Koreanovelas, Teleseryes, and the

“Diasporization” of the Filipino/the

Philippines
Louie Jon A. Sanchez

In a previous paper, the author had begun discoursing on the process of acculturating Korean/Hallyu
soap opera aesthetics in television productions such as Only You (Quintos, 2009), Lovers in Paris (Reyes,
2009), and Kahit Isang Saglit (Perez & Sineneng, 2008). This paper attempts to expand the discussions of
his “critico-personal” essay by situating the discussions in what he described as the “diasporization” of
the Filipino, and the Philippines, as constructed in recent soap operas namely Princess and I (Lumibao,
Pasion, 2012) A Beautiful Affair (Flores, Pobocan, 2012), and Kailangan Ko’y Ikaw (Bernal & Villarin, 2013). In
following the three teleserye texts, the author observes three hallyu aesthetic influences now operating
in the local sphere—first, what he called the “spectacularization” of the first world imaginary in foreign
dramatic/fictional spaces as new “spectre of comparisons” alluding to Benedict Anderson; the crafting
of the Filipino character as postcolonially/neocolonially dispossessed; and the continued perpetration
of the imagination of Filipino location as archipelagically—and consequently, nationally—incoherent.
The influences result in the aforementioned “diasporization”, an important trope of simulated and
dramaturgically crafted placelessness in the process of imagining Filipino “communities” and their sense
of “historical” reality, while covering issues relating to the plight and conditions of the diasporic Filipino.

Keywords: Koreanovelas, Korean turn, teleserye, translation, imagined communities, diaspora, hallyu

After a decade of its constant presence in the Philippine market, the extent
of change brought about by the “Koreanovela” in the landscape of Philippine
television is clearly noticeable and merits revaluation. The Koreanovela, a
term invented by local TV networks to refer to soap operas imported from
South Korea—essentially part of the popularization of hallyu1 across the
nation—has become an interesting text to study, as it is primarily the most
consumed piece of Korean popular culture in Philippine mass media, and
is thus a major factor in what is considered by the scholar as a phenomenal
“Korean turn” in local productions. Of course, the steady acquisition of
Koreanovelas by the major TV players, and the distribution of soaps in
major time slots, indicate the popularity and viability of the drama series
to various audience brackets and markets. The continued presence of
Koreanovelas, particularly in primetime, meanwhile also signifies the
continuing internalization of the Korean aesthetic by local productions—
and by aesthetic, we mean the formal aspects of soaps translated into the
local. Aesthetic, in a sense, refers to “one’s experience of the work” (Fowler,

66-85 Sanchez• Koreanovelas, Teleseryes, and the “Diasporization” of the Filipino

1973, p. 4), as much as it emphasizes “the characteristics of the work” (p. 4)
and implies a critical assessment of their “beauty”. While aesthetics per se
deals with the organicity of the work as perceived, we view the term here as
conditioned, formed, and defined by cultural contexts.
In the process, big players such as ABS-CBN and GMA 7 have placed
their own localized “readings” of productions of the Koreanovela alongside
the acquired imported ones through their shows, to seemingly reflect the
process of dealing with the demands of transforming production. The
demand, it may easily be said, stems from the perceived changing tastes
of viewers, some constantly consulted in extensive marketing researches
undertaken by these networks. While data is still scant on the direct
relations of the production reformatting and audience demands—network
representatives in a number of hallyu fora participated in by the researcher
usually mention how, for example, hallyu compelled the tighter plotting or
fast-paced storytelling evident in soap operas today—the Korean turn is
steadily being manifested in several productions, particularly in ABS-CBN,
where the local soap genre was first to be called the teleserye (a compounding
of the words “tele,” an abbreviation of television, and “serye,” the series),
and where the teleserye as a text continuously expands its narratological
breadth, by crossing borders and locating the fictional Filipino in a much
more global sphere. The researcher supposes that this gesture of crossing
boarders is largely connected to the aforementioned Korean turn, where
Korea is transformed into an imaginary for national mobility, an emerging
narrative of the nation, to borrow from Homi K. Bhabha (1994). In an earlier
work, the researcher described this phenomenon in this manner, after
presenting a “critico-personal” perspective after many years of consuming
the said popular cultural texts:

At least until today, we Filipinos have not yet really undertaken

the task of explaining our own processes of acceptance of the
image-concepts shown us through the foreign/Asian soap opera.…
Koreanovelas seen through a Philippine lens embody a national
desire, a national fantasy, not only for but also to be this nation.
Somehow, the consumption of these Koreanovelas expresses the
ardent desire for mobility in most of the Philippine audience, a
mobility that may finally transport the country to become that
hardly believable First World imaginary society. Korea then has
become an alternative nation for Filipinos during primetime.
(Sanchez, 2012, para. 3)

Plaridel • Vol. 11 No. 1 • 2014 67

In this paper, an explication of this Korean turn will be shown by a close
reading of three primary soap opera texts, all recently concluded, under
ABS-CBN—Princess and I (Lumibao & Pasion, 2012), starring Kathryn
Bernardo, Daniel Padilla, and Enrique Gil; Kailangan Ko’y Ikaw (Bernal &
Villarin, 2013), starring Kris Aquino, Anne Curtis, and Robin Padilla; and
A Beautiful Affair (Flores & Pobocan, 2012), starring Bea Alonzo and John
Lloyd Cruz. Preceding the close reading of the soap opera texts will be a
historico-critical assessment of the Koreanovela in the Philippines, showing
the processes of “naturalization” all throughout its years of popularity in
Philippine media—a take-off from the researcher’s initial writings on the
subject. This task is seen as laying the predicates of what may be called the
consequent diasporization of the Filipino/the Philippines, a cultural logic
brought about by the Korean turn, which will be explored towards the end
of the paper.

