Essay on Forbidden Memory (Teng Mangansakan II, 2016) in Pelikula Journal, Volume 8

The latest issue of Pelikula Journal has been released, where I have an extended review of the documentary Forbidden Memory (Teng Mangansakan II, 2016). An earlier version of which first appeared in this blog. The entire issue could be downloaded here.

Mga Kuwentong Pelikula

mga tala sa Mariit (Jonathan Jurilla, 2020)

• Sa pangkalahatan, nagustohan ko naman ang pelikula. Nagkataon lang na sa mga aspetong pormal ang mga komento ko. Hindi ako eksperto sa produksiyon, at sigurado ako na meron kang mga magaganda dahilan o limitasyon para sa mga naging desisyon mo bilang direktor, kasama na rin ng production team mo.

• Malaking tendensiya sa mga pelikula, lalo na kapag gawa ng mga tao na may background sa panitikan, ay ang pag-iisip na sapat na ang isang magbuting kuwento o  plot. Pero importante din ang paglahad ng kuwento sa biswal na paraan, at hindi lahat kayang gawin ‘yan. Kabilang na ang mga malalaking pangalan sa industriya, mapa-indie man yan o mainstream. Alam kong may karanasan din kayo sa teatro ng scriptwriter mo, pero iba din ang teatro sa pelikula. Malamang alam mo naman lahat ng ‘to, pero sasabihin ko nalang ulit, dahil ito nga ang panggagaling ng mga tala ko.

• Opening scene; ang pagnakaw ng santos ay pwede pang mas maging madrama. Imbes na montage ng pagkawala nito, paano kaya kung nagkagulo ang mga tao nang malaman nila na wala na nga ito? Pwede siguro mga tao sa simbahan, o ‘di kaya sa ibang parte ng bayan na nagtsi-tsismisan. Imbes na mga kuha ng simbahan, bakit hindi natin sundan ang magnanakaw? Pwede siguro nag-iikot siya sa banwa, nakatalikod lang para posible pa rin ang big reveal sa huli, hanggang sa pinasok niya na ang simbahan. Tapos, sunod na eksena na ang komosyon, dahil ninakaw na nga.

• Iniisip ko, posible pa kaya mangyari ‘to? Maging ganun ka invested ang mga tao sa isang santos? Pero Miagao ‘tong pinag-uusapan natin, kahit hindi mo pinangalanan, siguro nga ‘no? Hindi ko maalis ang pagdududa na ito, kaya nga gusto ko mas action packed. May nasaktan ba noong pinasok ang simbahan? Nagkahabulan ba? Hindi gumagana ang suspension of disbelief ko kasi halos wala naman tayong tradisyon ng crime thriller sa bansa. ‘Di ba nga, mas malapit pa sa katutubong epiko ang mga pelikulang bakbakan kesa sa crime movies ng Hollywood.

• Establishing scene ni Estrella. Gusto ko ‘yung nag-iinuman na mga tambay. Pero sana ipakita mo rin sa akin ang baranggay. Lalo na mga tao at ang kanilang mga daily routine. Saan baranggay ba ‘yun? Hirap sigurong walang budget para sa crowd control ‘no? Tsaka ano ‘yung trip ng pa-scientific na tambay? Out of place para sa akin.

• Kung gustong ipakita na rasyonal siya, gawin ito na hindi sinasabi ang salitang ‘scientific’. Pwede n’yang sabihin na “basta ako ya sa doctor gid ko,” mga ganun na linyahan. At bakit hiniwalay pa ang sunod na subplot? Habang naghihilot si Estrella, pwede siguro pinag-uusapan ang pagnakaw ng santos ng pasyente niya, o baka ibang tao sa loob ng bahay. O baka pwede rin balita sa AM radio. O baka ang mga tambay ‘yung bumanggit sa insidente. Kung susundan mo ‘to, hindi na siya dalawang araw bago ang eksena. Hindi na kailangan tumalon ng time frame.

• Establishing scene ng dalawang estudyante. Out of place ulit. Pakita mo muna ang UP campus, paano ko malalaman kung saan nanggaling ang dalawang ‘to? Tulad ng Miagao, may pagdadalawang isip ulit para ilahad ang mga pangalan ng lugar ‘no? Sa totoo lang, tapos na ang mga araw na dapat maging maingat sa pagbitaw ng mga pangalan ng mga institusyon at lugar. Mas kakagatin pa nga siguro ng mga tao kung alam nila na mga ‘taga-UP’ ang mga tauhan, o ‘di kaya sa Miagao ito nangyari. At isa pa, hindi naman lahat ng bayan may malaking campus ng isang pamantasan sa loob nito.

• Pakita mo sila lumabas sa faculty room, problemado kasi malapit na bumagsak, pakita mo sila nagpaplano or nag-eempake para sa trip o extra assignment. Pwede rin pakita mo sila habang papunta sa mga bakhawan. Naglalakad o nakasakay sa traysikel. Pwede rin pakita mo na dumaan sila sa tindahan kung saan ang mga tambay kanina. O di kaya nakasalubong nila si Estrella. Pwede rin mas direkta ang interaction nila kay Estrella, nagpapagamot halimbawa ang isang kakilala nila, o housemate, o kamag-anak ng babae.

