Mervin Malonzo, of the Tabi Po fame and head of the Haliya Publishing collective, recently made available to the public the animated adaptation of an episode from Ella Arcangel, based on the comics by Julius Villanueva. It is the first episode of Volume One, titled Oyayi sa Dilim [Lullaby in the Dark]. Story starts by introducing Jepoy, a boy living in a slum community looking for his lost dog Wayti. When he finds her, Wayti is weak and reduced to skin and bones. He brings her home, and along with his younger sisters Betbet and Janice discovers a black creature sucking from her breasts. The parasitic creature realizing it is exposed, bites Jepoy’s fingers, then rushes to find a new host. It was able to quickly crawl and latched on to their mother, then cooking in their single-room and dark shanty. She grabs a knife and start threatening her children whom she no longer recognize. They rush out carrying Wayti without causing much of a commotion in their neighborhood. Jepoy and his siblings sleep in an abandoned jeepney for the night.
Panel from the comics by Julius Villanueva
In the morning Jepoy wakes up to the sound of his sisters sharing their experience to Ella, much to his dismay. Ella, a peculiar kid in Jepoy’s class, immediately asks if he’s missing school even if the answer is apparent. The no nonsense Ella is the grand daughter of a mambabarang (translated as sorcerer) whose skills was passed down to her. She appears to be the only one who can help them. Jepoy is adamant. Ella responds that if you go to ‘proper’ authorities, things could go badly. The police could arrest their mother, or worse. The siblings will be separated and taken into custody of the social welfare services. Jepoy is disheartened as he remembers the standard response and prospects relating to domestic violence in their community, he however remains sceptical. Ella then puts him into a trance showing the different creatures and elements in their neighborhood–a lot of Easter eggs for fans of the books. Ella goes home with them and performs the exorcism. Removing the creature feeding on their mother as well as releasing the guilt she harbors.
When I read the books by Villlanueva, I already considered it as revolutionary, in both content and form. This adaptation takes this to another level. I honestly have not seen a lot of Filipino animation. I heard about Urduja (Reggie Entienza, and RPG Metanoia (Luis Suarez, 2010) but personally haven’t seen them. Gawad CCP Para sa Alternatibong Pelikula at Video Festival has been going on for a while and has an animation category but the products rarely reach the provinces (I live in Iloilo). It was a great choice to release Oyayi sa Dilim to the public during lockdown, and reach a wider audience (it started as a pay per view on Haliya’s website). Like most people of my pre-internet generation, I was fed with animation either from the US or Japan. Materials that are extremely entertaining but also ‘safe’ and foreign, not to mention currencies of soft power for these countries (see Tolentino 1997, 1998). In Ella Arcangel we see poverty depicted with nuances and unsentimental, a quality that is rare even in indie film productions that often border on poverty porn. Films that are again usually beyond the reach audiences outside Manila or of major regional cities. In recent years, there has been barely any local productions specifically targeted for children. Sadly I have to realize this when reviewing the career of Peque Gallaga when he passed away early May this year. Gallaga was one of the few directors who truly recognized the potential of genre film-making. Growing up, I loved Batang X (1995) and Magic Temple (1996), also Romy Suzara’s Kokey (1997). The child in me didn’t care if these were rip offs from foreign (meaning Hollywood) materials.
What passes for child-friendly viewing the past few years are the Vice Ganda or Vic Sotto ensemble comedy films during the Metro Manila Film Festival. These are formulated with the greatest common denominator appeal; throw in witty and rising child stars, a teenage love team for a romance subplot, and top-billed by a veteran comedian to take helm of the narrative and punchlines. Whether or not pampamilya is the same as child-friendly is open to debate. It must be asserted as well that this lack of animations and child-friendly texts are symptoms of a deeper underdevelopment where cultural industries are dwarfed by flooding of foreign materials, facilitated by a government that doesn’t recognize the role of culture for nation-building. It is too easy to blame Filipino audiences and use the essentialist ‘colonial-mentality’ card. After all ‘taste’ is built on top of access and surplus time and money.
Impressively, Ella Arcangel though told in the grammar of fantasy and horror, also confronts these structural contradictions. We see slums instead of furnished middle class homes. Domestic violence or abandonment instead of extended family bliss. Following Bliss Lim Cua (2009), discussing Gallaga’s Ang Madre episode in Shake Rattle and Roll IV (1992), we also see vulnerable people stuck in the spaces neither here nor there of the city and the rural, whose superstition is chastise by modern and bourgeois logic but ultimately reproduces it as well through class dispossession. Stories like Oyayi sa Dilim will always gain resonance, Malonzo argues in an interview, because aswangs and monsters are part of the Filipino psyche. It should be added that these paranormal incidents are also social idioms (see Pertierra 1983) conveying collective anxiety in uncertain periods, made glaring by the lack of institutional safety nets. Alleged aswang sightings in Lapuz, a working class district in Iloilo City amidst a pandemic is just another example.
This is a passion project. Done on the side in the span of three years, family members were recruited as talents, and leaves a lot to be desired on certain aspects (especially the audio). This animation however is also part of a long tradition of ‘vanity’ projects that needed to be done, because some things needed to be said. Jose Rizal and Lino Brocka, to name two, did it during their time. Art works that entertain and mirrors the historical moment, but also provokes and interrogates what could be. In Oyayi sa Dilim, horror is countered with wonder.
The folks from Haliya Publishing are to be watched out for. My biggest hopes of course are for their amazing works being more affordable and reaching a wider audiences especially in the provinces. This online animation is not blanket solution but it is a step towards greater possibilities.
Contrast of slums and the Manila skyline in Ella Arcangel and BuyBust (Erik Matti, 2018). My thoughts on Erik Matti’s noir film here.
Postscript:
I am reminded by two works while watching the episode and writing this piece.
First is the poem Ang dapat paniwalaan by Jose F. Lacaba
Siya’y pinalaki ng lolang palakuwento,
kaya sa pagtulog ay lagging kasiping
ang kapre, tikbalang multo at maligno,
sanlibo’t isang panggabing pangitain.
Itinuro sa kanya ng butihing lola
(kasabay ng katon) ang lahat ng dasal,
antanda sa Latin, senyas at pangontra
sa kapangyarihan ng aswang at kulam.
Subalit pagpasok sa unibersidad,
nang ang kanyang lola’y matagal nang patay,
natutuhan din niya kung ano ang dapat
paniwalaang ng isang edukado:
na ang dapat niyang katakutan ay tao,
at sa tao’y hindi dasal ang panlaban.
And the other one is Leoncio P. Deriada’s story The Dog Eaters, which has also been adapted into comics by the artist Electromilk, available in full here.
Oyayi sa Dilim available in full, with subtitles, here.
Resources:
Rolando B. Tolentino’s “Hysteria: Japanese Children’s Television in the Philippines” (1997) and “Sovereignty: Japanese Animation and Filipina Comfort Women” (1998), in Keywords: Essays on Philippine Media Cultures and Neocolonialisms. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 2016.
Lim, Bliss Cua’s “The Fantastic as Temporal Translation: Aswang and Occult National Times” In Translating Time: Cinema, The Fantastic, and Temporal Critique. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 2011.
Regal Entertainment, Inc. has been uploading older Shake, Rattle, and Roll as well as other film in their official YouTube channel here.
Haliya Publishing official website. Mervin Malonzo’s Art & Books Store website here.
Interview about the making of Oyayi sa Dilim here.