The “Korean Turn”

The Koreanovela is merely an existing peak in the televisual process of change
that started with the rise of Mexican soap operas in the mid-1990s. This so
called televisual process has introduced innovations, not only in form but
also in content, radically changing the viewing habits of Filipinos reared in
dramas of epical length and melodramatic proportion—a symptom of the
steady presence of possibly accepted literary traditions in popular culture.
Historically, the return of democratized television between 1986 and 1988,
two decades after the start of the repressive Marcos regime, began the years
of revolution, so to speak, of Philippine broadcast programming. The EDSA
people-power revolution has instilled nationalistic ferment among viewers,
who saw once more unadulterated, tabloid TV news, sensationalizing the
drama of everyday life, sanitized and controlled by the previous government
for its own intents and purposes. The tendency for the historical became an
important aspect of the supposed drama genre of Filipino television after 1986
with the broadcast of the Australian-produced docu-drama A Dangerous
Life (Markowitz, 1988), which chronicled the pivotal last three years of the
Marcos dictatorship, emphasizing the role of the benevolent role of United
States in resolving the conflict. It had become a staple in the programming
of re-established television networks, particularly the formerly sequestered
ones, and one or two years later, a barrage of documentaries in honor of the
slain senator Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino and the heroes of EDSA Revolution
started airing, contributing to the growing body of “historical” drama for the
public to consume and internalize. The historical drama, as it were, tapped
into the national grief still collectively shared, as videos of the opposition
leader—in life and in death—were shown, as if to continually process his

68 Sanchez• Koreanovelas, Teleseryes, and the “Diasporization” of the Filipino

heroic canonization by martyrdom. Eventually, grief as primal material
presaged the turn for the entertaining, that is, for real programs providing
aliw (entertainment, basically), as Soledad Reyes (2000) had once described
it; this aliw returned with a vengeance with the traditional tropes of grief and
suffering, and began shortly the introduction of new genres of drama pitted
against each other—drama anthologies showcasing prime or upcoming actors
and actresses (usually wonderfully directed); drama programs produced à la
film (later to be called telesines by GMA 7); and drama series set in the typical
Filipino romance mode.
The said drama series usually banked on effective formulae to attract
a following—interesting pairs called love teams, astounding manorial or
feudalistic settings (often to be contrasted with the urban sprawl of shanties
in urban environments, popularized by Lino Brocka in his 1980s films), and
complex plots (and subplots) that keep audiences hooked for years on end.
Eventually, the measure of soap opera success became its staying power.
The rule was logical: the better the soaps performed in the ratings games,
the longer the soaps aired. This had been the case of Mara Clara (Cruz, Jr.,
1992-97), which launched the career of soap opera “queen” Judy Ann Santos,
and later, of Claudine Barretto via Mula sa Puso (De Ramas et al. 1997-99),
the story of which was even expanded into a “second book” for want of a
better conclusion for its much-abhorred kontrabida (antagonist) who had to
be run over by a truck in order to definitely die. Lead characters were made to
suffer terribly in the hands of their stock oppressors—wicked grandmothers
or stepmothers, scheming mothers or aunts, and in some cases, fathers or
uncles who made sure to create so much trouble for the heroes. The Philippine
soap opera, post-EDSA revolution, seemed to be a continuous processing of
the supposed national grief that originated in the Ninoy myth. This form of
practice, by way of oppression as spectacle, peaked in the mentioned 1990s
entry—or re-entry?—of Spanish and Latin American soap operas such as La
Traidora (Marte Televisión, 1991) and more particularly Marimar (Sheridan,
1994), a phenomenon that was specter-like for all its Spanish colonial flair.
Undeniably, Filipinos were easily enthralled by the poor blonde heroine who
grew up by the sea, and who eventually became the object of desire of the son
of the patriarch of the nearby hacienda (estate). The poor girl, who turned
out to be an heiress to a business empire, suffered much in the hands of her
husband’s family—a sure hit formula for the grief-stricken nation that would
fall readily for any rags-to-riches stories, during a time of rotating brownouts
and political strife. After all, the Spanish were themselves the founders of this
tradition of grief, and the Spanish soaps may just be deemed a reminder of
this heritage, seen in various colonial literatures like the enduring Pasyon (the
traditional literary narrative of Christ’s Passion).

Plaridel • Vol. 11 No. 1 • 2014 69

 In a study that dealt with this Latin American invasion, Joseph Salazar
in Shim, Heryanto, and Siriyuvasak (2010) discoursed at large on what
he termed as “global soap operas” and described Marimar as one that
resuscitates “the colonial imaginary” (p. 287) though not simply reflecting
“the domination of foreign systems imposing itself to a particular locality”
(p. 288-289), but also instead manifesting “how the colonial experience has
entrenched itself within the totalizing systems of globalization” (Shim, et al.,
2010, p. 289). Marimar, and the many others that followed suit, gave local
soaps a run for their money—Mara Clara for instance had to be transferred
to primetime from its late afternoon slot, its traditional bastion during
which female audiences—homemakers and home-keepers, basically—are
believed to be taking their siestas (literally, afternoon breaks). As a game
changer, the importation of Latin American soap operas—and foreign
soap-opera importation in general—became an easy alternative market
mode for networks. This phenomenon, however, did not completely deter
the peddling of local dramas. As may be seen, the eventual productions
of local versions of these Spanish language soaps, as the new millennium
approached, showcased the Filipinos’ constant drive to revolutionize drama
by taking the various foreign soaps they had procured and embarking on
textual “naturalizations”, to borrow a term from the critic Virgilio S. Almario
(2013), who in many of his works of literary criticism, underlined Filipino
ingenuity as a reaction to foreign encroachments on the literary tradition.2
This trend found another creative challenge with the rise of “Asianovelas”
(soap operas imported from China or Japan), the first of which was the
phenomenal 2001 Taiwanese soap Meteor Garden (Cai, 2001), and eventually
the emergence of Koreanovelas on the scene.
In relation to the Koreanovela, the concept of the Korean turn is a
development in the continuing research of this scholar on how Koreanovelas
had been perceived and received by local productions in the country. The
term “local productions” in this discourse is to be understood as comprising
the primary gatekeepers in the market, an aspect often ignored in existing
audience reception studies; even the hallyu studies done by many scholars in
Southeast Asia, such as the ones spearheaded by Chua Beng Huat, primarily
focus on regional audience perceptions. The Korean turn as primary
reading—and “reading” by way of “viewing”—of the Korean soap operas,
first took place in the production period, particularly in the acquisition of
the foreign soap operas for local consumption. The next important phase
of the development of the Korean turn was that of translation, or what is
usually called in the Philippine context the Tagalization (the popular term
for the Tagalog or Filipino translation of foreign soap operas) and dubbing of
the soap operas, where barriers to basic understanding are at once crossed,