Official poster, mula sa FB page ng Mariit.

• Sa totoo lang, ang pinakamalaking isyu ko ay hindi ko mapagtagpi tagpi ang heograpiya ng pelikula. Ang pagtalon sa mga lokasyon ay dapat may transition scenes. Masyadong halata ng magkakaibang lugar, hindi organiko. Kung iisipin, ito pa nga ang novelty ng pelikula, ang mga lugar na hindi cinematic ayon sa kulturang pelikula ng bansa, pero ngayon pinaglalahadan ng isang kuwento.

• Establishing scene ni Pedro. Out of place ulit, masyadong pa-mysterious. Halos spoon feeding na may mali sa kanya. Chekovian, ano? Magkuwento ka pa tungkol sa kanya. Pwede na kasama siya doon sa mga tambay. Pwedeng dumaan siya sa mga tambay, at ipakilala agad na kagawad pala siya. Kapag umalis na siya, pag-usapan o di kaya siraan siya ng mga tambay, para ipakita opinyon nila tungkol sa kanya.

• Pwede rin natin siya ipakita na naglilinis ng ilog, o kung ano pang mga gawain. Hindi mo kailangan isa-isahin ang pagpapakilala ng mga tauhan o ng mga subplot. Tamang kombinasyon lang. Ganyan naman talaga ang hiwaga ng pelikula.

• Sa unang sampung minuto, ilang establishing scenes na ba ‘yun? Ang dami. Ang epekto, napapa-stop and go ang manonood. Masyado kang maraming binibigay sa kanila, na dapat nilang pag-isipan at tandaan. Kung hindi kaya itahi sa isang naratibo, dalawa siguro? Higit doon, epiko na ‘yan sa bantayan ng pelikula. Lav Diaz style na, kaya nga ang hahaba ng mga gawa niya kasi ang dami niya gustong ipakita, at hindi siya nagmamadali. Pero isa’t kalahating oras lang ang Mariit.

• Ang isa pang take away ko ay masyadong maraming deux ex machina. Dahil nga ang dami mong pinakilala, madami din kailangan mong itahi sa huli. Hindi ‘yun ibig sabihin plot holes ang mga ‘yun, pero balakid din ang mga ito para maabot ang pinakapotensyal sana ng kuwento.

• May nakabanggit na ba tungkol sa cameo ng Ma-Aram book ni Magos? Para sa akin, masyadong pilit. Sana pinasok nalang sa dialogue, kahit saglit lang. O ang mas magandang diskarte ay paggamit ng quote sa umpisa, paraan na rin ng framing. Pero base sa kuwento, magiging pilit ulit. May ambisyon o layunin ka bang gawing distinctly Panayanon o Western Visayan ang pelikulang ito?

• Sa tingin ko ang dialogue na nasa Hiligaynon at Kinaray-a ay sapat na. Hindi ako kumportable sa mga masyadong on the nose na effort ng regional cinema para likhain ang identidad nito, na hindi rin nalalayo sa diskarte ng mga pelikulang gawa sa Maynila, nagpupusturang national cinema, lalo na kung ilalako nila ito sa labas ng bansa. Isa pang dahilan, ni wala ngang sinehan kung saan-saan kayo nag-shoot. May internet naman, totoo, pero lahat ng tao ba sa Miagao ay may connection? Ilang tao ba nagbabasa kay Magos?

• Maganda at nagawa mong ihabi ang tema ng ‘mas matakot ka sa tao kesa sa multo’ at ang pagprotekta ng kalikasan, lalo na ng mga bakhawan. Parang biro ang pagbansang ng scooby doo trope dito online, pero totoo naman kasi. Pwede na sana matapos doon. Pero tinuloy mo pa, isinulong na may mga elementong lampas sa ating pagkakaunawa, e.g. si Estrella. Naniniwala naman ako diyan, sa totoo lang, pero sa behavioral na antas siguro at hindi literal. At sa paggiit mo nito, nag-agawan na ang mga tema mo.

• Parang lumabnaw na ang dimensyon na tao nga ang problema. Ang isang resulta nito, pwede umos-os ang interpretasiyon, mula sa ‘dapat protektahan ang mga bakhawan’ papunta sa may ‘mga babaylan naman pala at wala na tayo kailangan gawin’. Ulit, masyadong maiikli ang pelikula para mausisa ito nang mabuti.

• Sa panahon ngayon ng mga mas malakas at madalas na mga delubyo, mas lantaran na patayan, ano ang lugar ng mga obra na sumusulong ng wonder for wonder’s sake? Rejection of grand narratives ba ito? Hindi ko masakyan, dahil hindi nagpapakilos ng tao ang postmodernismo.

• Kung gusto natin isabuhay ang sinaunang ethos, dapat tignan din natin ang sitwasyon ng mga taong sinasabuhay ang mga ito hanggang sa ngayon. Halimbawa, huling balita ko ay umaarangkada na ang Jalaur Mega Dam sa Central Panay. Tiyak na lulubog ang ilang baranggay ng mga Tumandok. Lalong iinit ang lugar na ‘yun sa mga susunod na buwan o taon.