I only recently got the opportunity to watch Raya Martin’s adaptation for F.H. Batacan’s Smaller and Smaller Circles (SSC) because TBA studios upload the full film in their YouTube channel. It is a part of the efforts of making available films, and other materials, in the lockdown period brought about the pandemic. It was an eerie viewing experience. I immediately remembered J. Moufawad-Paul’s remark, talking about the 2016 reboot, that there can be no X-Files after Snowden. Is there room for a police procedural film in the time of Duterte?
Story of two Jesuit priests and forensic experts, Father Agusto Saenz (Nonie Buencamino) and Father Jerome Lucero (Sid Lucero), as they help, or at least try to, solve the series of murders of young boys in Payatas. They assert that it is a work of a serial killer, a thesis not taken seriously by the official authorities. The film follows them in pursuit or being blocked in the examining table, police headquarters, politicians’ homes, among others. In the end, they were able to set their eyes on the killer and his capture, only to be frustrated once more as they stare at the expanse of a bigger fabric of personalities and institutions sustaining impunity.
Even when reading the book, I always felt the characters to be not exactly larger than life but rather forced variations on the general conventions of the noir genre, of which critics claim to be the first in the country. I don’t think enough contextualization has been dedicated to how characters came to be professionally or what led them to the situation they find themselves in.
The dynamic between them is barely noticeable as they interchange the roles of not quiet impulsive and not quiet sober-headed. Foreign critics slammed the film for being too slow. I partially agree, mostly because slow-paced unfolding doesn’t necessarily mean poor tension. Unfortunately in this case, it does. I will discuss my thoughts on the form more below.
Saenz and Lucero are intellectuals moving among intellectuals. The murders of poor children, the serial killer, and Payatas is a backdrop barely making it into the story. Noteworthy for me is the politics of language in Philippine cinema, as exemplified in the film. As Nick Deocampo (2011) puts forward in his magisterial work on Philippine film history, language has always been a conscious carrier of meaning, on and off screen.
Earliest films shown in the country were dubbed or subtitled in Spanish. Actors with mixed backgrounds (especially Filipino-American) used Spanish stage names or surnames. Comedian often use local sounding names (Palito, Babalu, Pugo and Togo). In the recent years, Anglo and Chinese screen names were also made acceptable. (see Hau 2014)
In terms of characterization; speaking English is a indication of class and sophistication, speaking Tagalog depicts belonging to the lower class, and regional languages or regional accents convey naivete and backwardness. We could keep going on this topic. There’s also gay-lingo, conyo-English, street slang Tagalog, etc.
The film is an adaption for a book in English, the writers, Moira Lang and Ria Limjap, decided to stick with retaining around 85% of the dialogue in English. I think mostly because it is fairly accurate. There’s even a scene where Saenz speaks French to Joanna (Carla Humphries). Not exactly sure why someone who was trained in the Institut de Paléontologie Humaine is working as a beat reporter in Manila. Again, a little bit more background would have been helpful.
The main characters only speak Filipino in their moments of candidness or discomposure, or when communicating to the lower classes. An entire class being able to enter, and decide the fate of, the world below them but not vice versa. The entire film needs to be watched with subtitles. There are even instances when the spoken (Filipino) English doesn’t match the (global/art-house film festival circuits) English subtitles.
Though becoming more inaccessible, I still consider movies as a mass art. Adapting a English language novel would mean bringing it to a wider audience. I don’t think it is true in this case. And for target audience made up of urban, college-educated, petty-bourgeois, the message is pretty grim. In an intricate social system of exclusion, all you are left with is melancholia and helplessness. Another layer of irony is knowing that you have far more similarities to the mutilated boys in the dumpsite than to the priests turned sleuths whose biggest frustration is redtape. This is also the impression of the book Manila Noir (2013), which contains a sequel short story from Batacan, on me. (See Mojares, 2017)
Is there no room or hope for Filipino Film Noir? In this case we should bare in mind the transnational flows in both the source material and adaptation. Batacan wrote the book in 2002 to critical acclaim and it was later expanded in for Soho Press in 2016. Batacan is currently based in Singapore. I don’t think Raya Martin ever did a ‘mainstream’ film before. He has received awards and nominations in several countries and has been worked in Spanish and Mexican productions. SSC, as some of the points enumerated above, is not made for the general Filipino viewing public. But the same time, it is of course too simplistic to disregard it as foreign, or exclusively caters to foreign gazes.
Following Laikwan Pang’s discussion of New Asian Cinemas and the use of, excessive violence in the films of Park Chan-wook and Miike Takashi or inversely the ‘calmness’ substituting raw violence in the films of Hou Hsiao-hsien and Kore’eda Hirokazu, aren’t easily questions of exoticism. It is both a marketing and creative choice; to pike interest in foreign audiences as well as to interrogate contradiction in their own societies.
Laying bare this oscillation between internal critique and external markets, I would like to draft a genealogy of Filipino film noir, arguing that SSC is part of a relatively long tradition, or attempts, of telling local stories through a foreign form. This is in no way a gesture of condescension, to both the filmmakers and writers or audiences, but rather a method of expanding our lenses to view the limits as well as the potentials of noir.
If there a single director who consistently introduced noir elements into Philippine cinema, it would be Mike de Leon. It should be pointed out of course that de Leon only made a handful of films. I think because of their domestic settings, Itim (1977) and Kisapmata (1981) is categorized as gothic rather than noir. Even agitprop Sister Stella L. (1984) could be considered noir, as labor unrest and it suppression is also a subject of noir films. In the a more meta reign, Bayaning Third World (2000) with its historical interrogations fits easily into the conventions of the form. I am unfortunately yet to watch Citizen Jake (2018). Relating to efforts of indigenizing the form, two of de Leon’s films stand out; Kakabakaba Ka Ba? (1980) and Batch ‘81 (1982).
Kakabakaba Ka Ba? tells the story of a group of friends caught in a clash of completing drug-peddling gangs, one Chinese and the other Japanese. The wacky chase culminates in an underground drug laboratory beneath a church, as the Roman Catholic church is revealed to be the distributor of opium processed into hostia. The over the top dark humor in feels like an outgrowth and critique of campy bakbakan films, as well as integrating local fascination with Hollywood musicals and the then fad of teenage brat pack adventures. This ambition however, contributed to lukewarm box-office performance during its time.
The persistence, if not the consolidation, of the feudal and neocolonial order in the country over the years, however has made the film remain shocking and playful to this day (see Sangil 2010). This lasting freshness, is also found in Batch ‘81, which I think is de Leon’s best film. Story of neophytes undergoing dehumanization through a fraternity initiation is juxtaposed with the violence and blind obedience of the Marcos rule. Unlike Sister Stella L which was very careful in dodging the ire of censors, Batch 81 actually had an insinuation against the regime. In famous electrocution session, a frat officer ask, “Has Martial Law done good to the country?” The neophyte in the hot seat has passed out and couldn’t answer.
This template of a ‘universal’ story, sprinkled with local linkages makes these films subversive to this day. This is what SSC lacks. You have good material, abuse and silences in institutions both secular and religious, but not enough elements tie it to its sociocultural and historical context. There is one scene where Lucero lectures very briefly about EDSA, but the scene seems expendable. The story basically could come from any other postcolonial (especially Spanish colonialism) post-authoritarian (especially US-backed proxies) country that shares the woes of the Philippines, namely countries in Latin America.
