Panag-Hisgot Analysis: A Deep Dive into IPAG’s Dialogues

by Jelyn Genon and Brejette Cometa

‘IPAG in the Frames: An Exhibition’ Day 2 performance “Panag-Hisgot” delved into the drama and the intensity of dialogues in theater. Using improv—“a form of live theatre in which the plot, characters, and dialogue of a scene, or story are made up at the moment”—the performers immersed the audience in their seven-act performance. Cascading on different social issues, the familiarity hits home to every Filipino. 

Act 1 “IPAG-Sure Mo”

What is madness if not the convenient label society slaps on those it refuses to understand? A woman wrapped in the rags of judgment dares to confront this hypocrisy. “Boang ko?” she asks, not in self-doubt but in seething defiance. Her question isn’t even a plea for validation, it's a mirror held up to a world too blind to see its own insanity. Beside her, a man, counterpoints her intensity and proclaims their innocence. They have stolen nothing, taken nothing that wasn’t theirs. Their hands, rough and worn, have crafted everything they possess. And yet, they are condemned, not by the law, but by the eyes of those who see only what they want to see. The man stands firm. “Tawo mi.” They are humans. Not thieves, not lunatics, not caricatures, just people who refuse to fit into the tidy little boxes others have prepared for them. The stage is bare, their tones harsh, the dialogue unrelenting, stripping away the comfortable lies we tell ourselves about who the crazy ones really are. The woman then delivers a powerful truth, “Naa tay pagkaboang tanan.” Her words cut through the stigma and it reveals that the line between sanity and madness is often defined by those in power, those whose minds and hearts are closed off to the struggles of others. There is no room for comfort here, only the stark, painful truth that forces us to confront our own biases and complicity in a society that marginalizes those who do not fit its narrow definitions of normalcy. “IPAG-Sure Mo” exposed the hypocrisy of a world that labels, discards, and fears what it cannot understand. Every word was a weapon and the characters wielded them with precision. It cuts through the pretense of civility to reveal the raw and uncomfortable truth beneath. The act was not just a performance to be watched but a challenge to be met. The discomfort it stirred was intentional and it brings to light that the labels we so easily apply to others are as fragile as the constructs of sanity and madness themselves.

Act 2 “Pananghid”

Abandonment scars deeper than any wound, and in “Pananghid,” it festers into a cycle of desperation and fear. The daughters' longing to reconnect with their absent father initially seems innocent, but it quickly becomes clear that their desire is a dagger twisted into their mother’s already wounded heart. Her response is not just bitterness but a deep-seated rage fueled by years of unhealed hurt. “Gusto mo makita inyo papa nga wa man gani mo niya pangitaa?” The mother’s bitterness is more than just a personal vendetta, it’s an indictment of a society that often leaves women to bear the brunt of broken families. Her declaration, “gibyaan man gani ta kay wa ta niya pilia,” is more than just a statement of fact—it is a devastating commentary on the extensibility of women and children in the eyes of those who pursue their own desires without regard for the consequences. This is a woman terrified of being abandoned again, this time by the daughters she’s clinging to with suffocating intensity. However, the daughter’s accusation, “ikaw ang wa misuporta sa iyang pangandoy ma,” slices through the mother’s defenses. This line compels us to grasp that abandonment is rarely a one-sided act, it is rarely the fault of one person alone. The mother, in her refusal to support her husband’s aspirations, may have inadvertently pushed him away. But it also raises the question: Was it fair to expect her to sacrifice everything for someone else’s dreams? The daughter’s accusation shifts the blame, that perhaps their mother is as much to blame for their father’s departure as he is. “Pananghid” is a searing critique of the destructive power of abandonment, not just as an act but as a cycle, each wound feeding the next. In its brutal honesty, “Pananghid” doesn’t offer easy answers or comforting resolutions. Instead, it gears us to see the ways in which we are adept in the cycles of abandonment that define our lives. It serves to remind us that the wounds of the past, if left to fester, will continue to bleed into the present, staining everything they touch.

Act 3 “Ayaw Kuya”

What happens when love curdles into something twisted, something dark and heinous? In “Ayaw Kuya,” we witness the horrifying transformation of affection into assault, as one man’s unrequited desire turns a simple conversation into a nightmare. The act begins innocently enough—two friends chatting, one stepping away to answer a call. But as soon as his back is turned, the darkness creeps in. His friend, consumed by a hidden obsession, spikes his drink and reveals a disturbing truth, his so-called affection is a guise for something far more sinister. What follows is not a confession of love but an act of brutal betrayal. In a shocking turn, the man forces himself onto his unconscious friend, crossing a line that can never be uncrossed. This isn’t about love—it’s about power, control, and a need to take what can never be freely given. “Ayaw Kuya” exposes how desire, when warped and left unchecked, can become a weapon that destroys lives. It shows a reflection to the harrowing aspects of human desire, in a world where boundaries are increasingly blurred, “Ayaw Kuya” is a stark declaration of the devastating consequences when those lines are crossed. It holds us to confront the terrifying reality of how easily boundaries can be crossed when desire overrides morality.

Act 4 “Asa ang Kwarta?” 