70 Sanchez• Koreanovelas, Teleseryes, and the “Diasporization” of the Filipino

in a more practical and communicative level. This phase was very important
in understanding the Korean turn because this was where the linguistic,
and consequently cultural, processing was undertaken. A soap opera, as
in any cultural text, is a language that embodies not only the stories of its
fictional characters and settings, but also their located worldviews. As in
the usual translation processes where two cultures formulate an interface,
the translation and dubbing of a Korean soap opera re-establishes what
the researcher calls the “cross-textuality” of a drama series, a heteroglossic
dialogue between two popular cultural consciousnesses—in this case, the
realms of the Filipino and of the Korean. As text, a soap opera is a space
where various readings exist and open themselves for consumption. As
a soap opera is written (and “written”, in the Barthian sense), embedded
in it are various discourses peddled to viewers, aside from resolutions to
dramatic conflicts.
For instance, in the Tagalization of Korean soaps, discourses have
been opened, especially after they had been relocated to a Filipino context,
where realities are primarily estranged from the projected First-World
environments in the series. Also begging to be read in the soap opera text
is what has been described in American soap studies as the “adversarial
relationship we traditionally assume to exist between artistic and economic
interests under capitalism” (Allen, 1985, p. 129). The soap opera as we
know it shares the long-held perception of being a genre of mass writing,
and therefore a low art form, an attitude now considered obsolete but
continuously being dismantled in cultural theory. Issues of gender, class,
and in this case, race, are also covered by this dialogue as the translations
provide new instances of depictions of characters and their positions as
men or women, their class concerns and consciousness as individuals,
and their views of the world as Koreans. What only estranges this time is
the fact that locally, the actors and actresses in these soaps speak Filipino;
and some expressions and dialogue may from time to time be observed as
idiomatically lost. The transformed sound and sense however still embody
the cross-textuality, the very manifestation of the dialogue that made the
Korean turn possible. Translation is very important in the process for it had
become the tool by which the cultural differences had been unlocked and
rendered sensible.
Clearly, the content of the Koreanovela as high point in the said
televisual process is nothing different from what is traditionally viewed
as viable in the Filipino market. While coming from a different worldview
and aesthetic, the type of TV melodrama that comes from South Korea
speaks well of the same grief Filipinos continue to process since the country
attempted to regain its democratic and civil liberties in 1986. For some

Plaridel • Vol. 11 No. 1 • 2014 71

insiders in the broadcast industry, as reported by Rina Jimenez-David
(2012), “recognizing and building on the qualities that draw local audiences,
including a powerful storyline, Asian family values, good-looking actors,
and superior production values” (para. 10), are mere consequences of this
most recent televisual development. In this researcher’s initial discourse on
the Koreanovela phenomenon, however, the Korean turn has been seen as
comprising two processes—the transformative and the acculturative. First,
the transformative process took place when TV outfits themselves bought
up franchises of particular Korean soap operas to localize and produce them.
ABS-CBN’s Lovers in Paris (2004), a trans-production of the Korean original,
featuring KC Conception, Piolo Pascual, and Zanjoe Marudo, localized the
Korean story, but interestingly discussed issues of the Filipino diaspora in
Europe over the long run. The transformation process of trans-production
was also employed by GMA-7 when it produced local versions of My Lovely
Kim Sam Soon [which became Ako si Kim Sam Soon, (Zapata et al., 2005)
featuring Regine Velasquez, Stairway to Heaven (Ranay & Alejandre, 2009),
which starred Dingdong Dantes and Rhian Ramos, and Full House (Reyes,
2009), which had Richard Gutierrez and Heart Evangelista. The aesthetics,
of course, is largely Filipino, since there seems to be no clear desire to re-
process the culture from which the originals were coming from – and of
course this procedure is deemed unnecessary.
Eventually, Korean aesthetics and worldview have slowly been
acculturated in the process of transformation, as exemplified by trans-
productions such as Only You (2009) on ABS-CBN. Cinematic shots,
reflective of the Korean and clearly Buddhist worldview of humanity
and the picturing of human smallness in the presence of the vast natural
surroundings, are just one of the more notable current practices by
Philippine television in the transformative process—an aspect that is clearly
lost in translation in a televisual culture steeped in personality close-ups and
existential monologues. It must be noted that the Korean soap opera, as part
of the larger hallyu phenomenon, is a product of a historical engagement
between neighboring countries Korea and Japan—two cultures that in
recent years embraced a clearly cosmopolitan consciousness in each of their
various cultural practices peddled in the global market. This engagement is
thoroughly discoursed by Chua Beng Huat (2012) when he geographically
situated the popular cultural phenomenon in East Asia (Korea and Japan,
of course, plus China, and the rest of the former Indochinese peninsula,
including Singapore) where there are, regionally, similar aesthetic and
cultural resonances, as far as audiences are concerned. Quoting Iwabuchi (as
cited by Chua, 2012), Chua relates Korean drama to Japanese “trendy” drama
which “featured beautiful men and women who are young professionals,

72 Sanchez• Koreanovelas, Teleseryes, and the “Diasporization” of the Filipino

adorned in high fashion clothes, dining in upscale restaurants, living on
their own in well-appointed apartments in the city” (Chua, 2012, p. 2). This
trendy mode, adds the scholar, was “localized” in some manner by Korean
productions, entangling the individualistic depictions to “familial relations”
and thus complicating the romance mode, “mixing the romance and family-
drama genres” (p. 2). As “sources of soft power” (p. 7), Korean dramas
helped in the “emergence and consolidation of the regionalization of media
industries and pop culture” (p. 8).
The discussion on East Asia is easy to pursue in terms of aesthetics,
one that is however transformed in the Philippine context. In an earlier
audience reception study, Jeongmin Ko in Shim, Heryanto, and Siriyuvasak
(2010) noted one Chinese subject’s feeling of “connection to our tradition”
(p.138), upon watching the Korean hit period soap opera Jewel in the Palace
(Jo & Lee, 2003). For the informant, the soap projects “the pure shape of
Confucianism” (Shim, Heryanto, and Siriyuvasak, 2010, p. 138). The noted
similarities among others, the scholar says, influenced “the booming of the
Korean Wave in the Southeast Asian region” (p. 143), though in the case
of the Philippines, a clearly transformational approach is to be observed
because of the obvious distant “structure of identification,” per Chua (2012,
p. 89), with that of the Korean culture as embodied in the Koreanovela.
While there is clearly “an active engagement” (p. 89) by way of “a virtual
but intimate relationship with characters in the drama” (p. 89), the Filipino
experience of Koreanovela perception only goes as far as translation
and dubbing to domesticate and resonate with the foreign, and does
not completely penetrate whatever aesthetic is present. Chua mentions
an “exotic gaze” (p. 93), (a touristy gaze at that) that transpires in most
transnational reception studies of Koreanovelas, but we argue that much
of it is consumed in the Philippines as a vision of a Third World imaginary,
aspiring, as said earlier, for economic mobility in the globalized world where
“characters on screen don international fashions” (p. 93). Thus, the rhetoric
of the “shared culture of Asianness” is lost, though not totally, since for Chua,
“realistic and sophisticated portrayals of what they called ‘Asian’ ways of
expressing various kinds of relations and emotional attachments among the
characters” (p. 94) are present. Philippine culture, schooled in the convents
for 300 years and trained in Hollywood for half a century, seems on its way
to reclaim its Asianness after all, through the transformative experience of
the Koreanovela.
The transformative process, we may conclude, was the direct response of
Philippine television production in attempting to make the Korean Wave its
own. It was the space where local talents first drew on the Korean dramatic
mode to enrich their own productions. In trans-producing the works, they