This hesitation of admitting local signifiers is similarly found in the recent crimes dramas of Erik Matti; On the Job (2013), Honor Thy Father (2015), and BuyBust (2018). OTJ has ambition not just to make a statement but also reinvigorate the bakbakan genre, this time borrowing heavily from Hong Kong action cinema. There was even a brief argument about its nomination as the country’s official Oscar entry. OTJ was snubbed by the Film Academy of Philippines, and Matti asserts that this was done because they didn’t want to worse the image of the country already in bad light internationally by the pork barrel scam controversy. Beyond industry politics, I think the main weakness of the OTJ, for a film tackling about inmates working as hired assassins, it chose to remain silent on the largest target of politically motivated hit jobs, activists and organizers. This is a very glaring omission. What comes out is just gritty spectacle of hopelessness for the poor, made to look as passive subjects with no choice but to accept their fate.
This level of despair is brought to new heights with the Duterte-era, BuyBust. The masses are not exactly passive but they are also preservers of their own self-interests. The over the top and stylized violence, inspired according to some by success of The Raid films (Gareth Evans, 2011 & 2014), ends with an on the nose preaching of a drug lord how they are all clogs in a machine, a cynical view probably already shared by middle-class audience before they watch the film. More vulgar than OTJ, but not as well crafted, BuyBust is both poverty and violence porn. This is basically an enlargement of the visceral spectacle of Brilliante Mendoza’s Kinatay (2009).
These considered, I think Matti’s best film is Honor Thy Father, as it depicts the void that is chasing after middle class aspirations. Story of a family involved and later blamed for a pyramiding scam, Edgar (John Lloyd Cruz) decides to take matters into his own hands, revealing and tapping into his criminal past. We see individuals seeing through the facade of institutions (church, community, etc), and people fighting for their little place of the earth. There is a bit of exoticism in the mining scenes, but it is overtaken by the high tension heist narrative, rooted by the emotional stakes of defending the family unit. Again, no direct political statements, but strong characters and world building. Like I’ve mentioned, Saenz and Lucero have very little at stake in SSC. There is no big reveal because the killer is completely absent, aside from a few episodes of attacks. In the climax you are made to listen to a confession of a stranger somehow made more strange as he reveals his past and motivations
.
As I tackled de Leon and Matti, I determined two elements I look for that will, I believe, help make the form more palatable to Filipino audiences; social contextualization that could be direct or indirect, and good characterization with clear personalities that are more than the black and white heroes and villains of the bakbakan film. I think we have to go back to Lino Brocka to illustrate finest examples of these. As a master of melodrama, Brocka’s films are seldom seen as noir mostly because violence is well integrated into the narrative, primarily working in this template; physical/external violence bursting because of characters filled to the brim by emotional/internal violence. (see Tolentino 2014)
The presentation of this internal violence is smoothly intersectional very few filmmaker were able to replicate since. Overlapping contradictions of class and poverty [Kapit sa Patalim (1984), Jaguar (1979)], gender and patriarchy [Insiang (1976), Bona (1980), Hahamakin ang Lahat (1990)], rural-urban or center and margins divide [Maynila sa Mga Kuko ng Liwanag (1975), Cain at Abel (1982), Ina Kapatid Anak (1979)], and even morality especially Catholic hypocrisy [Tinimbang Ka Ngunit Kulang (1974), Bukas, Madilim, Bukas (1974)].
I think two of his best noir films are Maynila sa Kuko ng Liwanag and what I consider to be its sexually bolder compliment film, Macho Dancer (1988). Here we have probinsyanos on a quest into the underbelly of the capital to look for a sweetheart or simply a job. Both are exposed to horrors behind the flashy facade of urban life, as they aspire for elusive personal happiness, it ends into violent confrontations and frustrations. Julio (Bembol Roco) was ganged up on by passers by as he fled from murdering the Chinese businessman Ah Tek (Tommy Yap) who kept his lover Ligaya (Hilda Koronel) as a slave, meanwhile Pol (Allan Paule) was able to leave the city after killing the crooked cop who murdered his friend Noel (Daniel Fernando).
Brocka transcended his previous works, with his most overtly political film Orapronobis (1989). Story of an ex-priest and political detainee Jimmy (Philip Salvador) released after Marcos was toppled by the EDSA people power. He navigates post-authoritarian life by giving civil society a chance, advocating for human rights instead of revolution. He is eventually tapped to join a fact-finding mission to Santa Filemona, a barrio terrorized by state-backed vigilantes.There he meets a former lover Esper (Gina Alajar) and his son. He helps the community flee, only for them to be stalked by terror into the city. As dead bodies mount, Jimmy’s middle class aspirations are shattered.
Orapronobis is Brocka in top form. Contradictions unfolded smoothly, set side by side are past and present, city and countryside, civil society and revolution. Jimmy is overwhelmed but does not wallow in despair, as he decides to take up again the larger cause for social change. A French production that was slipped into Cannes, President Aquino was furious and had it banned for its subversive message. Critics say it only affirmed Brocka’s point. The film has then become a favorite among radical circles. For me, this is the best formula for a successful adaptation of noir; upfront context and statement, well defined stakes of characters, and lastly characters looking beyond their selves and taking on the challenge to disrupt the order that produces the permutations of hardships depicted in noir. (see Beller 2006)
Noir as form came about and developed in a particular political economic context, specifically early 20thcentury USA. A time of massive urbanization and industrialization, as well as higher literacy and purchasing power of the general public. If noir is to be adapted, one cannot disregard the political economic of the Philippines; economically underdevelopment, run by a political oligarchy sustained feudal land arraignments and neocolonial ties, and the promise of middle-class life is through the risks of labor export. A new generation exposed, if not over-saturated, to international films and texts might feel repulsed, but we need to go back to formulas that work, mostly based on Spanish theatrical forms, and push these conventions to their full potential. At their best, Brocka, de Leon, and Matti know this. (see Tiongson 1983)
I may not have enjoyed SSC as much as others had, but I am thankful for its creation, and greatly respect the risks the artists took to have it done. It showed that the procedural is not impossible in Filipino film, and I hope others get inspired. It will be an uphill challenge considering how much abuses and irregularities are being exposed daily perpetuated by state forces. It will take a lot of suspension of disbelief to pull it off. Batacan already knows how to work around it, having someone not linked to the authorities directly, hence priests as protagonists. But as I mentioned, in this case, they were too detached.
One person to look out for is Mikhail Red, especially his film Birdshot (2016). Another filmmaker with a global audience that carefully utilizes local materials so as not to alienate Filipino viewers.Dead Kids (2019) was a bit underwhelming, and I have yet to see Neomanila (2017). Another great noir film I’ve seen in recent years is Madilim Ang Gabi (2017) by Adolfo Alix Jr. about how society’s underbelly sucks back people who want to leave it. I honestly haven’t reconciled the fact that he would direct the action biopic/campaign ad Bato: The Gen. Ronald Dela Rosa Story (2019), about the life of one of the architects of the present drug war.
One foreign model of noir I greatly admire is the Netflix series Cuatro estaciones en La Habana [Four Seasons in Havana] from 2016, based on the books of Leonardo Padura. We have equal amounts of police work, interrogations of Cuban society and history, and well crafted characters in a nuanced depiction of a place that always had contested representations in global media. Being a former colony, and now perceptual enemy, of the US, noir fiction is actually pretty big on the island nation, with Daniel Chavarria as another consistent bestseller in recent years. I prefer this show, over Narcos (2015-17) which I haven’t seen for its obvious gaze-y if not exploitation of drug wars as a marketing device.
Noir has so much potential, as asserted by Fredric Jameson on his book on Raymond Chandler, because it contrasts the worlds of different classes and groups into one narrative and fabric. What is to be done to resolve the disruption of its smooth operation is a laying bare of antagonisms for political reflection and mobilization. Another layer of Filipino noir, based on the examples I discussed, is the global frame. These are not just stories we tell ourselves, but also how we see ourselves in the world. As the present regime takes darker and darker turns, recognizing that drafting resolutions to overlapping crises is a task not only reserved for filmmakers but for everyone.