Pasensya na kung ngayon ko lang ‘to napadala. At naka-focus lang ako sa unang sampung minuto! Late kasi ako sa screening noong AS week. Pagkabalik ng internet namin dito, ang unang sampung minuto lang pinanood ko ulit sa Vimeo.

Hanap tayo ng maganda pwesto para makapagkape at mapag-usapan ang pelikula mo. Sigurado ako mas marami ka pang kuwento sa paggawa nito. Magplano nalang tayo kung makabalik na tayo sa campus pagkalipas ng dalawang linggo. Pero sa tingin ko, tatagal pa ‘to.

Nakauwi ka ba ng Negros? Upload mo kaya ang buong pelikula sa Youtube para mas marami makapanood? May English subtitles naman.

Ingat lagi.

*attachment sa email, pinadala: March 18 2020

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mga tala sa The Cleaners (Hans Block & Moritz Riesewieck, 2018)

Clint, kamusta na?

Naglagay na ako ng ilang komento sa draft mo. Nothing major, at ang mga puna ko ay madali lang naman maresolba sa pagpalit ng mga salitang ginamit. Sa tingin ko na nakuha ko naman ang general idea ng papel, kahit pa hindi kasama ang mga diagram sa draft, pero sa totoo lang din hindi ko na proseso lahat-lahat.

Sinusulat ko ang listahan ng suggested readings at materials na ito para bigyan ka ng ideya kung saan ako nanggagaling, at malamang magsusulat din ako ng sarili kong kritika sa pelikula para gawing blog post. Ito na ang magiging notes ko para doon, kailan man ako sipagin para gawin ‘yun. Ipapa-settle ko muna. Ang daming kailangan unawain sa dokyu. Salamat ulit sa pagbigay sa akin ng kopya.

• Film recommendation: Signed: Lino Brocka (Christian Blackwood, 1987). Extended interview kay Lino Brocka pagkatapos mapatalsik ang rehimeng Marcos. Kilala si Brocka bilang tagagawa ng mga box-office hits, tagabigay ng big break sa ilan sa mga pinakamagagaling na artista sa kasaysayan ng bansa, unang Pinoy darling ng Cannes, at isang matalas na kritiko ng censorship and ng rehimen sa pagkalahatan. Malupit na combo ‘yan. Dalawa sa kanyang mga pelikula ay kamakailan lang ni-restore ng World Cinema Project ni Scorsese at pwede mong mapanood sa Criterion. Sabi ng iba, siya daw ang pinakadakilang Pilipinong direktor (kasama na ako doon), habang ayon naman sa iba, siya ang tagalatag ng template ng paglako ng poverty porn sa mga art film festivals sa labas ng bansa. Pinakapakita ng doku habang nagtatrabaho siya, may shooting pa nga sa isang dump site at squatters, at sa isang parte nilarawan din siya ang bansa bilang tambakan ng basura ng Hollywood. May kopya ako ng pelikula pero pwede mo rin rentahan sa Vimeo ni Blackwood. May bagong libro si Jose B. Capino tungkol sa kanya, na sa tingin ko hindi ako magkaka kopya hangga’t hindi natatapos ang pandemya. At base sa presyo niya sa Book Depository, mukhang malabo pa rin kahit umabot tayo doon. Nabasa ko na ang unang libro ni Capino, may magandang kabanata siya doon tungkol sa mga B movies na ginawa sa Pinas. Naalala mo ba ‘yung instagram post ko tungkol sa The Beast of the Yellow Night (1971) ni Eddie Romero? Maganda din ang dokyu ni Andrew Leovold na The Search for Weng Weng (2007). Doon, nalaman ni Leovold na mala-B movie din ang bansa na pinagmulan ng mga B movie. Usapang basura ulit. Pero ang kritiko, at personal kong academic hero, na dapat mong basahin ay si Roland Tolentino. Marami sa kanyang mga artikulo ay mababasa online, at may sarili din siyang libro tungol kay Brocka na mas naunang lumabas. Naging guest editor na rin siya ng Positions: East Asia Cultures Critique. Maganda rin ang volume na ‘yun.

• Content moderators na rin ang paksa, baka maging interesante din para sa iyo ang mga ideya ni Jonathan Beller hinggil sa Yahoo at economy of attention. Nilapatan niya rin ito ng pagbasa ng ilang pelikula. Parang sinabi niya na ang imbensyon ng search engine ay hudyat ng pagwagi ng Internet kontra-rebolusyon, ang pagsasapribado ng isang plataporma na dapat sana pangpubliko. Wala yatang international edition ang libro niya kung saan ang artikulong ito. Pero i-upload niya na rin ito ng buo. May maganda rin siyang sanaysay sa Orapronobis (1989) ni Brocka, may pamagat na ‘Directing the Real’.

Official poster mula dito

• Habang nanonood, napangiwi ako sa kung paano ang iba’t ibang imahe at kontradiksyon ng underdevelopment ay pinagtabi sa isang ‘di kritikal na montage (high-rise na mga gusali, self-flagellation, mga night club at simbahan, atbp.) Ano ba ang mas grosteque? Ang mentalidad ng mga content moderators o kung paano sila tinatrato ng mga big tech companies? Ang isang magandang Lacanian take dito ay ‘yung banat ni Neferti X. M. Tadiar kay Fenella Cannell. Base sa field work ni Cannell sa Bicol region, ‘di umano nagpapatuloy ang ‘pre-colonial mentality’ sa kasalukuyan. Sabi naman ni Tadiar, hindi sila na-‘stuck’ sa isang partikular na panahon, sahalip napagsama din sa historical frame ng kapitalismo, kahit pa umiiral sila sa laylayan nito.

