognize it as your gift.</div><p>At this point in the performance, tears fell as I saw my younger self in Garcia — tired, frustrated, but driven to dance. The imagery resonated with my past and even my present, and while Garcia is generally the protagonist, I wanted to comfort him.</p><div><br/></div><div><strong>Full circle</strong></div><p>The final piece of the evening is &quot;Bent,&quot; Cabling&#x27;s winning entry at the Wifi Choreography Competition in 2014. It explores gender fluidity through a humorous yet touching interplay between a straight girl and a gay man who find love and life in each other. While this piece might seem the most unrelated to the dancer narrative, it was the much-needed break I required after crying through &quot;Lihim ni Lea&quot; and &quot;Nothing Special.&quot;</p><p>The piece goes full circle when Garcia steps into another day at the studio with his stick in hand, starting the day with fear, with the dancers vigilant, awaiting his next attack—emotional or physical. They too have sticks, but Garcia chooses a new approach: a smile and a vote of confidence. Then he screams a word so powerful in the studio: “Again!” A dancer&#x27;s cue to start over and do better. So simple and humorous (for dancers), but the message was inspiring. Indeed, we dancers all wake up to do it again, only better.</p><div><br/></div><div><strong>A diary of their lives</strong></div><p>The entire production mirrored the challenges of dance that not everyone has experienced. It reminded me of real controversies, rumors from the grapevine, personal experiences, and shared stories. The authenticity of the content was evident, clearly derived from the founders&#x27; and director Mikko Angeles’ deep understanding of dance. And it felt good to  see that just as they expressed , we all can look forward to tomorrow, another day to dance through life again. </p><div><span class="fr-img-caption fr-fic fr-dib" style="width:950px"><span class="fr-img-wrap"><img src="https://od2-image-api.abs-cbn.com/prod/editorImage/1760420857662SARA SAMANIEGO IN LIHIM  NI LEA.jpg" style="width:950px" class="fr-fic fr-dib"/><span class="fr-inner">Sarah Samaniego in &#x27;Ang Lihim ni Lea.&#x27; <em>Cesar Morales</em></span></span></span>My only hope is that Mari gets a chance to restage this in a larger theater, as it was meant to be seen. The artistic team&#x27;s collaboration was undoubtedly the reason everything fell into place, but the small theater had its limitations. Certain nuances couldn&#x27;t be seen, and the lack of space hindered some of the epic scenes found in the original restaging, particularly in &quot;Lihim ni Lea&quot; and &quot;I Wanna Say Something,&quot; which premiered in larger venues. Cabling’s choreography showcases a strong narrative element; he doesn’t choreograph to impress, but to move both the artist and the audience. </div><p>The sets designed by Wika Nadera were not only multifunctional but also nostalgic. D Cortezano’s collaboration with Joyce Garcia’s video projection design added the perfect touch to frame the emotions. </p><p>The dancers — the centerpiece of this production — were undoubtedly the most impressive aspect. Al Garcia was relentless in his portrayal of multiple characters after a long hiatus from performing. The dancers collectively breathed life into this production, created for dancers by dancers, and I hope they celebrate the fact that they told an untold story about their own lives in the best way possible — a diary of their lives so well performed.</p><div><br/></div><div><strong>A mirror to every dancer</strong></div><p>At the end of the day, I feel that non-dancers might not recognize all the nuances but will at least gain insight into the inner struggles of a dance artist today. With the creativity that was present, anyone would be moved to feel something—and that is what it means to let art fuel universal understanding. The show boldly closed with a written statement on the wall: “Asking the artist to be present, adaptable, and resilient.” It felt less like a curtain call and more like a mirror held up to every dancer in the room.</p><p>Bravo, Mari Dance Company, for taking a bold and beautiful step into the spotlight. May you remain courageous in your next pursuit.</p><div><br/></div><div><em>&quot;A Dance in a Day in a Dance&quot; runs for a second week from October 17-19 at the Doreen Black Box Theatre in Arete, Ateneo de Manila University. Tickets are available at ticket2me.net. </em></div>

<p>Mari Dance Company lays bare the dancer’s soul -- its discipline, exhaustion, silence, and hope. With JM Cabling at the helm, this debut becomes both confession and celebration: a dance that finally dares to speak.</p>

Mari Dance Company lays bare the dancer’s soul -- its discipline, exhaustion, silence, and hope. With JM Cabling at the helm, this debut becomes both confession and celebration: a dance that finally dares to speak.

'A Dance in a Day in a Dance' review: A bold reintroduction to the stage

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'A Dance in a Day in a Dance' review: A bold reintroduction to the stage

ABS-CBN Lifestyle,

Erica Marquez-Jacinto

Published October 14, 2025 02:04 PM PHT

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Updated October 15, 2025 09:22 AM PHT

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Mari Dance Company

dance review

A Dance in a Day in a Dance

JM Cabling

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