Talk shows in Smaller and Smaller Circles and Orapronobis, facades of civility.
Smaller and Smaller Circles full movie available here.
Sources:
Beller, Jonathan. 2006. Directing the Real: Orapronobis against Philippine Totalitarianism. In Acquiring Eyes: Philippine Visuality, Nationalist Struggle and The World Media-System, pp. 133-162 Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press. Entire available here. Orapronobis full movie available here.
Deocampo, Nick. 2011. Film: American Influences on Philippine Cinema. Manila: Anvil Publishing, Inc.
Hau, Caroline S. 2014. The Chinese Question: Ethnicity, Nation, and Region in and Beyond the Philippines. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press.
Mojares, Resil. 2017. Is There A Philippine Noir? In Interrogations in Philippine cultural history : the Ateneo de Manila lectures, pp. 113-126.Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press.
Sangil, Anne Frances N. 2010. Satire and Social Activism as Subversion in Mike de Leon’s Kakabakaba Ka Ba? and Sister Stella L. In Spirituality and the Filipino Film, pp. 86 -104. Manila: Communication Foundation for Asia.
Tiongson, Nicanor. 1983. From Stage to Screen: Philippine Dramatic Traditions and the Filipino Film. In Readings in Philippine Cinema (edited by Rafael Ma. Guerrero), Quezon City: Experimental Cinema o the Philippines.
Tolentino, Rolando B. 2014. Contestable Nation-Space: Cinema, Cultural Politics, and Transnationalism in the Marcos-Brocka Philippines. Quezon City:The University of the Philippines Press.
When the national lockdown started in mid-March, it was evident that people’s anxieties were at peak levels brought about by a pandemic reaching the country’s shores. One that has been downplayed by government agencies and President Duterte himself. Just like in neighboring countries; schools were closed, ‘non-essential’ jobs halted operations, public transport was banned, among other efforts to contain the pandemic. Online, specifically social media sites, people tried to make sense of the country standing still. Cultural workers, and creatives in general, got into creating and sharing lockdown diaries; what books they read, what films they watched, and what routines inside their respective homes kept them sane, as numbers of deaths and infected rise coupled with cases of government ineptitude and abuses one after the other.
After a few weeks, a general consensus formed in these circles, people got strained or ran out of things to say. Activities in these groups slowed down, you can only express your outrage and uncertainties in so many ways. Kamusta Kayo? Naratibo ng Kababaihang Magbubukid Ngayong Pandemya is a zine that is an alternative to this creative dead end. When the lockdown was imposed, the Amihan National Federation of Peasant Women and Rural Women Advocates (RUWA) instead started INA.aruga, an online forum with the aim to gather narratives and testimonies of women and mothers in the countryside and how the pandemic affected their livelihoods and day to day lives. Prepared by the feminist publisher Gantala Press, the zine was launched online last June 10 and a digital copy can be acquired after a donation has been made to Amihan. All proceed will to go to efforts in helping families in Samar trying to get back on their feet after Typhoon Ambo. While all were preoccupied with the virus, the said tropical storm reached signal no. 3 and ravaged the eastern part of the country in mid-May.
artwork by Marc Cosico
The introductions by Zenaida Soriano from Amihan and Rae Rival from RUWA provide a concise situationer of rural women in the different parts of the country. I will no longer get into the details of the events of since the lockdown, primarily because it is public knowledge. Noteworthy is how the introductions frame the previous devastating experiences of farming and fisherfolk communities put them at a greatly disadvantaged position to face a public health crisis. Some of these include intensified militarization of the countryside, predatory land conversion, implementation of the Rice Liberalization Law (RA 11203) and the resulting plunge of prices, and lack of decent irrigation facilities which makes the worsening heat of the summer months more grim.
Impressive also is how comprehensive the calls of the mass organizations are. They range from immediate and local (proper and transparent distribution of aid, efficient systems of travel for food, free mass testing) to long-term and global (food security as a target through strengthening of the National Food Authority, pushing for genuine land distribution, and stopping the continued disastrous liberalization of agriculture). These prepositions would be substantiated by voices of actual peasant women and mothers. The testimonies in Filipino were partly edited or shortened for clarity. All translations into English are mine.
Most testimonies are a paragraph or so, some are simple answers to a set of questions, and one poem. They were able to collect, in varying numbers, from the areas or provinces of Cagayan, Isabela, Tarlac, Bataan, Cavite, Laguna, Batangas, Rizal, Oriental Mindoro, Bicol, Panay, and Bohol. This not exactly nation-wide, but still a large coverage for a panoramic perspective. Art works and comics by Yssa Brila, Marc Cosico (who also did the cover), Faye Cura with coloring by Angeli Lacson, and Je Malazarte divide the sections.
artwork by Yssa Brila
The most prominent concern among those included in the zine is suspension of livelihoods or fear of completely losing it. People are not allowed to leave their houses so they can’t sell their crops in the market. Some can’t work in the fields at all. The limiting of movement is imposed by presence of the police and the military guided by poorly planned policies not foreseeing the effects of disrupting the movement of goods on small food producers. Virginia Edamag from Cagayan shares her family’s predicament, “Mahirap ang kalagayan namin noong nagsimula ang lockdown dahil hindi naman kami makalabas upang maghanap ng kabuhayan lalo at istrikto sila rito sa amin. Tuloy-tuloy pa rin naman naming inaasikaso ang aming bukid ngunit wala naman kaming mapagbentahan ng aming ani.’Yung pinagbebentahan namin ay hindi rin naman pinapayagang lumabas upang mamili.” [Our situation have been very difficult since the start of the lockdown because we can’t leave the house and work especially since they are strict in our place. We can keep taking care of our plots but we have nowhere to sell our harvest. Our supposed customers can’t buy from us because they can’t leave their homes as well.] Families resort to planting vegetables for subsistence, but admit that the set-up won’t last if the lockdown drags on.
Tomatoes were dumped at the roadsides in Nueva Vizcaya and Ifugao while other tomatoes are being given for free by farmers. Photo courtesy of Adrian Albano, Ifugao Highland Farmers’ Forum, from inquirer.net
That being said great detail comes into talking about government aid, lack thereof, it not being enough, or its delayed release. Virginia Lugares from Isabela says, “Nagbibigay naman ang LGU ng relief kada 5-7 araw. Pero kulang sa amin ang relief lalo na at walong tao kami sa isang pamilya.” [The LGU does provide relief packages every 5-7 days. But it is not enough in our case since there are eight of us in our family.] Virginia Duaman from the same province, “Ang kinakain naman ngayon ay mga relief goods na binibigay gaya ng sardinas at noodles, at tanim naming gulay. Dalawang linggo na ang lockdown bago nabigay ng 3 kilo ng bigas at dalawang sardinas ang LGU. Tatlong wave na ang naibigay. Nakakatulog din sa pang-araw-araw ang mga relief, pero kulang.” [What we have been eating recently are from the relief goods given to us like sardines and noodles, also vegetables we planted ourselves. It was already two weeks of lockdown before they gave 3 kilos of rice, two cans of sardines. Three waves have since been distributed. It is a big help in our day to day, but it is not enough.] Scarlett Andulan from Bataan is frustrated, “Saan makakaabot ang 3 kilong bigas, 3 sardinas, at 1 Payless? Paano po ang gatas ng aking anak?” [How far can 3 kilos of rice, 3 cans of sardines, and 1 pack of Payless noodles go? How about my child’s milk?] Many cases of technicalities also prevented people from receiving aid, like those already included in the 4Ps program or households with senior citizens. There were also instances of patronage politics in the baranggay level, from the aid having taken several cuts by the time it reaches people to names being completely taken out of lists of supposed beneficiaries.