• Kung gusto mo ang mas geopolitical frame sa siklo ng basura, tignan lang ulit ang waste dispute sa pagitan ng Canada at Pinas noong 2014. Natuklasan na imbes na recyclable plastic, gamit na adult diapers pala ang laman ng ilang container van. Ibang klase ‘no? Ang dumi na tinatapon ng mga Pinoy caregivers sa pag-alaga na mga matatanda ng Canada ay nauna pang bumalik sa pinangalingan nila. Mayor palang si Duterte noon, siya lang yata ang tahasang nagsabi na ipakain dapat sa mga customs official ang basura. Natural, tulad sa ibang pinagsasabi niya bago mahalal, wala na nangyari. O ‘di kaya pwede rin balikan ang nannygate ni Trudeau noong 2015? Para sa marami, madumi at patago pa din ang gawaing pangbahay ‘di ba? Nalalapat din pala ito isyu ng immigration policy. Panghuli, pwede mo rin iugnay ang pagbenta ng Canada ng mga armas sa mga bansa kung saan nag-oopera ang mga notorious mining companies nito, tulad sa Pinas at iba pa. Siklo ng paghukay at pagtambak.

• Hinggil naman sa presensya ng mga BPO sa bansa, napakahusay ng libro ni Jan M. Padios. Ayon sa kanya, hindi lang ito usapin ng pagkakaroon ng trabaho, ginagatungan din ng mga ito ang pagnanasa ng modernidad at kosmopolitanismo, pareho ng estado at ng mga indibidwal. Sa tingin ko, mapapansin mo ito ng kaunti sa ilang interviews ng mga content moderators sa dokyu. Pagsisikap na makaahon sa basura ng kahirapan.

• Isa siguro sa mga dahilan kung bakit mas materiyalista ako kesa Lacanian, ay dahil may malakas pa rin na armadong kilusang sa Pinas, kahit pagkatapos ng limang dekada, tuloy pa rin rebolusyon sa orihinal nitong kahulugan. Maraming batang akademiko, tulad nga nina Tadiar, na bihasa sa teorya (at gusto ko rin naman ang gawa nila), dahil na rin kasama sila sa sistema ng mga Anglophone (kadalasan Amerikano) university circuits. Pero nag-iiba ang kahugan ni Lacan kung makarating siya dito. Tignan halimbawa ang salaysay ni E. San Juan, Jr. kung bakit patok din si Zizek sa Diliman.

• ‘Di ko alam kung nagbabasa ka ng mga balita tungkol dito sa amin, pero si Mocha Uson, ‘yung dancer at online campaigner ni Duterte, ay nabigyan na ng government appointment. At pinapatakbo pa rin niya ang blog niya na kadalasan fake news ang nilalabas. Hindi pa siya na nanagot. At hindi lang siya ang public official na nahuli na nagkakalat ng fake news. Ang social media accounts ng mga pulis, army, at ilang opisina ay ginagamit din para mang red-bait, o ang tawag dito sa amin, red-tag, ng mga aktibista at organisasyon. Kung hindi ginagawa online, sa mga kinaugaliang analog na mga paraan; leaflets, posters, vandalismo, pampublikong estasyon ng TV at radyo, atbp. Pagpapakalat ulit ng basura.

• Sa dokyu, napaka-ironiko, kung hindi man misleading, para sa akin na magpapakita sila ng paglaban sa content moderation regime ng social media sa Myanmar, Turkey, at US, pero hindi sa Pilipinas mismo. Siguro dahil hindi naman content moderation per se ang kinakalaban ng mga grupo dito, kundi ang mga ugat nito; kawalang trabaho, militarisasyon, patayan sa drug war, imperyalismo, atbp. Baka maakusahan sina Block at Riesewieck ng parachute journalism kung kita na may pagka-petty lang ng concerns nila. Pero meron din namang datos hinggil sa disinformation. May dalawang pag-aaral na sina Jonathan Corpus Ong and Jason Vincent Cabañes tungkol sa troll armies na lumabas noong 2018 at 2019 pa. Maganda rin basahin ang atake ni Luis Teodoro hinggil sa disinformation. Mas bilib ako sa mga rekomendasyon ni Teodoro kesa kina Ong and Cabañes. Beterano na si Teodoro sa paglaban sa rehimeng Marcos, at nanatiling matalas na kritiko sa ngayon. Kung papanoorin mo ang interbyu niya tungkol sa chilling effect ng pagpapasara ng Rappler, palitan mo lang ng ABS-CBN, buo pa rin ang mga argumento niya. Ang journalist na nasa dokyu, si Ed Lingao, ay magaling din. Sa dami ng basura, natatambakan rin yata ang mga usapin kung paano gawin ang paglilinis.

Sana makakatulong sayo ang mga ito. Sabihan mo lang ako kung may mga paksa pa na gusto mo ng resources, pero kung iisipin tapos na itong chapter mo. Mahusay. Halata naman siguro na para sa akin, ang dokyu na tungkol sa content moderation ay isa ring paraan ng content moderation. Kaya ikinatuwa ko talaga na pinabasa mo sa akin ang papel mo.