It is often said that abuse of power is evident when someone uses their influence to harm those who depend on them. People are typically emotionally affected by stories of exploitation and undue coercion. There are many tropes depicting the struggles of the underdogs against the influence of the top dogs. This influence goes beyond the breadth of physicality, and many times over, it is psychological warfare. To go against the nature of manipulation and embedded schema of inferiority is a Herculean task that many people may never know is achievable. “Asa ang Kwarta” depicts the harsh realities that accompany these constructs. This act presents us with an older brother who uses his younger brother as a scapegoat to cover up his selfish deeds. Here comes the sister who provides the money and has attention to detail—successfully noticing the atmosphere in the place and bringing relief to the suffering victim who could only do nothing but cover his face and refuse to talk in an attempt to lessen his “existence” as much as possible. Amusing, you would say, if not for the fact that this is a response that the aggrieved can only adopt to avoid conflict and retaliation from either side. If we look even closer at the dynamics presented in this dialogue, we can infer that those who exploit have this righteous indignation to blame the “scapegoats” that let them down—unwilling to admit that they have brought the situation to this extent because of their deeds themselves. To highlight this kind of relationship between an underdog, a top dog, and the “legislation” that balances the system is a creative attempt to tell the audience the cost of turning a blind eye to such cases of injustice. In this world, there will never be “a small act of exploitation.” 

Act 5 “Buto-Buto”

There is no greater high than thinking you can fly. Shabuwakeez: quite the term to remember in this comedic interplay of a dude who cannot differentiate between a comrade and a foe after his sessions of drug abuse, and a police officer who drives his motorcycle rather suggestively. This act was almost never meant to be serious, if not for it implicitly incorporating the possible aftermaths of practicing the way of the Shabuwakeez. To the audience, this was a mixture of ridiculous facial expressions, a touch of gay, an almost dismissed serious theme, and three gunshots that greatly stimulated their hearing sense. There is a clear beginning, but the portrayals soon became vague as the storyline missed a few beats of structure—though I'd like to think of this as a skit meant to amuse the audience in the first place. Buto-Buto's strength lies in its attempt to give emphasis on the drastic effects of consuming illegal drugs, methamphetamines if we contextualize it in the Philippines where the majority are below the poverty line. How do these people manage to buy these street drugs anyway? The answer lies in the nature of addiction. What can't people do to sustain addiction? In this world where so many lives are destroyed as a result of these illegal drugs—from which the preponderance belongs to the affected individuals who did not consume the drugs themselves—it is clear as day that there is a need to continue the war against it. Yet, the killing was definitely unnecessary. 

Act 6 “Writer”

In art, if you’re not earning, then it’s not worth it. This line is familiar, isn’t it? Whether or not you are the subject that was told off or you were the one who said this brings about the question… Is art worth it? On the other side of the scale, there is also a need to inquire about the purpose of art and why there is a need to measure its worth. The question then becomes… Why is there a need to question art? Why is there a need to question a person who does art on why they are doing it? Writer, the skit that gave me these questions, started with a character looking for his notebook, and then his pen. The dialogue flowed in a direction that was a bit hard to follow as there was no clear indication of why there was a need for a sister to assert that she was working. There was violence, perhaps, a bit more than what was intended but it must also be considered that the story simply showcased a day in the lives of these siblings. There was no way we could ever know how such conversations happened in the everyday lives of these characters. In the process of my internalization, I came to terms with the notion that this act must have wanted to tell us that not everyone supports one’s passion for art if the resources are limited. Perhaps, art is a privilege to those who can afford to spend many hours of their day on creation without “monetary” returns. In the life of a fledgling writer who is burdened with financial constraints—expected to contribute to the survival of a family who needs all the help it can get to sustain life—it is imperative to choose practicality. Everyone would expect this writer to earn his keep and this is what makes it sad. A lot of passionate dreams were shattered because of this belief. Art cannot feed you, but they do say that art can feed the soul. Is this enough to live then?

Act 7 “IPAG o Ako”

Ah, love. It is either the oasis that fills you in the desert, or the curse that subjects you to a lifetime of doom. In this representation, it is as if we are assuming that love can only be right or wrong, yet this segment of Panaghisgot presented to us by IPAG tells a different story. The principles of the universe are absolute but our understanding of the world is constantly changing. Yin and Yang perspectives have to adapt to the existence of this “gray area” where the process of decision becomes a dilemma. In matters of love and romantic relationships between partners, how far can “love” really go? What is the boundary between it and obsession? How can we determine that it is love and not manipulation… or a mere delusion? IPAG o Ako tells us the story of a young lady, dedicated to performing as a member of the guild but is reliant on the support of her partner to continue her studies. She has built her dreams and in the process of achieving them, she has to continuously justify its worth towards her partner who does not understand them. Her passion for performing has taken much of her time and her partner cannot tolerate it anymore, leading to frequent conflict between them. “Ako’y gapaskwela nimo,” he would say. “Naa koy plano sa’kong kinabuhi. Ikaw? Unsa’y plano nimo?” she would retort. From how they are familiar with the argument of the other party, it is highly plausible that they have been fighting over this topic long enough for it to tire the two of them. 

But alas, how did this dispute lead to a complete overturn, with the initially “narrow-minded” partner gaining the upper hand over his girlfriend who seemed so righteous in the beginning? It seems that the young lady is being threatened by her boyfriend over an intimate video of her and another boy. She can only yield, desperately clinging to him to stop whatever his attempt is to spread it and destroy her life. Truly heartless but this act did not lie on the validity of such an event happening between couples. It is important for us to ask ourselves and others the question, why is it that when such videos are released on the internet, the victims will be the ones whose lives are ruined? How is it possible for people to blame a person who once gave their heart and body to someone who promised them forever? It is incredulous to think that the perpetrators of these videos are the same people who embraced them but they get to diffuse the responsibility against them by exposing the victims if negotiation has proven to be ineffective. It is time for us to destroy these biases of ours and focus on the important issues that surround abuse in relationships and the emotional, physical, and mental toll that it suffocates the victims—subjecting them to a life of embarrassment when all they deserve is our unconditional empathy and support to for their life’s redirection. IPAG o Ako culminates in our character, the victim of such cheap tricks, losing herself to insanity. What makes it interesting is that we can now trace it back to the interesting premise of these dialogues, IPAG-sure mo.