Only poem in the whole zine. Gantala Press previously published a book of poems by peasant women.
Since these options don’t work, people resort to borrowing to the neighboring tiangge. There is something touching about neighbors understanding each other situations but, as respondents acknowledge, debts can’t pile up forever. If they need money for other expenses, some turn to loan sharks and extended family. An important response is in grassroots organizing from coordinating donations from private individuals and organizations to setting up and running community kitchens. An exceptional case is by the members of Kalipunan ng mga Lehitimong Magsasaka at Mamamayan ng Lupang Ramos (KASAMA-LR), a peasant group in Cavite whose narratives Gantala Press previous collected and published. Miriam Villanueva asserts, “Kailangan gumawa ng paraan ang samahan para hindi magutom ang 120 pamilyang kasapi. Kailangang magplano ng mga pagkilos para hingin ang dapat ay sa amin, lalo pa ang P6,500 na magmumula sa DSWD at ayuda mula sa DA. Nagsumba kami sa bukid sa likod ng mga plakard, nagtirik kami ng mga kandila kasabay ng mga panalangin at nag-noise barrage kami sa mga pintuan ng bahay; ang resulta nakarating sa lahat ng aming kasapi ang P6,500, kung meron mang hindi nabigyan walang iba ito kundi ang mga lider ng samahan at isa ako dun.” [The collective had to find a way so that our membership of 120 families won’t go hungry. Mobilizations had to be done to demand what is rightfully ours, especially the P6,500 coming from DSWD and the aid from the DA. We danced in the fields behind placards, we lighted candles while praying, we did a noise barrage from the doorsteps of our homes; the result is all our members received the P6,500, if there are those who didn’t get it, it is no other than the leaders of the collective and I am one of those.]
Barangay Langkaan I or simply Lupang Ramos, disputed land in Dasmariñas, Cavite. Photo by Justin Umali. More information here.
Nanay Susan adds, “Ang samahan ang nahihingahan namin ng problema at napagsasabihan, malaking tulong ito sa akin.” [The collective is our place of reprieve from problems as well as a venue for raising concerns, it is a great help to me.] Organizing efforts like these around the country are routinely subject to harassment and red-tagging, and even killing of leaders as the case of Jory Porqia in Iloilo attest. Local leaders of Amihan from chapters in Bicol and Panay are unsurprisingly more articulate about the situation but it is apparent that it is grounded on the experiences and struggles of their communities. This passionate candidness is a breath of fresh air when juxtaposed to the technical language and figures of official state announcements.
artwork by Je Malazarte
Aside from the day to day efforts for survival, one can also glimpse the internal making sense of the pandemic through the testimonies. Many have very broad understandings of the pandemic; it is a deadly disease and that is all there is to it. One of the questions asked is Ano ang pagkakaunawa niyo sa COVID-19? [What is your understanding of COVID-19?] Here are some responses. Weng Tanya from Tarlac, “Isang nakakatakot na sakit.” [A frightening disease.] Russel Hopio from Cavite, “Virus na hindi dapat isawalang-bahala dahil ito ay kumikitil ng buhay.” [A virus that shouldn’t be taken lightly because it is deadly.] Gretchen Piamonte from Laguna, “Ang COVID-19 ay nakakatakot na virus na puwedeng ikamatay. Dahil sa kanya ay nagbago ang takbo ng buhay ng bawat tao. Nawa ay mawala na si COVID-19 para maging maayos at maging normal na ang lahat.” [COVID-19 is a dreadful and deadly virus. Because of it, the lives of each and everyone has changed. I hope COVID-19 will be gone soon so that order can be restored and things could return to normal.] No cares if it was from a person eating a bat or if it came out from a military lab, if it’s a geopolitical maneuver or a biblical prophesy being fulfilled, and other permutations of conspiracy theories that proliferate online. People want to go back to normal even if that normal means barely getting by.
Many are were expecting doctors and medical personnel to visit their communities but anxious to see soldiers in camouflage instead. This dread is intensified by reports of violence, arrests, or death to quarantine violators. Reactions from the members of KASAMA-LR are revealing. Nanay Venus said, “Paano ko susundin ang mga batas na ipinatutupad sa panahon na ito at paano rin kung hindi ko masunod o malabag ito ng isa sa aking pamilya – ano ang mangyayari sa amin at saan kami dadalhin kung kami ay paparusahan? Halimbawa, nakalimot akong magsuot ng face mask paglabas ng bahay o nakaiwan ako ng quarantine pass at nahuli ako, ikukulong, pagmumultahin e wala ngang kinikita. Ewan!” [How am I supposed to follow laws implemented at this time and what happens if I or a family of mine fail to do so – what will happen to us and where will they take us to be punished? For example, I forgot to wear a face mask when I leave the house or if I left behind my quarantine pass and I got caught, I’ll be detained in prison, I’ll be made to pay a fine even when I’m not earning anything! I don’t know!]
Nanay Babylyn shares, “Taning umaasa kami sa aming samahan at pagkakaisang labanan ang COVID-19 dahil napakalabo ng plano ng gobyerno sa amin. Ang alam lang nila ay manakot at ituring na ang lahat ng taong lumalaban sa karapatan ay NPA.” [We are all putting our faith in our collective in uniting to fight COVID-19 because government plans for us are so vague. All they are good at is making threats and consider anyone fighting for their rights as NPA] The late night mix of rants and gibberish of President Duterte, or its relay the next morning, does not provide comfort at all. Many don’t understand a pandemic but have lived through Martial Law. The chilling effects of mere talks, or treats, of its declaration bothers many. Nanay Tess declares, “Napapamura na lang din ako ‘pag nagsasalita si Duterte sa presscon. Di ba virus ang kalaban natin? Bakit may mga baril? Ano nga ba ang puntirya: virus o NPA?” [I end up cursing myself whenever Duterte speaks at presscons. Isn’t our enemy a virus? Why take out guns? Who exactly is the target: the virus or the NPA?]
artwork by Marc Cosico
Domestic tensions also gets shared or mentioned a couple of times. Women often stay and deal with chores or looking after infants or kids not school. It is the peak of summer and cramped housing arraignments is an added problem. While men look for gigs and day jobs, or resort to begging, women are left worrying what can happen to them. Some expressed fears of being pregnant or giving birth at this time. The elderly, helping extended households get by, worry of their maintenance medication running out. There is no mention of domestic violence in the zine but official reports paint a grim picture of rising incidents in the country.
The zine is concluded by an essay on food revolution by Nona Andaya-Castillo and a short recipe for atsara by Mabi David. Andaya-Castillo asserts that the pandemic is an ample time to reflect on unhealthy and profit driven food production systems in the world. By taking efforts of sustainable organic farming seriously can we stay healthier during this pandemic, and beyond. David meanwhile shares a simple and cheap recipe of food preserving to help people get by, as well as a healthier alternative to canned goods and instants noodles. I greatly appreciate these essays as they position organic food diets and vegetarianism not as lifestyle choices for the affluent, but urgent concerns for the community as a whole, with sociopolitical repercussions beyond health matters.