Sana pala bumisita din ako sa Vancouver noong diyan pa ako. Baka nagkakopya na rin ako ng ibang libro mo. ‘Di bale, babasahin ko na ‘tong unang libro mo kay Jameson. Chat nalang ako ulit pagkatapos.

Panghuli, alam mo naman na ‘di pa ako regular, so malaking tulong talaga itong fee, lalo na sa panahon na walang pasok. At pinausog pa nga lalo ang simula ng semester dito dahil sa pandemya.

Salamat ulit. Ingat lagi.

*email, nakasulat sa Ingles, pinadala: July 22 2020

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mga tala sa Bayan Ko: Kapit sa Patalim (Lino Brocka, 1984)

Nadaanan ko ang balita na natapos palang i-restore ang Bayan Ko: Kapit sa Patalim ni Lino Brocka at nasama ito sa Cannes Classics selection ngayong taon. Naalala ko pa pinanood ko ang sobrang pangit at malabong kopya sa Youtube, malamang VHS-rip, noong college kung saan obsessed ako sa Philippine New Wave dahil na rin sa kasagsagan ng Indie Wave. Bata pa kayo siguro noon, pero ang mga pelikula dati lumilingon sa panahon nina Brocka para sa inspirasiyon at para na rin makabalikwas dito.

Poster mula sa FB page ng Le Chat Qui Feme

Sa ngayon, kapag binabasa ang balita, hindi ko alam kung gaano kataas ang patong-patong ng ironya. Ang bida na si Philip Salvador ay masugid na tagasuporta ng rehimeng Duterte, napanood ko pa sa TIFF ang Madalim Ang Gabi (2017) at tuwang tuwa ni Ms. Gina Alajar noong hinambing ko ang kuwento sa Bayan Ko, biopic na pala ni Bato ang susunod na pelikula ni Alix, ang FDCP naman naglabas ng kontrobersyal na shooting guidelines na ayon sa marami papunta sa sa censorship, ang ABS-CBN ay pinasara dahil sa politikal na panggigipit ng isang pangulo na nagsimula ang karera bilang isang appointee pagkatapos ng EDSA, ang freedom of expression clause sa konstitusyon na pinaglaban ni Brocka ay ginagamit ng dating batikang human rights lawyer na ngayon ay tagapagsalita (na ulit) ng pangulo, para pangatwiran ang pag-ere ng propaganda music video ng China, at hindi pa natapos doon, freedom of expressin din daw ang pag red-tag sa mga kritiko ng gobyerno.

Para sa akin, mula pa noon, masyadong madrama ang ekspresyon na ‘rolling in his grave’, pero sa okay lang siguro gamitin ito ngayon para ilarawan ang malamang mararamdaman ni direk Lino.

Dahil nga hindi maganda ang kopya na napanood ko noon, wala sa Brocka folder ng Google Drive natin ang Bayan Ko. Pero hintayin nalang natin, baka swertehin ako. Share ko kaagad sa inyo.

Maraming salamat ulit para pasensiya para mairaos natin ang semester na ito. Sana ma-submit niyo na lahat ng requirements sa ibang subjects bago mag-pasko o bagong taon.

Ingat lagi.

*caption sa shared post sa PhilArts 13 (TF10-11:30am), Dec. 10 2020

A Probinsyano Reading of Break It to Me Gently: Essays on Filipino Film by Richard Bolisay (Everything’s Fine, 2019) [Book Review]

I don’t know Richard Bolisay. I may have come across his blog Lilok Pelikula once or twice back when it was still active, but don’t I remember any of the reviews posted there leaving an impression on me. I do however know his friend Aldrin Calimlim, in bookish Instagram, who served as editor for Break It to Me Gently. On its final stages of pre-publication, he posted it on his feed. It was on Filipino film, instinctively I needed to get a copy. Only then did I read about Bolisay, browsed his blog, learned about Everything’s Fine, and I was about to make an order when the first print run sold out (the pink edition). The reviews were glowing, but I can wait. I was then able to read Pro Bernal Anti Bio, Ishmael Bernal’s amazing collected interviews, though published by ABS-CBN, was prepared by the folks at Everything’s Fine. I got more eager of getting the second, this time blue, edition of Bolisay’s book. The lockdown happened in mid-March. After two months, courier services started operating again, with significant delays. My copy was delivered early July. When I started reading it last week, I devoured almost third of the book right away. It was exhilarating, but I wanted to slow down, savor it some more. I read two to three essays a night, treating it like a Bible with daily passages for reflection. The later section of the book is made up of dispatches from film festivals, with much shorter reviews, more condensed punches. The period, I later confirmed by reading Bosilay’s interviews, was when he was preparing for graduate school abroad, and indeed it felt like he was slowing down. I didn’t know Bolisay, but after reading his book, I think we would easily get along. I am, however, conscious of my very different subject position as a lover of cinema and aspiring critic. His passion overflows from his essays, but being someone from Iloilo and not directly involved in films circles (or at least its regional formations), Bolisay’s world (or that of his younger self) is undeniably alien. Hence, this overwrought opening paragraph, full of logistical and tangential details, as this is the frame I will use to review this book. Bolisay is deliberate when he acknowledges that this is his personal experience of the so call Third Golden Age of Philippine Cinema, which he arbitrarily periodized at 2007-17, also the active years of his blog. After finishing the book, I came into terms that my response will similarly be biographical. This is a primary affect of his essays, it makes you ask what were you doing at that time, what you felt during those years. Or maybe nostalgia is just plain fun. I apologize in advance for the amount of oversharing about to ensue.