Plaridel • Vol. 11 No. 1 • 2014 73

were able to understand, to “close read” the works in order to understand
the mechanisms of production, as texts, with the hope of fully creating
their own versions, albeit literally at first. Acculturation meanwhile already
implies an evolution of the genre as informed by the Korean Wave, among
other influences. Philippine production does not only gather material and
inspiration from Korea, but from other cultural wellsprings and sources. For
instance, there still persists a strong Spanish and Latin American influence in
the way we produce drama. Hollywood also continues to define much of our
production, with America continuing to be the primary ideal. The exercise
of transformative processing however led to an Asianization of sorts in
Philippine teleseryes, and that is Asianization on various remarkable levels.
Geographically, the Philippines found itself discoursing with Asia through
drama with the ABS-CBN teleserye titled Green Rose (Santos et al., 2011),
also a trans-production of a Korean original. The story happens not in one
place, but in two—Manila and Seoul, South Korea. The characters moved
in and out of these shared spaces, embodying cultural engagements and
exchanges along the way. Another soap opera that attempted to Asianize—
and the researcher uses this word to mean a way of positioning on a regional
and individual level—was Jericho Rosales’s starrer Kahit Isang Saglit (2008),
also happening in two settings—Manila and Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. In
this collaboration of ABS-CBN and the Malaysian counterpart Double
Vision, Rosales teamed up with Malaysian actress Carmen Soo to render
a transnational action and romance-packed narrative. The soap relates
the story of Rosales’ character searching for justice. He eventually meets
the woman played by Soo, a Malaysian, who would be his love interest
in the quest. Discourses of interracial love, organized crime, and cultural
differences made this teleserye a groundbreaking, border-crossing text.
The idea too of temporality had been acculturated in the Philippine
dramatic production, though this is not entirely Korean, but may have been
hammered down by the Korean dramatic engagements. The length of the
teleserye, though still dependent on market acceptability, was redefined by
the way Koreans produced their Koreanovelas, as they have been shown
here. The soaps came at set broadcasting periods, and the plots are usually
delineated to follow the template of a compact, fast-paced, storytelling mode.
This process of acculturation changed the way viewers saw teleseryes. After
some time, there occurred a shift away from the draggy stories, or the too
complicated ones that seemed to go nowhere in particular. The key phrase
is “to compel,” and Koreanovelas were perceived to be the compelling sort of
shows that were generally fast-paced, perhaps because of their conventional
brevity. Mara Clara’s story went too far in keeping a most valued diary of
secrets out of sight for three months—ironically placed on top of a TV set

74 Sanchez• Koreanovelas, Teleseryes, and the “Diasporization” of the Filipino

accessible to all major characters would usually pass by. When Filipinos saw
the urgency and the development of characters in Marimar, and eventually
in the likes of the Endless Love (Yoon, 2000) series, the idea of variety had
probably been broached and sold. The audience didn’t have to contend
with stories going on and on for years just to be entertained, after all.3
The Koreanovela, or the telenovela option (as in the Marimar tradition)
proposed the alternative and the revision to the Philippine televisual form.
In recent times, TV54 offered what it termed the “sineserye,” a soap opera
that ran for exactly a month. Its first offering was titled Sa Ngalan ng Ina
(O’Hara & Red, 2012), the comeback show of Philippine superstar Nora
Aunor, in a family-political drama that depicted corruption and massive
electioneering, greed for power and money, and what any loving mother
would do to save her family from such turmoil. Earlier, ABS-CBN offered
100 Days to Heaven (Praico & Lim, 2011), an astute story of a greedy toy
company businesswoman owner, who was killed in an accident and sent
back to earth as a little girl to make up for her misdeeds. The premise was
for her to complete the mission straightening things up in 100 days, and
the soap opera aired episodes around that number—with some discreet
expansions of course, since the series became a hit.

Three Teleserye Texts

These two processes previously mentioned continue to embody the Korean
turn, as the local broadcast industry continues to acculturate in the programs
selected for this study. For instance, Princess and I, a teeny-bopper soap
opera, is clearly inspired by various Koreanovelas which feature stories of
royalties, like the Korean hit Princess Hours (Hwang, 2006). Princess and
I (2012) is told as a modern-day fairy-tale story: the lead star, Kathryn
Bernardo, grows up in the Philippines as an ordinary girl. Unknown to
her, she is the lost crown princess of a fictional kingdom called Yangdon,
and the story revolves around this revelation. The program, like Lovers in
Paris, was shot in a foreign county, in Bhutan, to provide authenticity to the
requisite estrangement of the story. Bernardo’s character however provides
an interesting insight into this discourse of the Korean turn, particularly
her ending up growing in the Philippines. As a baby, the young Bernardo’s
character was saved from various threats against her life. She ends up under
the care of an Overseas Filipino worker (OFW) in Yangdon, who brings her
home to the Philippines. The OFW was not aware of the royal lineage of the
child. Bernardo’s character eventually returns to Yangdon, but not before
weathering several storms, and braving a major threat to her life again. The
Korean inspiration is not very difficult to prove, as the very idea itself of
“royalty” is an unusual development Philippine contemporary storylines