This is where the zine ends. All those in 50 pages or so. A conclusion I can recommend is a call to cultural workers, and anyone willing, to replicate this creative effort. We now have better means of communication and, without completely disregarding self-care, I assert that, in drastic times, collective testimonies outweigh diary-type documentations. A few weeks ago, I was reading the another Gantala Press title, Lawanen: Mga Alaala ng Pagkubkob, Mga Haraya ng Pag-igpawfrom 2018. Also an anthology of voices, this time about the experiences of the Marawi Siege and subsequent Martial Law in Mindanao, especially of Meranaw women and children. Marawi City remains in ruins to this day. How are they handling the pandemic? Janet Roitman argues that crises are narrative devices, bursting open certain questions while foreclosing others. Can we still have animated discourse about the Marawi Siege in the period of COVID-19? We must. This also applies to the situation of rural women and their communities. The same goes for health workers, students, indigenous peoples, migrant workers, and so on. People who bore the brunt of a broken and dying system, newly exposed to some by the pandemic. People who might have deemed their voices not as valuable in the middle of a crisis, or they themselves have internalized their severalfold predicaments as fate. If we are to get out of this pandemic, this has to change.
Cultural workers should recognize the vital task of them having to take a backseat in collecting and presenting these voices. Some might be lukewarm to the idea of reading about experiences of specific groups, especially those distant, or seemingly distant, to their own immediate lives. One mother, again Russel Hopio from Cavite, when asked about her message to authorities, prioritized asking for personal protective equipment for health front-liners, and only then requested for aid distribution to those in need like herself. This demonstration of empathy by individuals, coupled with comprehensive calls by grassroots organizing, should be the prevalent sentiment and bond of solidarity of the new normal. This zine is a blueprint for that project.
Postscript:
I started drafting this essay the evening of June 20, when I read about the murder of Harold Tablazon, former peasant organizer and current barangay kagawad, and Glenn Bunda, an SK chairman in Tubungan, Iloilo. They were shot 32 times. Tablazon was active in the peasant organization Federation of Iloilo Farmers Association (FIFA), an affiliate of Pamanggas-Kilusang Magbubukid ng Pilipinas. I was polishing this essay the next evening, June 21, when I read about the critical condition of Jolina Calot, a student of the University of Eastern Philippines (UEP) and League of Filipino Students (LFS) member, after her house has been strafed allegedly by state forces in Palapag, Northern Samar. Calot’s father and a companion, both farmers and have been subjected to red-tagging, were killed. Her mother and sibling were wounded. More killings under the Duterte regime while the country is facing a pandemic. Amplifying the volume of multitude of voices and narratives of dissent from the margins is needed more than ever.
First book read belonging in what can be called a speculative wave in Philippine fiction in English. Younger writers frustrated with the realist canon and a handful of conservative publications venture into online publishing to showcase their works in the last two decades or so. Print presses and award giving bodies have started talking notice. Off the top of my head, I presume the towering influence of Neil Gaiman and Haruki Murakami, and maybe waves of YA series from the West. Hence the name ‘speculative’ to distance from pulp connotations.
Interesting because I think sci-fi and horror pulp writing didn’t take hold locally, mostly because the market is over-saturated by English materials. Filipino pulp usually refer to romances novels, and its enduring reading communities. Also a few horror and sexy komiks that died down by the 90s. Anyway, the still navigating sensibility and overturning tropes is evident in Gabriela Lee’s stories. Mostly domestic and tales of petty bourgeois youth adult angst. Nothing grand like sci-fi of underdevelopment in Yoss or recreating to re-investigate history of the nation like Cixin Liu. Still pretty impressive, considering these are short stories, so they are more like windows to the newer generation Filipino psyche, different aspirations but still bogged down by underdevelopment. Though the treatment is not as critical as I would have preferred.
Some favorites; ‘Bargains’ is about a young writer finding the fulfillment of her dreams to be very different than expected. “Tabula Rasa” is about a woman who discovers that every time she makes love to her partner makes him lose a memory, and have it transfer to her, and the end point this arrangement reaches. “Hunger” is about a girl suppressing her feelings for a friend, and the fact that she is a manananggal. Erotic horror, kind of sad too. “Honesty Hour” is a drive with friends that got more deadly as more secrets are revealed, provoked a by radio DJ. The title story, is a break-up story, that got really metaphoric and literal;
“It started to rain last night. You’ve been changing to often that you no longer notice that even your feet has started to to transform into glass. You lie in bed, listening to the storm outside your window, watching the shifting gradients of light peek underneath your curtains. Once, you opened the window as a blast of water came in. Your fingers were fragile then, and in your hurry to close the window, you managed to shatter one of them. Now, when you look at your hands, the smallest finger on your right hand is missing. Pieces of it are still on the floor.”
Highly recommended. Hoping for a longer work to come out soon.
Madalas akong nakikitulog sa bahay ng tiyahin ko sa katabing siyudad ng Hamilton. Mas malaki ito, at para sa mga kadalasang mas may kayang taga-Burlington, mas magulo. Steel industry ang nagpalago sa Hamilton sa umpisa ng ika-20 na siglo, at dahil sa ina-outsource na ito sa labas ng Canada sa umpisa ng ika-21 na siglo, parang may identity crisis ang siyudad. Kung dadaan ka sa Burlington Skyway makikita mo sa kanan ang mga magkakatabing pabrika ng bakal sa dulo ng Hamilton Bay, ang ilan may lumalabas pang apoy sa mga smokestack. Kwento ng isang kakilala ko, ito daw ang dahilan bakit hindi siya naliligo sa Lake Ontario. Malapit sa mga pabrika ang mga lugar kung saan nagtipon ang mga imigranteng Portuguese at Ukrainian at nagsimula ng bagong buhay. May ilan pang mga maiingay na grocery at karinderya pero unti-unti na rin pumapasok ang mga sosyal na coffee shop at art gallery. Mas maliwag na rin ang mga poste ng ilaw sa gabi.
Sa siyudad na ito nakakuha ng bahay ang Tita Ping ko kasi di hamak na mas mura pa rin ang presyuhan dito. Sinubukan din nilang makahanap ng bahay na medyo malayo sa downtown, kasi nga madalas ang gulo. Sa East End sila nakakita. Maraming Pinoy ang nakatira sa Hamilton, parehong sa sentro at sa mga laylayan nito, kahit na nagtatrabaho sila sa mga nursing homes at taga-linis ng mga bahay sa mga suburban na syudad tulad ng Burlington. Mga kinse minutong drive, o isa’t kalahating oras kung i-commute.
Malaking atraksyon sa akin ang mas maraming bookstores na iba’t ibang parte ng Hamilton, sama mo na mga thrift stores na makukunan ng mga murang libro. Ito yung pinakahabol ko bakit ako nakikitulog kita Ta Ping kung day-off. Pero may mga araw din na nasa bahay lang ako. Gusto rin nila Tita Ping at ang kinakasama nyang si Ta Alice na nandoon ako kasi para na may taong bahay na rin, kahit na walang masyadong pakinabang ang konseptong ito sa Canada.
Kailan man hindi pinakilala sa akin si Ta Alice bilang ‘kinakasama’ ni Ta Ping. Sa mga kaibigang hindi Pinoy, ‘partner’ ang tanggap at karaniwang salita. May baon kasi sigurong konotasyon ang ‘kinakasama’ na para bang makasalanan itong relasyon. Dala pa rin ang katahimikan ukol dito sa mga kapamilya namin, kahit na ito pa nga ang mas popular na kaayusan kesa sa kasal dito. Sa dami ba naman ng kinakaharap nila sa pamumuhay dito, hindi na ito usapin para pagdiskusyunan pa ng pamilya. Wala rin bumabanggit sa kasal, o sa kung meron mang plano magka-anak o mag-adapt. Kung sa bagay, habang lumalaki hindi ko rin minsan natanong sa sarili ko bakit ‘tita’ ang tawag ko kay Ta Ping, kahit halata namang panglalaki ang kayang gupit, mga damit, at tindig. Basta tiyahin ko siya na nagmamalasakit sa amin magkakapatid. Sapat na ito para hindi na ako magtanong.