The introduction of the book reads like a lot of things all at the same time; a manifesto, a laying down of scope and limitations, a love letter, a nail in the coffin. Bolisay recount his journeys, the relationships built, the loneliness of writing criticism, all for the love of cinema during an indisputably important cultural moment. The early 2000s saw the democratization ushered in by digital technology in film that also coincided with long-form blogging as a platform in film criticism. The difficulty of indie films staying in commercial theaters is identical to quality film reviews making their way into print. Elective affinities fell into place. I am slightly younger than Bolisay, and I had much limited access to the internet that time, specifically only visiting the internet cafe for academic work, but I know some of his heroes and can affirm the qualities he admires in them. Oggs Cruz and Noel Vera are two of the most prolific and sharpest critics at that time, and still very much active now. They would write about films very few people would, hence their names showing up right away in search results whenever I type a film title I got the wind of.  

I even reached out to Vera when I was writing my undergrad thesis on selected Chito Roño horror films. I needed to write a decent survey of his career, and synopses of many of his works are not even available online. I was dumbfounded to learn this, especially since Roño is one of the most bankable directors working. Vera was kind enough to mine his blog for me and gave links to around five or so reviews on Roño. I got the summaries, and sharp takes as a bonus. So where was I reading my dose of analogue film criticism? I got them from the humble Filipiniana section of the UPV Miagao library. I devoured the handful of books on film, many now criminally out of print; Joel David [The National Pastime (1990), Fields of Vision (1995), Wages of Cinema (1998)], Bien Lumbera [Revaluation: Essays on Literature, Cinema, and Popular Culture (1984, 1997)], Emmanuel Reyes [Notes on Philippine Cinema (1989)], early Rolando Tolentino [Richard Gomez at ang Mito ng Pagkalalake, Sharon Cuneta at ang Perpetwal na Birhen, at Iba Pang Sanaysay Ukol sa Bida sa Pelikula Bilang Kultural na Texto (2000), National/Transnational: Subject Formation and Media in and on the Philippines (2001)], film history by Doy Del Mundo [Native Resistance: Philippine Cinema and Colonialism, 1898-1941 (1998)] and Nick Deocampo [Cine: Spanish Influences On Early Cinema In The Philippines (2003)].

No Urian anthologies, unfortunately. Noteworthy also are complimentary readings on theatre from Doreen Fernandez and Nicanor Tiongson. A battered copy of Readings on Philippine Cinema edited by Rafael Ma. Guerrero (1983) was sacred to me. The first book on film I bought for myself was a bargain priced (100 pesos) Geopolitics Of The Visible: Essays On Philippine Film Cultures (2000) edited by Tolentino. Later, I got it signed when he visited Miagao. Tolentino also regularly wrote for alternative online media outlets, Bulatlat and Pinoyweekly, not just on indie films but also on pop culture and politics. I religiously followed these columns, reading them whenever I need to print something in computer shops, amazing exercises in discursive Filipino and militant cultural critique. These essays were also collected into three volumes by UST Publishing House in 2016, works I felt I badly need to revisit after reading Bolisay.  

 So my idea of film criticism is largely academic, and following Patrick Campos, naturalized nationalist. We also had recent academic journals but you can’t take them home, the extra effort to read them put me off. Reading this generation of critics made me (oddly) wish I was alive during Martial Law, and everything that came out in the digital wave was always measured against the Second Golden Age. Where did I watch films from the period? Incidentally, the internet got more affordable, and necessary, so when I was in the later years of college, I had a decent connection at home. I painstakingly watched bootleg and horrible VHS-ripped copies of Ganito Kami Noon, Paano Kayo Ngayon? (Eddie Romero, 1976), Bayan Ko: Kapit sa Patalim (Lino Brocka, 1984), and Kisapmata (Mike de Leon, 1981) at YouTube. Manila by Night (Ishmael Bernal, 1980) at Video 84 blog, when it still carried full films for streaming. Perfumed Nightmare (1977) was pretty easy to get hold of, Kidlat Tahimik has a following even before the Internet. Sister Stella L. (Mike de Leon, 1984) and Ora Pro Nobis (Lino Brocka, 1989) were essential viewing in activist circles where I belong. When I had extra money, I would buy VCDs Viva Films still put out back then, displayed in a small spot in department stores and often in bargain prices; Bayaning 3rd World (Mike de Leon, 2000), Gumapang Ka sa Lusak (Lino Brocka, 1990), Sa Pusod ng Dagat (Marilou Diaz-Abaya, 1998).     