Plaridel • Vol. 11 No. 1 • 2014 75

which would rather locate, time and again, the settings to territories of
landed gentries, for instance.5 The researcher also finds worth mentioning
the hallyu look of both lead actors Daniel Padilla and Enrique Gil, whose
matinee images depict and aspire the mode of “Asian-ness” peddled by
hallyu. The teleserye’s concept also does not break away from the formula of
mobility aspired for by the audience with the heroine as their representative
figure. The tradition of grief for oppression as well is still very much present
in the soap with the “Imeldific” figure of Gretchen Barretto’s character as
queen scheming for the crown princess’s station.
Often ignored in this text however is the locational relationship bridged
by the local and, at once, the foreign. The mediator in this case is the
character of Sharmaine Suarez, playing the OFW Esmeralda who saved the
baby princess from her oppressors in the kingdom. While the soap does not
directly try to discuss issues of diasporic work, as in many others, it locates
the Filipino as worker in local and foreign spaces, and the work that she or he
does becomes the dialogical point, where the fictional “local” and “foreign”
converge. This convergence also brings about subplots on the divisions
within Yangdon, which apparently breaks into a rift between the “Eastern”
and “Western” kingdoms, as represented by the competition between Gil,
the prince and son of Barretto’s character, and Padilla, who is also, in a
surprising turn, a Yangdonese prince belonging to the competing kingdom.
The presence of a Yangdonese community in the Philippines, a group whose
members had apparently fled from the fictional country because of threats
to their life and property, also manifests this local-foreign convergence. On
first reading, the so-called convergence may remind us of the allegorization
of a political state, reminiscent almost of the age of the madilim, gubat na
mapanglaw (literally, the deep, dark forest), and the sukaban (traitor) of
Balagtas’s Florante at Laura (1838). However, the geopolitical issues being
recalled here show us some important insights regarding our country’s
being characterized as postcolonially or even neocolonially dispossessed.
The presence of the figure of the OFW already presupposes the diasporic
discourse here. However, the fictionalizing gesture of the soap opera,
the imagination of a “community” in a volatile, divisive situation, such
as the aforementioned one in Yangdon, seems to make this soap opera a
reconfiguration of current historical situations in the Philippines. The idea
of dispossession is very important in the reading of this soap as part of
the Korean turn because it is its central theme. The motif of dispossession
begins with Bernardo’s character, almost deprived of her royal throne. She is
dispossessed of her right to the throne, and also of her ethnicity and history.
Her two leading men similarly suffer dispossession; Padilla’s character, as
mentioned, also mysteriously finds himself in the Philippines, and recovers

76 Sanchez• Koreanovelas, Teleseryes, and the “Diasporization” of the Filipino

his past when he discovers his true identity while pursuing the princess.
Gil’s character is, in the end, the embodiment of dispossession because of
the crisis in his kingdom. His perspective ends up as the primary point of
view of the character narrating the whole event of the teleserye. When he
decides to turn away from the cruel world and become a monk, he recalls
his unrequited love for the princess, and insists that he is the “I” in the title
Princess and I, a linguistic, narratological gesture that speaks of this desire
to reclaim a self in the story.
The story of Princess and I mutates into a metaphor for dispossession,
and to a certain extent, postcolonial and/or neocolonial dispossession. In
an almost Russian Formalist turn, the soap defamiliarizes viewers by way of
an altered version of Philippine historical and contemporaneous contexts
where the diasporic experience, political destabilization, and grand evil
schemes are a daily fare. Yangdon, the foreign land quite underdeveloped,
mirrors our own republic’s sadness, a point that compels critique, for it
transports itself to the Philippines by way of the fictional town called Santol,
the supposed Yangdon of the Philippines, a subtle reminder of the boat
people from Vietnam who in the 1970s crossed the West Philippine Sea and
reached parts of Luzon fleeing their country’s war. Dispossession as drama
entails the necessity for recovery—of the self, of truths, even of locations;
and that has been, primarily, the premise of the story. However, the issues
of dispossession would be deepened further by the second text, A Beautiful
Affair, which is literally beautiful, having been shot in a scenic imaginary—
that of Vienna, Austria—an enduring representation of Europe and its place
in our culture as “spectre of comparisons,” appropriating the articulations
of Benedict Anderson (1998). This soap opera’s premise is very much
different from Princess and I, not only because of its genre—this is heavy
drama we are talking about—but also because of its location of Filipinos,
not as diasporically marginalized—that is, choosing to be in Vienna for
employment, but more so as visitors, as tourists. Primarily, the characters
of Cruz and Alonzo are both heartbroken; Cruz has just discovered his
mother’s death, and Alonzo has just caught her boyfriend cheating. Both go
to Vienna to heal, and consequently cross each other’s paths. This touristy
gaze of the characters is observable in many hit Koreanovelas, like Lovers
in Paris, but clearly the gaze is unlike the one possessed by the Filipino
character. When Korean characters visit foreign lands in Koreanovelas, they
sport a gaze that may be Asian but is nevertheless informed by their First-
World consciousness and realities. The gaze transforms when the Filipino
is transported into the European space; the gaze reiterates the marginal
position of the perspective, and this gaze is the same one used when viewers
imbibe the Korean, First World ideal in ordinary Koreanovela viewing.

Plaridel • Vol. 11 No. 1 • 2014 77

 The meaning of “looking” here changes too, considering the demonios
de las comparaciones (the spectre of comparisons) first disclosed to us by
Rizal in his Noli Me Tángere, and as mentioned above, discoursed extensively
by Anderson (1998): Europe, for the longest time, has haunted the Filipino
collective memory, and by learning the Koreanovela language, it has been
allowed once more to disturb this process of re-imagining ourselves. While
the re-imagination is subliminally performed, as can be seen in the scenes
where the star-crossed lovers are enjoying the scenic surroundings of the
European city, their being re-located in the European space becomes a
meaning-making practice of returning to the origins of our postcolonial
imaginaries. This researcher, in the previous study mentioned earlier,
surmised that in watching hundreds of Koreanovelas, Filipinos had steadily
wound up accepting Korea as their new ideal imaginary (Sanchez, 2012,
para. 3). As a new fantasy of mobility, Korea had become the reflection of a
collective desire for economic, social, cultural, and spiritual freedom. Korean
mobility, that is, the ease in being in another geographic space which is
equally progressive, has consequently been learned in our televisual Korean
turn, but with different results. In this specific case, the Korean turn has
made us engage once more with our agon with the West, a culture which
Korea most dynamically embraces today. Curiously, this “re-turn” to the
West also instigates in the soap opera’s home front a “subversive” specter of
the millennial, as represented by the cultic movement that was narrated as
growing in number and material resources while the two main characters
contended with the figure that completes the story’s love triangle: the
character played by John Estrada.
The “cultic” aspect of the teleserye became a perfect—even
revolutionary—counterpoint to the spectral re-presencing of colonial
Europe in the Filipino popular imaginary. In the end, it was revealed that
Cruz’s mother (who is still miraculously alive), played by Eula Valdez, was
part of the cult that intends to build a complex in preparation for Judgment
Day. In the middle of it all is a large realty empire owned and managed by
the family of Estrada’s character, a trope of the Koreanovela, which usually
locates drama in the corporate realm. This “re-location” to the corporate
setting displaces the usual Filipino domestic setting, where characters often
move around the unitary institutions and constitutions of the home. While
the dynamic is still familial—and the concerns of the characters are still very
much controlled by the idea and ideals of the “family”—the story resituates
itself in struggles for control and positions, which are apparently important
in the “success” of finally completing the building of the cult’s Judgment
Day complex. This tower-like structure was said to “welcome” the descent
of the divine (which is eerily represented by the idea of liwanag [light or

