The Boy from Bantay
Written and performed by Jeremy Rafal; DIrected by Josh Boerman
59 E 59 Theatres | 59 East 59th Street, NY, NY
July 22 - July 24
At one point or another, we have all pondered—perhaps in moments of quiet longing or amidst the noise of daily resignation—what paths our lives might have taken had we dared to follow the persistent murmur of the heart, rather than surrender to the dull weight of circumstance. The Boy from Bantay is, in essence, a luminous exploration of that very question. In this richly woven solo performance, Jeremy Rafal charts a journey not merely across geography—from the sun-drenched provinces of the Philippines to the electrifying sprawl of New York City—but across identity, ambition, and the resilience of the human spirit.
It was some years ago when a dear friend, one of those rare individuals whose theatrical recommendations one heeds without hesitation, urged Jeremy to attend a solo show. Not just any solo show, but one penned and performed by her own acquaintance, an intrepid young Asian actress navigating the artistic and existential labyrinth that is New York City. Jeremy arrived with curiosity; he left utterly transformed. The performance unfolded with such lyrical precision and emotional candor that it lodged itself firmly in his memory, to speak in Jeremy’s musical verbiage, like a melody that haunts long after the final chord.
That singular experience sparked something in him—an enduring fascination with the art of the solo performance. There is, after all, something profoundly courageous in standing alone on a stage and declaring one’s truth. These artists, these solitary conjurors of story and self, bare their souls before a roomful of strangers with astonishing vulnerability. It is theatre at its most distilled and most daring. And so, inspired and emboldened, he began to toy with the idea that perhaps he, too, had stories worth telling.
Time passed. Thoughts became drafts. Drafts became workshops. And eventually, what began as a quiet notion matured into a living, breathing theatrical work: his very own solo show. It found its first public incarnation in 2015 at the New York International Fringe Festival where it was met with warmth, laughter, and the kind of audience engagement that reminds one why we do this at all. Jeremy played at Venue #4 that summer, Spectrum, up a long flight of stairs into someone’s actual apartment at 121 Ludlow Street, retrofitted with theatrical lighting one would find in the average blackbox set-up and at the heart of the performance space, a baby grand. Yet even then, even in those early days, there remained a dream smoldering quietly in the wings: Edinburgh. The grand mecca of fringe theatre. The Festival of Festivals.
Life, as it so often does, had its own plans—diversions, obligations, unexpected chapters. But here we are, ten years later, and this deeply personal offering, after three July performances at 59 East 59th Street Theatres as part of its East to Edinburgh programming, is now at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. It must feel not like a return, but a fulfillment.
Jeremy was born in the Philippines and came of age in the lush cultural mosaic of Hawaii. Ear training at age 7 prompted first music lessons in his native Bantay from Sister Hildegard, “a short stout Filipino woman with a perfectly round head and a resting bitch face.” She is his first meeting with tough love - she will have him use both hands and the correct fingering or she will have him leave their sessions in tears. He began his musical training there, eventually making his way to the prestigious Jacobs School of Music at Indiana University, one of the world’s most venerated institutions for classical piano. Over the years, he has performed, competed, and collaborated across continents.
This solo show is, at its heart, a chronicle of his artistic evolution. From the cartoon-fueled dreams of his childhood (his family was the first in Bantay to get a remote control color TV giving Jeremy and all the neighborhood kids a steady diet of Thundercats, He-Man, and Looney Tunes) to the rigors of conservatory life (on his first day at DePauw University, the RA assumes he’s delivering the Chinese food that was ordered only moments before), from awkward adolescence (worshiping his older brother Carlo - the sun rose and set with him) to creative awakening (learning about classical music from cartoons and prime time dramas), it is a journey rendered through monologue, character work, images, video—and, of course, live piano performance. You’ll encounter an array of characters—family, mentors, oddball acquaintances—each drawn with affection and detail, each shaping the artist he has become. Jeremy gives us exquisite subtleties in the characters: his mom, Juanita, who is the pillar of strength, a woman who supports his musical talents and suffers the loss of two of her beautiful children, the socially awkward Dindo who must tell Jeremy and his mom that Carlo has drowned and then Dindo later as an adult, the charming director of Bantay’s Chamber of Commerce who gives us a Bantay slideshow, photos mostly of Jeremy and his family; his instructors Sister Hildegard, then the pragmatic Mrs. Hirono in Hawaii who explains the difference between practicing Mozart and Chopin, then Dr. Kresh at Jacobs who has to tell Jeremy he failed in his soloist performance of the Brahms First Piano Concerto.
The production’s deployment of vintage technology—most notably a functioning CRT television flickering with animated relics of a bygone era, alongside the warm hum and click of a classic slide projector—imbues the stage with a distinct visual texture and a potent aura of nostalgia. These analog artifacts, far from mere props, serve as evocative portals to the past, anchoring the audience in the tactile, grainy world of the performer's childhood. There is something profoundly affecting in witnessing these once-ubiquitous machines return to life before us; they summon not only a specific historical moment but also the emotional architecture of memory itself. In Jeremy’s hands, these tools transcend their obsolescence, becoming vessels for recollection, imagination, and the quietly throbbing ache of time gone by.
One of the show’s most resonant and recurring stage metaphors is the unrelenting tick of the metronome—a device traditionally associated with discipline and musical precision, here elevated into something far more profound. Initially, it serves as a sonic emblem of the relentless, often isolating hours spent in practice—the mechanical heartbeat underpinning the rigor of Jeremy’s artistic formation. But more than that, it becomes a poignant symbol of time itself: impartial, indifferent, and utterly unyielding. As Jeremy himself muses, “Time moves on with or without you”—a line that recurs throughout the piece, teetering at moments on the edge of overstatement, yet ultimately justified by the emotional terrain it helps unearth. What begins as an external imposition—this ceaseless ticking, this demand to keep pace—gradually evolves into something more intimate and interior. We witness Jeremy’s character arc not only in his shifting relationship to the metronome, but in his broader reckoning with time, memory, and mortality. Rather than resisting its insistence, he learns to confront it, and in doing so, begins to engage more honestly with the grief he had long kept at bay. In the end, the metronome is not simply a theatrical device, but a metaphorical pulse—measuring not just tempo, but transformation.
Though the narrative is distinctly personal, its themes are universal. If you were ever a child; if you ever wrestled with identity, aspiration, or belonging; if music has ever moved you, or memory surprised you, or laughter rescued you—you will find something here. It is a show of humor, of harmony, and of course, heartbreak. Jeremy gives us as the penultimate scene of the play a dream sequence: a conversation with Carlo, catching him up with everything he has missed. “I’m still mad at you for not coming home that day, you know. You promised you’d come back.” It is an expression of love, a haunting one at that…which makes one consider those in our own lives we find ourselves talking to though we know they’re not there. It is a subconscious pushing away of the heartache where there has been no closure.
Jeremy’s is a story told with verve, vulnerability, and artistic clarity—a story that refuses to be silenced, just as its teller refused to forsake his dreams. That Jeremy has chosen to share this journey onstage is a gift to audiences; that he has done so with such eloquence and heart is a testament to the transformative power of theatre.
The Boy from Bantay played its last NYC/ East to Edinburgh performance on July 24.
Presented as part of East to Edinburgh at 59 E 59 Theatres
Performances continue in the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, now through August 16.
Venue: Stephenson Theatre at theSpace @ Surgeons' Hall, Nicolson Street EH8 9DW
To book Edinburgh Fringe tickets, https://www.edfringe.com/
Review by Tony Marinelli.
Published by Theatre Beyond Broadway on August 5, 2025. All rights reserved.