By Leigh Anne Darlene E. Dispo
Photo by: Barefoot Theatre Collaborative
It is not rocket science: studying law is brutal, cathartic, and scarring. This is why law school — or the idea of it — has been romanticized countless times. But there is a method to the madness that it is well-known for, and that is not to be easily swept up by its meaningless shenanigans (from a hundred handwritten case digests to dramatic spectacles among academic rivals). Easier said than done, though; this part of the professional world is unforgiving and thrives on the afflictions of the feeble and the fatigued.
In Bar Boys (2017), a group of friends — Erik, Chris, Torran, and Josh — all make an attempt to stay afloat amidst their law school journey. The movie is a product of its time. Although Kip F. Oebanda (known for Liway [2018] and Balota [2024]) managed to portray a myriad of characters with their own conflicts personal to their traits and intertwined each and every aspect of their stories into a profound cinematic jolt, it is undeniable that their plights and conundrums tend to be partial to the privileged and the cronyistic, with the exception of Erik whose impoverished background and at times less ambitious regard to the intricacies of law school.
Staying partly faithful to the source material, Barefoot Theatre Collaborative’s Bar Boys: The Musical (2025) captures that very same allure of taking the road less traveled by with the aid of friendship as seen in Oebanda’s movie. In the musical, however, things are far more political, more pro-masses, yet less on-the-nose with the showcases of supposed grandeur and splendor that acceptance to law school brings.
For two hours and forty-five minutes, Pat Valera (screenplay and lyrics), alongside Myke Salomon (music and lyrics), brings us back the nostalgia and tenderness that make up the bare bones of the film. The out-of-pocket ‘burnik’ scene is hardly changed, but melodic exchanges between the characters make it even funnier. While simultaneously proffering a twist (or two) that not only coaxes a more profound layer to the socio-economic backdrop of the setting but also bestows a more relevant and youth-centric perspective that the original story merely attempted, the characters themselves possessed a more heart-wrenching depth and morality that never got quite dissected in the movie.
Take Torran (played by Jerom Canlas) for instance, who in the film is quite a spineless coward with flashes of self-assuredness; in the musical, he wrestles with more than just his identity and his drive to fit in. He is still his tongue-in-cheek self as portrayed by Rocco Nacino, but during the character’s vulnerable moments on the stage, Canlas bristles in a manner that is hard to miss but subtle enough that you catch a glimpse of a teenage boy’s uncertainty. And then he is cracking a joke once more, as if having his heart exposed is revolting and must be kept a lid on.
Another surprise is the twist on Josh’s character, who in the movie barely had screen time — when he did show up, he mostly mocked the rest of the group, perhaps a way to infer that he had more of a moral compass than that of a law student. Played by Omar Uddin, Josh’s role becomes a comedic relief in the latter part, but for a powerful reason. Unlike his friends, he was more sensitive to the nuances and ethical anomalies that pervade our laws, and after a clash with one of the professors, he exits the red-tinged spotlight in the classroom and sings at the top of his lungs at the outskirts of the campus, among his friends and the masses, questioning why the poor never get their fists on the prize.
The next time Josh comes back, he looks like a crystal-clutching and nonchalance-in-action New Age icon — wearing a Hawaiian shirt, with a ukulele strapped across his shoulder, strumming a bohemian-esque tune. As it is quite a bizarre sight compared to the burnished wood of the libraries and the suffocating atmosphere of the classrooms, you will barely contain a laugh. But what is clear is that he has done what a lot of law students tend to fear: to be of service to the public outside of law school.
Since this is set in a world every Filipino is familiar with, it comes as no surprise that the contradicting narratives of Erik (who hopes to lift his family out of poverty) and Chris (who is smothered by his wealthy father’s shadow) will come to a crescendo. It is a tale as old as time: the ever-humble figure who bears no penny to his own name and the idealistic, affluent conyo who is deprived of genuine familial warmth. In one scene, Chris (Alex Diaz) complains about his grades with the perfect rendition of a jarring Taglish. Erik (Benedix Ramos) makes a rebuttal, almost sarcastically: “Pare, wala na nga kaming refrigerator.”
In the movie, Erik and Chris argue over grades, with Torran as their (badly-tempered) mediator. The fight gets blown out of proportion, but their misunderstanding gets resolved thanks to — you guessed it — the power of friendship. But in the musical, their feud stems from a legal dispute that Erik’s father is involved in against a conglomerate. As a result, Chris is invited to a meeting by his haughty father, who makes a not-so-veiled threat about Erik’s Bar result.
Not wanting to sabotage his friend’s legal career, Chris tries to help by suggesting to “just take the money.” However, Erik and Torran are rightfully offended; after all, the major point of taking the case is to fight injustice that multinational corporations often wreak on the poverty-stricken. Suddenly, all the unspoken frustrations that crippled the group came pouring out: Torran’s shame for being in the closet; Chris’ anger at realizing how his friends perceive him; and Erik’s disappointment in the justice system.
It was the middle of their review for the Bar, and that argument did not ease the pressure that weighed down on them.
This was one of the exceptional moments of the musical. Valera is eloquent on when to switch from the uproariously funny, to the bittersweet revelations, and then the tension-filled turning points. It goes to show that in remakes, there blooms a mutual understanding between the creators, without undermining the original material. He probes further into the political undertones that the movie simply tiptoed over, and it does so with quite a homage to Oebanda’s work, highlighting the skirmishes that permeate the local cinema and theatre scenes: The Filipinos need more art that is true to their roots, culture, and experience.
The movie teaches us to dream boldly and unapologetically. But Valera’s tweak on the story holds our hands and, in a chorus, bellows out that foolish dreaming can be exploited, manipulated, and destroyed. So allow your dream to take root instead, and let the people hum in harmony to it as it builds up and swells like a musical number — because that is what true lawyering should be all about.