78 Sanchez• Koreanovelas, Teleseryes, and the “Diasporization” of the Filipino

enlightenment]), and while awaiting the return, the members are asked to
prepare their loob, reform and even offer their lives in an almost Iletoan
fashion (and yes, pasyon), although bordering on organized crime, quite
an specter itself in many soap operas after the Korean turn. The corporate
institution is utilized as a dummy of the local cult, and this, the researcher
supposes, is an unprecedented creature of the Korean turn, as the soap
“spectacularizes,” so to speak, the haunting of the European space.
Our idea of spectacularization in A Beautiful Affair is what may be
deemed as the mediation “by images” of “a social relationship between
people” (Debord, 1994, p. 13). The spectacle, according to Debord, is “both
the outcome and the goal of the dominant mode of production” (p. 13).
He also adds that “it is the very heart of society’s real unreality” (p. 13)
epitomizing

the prevailing model of social life….. In form as in content, the

spectacle serves as total justification for the conditions and aims
of the existing system. It further ensures the permanent presence
of that justification, for it governs almost all time spent outside the
production process itself. (p. 13)

Quite interestingly, the Filipino viewership gaze as trained by watching

Koreanovelas has turned onto itself in the case of A Beautiful Affair,
a reflexive development in current soap opera characterization. After
learning the method of internalizing this desire to be Korean by way of
“fantasy production,” loosely borrowing from Tadiar (2004), it moves on to
set its sights onto Europe, where the biting cold and melancholia that once
distressed ilustrados (in Philippine history, literally, the enlightened) in
history haunted it and made its presence felt once again. Though again, there
is clearly no attempt at a direct critical confrontation, the beauty of Vienna
as a synecdoche of colonialism seems to instigate rebellion back home,
as can be seen with the millennial cultic specter, which in the discourse
of Reynaldo Ileto (1979) paved the way for a coherent understanding
of the revolutionary self in history. Not all soaps after the Korean turn
however were symptomatic of this attempt at narrativizing the coherence
of a national responding self, as can be seen in the third and final text for
this study, Kailangan Ko’y Ikaw. This soap opera, like A Beautiful Affair,
offered a story yet again of a love triangle. Like the brothers John Lloyd
Cruz and John Estrada in the previously considered text, Kris Aquino and
Anne Curtis play sisters here who both fell in love with the character of
Robin Padilla, a policeman on a mission to restore the besmirched honor
of his father. The father of Aquino and Curtis, played by Tirso Cruz III,

Plaridel • Vol. 11 No. 1 • 2014 79

was apparently involved in a crime syndicate, and earlier on had a hand
in the demise of Padilla’s father. Organized crime is a major issue in the
teleserye, foregrounding Padilla’s quest to solve the mystery of his father’s
death and dishonor. The “re-presencing” of local dispossession however
surfaces when his wife (Aquino’s character) suddenly falls ill and leaves for
a location unknown to her husband.
The surprising turn of a plane crash somewhere in the waters of Hong
Kong and Macau leaves the policeman looking for his wife while still
pounding pavements in his search for justice—two events that would rather
intersect, despite their disconnectedness, toward the end of the story. A
good part of the teleserye devotes time to Padilla’s search for Aquino in
Hong Kong and Macau, amid leads that his wife was still alive and kept by
kidnappers. From then on, Padilla turns into some sort of a TNT (tago nang
tago [literally, constantly in hiding], because of his undercover job and lack
of proper travel documents) fugitive, whose presence in foreign space recalls
common images and characterizations of the Filipinos in diaspora—lost, and
as in the first soap studied here, dispossessed. As a trope of incoherence—
the story is incoherent in itself—the teleserye “re-locates” the characters
in lands where Filipino workers abound, but not really discussing anything
significant about them. Dramaturgically, all three texts—Princess and I, A
Beautiful Affair, and this one—craft and perpetuate the placelessness of the
Filipino after its televisual gaze was trained in the Korean turn. However,
Kailangan Ko’y Ikaw—true to a title that seemingly expresses the longing
for a lost self (said in the third person)—dislocates the characters in its
contrived visions and revisions of the story, an option that it had to take
considering the personal controversies that befell Kris Aquino in real life
during the time of the teleserye’s airing. The “dis-location” of Aquino in the
story, and her being found in the end, participates in what all three soap
operas had been performing all along—that of redefining and expanding
the possibilities of the concept of the diaspora in the Philippine context.
To make sense of this, the Korean turn may be understood as compelling
for the return into the etymological wellspring of the word, the scattering
of the seeds. This “scattering” however assumes another meaning when its
Filipino equivalent, pagkakalat, is recalled, in the context of Kailangan Ko’y
Ikaw. The word’s two senses—pagkakálat, or dispersal, and pagkakalát, or
disorientation, being all over the place—point to the effect and affect of the
Korean turn after Filipino teleseryes began taking on subjects that required
some form of confronting contemporary historical realities (among them,
Filipino migration). While Aquino was certainly nagkakalát in her personal
life while making Kailangan Ko’y Ikaw, the story disperses the fictional selves
that could have been coherent in the first place, a dispersal that echoes the

80 Sanchez• Koreanovelas, Teleseryes, and the “Diasporization” of the Filipino

impossibility of unity in our archipelagic condition—hence, the incoherence.
While the presence of the foreign in this teleserye continues to perplex the
researcher, the very fact that the setting was deliberately re-turned to Asian
space provides an interesting development, transcending common allusions
to globalization and the position of the Filipino as a global citizen.
The theme of Kailangan Ko’y Ikaw, more than love enduring all odds,
is the enduring search for a displaced self, especially in fragmented (and
fragmenting) situations such as this one in the teleserye. This soap, by any
standard, is considered a flop, but nevertheless, its fragmentation—in terms
of idea, story, and method—fascinates the researcher in the sense that it brings
together a disembodied notion of diaspora/nation in diaspora, whatever it
now means. To say the least, Hong Kong and Macau here are indulgences
that merely provide a less meaningful counterpoint to the Philippine space,
where injustice and organized crime thrive—in differing forms and scales.
It must be remembered that in the beginning of the story, the character
of Curtis fakes her own kidnapping to extort money from her own father.
The “inflicting” of crime upon one’s self, among other “criminal” gestures,
easily reminds us of the possible influences of Koreanovelas like City Hunter
(Jin, 2011) and even of the recently concluded That Winter, The Wind Blows
(Kim, 2013) and The Innocent Man (Lee 2012). It is also symptomatic of
how Filipinos continue to desire being “transported” in their imaginaries,
not necessarily as a means to escape (as in the obsolete notions of popular
literature as escapism), but as a way to reach some forms of probable
mobility. No matter how paradoxical, this of course is far from possible,
thus the “criminal” turn of being fragmented in the visual spectacle. The
audience, as it were, continues to “despair” this disembodiment, and returns
to the fount of grief founded by traditions of local television productions
after 1986, quite serendipitously, in the person of Aquino, the daughter of
the slain senator-martyr.
This disembodiment typifies what may be called the process of
diasporization participated in by the three texts studied for this paper. In
Princess and I, the soap recalls the familiar image of the OFW to discourse
on what seems to be a changing diasporic dynamic, where not only Filipinos
participate but also the rest of the world. Our allegorical reading becomes
a space of contention where conflicting interests and advocacies emerge. In
its simple desire to provide a reworking of a Cinderella story, the soap opera
attempted to transcend the much discoursed, much lamented contract work
migration by presenting a narrative space that heteroglossically opens itself
to migration movements and exchanges. Linguistic slippages though prevent
it from transcending fully—and it really has no pretense to do so. In certain
episodes, the show fails in its attempt at “creating” a fully functional and

