A decade after its film adaptation, Jun Robles Lana’s Anino sa Likod ng Buwan remains urgent and razor-sharp. The passage of time — and our wider exposure to global content — has not diminished the power and intelligence of the script, which Lana wrote at just 20 years old.

Its timeless appeal lies in Lana’s ability to weave tension and psychological warfare into a taut, near-perfect rhythm. With a concise and Pinteresque script, he sets war as the backdrop for an exploration of human frailties, amplified by external atrocities. It feels like a work born from a burst of genius — uninhibited, inspired and never trying too hard.

Set in 1993 Marag Valley, a real-life no man’s land and battleground between the New People’s Army and the Philippine military in the ‘90s, the play introduces three fictional characters: husband and wife Emma and Nardo (Elora Españo and Ross Pesigan) and their unconventional friendship with a soldier, Joel (Martin del Rosario).

Confined to a single setting — a dilapidated nipa hut in the middle of the forest — Lana immediately establishes a chamber drama. He opens the story with symbols that foreshadow its twists: A buck-naked Emma bathing in the night’s scorching heat; a friendly poker game where bluffing, strategy and power dynamics unfold; an insecure comparison of manhood between Nardo and Joel. And then, the looming lunar eclipse, with shadow creeping over Marag Valley, much like the secrets buried beneath the surface.

It’s a sweltering evening, and Emma keeps saying so, fanning herself. But is it just the humid weather? Or is it Joel’s presence — a hot soldier laughing with her homely husband? A soldier with a magnanimous heart, who raids the military pantry just to sneak food to his poor, hungry friends caught in war?

The delicious banter is more than just mindless chatter — it is militaristic in its linguistic strategy, designed to tease out drama, hint at power shifts and inject sociopolitical commentary. Yet, the mix of old-fashioned and contemporary Tagalog — like using maaari ba? in a 1993 setting — feels slightly anachronistic. Still, the language remains crystal clear, accessible and absorbing.

Tuxqs Rutaquio’s direction and set design lean on the actors, as this is, more than anything, a character study. The stage allows for easy movement and blocking, with sparse props: A door, a small table, a bed, a kitchen and a cabinet. One large, gnarly tree stands to the side, further casting shadows on the unraveling taking place inside the hut. The actors also ponder loudly as they look up at an invisible moon that will soon become a blood moon.