Allan Samson Manalo: Grief, Love, Identity, + Everything “In Bituin”
by Jaeya Bayani
A. Samson Manalo is a Filipino American writer, director, producer, and stand-up comic, who has performed throughout 46 States and 3 countries. Along with his wife Joyce, he ushered in the Filipinx era of Bindlestiff Studio, a San Francisco black box theater in the heart of SOMA Pilipinas Filipino Cultural District. His most recent published work, GOSSIP, SEX, AND THE END OF THE WORLD: THE COLLECTED WORKS OF TONGUE IN A MOOD is a documentation of that story.
Allan Samson Manalo, Photo courtesy of @alyssamcorpuz
In Bituin is a semi-autobiographical performance about a Filipino American comic in search of his cultural identity and finds the love of his life in Manila only to tragically lose her 29 years later to cancer. The title is a play on the words "in-between" using the Pilipino word “bituin” meaning stars to describe the spaces of his cultural identity and now, his enduring grief.
“Although I was born and raised here, and I’m a proud Filipino, I always feel like I’m in that “in between” space between my Filipino + American identities. ”
Please introduce yourself, your craft, and the project you are working on.
My name is Allan Samson Manalo. I'm a writer, director, producer, and stand-up comic. When I started to do stand-up, I was known as Al Manalo, but it’s a long story about why I changed that. I use A. Samson Manalo [as my stage name now]. You can call me Allan or Samson. I'm honored, and I feel very privileged to be part of the Kreative Growth family.
My project that I'm working on is called In Bituin. “Bituin” is a Tagalog word and is spelled a little differently [than “between”]. It sounds like between, but it's bituin, which means “stars” in Tagalog. It's a project that I've been working on for probably the last 35 years. It's going to be the first time ever that I'm doing a solo performance of this project. It's kind of a [milestone] of my standup act.
I've been doing standup comedy since 1987, and it’s a collection of bits and jokes I wrote about the search for my own cultural identity that culminates in talking about my wife, Joyce Juan-Manalo—who I was married to for 29 years. Sadly, last year, she passed away from cancer. A few months after she passed, I talked about dealing with the grief that I was going through on stage. I tried to do that in a stand-up form. I've never experienced being vulnerable and honest on stage before. At the same time, [I was] making sure to honor [Joyce,] too.
Allan holding a picture of wife, Joyce Juan-Manalo, Photo courtesy of @alyssamcorpuz
In Bituin is that story. Some people call it third space, but I always feel like I'm in between that. It has taken on a new meaning since Joyce has passed away. The way I look at it, is as a search for her “In Bituin” the stars
What are your thoughts on Filipinx representation in the live performance theater industry, both onstage and backstage?
Photo courtesy of @alyssamcorpuz
What do I think about the landscape of Filipinos in the entertainment industry, particularly in standup comedy? Oh, man, I welcome all of them. Come on in. Whoever wants to try it, do it. There's never enough Filipino, Filipina, or Filipinx standup. I think anybody who comes up and talks about our identity as Filipino in the mainstream press and entertainment here in America is very important. [This is because] I grew up in the 60s, 70s, and, There were many times when I felt invisible and I think, now, it's a little bit different. You have a great representation of Filipinos, Filipinas, Filipinx in the industry.
Jo Koy is hot in the field of stand-up, and Nico Santos has his own sitcom. If you're talking about top caliber actors of late, one of my favorite is Dolly DeLeon, who was in in Triangle of Sadness. I think we have great representation coming up. I think we know that we’ve arrived when there's actually a medical drama, a movie about, or a TV show about hospitals that actually contain Filipino nurses.
I mean, that’s when it's going to be authentic, right? I remember watching Chicago Hope or all these other medical dramas back in the 60s, 70s, and the 80s. I think to myself, “where's the Filipinos?” I think everyone has noticed that too. Or a drama about the post office. You’ll have just all these Filipino characters and that would be for real. Or maybe a show about security guards at the MoMA or something. I think that's when we know we've arrived—when you actually have [Filipino] nurses in medical dramas.
Can you share more about your recent show, “Lapu Lapu’s Laugh Rebellion,” and how you embody Filipinx identity in your writing, directorial, and stand-up work?
I belong to this group called the Bwahaha Barkada. It's with Rhoda Gravador, Debra “DB” Belale, and Manny Cabrera. They're all stand up comics. We started this writers’ group during the pandemic. It was an offshoot of Kevin Camia’s comedy class that he did on Zoom during the pandemic. We shared our jokes with each other, and we realized that we should try these out in the clubs. We were going to open mics, and we ended up taking over an open mic in the Mission District at this bar called Slate. It was pretty successful, but the bar closed, and we decided to continue producing shows.