In regards to indie films, what came out in the newspapers are closer to press releases rather than reviews, and almost always framed by two things; this or that film won recognition in this or that film festival abroad (it was never an Urian or FAMAS), and it has a urgent social statement (the need of which was never questioned under the regimes of GMA and later PNoy). Paradoxical, but it was the impression that reaches folks in the provinces. Aspiring local artists wanted to go to Manila, to join Cinemalaya, expecting it I presume to be their ticket abroad. Whatever that means or entails. Bearing this in mind, Bolisay’s essays are refreshing to me as they zero in on form, problematizing meanings given off with nuance. It is a step away from the academic frame, but not too far into its polar opposite of contained formalism. The language is casual but also literary, it praises when it is deserved, ruthless when it is needed. He also provides context when it is worth discussing, a review of reviews if you will, indicating that he is in dialogue not just with the film but with other critics as well. Strangely this feels both inclusive and exclusive at the same time. For readers like me, it takes effort to relate to festival atmospheres, in which Bolisay has been both an audience and jurors. I believe the contextualizations could have gone beyond their immediate moments, actual or virtual.

For example when On The Job (2013) came out, I recall the belatedly heated discussion when Matti caused a fuss when the film wasn’t selected as the country’s Oscar nominee by the Film Academy of the Philippines (FAP), headed by Peque Gallaga. Matti further theorized that it was an attempt to cover up the already bad image of the country going through Napoles pork barrel scam. When Mendoza won best director for Kinatay (2009), he was featured in talk shows but clips of film shown were blurred. I think that was the first mainstream exposure for the film, and it was a very curious experience for audiences not too familiar with the budding indie wave of films. Roger Ebert slammed the film, to which Bolisay responded briefly, but a peculiar experience I link to that moment was when I read a comment in Ebert’s blog. Someone, I think it was a Filipino based abroad, apologized “on behalf of Filipinos” for offending Ebert’s sensibilities. The review of Honor Thy Father (2015), which I think is Matti’s best work to date, could be more interesting if it included the Best Director row in MMFF. I guess the context I look for, is the type that would include people who weren’t there, or couldn’t be there, in the close spheres of the country’s cultural industries. I believe details of this type, mostly absent in Bolisay’s reviews, elevates the discussion into a more ‘national’ scope, even if that category also has its problems. The films at hand are interrogated, but also the ideas, taken as given, behind the indie wave. Why the need to depict the society’s underbelly and market it to audiences abroad? What roles do censorship and award giving bodies play? And so on.

In the time of stand alone movie houses, there was a pronounced geographical hierarchy of film screenings. Film reels, whether produced locally or from Hollywood, first go to the big venues, then head on to smaller places, then to the provinces, and so on. Many placed their faith in digitalization to break down these walls, but I think it only did so partially. Ironically, there’s actually an increasing number of cinemas in urban centers, Iloilo City included. The profit drive was unwavering, but artists and organizations tried to push back. The aim was not necessarily for a 180-degree turn, but at least carve up a small sustainable spot for Filipino films. The Film Development Council of the Philippines (FDCP) in partnership with the Iloilo City government subsidized screening in big malls, for local audiences to see the latest indie films often for free, or for a small fee. They set it to coincide with the Dinagyang weekend; there were a lot of events and guests, and they even reached out to schools. I will be forever grateful for the chance to see Himpapawid (Raymond Red, 2012) in the big screen for free. After watching Sanglaan (Milo Sogueco, 2009) in an almost full theatre, I heard for the first time audiences in a commercial cinema clap after it ended. Lastly, the laughter the restored version Genghis Khan (Manuel Conde, 1950) elicited from viewers is core memory of my teenage years. Those massive events only lasted a year or two. The long term project was building cinemateques in different parts of the country. The one in Iloilo was opened in 2012. It was located downtown, accessible by public transport, but by then the city’s leisure district already moved elsewhere.

I was then a broke college student with a lot of free time, and didn’t mind the extra commute. Again films are either free, or tickets are much cheaper. There I watched Bagets (Maryo J. de los Reyes, 1984) Donsol (Adolfo Alix, 2006), A Portrait of the Artist as Filipino (Lamberto Avellana, 1965), Pepot Artista (Doy del Mundo Jr., 2005, and a string of foreign (meaning non-Hollywood) films, often in partnership with various embassies. Shortly, a regional film fest was also organized, CineKasimanwa: Western Visayas Film Festival. I don’t know how it is received, since I haven’t been able to attend it, ever. I was almost done with my undergrad when it started, and was preparing to leave the country for work, and would stay outside the country for a few years. It seemed the Iloilo Cinemateque’s programming was also cut down a bit after I left in 2014. I presumed it was too costly, with very little returns. I went back home in 2018, started working a full time job again, and ironically found it more difficult to catch a screening, which there wasn’t a lot of. The exact opposite of my expectation when I was younger, where I thought having a job would actually permit me to participate more in cultural events.   

By narrating all these, it makes you admire Bolisay’s efforts to invest his time and resources for the film community, but at the same time, as he admits in an interview, it is mark of privilege, the laying bare of which I am similarly doing. In the intro he also recognizes that he doesn’t have access to films and events outside Metro Manila. I feel I needed to flesh out, at least for my case, what exactly does this mean, so other people might find similarities. After many years, there’s barely a dent in the hegemony of Hollywood, big local studios, and mall theatres. And I fear that the gains of regional cinema is going to be made even more negligible by the current pandemic and state’s continued botched response, especially towards cultural workers. The locality of my upbringing has made me very conscious of this spatial gap or delay, and I value discussing the regional afterlives of films as much as the films themselves.