Minsan bumisita ang tatay ni Ta Alice sa Canada, may anim na buwan na tourist visa. Matagal na siyang kinukumbinsi na doon na tumira kasama ang ilan niyang anak pero mas gusto niya daw sa Isabela. Napapayag lang siya bumisita sa pagkakaon ito kasi kailangan ng bone marrow donor ng isang pamangkin niya. Pamilya lang talaga ang may kayang mag-udyok sa mga mahahabang byahe. Matagal ang anim na buwan, at madalas kami pareho naging taong bahay na mga panahon na iyon. Noong una, tumutulong pa siya kapag maglilinis ng mga bahay si Ta Alice. Nabagot pagkalipas ng tatlong araw. Sumubok din siya na tumulong sa mga raket ng isang pamangkin na karpintero. Nabagot din kasi halos walang ginagawa, kumpleto ba naman kasi ang power tools sa trabaho. Tagalinis pa rin ang labas ni Tatay Roger.
Hindi ako umalis para maglakwatsa isang araw, nakahiga at nagbabasa lang ako sa guest room. My Name is Red ni Orhan Pamuk, ang kopya na bili ni Ta Alice. Panaginip lang dati makahawak ng libro tulad nito sa Pinas, lalo na sa probinsya, lalo na sa estudyanteng madalas walang pera. Kailangan ko munang dumating sa Canada bago makapunta sa Imperyong Otoman sa taong 1591. Brand new pa ‘to galing sa Chapters kasi hindi pa ako marunong maghanap ng used bookstores noon. Pumunta kami agad sa isang malaking branch sa kahabaan ng Fairview noong bagong dating kami. Ito ay pagkatapos niya makita na halos kalahati ng isang maleta ko ay libro ang laman. Ngayon, isang grocery tote bag ng libro ang kaya kong punuin sa 20 dollars, kung marami ang makitang maganda sa mga ronda ko. At ito naman talaga ang dami na inuuwi ko sa Burlington pagkalipas ng ilang araw sa Hamilton.
Dalawa lang sila Ta Ping at Ta Alice sa bahay kaya parating bakante ang guest room na ginawa na lang storage ng sobrang damit at gamit mula sa mga cabinet nila. Hindi naman isyu sa akin kasi isang knapsack lang ng pangtulog parati kong dala kung bumisita ako. Wala ring trabaho si Ta Alice sa araw na iyon. Nagluluto sila ng pancit. Bukas ang kwarto kaya madaling marinig ang kwentuhan sa labas, at nabalisa ako nang bigla silang nagtalo ni Tatay Roger.
May isang kamag-anak sila, pamangkin na bale ni Ta Alice, na nabuntis. Ibinalita lang daw. Labing-anim lang ang dalaga, ka-edad ang nobyo. Pareho silang nasa high school, papuntang senior high kasi kakaumpisa lang ng K-12 sa Pinas. Parang unang beses ko yatang narinig na nagalit at nairita si Ta Alice. Malumay talaga siya magsalita, at noong una parating tahimik at hindi makasabay sa mga tiyahin ko kapag nag-uusap sa Hiligaynon. Ngayon ay mabilis at agresibo ang mga salita niya. Parang naparalisa ako sandali, tinabi ang librong hawak, at kinabahan bago sinilip ang eksena sa labas.
Sabi ng tatay niya, wala naman hinihingi eh. Sumbat ni Ta Ann, e bakit ka sinabihan? Nagkataon pa talaga kung kailan dito ka sa Canada. Kwento ng tatay, maaga rin kasi nagkapamilya sina ate mo Grace, yung nanay ng dalaga, pinsan ni Ta Alice, kaya hindi niya mapagsabihan. Bahala sila diyan, sagot ni Ta Alice, ang dami ko nang problema dito. Bayarin sa bahay, sa sasakyan, dagdag niya. May ilan din siyang pamangkin na sinusuportahan na hindi malayo sa sitwasyon namin ni Ta Ping noong mga bata pa kami. Noon pa namin sinasabi na dito ka nalang kasi, tuloy ni Ta Alice habang naggigisa. Dati kinukulit ako kung magpapagawa ba daw ako ng bahay sa atin, ngayon ito naman. Ano ba ginagawa nila sa buhay nila? Natahimik lang ang tatay niya. Tuloy sa paghiwa ng gulay.
Naalala ko tuloy si Jose Garcia Villa, at ang kwento niyang Footnote to Youth. Hindi na klaro sa akin ang mga detalye, basta gustong mag-asawa ng anak ng bida sa napakabatang edad, parang inulit lang ang ginawa ng tatay niya. Medyo wholesome pa nga ang kwento kasi mga lalaki ang bida, at hindi kasing skandaloso ng wala sa planong pagbubuntis. Magpakasal pa nga yung gustong gawin ng bata. Ito naman ngayon ang sa punto de bisata ng ibang kamag-anak, sakaling mangyari ito. Hindi ko akalain na mahahanap ko ang sarili ko sa isang sitwasyon kung saan muling mabubuhay ang kwentong nabasa ko, sa malabong photocopy noong high school ako, sa kabilang kwarto. Parehong manunulat pa na may mga kalokohan tulad ng Emperor’s New Sonnet.
Tinawag na lang nila ako noong handa na ang pancit. Hindi ko na binahagi ang pag-alala ko kay Jose Garcia Villa. Pinagsaluhan namin ang mainit at masarap na pancit, panglunas daw sa homesickness ni Tatay Roger. Nagpanggap kaming lahat na hindi rinig sa buong bahay ang pinagtalunan nila. Malakas din ang kutob ko na hindi pa iyon ang huling salita sa argumentong iyon. Nagtabi ng isang plato para kay Ta Ping, alas nuwebe pa ang labas niya sa shift sa Tim Hortons. Tinanong ako ni Ta Alice kung lalabas ba ako ngayon. Sabi ko, di na muna.
I recently rewatched Roño’s remake of Patayin sa Sindak with my girlfriend, who was seeing it for the first time. It was her introduction as well to the sort of franchise or ‘universe’ that Celso Ad Castillo started in 1974. I honestly like Roño’s version (script by Ricky Lee) more. The new one from iWant, Barbara Reimagined (Christopher Ad. Castillo & Benedict Mique, 2019) was a bit underwhelming. I was in high school when the mini-series came out in 2008, with Kris Aquino as Barbara, but I didn’t pay much attention then.
While watching I realized there was a direct link to Lino Brocka’s Ina Kapatid Anak (1979), also discussing a strong woman returning from abroad (the US) to deal with the bourgeoisie household in shambles, both literally and figuratively. I reflected on Brocka’s drama here. This juxtaposition sounds like a great material for a serious paper, especially since both texts have been remade for younger audiences. The Ina Kapatid Anak tv series came out in 2012. There’s a lot to unpack there.
This post however is a simple appreciation of two parts of Roño’s version. I am not an editor, and I have very limited knowledge on editing, but these scenes were highlights in the movie for me. There is probably nothing revolutionary in them according to horror conventions in the lighting or montage, but it was beautifully composed as well as effective in creep and suspense build up.
