ENTERTAINMENT
ceiling of the Camp John Hay Convention Center.
In another concert of Licad in Makati where the entire Ayala Ave. was ordered closed by Don Jaime Zobel (I told his concert committee there was no way Licad could perform outdoor with all those taxis, jeepneys and buses passing by), Marilou was again with me checking what Licad would need before a concert. When she discovered Licad’s gown had a torn part, she asked for needle and thread and patched the gown herself. Watching Marilou took care of Licad and sewing her gown was like a scene from Bona with a fan constantly at the beck and call of her idol.
After Licad’s Tuguegarao concert, we proceeded to Banaue for our first look at the rice terraces. On the day we were supposed to get back to Manila, a heavy rain caused landslide blocking the only road back to the Maharlika highway. Marilou was a ty pical girl scout. I discovered her bag was also a first-aid kit with assorted aspirins for various afflictions. We hiked for more than two kilometers in knee-deep mud with Marilou always checking Ñ not just Licad but also her teenage son Ñ Otavio.
After years of attending my concert productions, Marilou knew I couldn’t afford a production assistant and I couldn’t afford a post-concert reception. When there was no official post-concert reception, she would invite Licad and me to an intimate dinner with just her friends that included Randy David and wife, Karina and Monsignor Pablo David (Randy’s brother). She would always say, “Pablo, I have found a place for us where your laughter will not cause a scandal.” By then, she has gotten used to the fact that my laughter was an indispensable part of my “anatomy.” One day in 2010, I got a call from Marilou. When I answered it, I heard a long, anguished cry and followed by incessant sobbing. “Pablo, please find out from Norma (Japitana) where the body of Angelo is.” And the crying went on. It turned out that Angelo, the son of Cesar Montano, committed suicide and she wanted to be at his side.
That sad news happened right after Licad’s concert with Gerard Salonga at the Philamlife Theater.
On that same year, Marilou called to say she wanted to finish what will turn out to be her last film. She wanted me to find out if Lea Salonga was available but I said she was in the ongoing run of Cats. After several productions meetings, the lead female role landed on the lap of Ina Feleo who was a perfect choice. After the world premiere of Ikaw Ang Pag-ibig in Naga City, Laurice Guillen (over br eakfast in a Naga hotel) asked me what I thought of the film. I told Laurice it was a disturbing film for me because after watching it, I was inclined to account for all my sins. To top it all, I refused to join the church visitations prompting Nestor Torre to declare me the only ereje in that media group.
One of the last times I saw Marilou was during the premiere night of Ikaw Ang Pagibig at the Dolphy Theater. While the movie was showing nationwide, I was again invited to a special preview of a film documentary on the life and times of Marilou. I knew something had gone wrong. Her breast cancer had recurred and was pronounced already on Stage 4.
I googled “cancer stage 4” and the Internet revelation rattled me: Few in that cancer stage survive.
I just realized then that the documentary directed by Mona Lisa Yuchengco was Marilou’s first and last starring role in a film.
By my own reckoning, Marilou faced the prospect of imminent demise straight in the eye. After all, she was seated in a theater with a ringside view of death for five years that she survived.
Two years ago, she regarded dying by quoting a zen saying that went thus: “The joy of raindrop is to enter the ocean.”
She then elucidated in anAll Soul’s Day article for The STAR: “This zen saying reflects how I regard death. Another anonymous author tells of a salt doll who longed to experience the sea which she had never seen. She travels far and wide before finally reaching the shore. She is awed by the vast, majestic body of water before her. She falls in love with it. She yearns to embrace it, but at first hesitates. So she lets her feet touch the water. She is instantly refreshed. Then as she submerges deeper into the seawater, she finds herself dissolving, bit by bit, until she is totally immersed and united with the sea itself. On her last breath, she exclaims, ‘How lovely is your dwelling place, oh Lord!’ We live once. We die once. And we live again forever.”
As I contemplate Marilou’s burial on Saturday, her words from her last documentary continue to echo in my mind:
“An artist’s life is not about trophies, awards and achievements. Being an artist is not about money although I perfectly understand a producer’s agenda.
“Being an artist is also about confronting art and life and their uncertainties.
“It is easy to let go of all earthly concerns when you remain basically a child of God.”