Plaridel • Vol. 11 No. 1 • 2014 81

realistic country that may be called Yangdon by allowing its own supposed
citizens to speak in Filipino, instead of the Bhutanese language designated
for the country. In a particular scene, the Yangdonese Constitution, said to
be composed by the country’s elders in centuries past, was “read,” uttered,
surprisingly, in elegant Filipino, as if it was its lingua franca. This is also
observable in the code and accent switching of Gretchen Barretto and the
Yangdonese King, played by Albert Martinez. This gesture of setting the
Filipino national—and Filipino, the language, the supposed repository of
culture—in a foreign space diasporisizes the country, both self and land.
This all-over-the-place-ness of the soap counts as a form of legitimizing
(and, possibly, critiquing?) our lost selfhood and nationality in the global
sphere, inasmuch as the second text, A Beautiful Affair, involves itself in
re-locating this lost selfhood by dramatizing how a self comes into full form
when distantiated, that is, diasporized, exiled into the colonial land.

Conclusion
Interestingly, A Beautiful Affair, in its deeper structures, speaks of the
revolutionary potential of placelessness, thanks to the internalization
of the Korean fantasy production. Among the three texts, this one is
the most postcolonially readable, as it seems to recall the spirit of the
“unfinished” revolution of 1896, though rather unconsciously. The indulgent
diasporization here of the middle and the upper classes, as represented
by John Lloyd Cruz and Bea Alonzo, is necessary in order to expose the
pitfalls of the colonial specter, now being used by the global institution
of hallyu to woo audiences to continue consuming Korean ideas and
ideals—a thing to be interrogated constantly. A Beautiful Affair is indeed
a beautiful affair of the diaspora, however problematic, but the third text
which stars Kris Aquino, a signifying practice unto herself, becomes the
embodiment of the horrors of diasporization. The presence of the diaspora
here is as indulgent and mystifying as Aquino herself, and Padilla’s sojourn
in recovering the absented wife in the supposed Asian Las Vegas proves
to be ironically “Imeldific,” following, though metaphorically, Barretto’s in
Princess and I. The return to etymology, and the recall of the diasporic sense
in Filipino, illustrates for us the failures of this soap opera after its Korean
turn. It failed because it was too literal, and unlike the two earlier teleseryes,
only uncovered what is already obvious—our senses of fragmentedness,
dislocation, and dispossession—without even trying to break these down
into anything sensible, in a critical, discerning fashion. The teleserye’s plot
itself is illustrative of how diasporization became merely a fact of necessity.
Kailangan Ko’y Ikaw must thence be seen as a cautionary tale on how the
Korean turn can make or break us. As TV executives continue to sideline

82 Sanchez• Koreanovelas, Teleseryes, and the “Diasporization” of the Filipino

the signifying practices of production (as experienced by this researcher in
various instances), more and more meanings are being produced, such as
this revisionist one on the diapora. Diasporization here is developed as an
uninterrogated idea of looking, not only at the popular characterization or
fictionalization of the Filipinos in global culture, but also at the ways this
phenomenon, so to speak, disperses whatever is left of our national ideas
and ideals.
In a way, teleseryes, being legitimated texts, and despite foreign influences
(Korean or Spanish), should be seen as still participating in “narrating” the
nation, especially when they take on diasporic subjects or issues along the
line of Filipino positionality in global or transnational space. To disassemble
the Korean turn in the Philippines, and to show how it manifests in local
soap opera productions, help in providing moments of discerning critique,
particularly as more and more productions tend to “contextualize” stories
and discussion, as a matter of providing resonance and verisimilitude. As
narrations of the Filipino nation—at home, or at home in diaspora—the
teleserye, after the Korean turn, is slowly turning into an agency of suggestive
expositions where methods of seeing the self and the world (originally East
Asian) are slowly being translated into meaningful interrogative instances
of our being assigned to be part of the community of the global south.