One of the first, big shows that Bwahaha Barkada produced outside of Slate was, “The Lapu Lapu Laugh Rebellion.” It took place in June, [around] what is considered Philippine Independence Day. We had an idea of bringing in Filipino-American stand up comics. We had the Granny Cart Gangsters, a sketch comedy group out of Bindlestiff Studio. We also had Frankie Marcos, Aivy Cordova, and a guest sets by Oli Dub, who’s a Sri Lankan-Filipino comic. Our connection was that we were all of Filipino descent, and the line I used was, “dismantling the colonial mentality one laugh at a time.” Everyone had a little bit of that in their act—talking about their experiences being a Filipino growing up here, the dangers of dating, sex, and all these different things that Filipinos go through.
It's important for me to have these types of shows. Years ago, when I was running Bindlestiff Studio along with my wife Joyce, I made sure that stand-up comedians were highlighted. I produced a series of stand-up comedy shows called “Pull My Finger.” It’s a tribute to all the uncles who would tell you to, “pull my finger.” There were a lot of great comics; Kevin Camia, who now lives in LA and was on Stephen Colbert's show, was there. There was also Joey Guila, who was on tour with Jo Koy, and different stand up comics who have graced the Bindlestiff stage. I think it's important to continue that tradition of featuring Filipino stand up comics.
“It’s really a fine line to straddle because you’re talking about something that could be profoundly sad, but trying to talk about it in the form I know best and love the most—which is stand-up comedy. ”
Up until this point, what has been the most meaningful experience at Balay Kreative? How has Balay Kreative helped you manifest your vision and intention for your project?
This opportunity with Balay Kreative actually came from knowing Nicole. I directed her when she was developing her one woman show. I think I even directed her in other plays, too. She called and asked me if I wanted to be on the panel to review the [Kreative Growth] grant. I asked her, “what is this grant about?” she told me, “it’s this comedy grant.” Joyce (showing a picture of wife, Joyce Juan Manalo) worked here in SOMA Pilipinas. She worked at the Bayanihan Center for Bernadette Sy and the Filipino American Development Foundation. She is also an artist.
[Joyce] produced Tagalog—a series of plays at Bindlestiff Studio that her and Lorna Velasco brought in from the Philippines, so that they could present Tagalog plays here in San Francisco in the Bay Area. It was quite successful. She was also a costume designer. At the start of 2023, was diagnosed with cancer. I took off work for eight months as I nursed her and I took care of her. Unfortunately, cancer is a terrible disease and she passed away. I'm still dealing with the grief.
I had an opportunity, when Kevin Camia had his standup comedy graduation show. I went to support them. He asked me if I want to do a set. I wasn't sure, but he called me on stage. I went up, I talked about Joyce, and I talked about how it was dealing with her passing. It was the first time I felt vulnerable, raw, speaking from that deep truth of where I was at. When I got off-stage, someone came up to me and thanked me for talking about grief. It was healing for me to be able to talk about it and to honor her. So when Nicole called, I thought I'd just throw out the idea of doing this solo performance because I’ve been working on this material about grief.
Photos courtesy of @a.samson.manalo.
The objective is not to get over your grief; it's to live within that grief and to be able to embrace it—to learn how to live with the pain. This is part of that process. Challenging myself to do this show is very important to not only my own healing, but it's my opportunity to really honor Joyce's memory and to learn how to embrace the pain. I see this opportunity as a very important step towards my own personal healing too.
“Grief is a beast. It can wrestle you down, but I found out the most important thing about grief is that it’s a reflection of the love you have for the person you lost. The deeper the love, the deeper the grief. You’re not supposed to ‘get over it.’ You have to learn to live with grief, embrace it because it will show you the depths of being human. It will transform you.”
Allan wearing a shirt with Joyce on it, Photo courtesy of @alyssamcorpuz
I've learned a lot from the workshops. I was surprised that we would have to participate in these workshops and Iggy's masterclass was great. I loved Paloma and Anthem’s workshops, [as well as] everybody’s. I've learned a lot and the most that I'm getting out of it is that. It is challenging me.
I think it's a wonderful thing that Balay Kreative is doing. I wish you all were around, 30 years ago, when I started doing stand-up comedy.
The guidance and excitement that everyone's giving, and the past history of how you all started this program, is remarkable. It makes me proud to be able to see that there's a Filipinx community that's supporting each other. That's really important. I come from early 60s and 70s. There was always the crab analogy of, “we’re just at bucket of crabs, which is bull.” I think there are other ways to look at the Filipino/Filipina/Filipinx community. One thing that dispels that type of analogy is what Oscar Peñaranda said: “that's a misunderstood analogy because crabs actually are trying to crawl on top of each other to get out of the bucket.” It's wonderful to see the support that's coming out of this program
Is there any advice you have for your younger artistic self, and/or the next generation of Filipinx creatives, in writing?
