By Lara Charmaine P. Lagorra
If history keeps repeating itself, can change still happen in our time? Will you rise up and take that shot? Or will you keep standing on the sidelines, waiting?
As the curtains rise, the stage opens like a restless circus, dazzling at first glance. A glowing arch marked “Big Tent City” stands at the center, framed by makeshift homes built from rusted metal, patched cloth, and uneven wood. Bright carnival lights wash over the space in playful hues, masking the rough textures that hint at deeper struggles beneath the spectacle.
It is a world where laughter and survival coexist. Where every resident is both neighbor and performer, and where the grand tent becomes not merely a stage but a living society waiting for its story—and perhaps its hero to unfold.
BoniKid the Musical invites its audience into the chaotic world of Big Tent City, a story set in a dystopian society where citizens live under constant surveillance, fearful of the ringmaster who controls the community as if directing a show. The tent becomes both a refuge and a prison. Every citizen performs, applauded like obedient actors in someone else’s stage, and you are their audience.
The people rely on a “Suki Card” system, a fortune-driven hierarchy that grants points, which serve as currency for survival. Yet even with these points, they remain trapped in struggle. Around them are the “4Ps” characters—chismosa figures who spread fake news and reinforce control through gossip, becoming instruments of manipulation.
Expired noodles and sardines distributed as their only source of food highlight the gap between gratitude and injustice. Aid given not with dignity but merely to sustain obedience.
A clown and his companions echo the public’s restless voice, questioning the status quo while waiting for the promised hero to come: Andres Bonifacio. Their repeated refrain becomes satire for laughs while exposing a deeper cut of the struggles of the people and the danger of placing hope solely in mythical figures.
Each character had a distinct and unique role in the story.
Angel, burdened by her father’s descent into madness and haunted by visions of a coming flood, embodies a headstrong and compassionate spirit. She is unafraid to challenge the system, as her anger is directed at its injustices. Though at times, her emotional delivery could have been more nuanced, she powerfully conveyed her frustration with the oppressive order.
Megan, in contrast, seeks validation through “gold stars,” symbolizing ambition shaped by a reward system. Her character reflects the privilege of remaining untouched by the very systems that oppress others—spoiled, detached, and apathetic. Her duet with Angel reveals a painful truth that some people pursue change for different reasons like justice, others for recognition and power.
Joven introduces moral ambiguity. Determined to bring down the ringmaster, he hesitates and compromises, forging questionable alliances to survive within the system he despises. His choices reveal how desperation can blur the line between principled resistance and self-serving ambition.
The production numbers thrive through ensemble performances that blend Filipino and Bisaya cultural rhythms within a theatrical spectacle. Each song carries a catchy tone that mirrors the characters’ emotions within the oppressive society. It is hard not to sing along as goosebumps rise from the intensity—joy, sorrow, frustration, and guilt pulse through every note.
“Ako ang Pinka…e” sets the tone as citizens compete to prove their loyalty with commands, sitting and staying like dogs that seem desperate for approval.
“Dinhi Lang Ba Kutob?” in the middle as a haunting reflection on whether people are doomed to remain trapped in cycles of oppression.
In contrast, “Mao rani?” with repetition, heard as “mao nani,” echoes both resignation and awakening. The tension between acceptance and action reverberates through the choreography, especially in scenes marked by red handkerchiefs and movements reminiscent of revolutionary struggle.
Meanwhile, the Great Spectrum scene stands out for its emotional weight, showing children reduced to monetary assets. Forced to smile and entertain because they are seen as ignorant and naive, they confront the loss of their childhoods, growing up too quickly in a broken system while suffering consequences from those in power.
The set design was rich in detail. Lighting shifts between carnival brightness and ominous shadows, mirroring the tension between entertainment and exploitation. Costumes sharply distinguish hierarchy: dark, worn fabrics for the oppressed; bright, polished attire for those above. However, there were moments when sound quality faltered, rendering parts of monologues and songs inaudible. Despite this, the cast remained professional, delivering a dazzling performance.
Act Two marks a turning point as a mysterious figure from the future arrives through a time machine created by Emil, Joven’s father.
Revealed as Andres Bonifacio in child form, he was named “BoniKid” to blend in. He does not arrive as a heroic savior but as a mirror reflecting the people’s own power to change. Through his interactions with Joven and the community, the musical asks whether heroism belongs to individuals or to collective action.
A woman cloaked in cascading white water dances as she consumes the corrupt figures. The climax resists a cliche ending, though the Ringmaster falls, the system endures, and another rises in its place. It is a sobering reminder that removing one person in power does not dismantle a structure already rooted in the status quo.
While the storyline at times felt compressed, leaving certain threads that could have been explored further, the production still succeeds in delivering a resonant and timely message.
Spectacular, bold, and politically charged. In its closing moments, the musical returns to the image of the child not passive, but awakened.
“BoniKid the Musical” ends with a message to all that revolutions do not begin with a hero descending from history—they begin when the crowd realizes it has been performing someone else’s script all along.
It begs the question then, will you step out of the sidelines and be that change?
