Words by Rae Goco and Aidan Bernales
Photos by The Corner Studio

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The scene is simple; you probably already know it. Pontius Pilate calls for a bowl of water, washes his hands, and declares himself innocent of Jesus’ blood. Today, this gesture survives as a popular idiom used to deny responsibility despite complicity. It is one of the many ways history has looked at Pilate with unkind eyes and mockery—a man who crumbles under the weight of pressure, desperate for power but unwilling to hold it. It is in the tension between power and passivity, moral responsibility and political survival that Pilato finds its voice.

Written and directed by Eldrin Veloso, Pilato invites us to bite for a second into the story of Pontio Pilato—from his early ambitions in Rome to his appointment as prefect of a turbulent Judea. As he navigates a role he seemed destined for, he is caught between the expectations of the Roman empire, the demands of Jewish leaders, and his own moral uncertainties. His fateful encounter with Hesus forces him to confront the nature of truth, power, and responsibility in ways he can never simply wash his hands of, no matter how hard he tries.

The sprawling three-hour, all-original Filipino musical dares to look beyond the basin, but does it offer anything fresh—or is it just another ripple in the same bloody waters?

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The word became flesh

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The truth resonates powerfully through standout performances in each act of the production.

In the first act, Christy Lagapa’s portrayal of Procla captivates the audience with a strong yet graceful demeanor, driven by a powerful voice and expression that enriches her character beyond just being a lover. Her performance in “Kung Nasaan Ka, Naroon Ako” is breathtaking—a poignant reminder of the significant yet often forgotten women behind the men in history. By her side, Jerome Ferguson’s characterization of Pilato is humanized, his vulnerability brought to light by tender exchanges between him and Porcla. Throughout the play, Pilato gains more notable footing, his voice better equipped to command the stage and demand its fullest attention as the titular character. While Pilato appears stronger and more commanding when attached to Porcla, his emotional moments,  albeit impactful, are often overshadowed by the convoluted flow of the narrative.

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As the play transitions into the second act , Noel Rayos’ depiction of Hesus raises the intensity of the production. A heaven-on-earth performance, Rayos propels the narrative and invites the audience to reflect deeply on the play’s enduring themes despite his limited appearance. Similarly, Marit Samson, Ard Lim, and Chan Rabutazo bring a refreshing shift in tone as the trio of Publius, Marcus, and Decimus, juxtaposing the weight of history with lighthearted yet sharp political commentary. While these characters become more reserved in dialogue and song as the story progresses, their performances dignify the subtle actions they perform in the backdrop of each scene.

Jeremy Manite as Caiaphas has a vibrato that exalts the complexity of his morally-grey character, haunting the narrative with the unsettling truth that religious leaders are not always the most just in positions of power. Meanwhile, Only Torres’ Josepo endears himself to the audience through the conviction carried in his delivery of movement and song. He presents an insightful allegorical character for the historian’s task to purvey the truth, more so as it is complicated by being a witness and an actor to its making. Alongside them, the ensemble is brilliant in song and action—every move is dynamic through every spin and jump and the projection of voices in harmony and dissonance. Even in the background, the cast consistently contributes to the play’s worldbuilding, never falling short of enhancing the scene.

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Pilato makes you feel every minute of its lengthy runtime, but it ensures each minute is earned through deliberate, interesting, and economical tactics. One standout instance of technical finesse was during the song “Likod Ng Mga Salita” where Pilato’s henchmen Publius, Decimus, and Marcus break down the political undertones in a conversation between Pilato and Antipas, cracking open the violent subtext behind their polished rhetoric. The scene played like a dark comedy, with the prefects freezing mid-sentence as the henchmen toyed with their words. The lighting followed suit, shifting between whimsical and menacing with every shift of tone. Perhaps because Veloso is directing what he himself wrote, but this moment stood out from the rest of the play as a carefully intimate and deep understanding of the script’s nuances.

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The challenge Pilato must have found itself having early on was finding a way to distinguish between Rome and Judea given its limited stage and number of actors. This was resolved through clever stage design where they built a movable arch into the stairway, which the cast would raise or lower to signify the passage between regions—a simple gesture that effectively reoriented the audience after each transition. Costume improvisation further elevated their spatial storytelling, with one actor in the choir using a single green cloth across different roles—worn as a sash, he portrayed a Roman elite blending in with the upper class, and wrapped as a turban, he became a humble Jewish vendor. These minute, deliberate choices brought clarity to the world of the play and underscored the production’s resourcefulness.

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The truth shall set you free

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At its very core, Pilato is an exploration of the truth and all its intricacies. The play seeks to liberate the truth from the ideal and abstract to a more tangible foresight of circumstances that presents the incomprehensible mystery of faith in tension with the reality of being human. Pilato is not a cannon fodder for the grace of Salvation, nor is he a one-dimensional figure serving the arc of redemption. Instead, he is a man whose actions were shaped by authority, religious infighting, and the status quo.

In this telling, Pilato does not offer resolution to the search for the truth. However, in the brink of a post-truth era—where facts are questioned and narratives are mended—perhaps this ambiguity is not the best call-to-action to forward. As truth itself is assailed, clarity and conviction are what these times demand. When art evokes presentism in a period context, there lies a responsibility to clearly attribute the subject: Who is the 21-st century ‘Pilato’? What is the present-day representation of the conflicts of the Passion? Perhaps, if these had been more explicit, the play’s exploration of the truth would have more powerfully elicited a more intellectually and socially engaged response.

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Nonetheless, Pilato resisting to hand over easy answers compels the audience to wrestle with the discomfort of the uncertainty. It is no different from today; in an age where truth has become transient, even irrelevant, one may find comfort in believing the lie they tell themselves. This becomes more convenient than confronting the discomfort. And yet, history does not bend toward convenience nor favors those who wash their hands of wrongdoing. History remembers those who dared to call out the lie—who wrote it for what it is.

Josepo’s final decision—to write down history as is—is the most radical gesture in the whole play. Caiaphas’ and Pilato’s envy may have changed history, but Josepo’s honesty defined it. When everyone is trying to wash their hands, it is the hands that stay dirty with ink and truth that remain blameless in the eyes of time.

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The final judgment

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Pilato is an ambitious reimagining of a well-known biblical account, and a fitting one at that as we near the end of the Lenten season. In addition, through its all-original Filipino score and passionate cast, the production succeeds in breathing new life into Pontius Pilate’s narrative. The production is worth watching for audiences who seek more than entertainment in theater. So if you are someone drawn to art that provokes introspection and questioning, this may be the play for you. Its ability to stir reflections on faith, politics, and human nature make it an essential piece for those seeking more than just a spectacle.

However, the play noticeably maintains a level of restraint in its social critique. In its goal to address a post-truth era, audiences may leave yearning for firmer ground, less ambiguity, and more confrontation. That said, the play’s power lies not in resolving the tension, but in making us feel its weight, long after the lights dim.

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Raine Goco is an AB Communication freshman attempting to beatify her not-so-saintly encounters in the heart of Metro Manila. She hopes to write as she thinks and as easy as she breathes, drawing everyone to the unique sensibilities of her words. Otherwise, you’ll find her lost in her digital wonderland, caught in a love-hate relationship with the Internet.

Aidan Bernales is a Cebuano poet, fictionist, journalist, and musician studying Communication at the Ateneo de Manila University. His works have been published in Rappler, Inquirer, Climate Tracker Asia, Transit, engendered lit, Sinuman Magazine, The Guidon, and Heights. If you want to listen to his music, it’s on Spotify under his name. His first poetry collection is published by 8Letters.