I'm Matanda [“old man” in Tagalog] and I just hit 60 last year. One thing I've learned through my own career and if I could go back in time, [it’s] to not compromise yourself in your art. Pursue it with all of your heart and always let everyone know you're good. Really focus on your craft, whatever you're doing, and continually challenge yourself. Never sit on your ass. Even if you've experienced any type of, or a taste of success, you keep going, keep getting better and better. Everything else will follow. Never compromise yourself. That's number one. Number two is to tell the truth. Always tell the truth in what you're doing and what you're creating.
“Never fake the funk,” as they used to say in my generation. Tell the truth when you're on stage making music, if you’re a filmmaker, [or] a visual artist. There should always be something driving what you're creating, that comes from your own truth. In other words, you do it for what you feel inside. That truth lives within all of us. If you do it to please your audience, you'll find yourself as an artist who panders. You're not going to feel good about yourself because you're just doing it to please your audience.
People come to see you because they're looking for their own truths. It’s all about that human condition, right? the more that shows up in your art, the more people will come to see it. That would be my advice. [As for] my younger self, I probably should have stayed more focused, more disciplined, really believed in myself, and [should have] never compromised. When I got good, I just sat on my ass.
“The more we [can] tell these stories and bring them to the mainstream, the more people will see that, ‘Oh wow, we are just like them.’ Then, the ‘them’ disappears, and it becomes, ‘We’re just like us.’”
Why is it important for the next generation to advocate for the continued integration of our history and elders’ legacy through arts, culture, and ethnic studies into our local community?
We all have stories that need to be told, and it could be in the form of music, art, dance, visual arts, filmmaking, or all of the above. The more we are able to express what we do as a people, show our integrity, our loves, our pains, and everything…it brings us closer to that human condition. It's important as we continue to step forward to tell our stories—the bad and the good, the suffering and triumphs. It's all a part of being human.
Jumping off that question about why we tell these stories, my friend, Dr. Theo Gonzalez, helped me put together a book called, “Gossip, Sex, and the End of the World: The Collective Works of tongue in A Mood.” I had a sketch comedy group that I had put together called Tongue in a Mood, back in the mid 90s. The reason why that's essential is that we needed to find a home and a place, because we we were performing at colleges. We ended up performing at this restaurant called Tito Ray's. I don't know if people remember that in Daly City. I remember doing our show at Tito Ray's and how bad we bombed. And I thought to myself, “We need to find a venue, our own place.”
I ended up going to a show at Bindlestiff Studio to see this artist, Lorna Aquino Chui. Her name is Lorna Velasco now. She was 19 at the time, and she had this show called Babae. She was the first Filipina artist I saw at Bindlestiff. I fell in love with this little rinky dink black box theater in the middle of 6th street—which a lot of people consider to be a skid row area. The first time I went to Bindlestiff, I saw the door. In fact, this pink cover here [pointing to the cover of his book] has the original door of Bindlestiff Studio. It looked like a sex club or something. I went in there and saw Lorna's show, and it was amazing.
I asked the people who were running it if they needed any acts? They said, “Oh yeah, please come.” tongue and A mood did our first three, big shows there. We talked a lot about us as Filipino Americans, our loves, our issues, and struggles, It was all done in the form of sketch comedy. We became quite popular. We started selling out our shows to the point where Chrystine Ells, who founded Bindlestiff said, “here's the keys. Why don't you guys just take it over?” We made it into what I called an epicenter of Filipino American performing arts. We invited all kinds of Filipino theater groups, Teatro ng Tanan. We had live music festivals called “PiNoisePop” Music Festival that Jesse Gonzalez and Ogie Gonzalez put together. We had film festivals.
Eventually, I left to move to the Philippines with Joyce and Bindlestiff evolved into a nonprofit organization. The SF Redevelopment Agency wanted to tear down the building that we were in, and the community came out. We fought the city and the redevelopment agency to ensure that they included Bindlestiff Studio in the new building. After years of fighting with them, we got a new space that I was able to open in 2011, when I came back from the Philippines. That’s the Bindlestiff that exists today. We’re in the same spot that we used to be in. All the [history] is in GOSSIP, SEX, AND THE END OF THE WORLD: THE COLLECTED WORKS OF TONGUE IN A MOOD, which you can get at Arkipelago. Wait, there's more! You might be able to get a t-shirt too! No, I'm not kidding. Get the book.