Reflecting on these just made me realize further how the horror genre is neglected in the national film canon and scholarship, and it is my wish for people more capable than me to share their thoughts and praise on the craftsmanship that goes into Filipino horror movies.
The first one is the sequence where Barbara (Lorna Tolentino) is trying to find out the events surrounding the death of her sister Ruth (Dawn Zulueta). She was looking into the house as well as into the people inside it, ending up with very few answers. All throughout her sleuthing, large areas of her face is covered in darkness. This gives off an aura of voyeurism to something sinister, providing ambivalence to audiences also involved in unearthing secrets.
Ruth’s situation will later be brought to light.
The second scene involves Karen (Antoinette Taus) being won over by Ruth through her doll house. In this version, Roño downplayed the role of Karen’s doll, the object where Ruth ‘transmitted’ her wrath before her dying breath. During the first half of the film, Karen is mostly a passive and barely grieving child, but when her doll house comes to life in the middle of the night, Ruth lured her to be her instrument. Excellent build up of terror interwoven with innocence from Karen’s face as her toy set in manipulated by her dead mother.
There are more amazing parts in this film, especially those where Antoinette Taus dominates the scene.
Patayin sa Sindak si Barbara is available in iTunes.
Story of George Bustamante (Joem Bascon) a Filipino engineer in Japan who suddenly finds himself unemployed. He either goes home, just breaking even on the amount he spent getting to and securing a job in Japan, or he will look for another gig, whatever that might be.
After a few unpromising interviews, shown in a dialogue less montage, his friend Roger (Jun Sabayton) suggests he work as a stuntman in kids television show. This was done using an overtly homoerotic bantering of Roger when he realized that George has a great physique
Fish out of the water scenarios as George and Roger work in the set of the textbook example of a tokusatsu, Japanese live action superhero kid’s show. The level of demoralization brought by underemployement is partly relieved when George finds out that his son back home watches the show, and incidentally the character he doubles is his favourite, Blue Force.
The film is part of the trend of making light the experience of migrant labor, quirky instead of lachrymose. A formal decision often brought by the seeming bankruptcy of melodrama, a default mode not just in OFW stories, but in the Philippine film canon in general.
A connection can be made to Kita Kita (Sigrid Andrea Bernardo, 2017), also set in Japan, which completely disregarded the labor dimension of Filipino presence aboard. By focusing on romance, Japan became a backdrop pushing the mimicry of first world settings and sensibilities to higher levels. There is a long list of films, both indie and mainstream, who follows this logic, directly or indirectly.
Blue Bustamante, still has OFW motifs; employment hardships, loneliness expressed in letter writing back home, dealing with family separation (interestingly the strain on the father-child relationship in emphasized more than of between spouses, in this case labor migration is still largely an experience of the family unit), although done in a nostalgic tone.
As an added subplot, George meets a Japanese woman, Ayumi (Mari Koduka). After a few meet cute encounters, they have dinner together. George shares his anxieties, Ayumi shares her desires for him. There is very little comprehension between the two. It is later revealed that Ayumi stalks him and withholds his mail, several of which are letters of job acceptance. He can leave his stuntman gig.
In the TV show, the character he doubles for will also be killed off. Everything works out, but George worries on the affect on his son. In his final scene, he goes off script and does an ad lib blaze of glory fight scene. The director and other actors played along. The producers were furious. He still gets killed off.
When migrant workers were coming in, or being trafficked, as entertainers to Japan in huge numbers in the 90s, japayukis were very prominent in the popular imagination. Somehow this hasn’t been explored in cinema comprehensively, to my knowledge. [A quick search showed Maricris Sioson: Japayuki (Joey Romero, 1993). Scripted by Lualhati Bautista, I think I need to hunt this movie down]
The usual figures of the pasyon-like narratives of women abroad is embodied in the nurse, domestic helper or caregiver. Signifiers of suffering by the self, mother, and nation, epitomized by likes of Flor Contemplacion. Flor’s death ushered a national and international scandal, germinated a migrant workers movement, and resulted in several cinematic recreations. The films are The Flor Contemplation Story (Joel Lamangan, 1995), Victim No. 1: Delia Maga [Jesus, Pray for Us! : A Massacre In Singapore] (Carlos J. Caparas, 1995), and Bagong Bayani (Tikoy Aguiluz, 1995) [See Guillermo 2000]
After making preparations for a job fit for him, in the end he reveals he took another stuntman gig, a lead this time, hoping his son will love it as much as Blue Force.
There is something very disturbing about nostalgic and quirky narratives when you hears news about a maid’s body found in a freezer in Kuwait or when Mary Jane Veloso is still in death-row in Indonesia. These are just the more publicized ones.
This gentrification of migrant narratives, I believe, is not new. We can trace this to works by the likes of Jose Garcia Villa and Beinvenido Santos, in very different terms, or made different once these writers and their life and works were canonized in the national literary canon. If we are looking for a Carlos Bulosan of Filipinos in Japan in film, Lawrence Fajardo’s Imbisibol (2015) comes to mind.
While underemphasizing the experience of labor export, Blue Bustamante provides an alternative moment of redemption through finding meaning in a job not fit for him. This seems, at first glance, subjective conservatism, but migrant stories rarely have definite resolutions. A few follow these lines, but most resort to the homecoming trope, which are equally ambivalent and uncertain. This is because it is difficult to frame OFW experiences in a wider logic of labor export by the Philippine state, and global flow of goods, including warm bodies, of neoliberalism in film. [See Rodriguez 2010]
The homecoming as resolution could be found in a wide array of films over the years. Off the top of my head; ‘Merika (Gil Portes, 1984), Sana Maulit Muli (Olivia Lamasan, 1995), Dubai (Rory Quintos, 2005), Emir (Chito Roño, 2010), Never Not Love You (Antoinette Jadaone, 2018). This formal move, posed as a safe nationalist conclusion, has been criticized as well. [See Vera 2011 and Capino 2010]
Ending of Sana Maulit Muli (Olivia Lamasan, 1995)
Interestingly, two Singaporean films about Filipina domestic helpers also use this device; The Maid (Kelvin Tong, 2005) and Ilo Ilo (Anthony Chen, 2013). [Delia Aguilar’s pointed review of Ilo ilohere.]
Ending of Ilo ilo.Ending of The Maid
George playing behind the costume of a Japanese superhero, a good example of Japan’s cultural imperialism with an indirect aim of erasing its war crimes in the region (see Tolentino 2016), appears ironic and campy to some, or feel-good to some, is an opportunity to lay bare the social contradictions that appear, but most especially not shown in Blue Bustamante. The present historical moment, demands rigid interrogation of form on how to narrate the lives of those in the margin of nations.
Blue Bustamante is available in full online, highly recommended.
Suggested Reading:
Alice G. Guillermo’s “The Filipina OCW In Extremis” in Geopolitics of the Visible: Essays on Philippine Film Cultures (ed. Rolando B. Tolentino). Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 2000. Unfortunately not included in this recently release selected works here.
Noel Vera’s review of Jose B. Capino’s book, which contains the chapter The Migrant Woman’s Tale: On Loving and Leaving Nations.
Rolando B. Tolentino’s “Hysteria: Japanese Children’s Television in the Philippines” (1997) and “Sovereignty: Japanese Animation and Filipina Comfort Women” (1998), in Keywords: Essays on Philippine Media Cultures and Neocolonialisms. Quezon City: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 2016
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"The poems are the work of a profoundly serious temperament and a professional translator of world into word"-- Michael Salcman, Judge, Harriss Poetry Prize
Jacob Laneria 