Plaridel • Vol. 11 No. 1 • 2014 83

References
Allen, R. C. (1985). Speaking of soap operas. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press.
Almario, V. S. (2013). Ang tungkulin ng kritisismo sa Filipinas. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University
Press.
Anderson, B. R. O’G. (1991). Imagined communities: Reflections on the origin and spread of nationalism. New
York: Verso.
Anderson, B. R. O’G. (1998). The spectre of comparisons: Nationalism, Southeast Asia, and the world. New
York: Verso.
Bernal, J. & Villarin, J. (Directors). (2013). Kailangan ko’y ikaw [Soap opera]. Philippines: ABS-CBN.
Bhabha, H. K. (1994). The location of culture. New York: Routledge.
Cai, Y. (Director). (2001). Meteor garden [Soap opera]. Taiwan: Comic Ritz International Productions.
Chua, B. H. (2012). Structure, audience, and soft power in East Asian pop culture. Hong Kong: Hong Kong
University Press.
Cruz, Jr. (Director). (1992). Mara Clara [Soap opera]. Manila: ABS-CBN.
Fowler, R. (Ed.). (1973). A dictionary of modern critical terms. Boston: Routledge & Kegan Paul.
Jimenez-David, R. (2012, September 15). A tsunami or an ebbing tide? Philippine Daily Inquirer. Retrieved
from http://opinion.inquirer.net/36806/a-tsunami-or-an-ebbing-tide#ixzz2dWg0tZoB.
Debord, G. (1994). The society of the spectacle. D. Nicholson-Smith (Trans). New York: Zone Books.
Deramas, W., Bayani, R., & Adalia, K. (Directors). (1997). Mula sa puso [Soap opera]. Manila: ABS-CBN.
Flores, K. & Pobocan, J. (Directors). (2012). A beautiful affair [Soap opera]. Philippines: ABS-CBN.
Hwang, I. (Director). (2006). Princess hours [Soap opera]. South Korea: Eight Peaks.
Ileto, R. C. (1979). Pasyon and revolution: Popular movements in the Philippines, 1840-1910. Quezon City:
Ateneo de Manila University Press.
Jeturian, J., Brondial, M., Boborol, T., Del Rosario, M., & Lumibao, Dado C. (Directors). (2012-present). Be
careful with my heart [Soap opera]. Philippines: ABS-CBN.
Jin, H. (Director). (2011). City hunter [Soap opera]. South Korea: SBS.
Kim, K. (Director). (2013). That winter, the wind blows [Soap opera]. South Korea: Golden Thumb.  
Korea.net: Gateway to Korea. (N.d.). Korean Wave. Retrieved from http://www.korea.net/Government/
Current-Affairs/Others?affairId=209.
Lee, K. (Director). (2012). The innocent man [Soap opera]. South Korea: iHQ.
Lumibao, D., Pasion, F. X., & Quintos, R. (Directors). (2012). Princess and I [Soap opera]. Philippines: ABS-
CBN.
Markowitz, R. (Director). (1988). A dangerous life [Drama series]. Australia: HBO. 
Marte Televisión. (Director). (1991). La taidora [Soap opera]. Venezuela: Venevision.
Mojares, R. B. (1983). Origins and rise of the Filipino novel: A generic study of the novel until 1940. Quezon City:
University of the Philippines Press.
O’Hara, M. & Red, J. (Directors). (2012). Sa ngalan ng ina [Soap opera]. Philippines: TV5.
Perez, G. G. & Sineneng, J. L. (Directors). (2008). Kahit isang saglit [Soap opera]. Philippines: ABS-CBN, and
Malaysia: Double Vision.
Quintos, R. (Director). (2009). Only you [Soap opera]. Philippines: ABS-CBN.
Ranay, A. & Alejandre, M. (Directors). (2009). Stairway to heaven [Soap opera]. Philippines: GMA Network.
Reyes, F. M. (Director). (2009). Lovers in Paris [Soap opera]. Philippines: ABS-CBN.
Reyes. S. (Ed.) (2000). Aliw: Selected essays on popular culture. Manila: De La Salle University Press.
Reyes, M. A. (Director). (2009). Full house [Soap opera]. Philippines: GMA Network.
Sanchez, L.J. A. (2012). After hallyu: A critico-personal explication of Philippine soap opera culture.
Louie Jon A. Sanchez [Web log]. Retrieved from http://teacherljsanchez.com/2013/01/26/after-
hallyu-a-critico-personal-explication-of-philippine-soap-opera-culture/.Sanchez, L.J. A.. (2013).
Please be careful with my what? Philippines Graphic (February 11), 26-29. Retrieved from at http://
teacherljsanchez.com/2013/01/27/please-be-careful-with-my-what/.
Santos, D., Palo, M., & Villaflor, D. J. (Directors) (2011). Green rose. Philippines: ABS-CBN.
Sevilla, M., Saguin, J. & Cuaresma, D. (Directors). (2011). 100 days to heaven [Soap opera]. Philippines: ABS-
CBN.
Sheridan, B. (Director). (1994) Marimar. [Soap opera]. Mexico: Televisa.
Shim, D., A. Heryanto, & U. Siriyuvasak. (2010). Pop cultural formations across East Asia. Seoul:
Jimoondang.

84 Sanchez• Koreanovelas, Teleseryes, and the “Diasporization” of the Filipino

Tadiar, N.X. M. (2004). Fantasy production: Sexual economies and other Philippine consequences for the New
World Order. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press.
Yeon, S. (Director). (2000-2006). Endless love. [Soap opera]. South Korea: KBS.
Zapata, D., Adalia, K. & Ignacio, L. (Directors). (2005). Ako si Kim Sam Soon [Soap opera]. Philippines: GMA
Network.

Notes
[1] Hallyu is the collective term referring to all forms of Korean popular culture marketed in the
global sphere. This term, also known as “Korean Wave” (Korea.net, n.d., para. 1) is further explained as
“[referring] to the phenomenon of Korean entertainment and popular culture rolling over the world with
pop music, TV dramas, and movies” (para. 1). The term hallyu, the website also adds, “was first coined by
the Chinese press in the late 1990s to describe the growing popularity of Korean pop culture in China”
(para. 1). It has since then taken the world by storm.
[2] The poet, scholar, and critic Virgilio S. Almario, Philippine national artist for literature, has
argued countless times that Philippine culture had reacted vicariously against colonial encroachment
by “naturalizating” colonizing institutions, like literary works. For more of this, the researcher suggests
the reading of his recent book, Ang Tungkulin ng Kritisismo sa Filipinas (2013).
[3] In a period where most teleseryes have been running for months on end, a current exception
to the “rule” is Be Careful with My Heart (Jeturian et al., 2012-present), a morning soap launched in 2012
featuring Jodi Sta. Maria and Richard Yap. Sta. Maria plays a probinsiyana (province lass) who dreams
of becoming a flight attendant, and Yap, the owner of an airline company. Their paths would cross
and intertwine. The soap was phenomenal, despite “backsliding” into the standard Filipino romance
mode; it still runs as of this writing, despite negative public commentary regarding the “padding” of its
storyline. The researcher wrote about the teleserye and its public affect in 2013 for the Philippine Graphic
magazine.
[4] TV5, the network owned by communications mogul Manuel V. Pangilinan, seems to be the
only network showing once-a-week soap operas, reminiscent of the British and American series of past
and present times.
[1] To some extent, this “return of the royals” may be another “backsliding” into the tradition of the
awits and koridos of the Philippine literary yesteryears, where kings and queens, knights and princesses,
and sundry other magical personages thrived. For more about this, please refer to Resil Mojares’s (1983)
study on the Filipino novel.

Louie Jon A. Sanchez teaches literature, popular culture, and writing at the Department of English of
the Ateneo de Manila University, and co-directs the Annual Filipino Poetry Workshop of the Linangan sa
Imahen, Retorika, at Anyo (LIRA). He serves as associate editor of the international journals Kritika Kultura
(Ateneo de Manila University) and Suvannabhumi (Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, Busan University
of Foreign Studies, Republic of Korea). (Corresponding author: [email protected]).

Plaridel • Vol. 11 No. 1 • 2014 85