A Real-life Scary Movie

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uGHgxh5bRwo

The Philippines has always loved celebrities.

We turn actors into household names, treat television personalities like family, and reward familiarity at the ballot box. In many ways, that is understandable. Filipinos grow up emotionally connected to the faces they watch every night on television. The problem begins when entertainment stops at the campaign stage and quietly follows these personalities into government itself.

Because somewhere along the way, the line between governance and performance started disappearing.

The common defense for electing actors into public office is that intelligence and competence can still come from unconventional backgrounds. And to be fair, that is true. Being an actor does not automatically make someone unqualified for public service. Public office should never belong exclusively to lawyers, economists, or political dynasties.

But the deeper problem in Philippine politics is not simply that actors enter government.

It is that politics itself increasingly starts behaving like show business.

And worse, the actors are not the only ones performing anymore.

Instead of experienced lawmakers and supposedly highly educated officials teaching critical thinking, policy-making, and institutional discipline to their celebrity colleagues, the opposite seems to be happening: the culture of performance spreads across the institution itself. Speeches become theatrical. Hearings become emotionally scripted. Public statements sound written for viral clips instead of national clarity.

The Senate, at times, no longer feels like the country’s highest deliberative body.

It feels like primetime television.

This perception has only intensified recently as political tensions inside the Senate continue dominating headlines. Public frustration has grown over what many Filipinos see as overly dramatic messaging from some senators aligned with the majority bloc, particularly the repeated framing that the “Senate is under attack.” Critics argue that instead of calmly explaining constitutional processes and addressing public concerns directly, some lawmakers appear more focused on creating a dramatic narrative where they play the role of embattled defenders of democracy.

The problem is that the public is no longer automatically buying the script.

Filipinos today are politically exhausted. Inflation, wages, transportation problems, corruption scandals, and institutional distrust have made many people more skeptical of political theater. Emotional speeches and carefully rehearsed outrage no longer guarantee public sympathy the way they once did.

Ironically, some of the clearest symbols of this entertainment-politics crossover can be seen in the Senate itself.

Senator Robin Padilla, currently one of the country’s most recognizable political figures, continued making entertainment appearances even while serving in office, including a cameo in a primetime television action drama. Senator Lito Lapid, another longtime actor-turned-politician, similarly maintained connections to action television projects and film culture throughout his political career.

Again, acting itself is not the issue.

The issue is what happens when political communication begins borrowing too heavily from entertainment logic.

In entertainment, conflict drives ratings. In politics, conflict weakens institutions.

In television dramas, every character must appear heroic, persecuted, or emotionally dominant. In governance, leaders are supposed to explain policies clearly, compromise responsibly, and prioritize facts over spectacle.

But today’s political climate rewards performance. Viral moments spread faster than legislative work. A dramatic speech earns more attention online than a carefully researched policy paper. Outrage trends more easily than competence.

And so the institution adapts.

Some senators now speak less like lawmakers and more like characters protecting their role in an unfolding series finale. Press conferences become episodes. Hearings become cliffhangers. Political alliances shift like changing story arcs. Everyone tries to control the narrative because modern politics increasingly rewards whoever dominates the screen.

The tragedy is that governance suffers when performance becomes the priority.

The Senate was designed to be a chamber of sober deliberation. It was meant to house some of the country’s most capable minds, people trusted to debate national issues with seriousness and intellectual discipline. Instead, public confidence declines whenever lawmakers appear more interested in dramatics than accountability.

And perhaps the most disappointing part is that this culture is contagious.

Actors entering politics did not simply become politicians. Politics itself slowly adopted the habits of entertainment. Even career politicians and educated elites now often communicate like performers chasing applause instead of public servants explaining governance.

That should alarm Filipinos.

Because democracy cannot survive forever as a television genre.

At some point, the country needs leaders who understand that public office is not a role to play. It is a responsibility. The Senate floor is not a soundstage. National crises are not scripts. Citizens are not audiences waiting to be emotionally manipulated between commercial breaks.

Maybe when some of these senators eventually lose their seats, they really should consider enrolling in acting workshops again.

Not because they were actors before politics.

But because after years of turning governance into performance, many Filipinos have realized something uncomfortable:

The government is no place for bad actors.