Image from LAZYLYKEE, link here

Aside from championing indie films and events, I also appreciate Bolisay’s attention to a handful of mainstream films, namely Cathy Garcia Molina’s She’s Dating a Gangster (2014) and Peque Gallaga and Lore Reyes’s Aswang (1992). Bolisay never condescends, and assesses commercial films on their own terms. This is a relief, especially since among the effects of the digital wave movement’s failure to reach broader audiences is the somewhat fetishization of small productions along the lines of “I don’t watch Pinoy films unless they’re indie.” I am overjoyed to read him say, ‘[Garcia-Molina] is a director that can easily be dismissed or overrated, but after more than a decade of sticking to her method and style, using them on a number of love teams whether tried or new, it seems only fair to recognize that she is an indispensable filmmaker, as vital to this industry as Lav Diaz and Wenn Deramas, for only she can deliver romantic comedies that are entertaining, insightful, and sensitive, with flair and skill, with indelible moments of catharsis.’ I don’t think I’ve seen She’s Dating a Gangster, but I consider Hello, Love, Goodbye (2019) to be a masterpiece. It makes you mad, think, cry, kilig, all on cue, and most importantly, it made a lot of money, globally. One movie of hers I would like to revisit someday for critical reflection however is Just the 3 of Us (2016), as it candidly used the romcom mode to tackle societal taboos (hook ups, co-habitation, etc), even if it ultimately surrendered to a safe moral formula in the end. On the other hand, I didn’t quite enjoy Aswang as much as Bolisay did, ‘It sure looks dated, but that is more a sign of strength than of weakness. It forgoes the typical too-stupid-to-live characters that permeate more recent episodes of Shake, Rattle, and Roll and strikes a balance between horror and comedy.’ I do still have great respect for Gallaga and Reyes, namely their efforts to localize genres deemed foreign [Batang X (1995), Magic Temple (1996)] especially if placed side by side with the whatever goes/found footage/no script/no storyboard aesthetic of many indie titles, a tendency that Bolisay never fails to call out.

Speaking bad reviews, I rarely write them. It could be laziness, or maybe just a sentiment that bad art isn’t worth writing about. Bolisay is different; the precision of his unpacking is animated, it comes off compassionate to me, but the wit that comes along with its unfolding, if read by filmmakers, could be taken as mocking. I think this is what he refers to when he said this book might ‘reopen wounds’ and ‘attract unneeded animosity’. The cultural sector is after all very small, moving about in a very small space, and a good number of its members are most probably fickle. After all, why put down one of your own, especially if there are bigger adversaries (Hollywood, local big studios, state neglect)? The poetic and brutal takedowns, reminiscent of Ebert, are again focused on form, but in its barest, they are notes for improvement. Bolisay doesn’t get personal, remains articulate, and doesn’t invalidate artistic visions. On Richard Somes, ‘Mariposa (2012) has its share of gripping moments, with narrative crests scattered in the beginning, middle, and end, it becomes weak due to his disregard for pacing, the potboiler never quite boiling because the meat turns out to be half-cooked, the soup lacking more than a pinch of salt.’ On Louie Ignacio, ‘At some point in Asintado (2014), most likely after the first fifteen minutes, the viewer gives up on the idea that it is going to be good.” On Paul Sta. Ana, ‘Sitting through Balut Country (2015) and at some point feeling that is has nothing more to share than platitudes and sentimentality, one wonders why such a harmless film is made, and why, in a world full of pleasant possibilities, an audience must endure eating bland pudding instead of something nourishing.’ On Jim Libiran’s Ninja Party (2015), ‘Having depth, whether explicit or implicit, is not its priority, and the lack of perceptiveness only serves to punctuate the upholding of male entitlement, both in the film and the film-making, and the aftertaste is nasty as fuck.’ Going back to what I mentioned about press releases getting more space than reviews in print, reading these takedowns is sobering. At this point in local cinema’s history, it is clear that the ‘indie’ or ‘support local films’ cards can only take you so far. Good intentions, for both creators and audiences, won’t salvage the industry. Bolisay’s harsh recommendations serve as antidote to this wishful thinking.

So where are we now? I personally think the moment of the Third Golden Age or Digital Wave has long been over bore 2017, for better or worse. Hollywood, big local studios, and big cinema operators are still standing tall, but it would be unfair to claim that it hasn’t changed, from factors internal and external. Online streaming, in both exclusive sites like Netflix or in YouTube, is a formidable alternative to high-brow film festivals, not sure though if it’s sustainable production-wise. Institutionalization in its many faces has issues but it provides a relatively better playing field nonetheless. Glaring at the moment is FDCP’s silence on the shutdown of ABS-CBN, an institution that has overtaken it in restoring classic films. The political potential of indie feature films is all but extinguished (Brilliante Mendoza has filmed Duterte’s SONA, Adolfo Alix made a biopic of Boni Ilagan but also of Bato dela Rosa). Essential reading in this regard is Rolando Tolentino’s 2014 essay ‘Lino Brocka and the Legacy of Political Cinema’, which also served as an intro to his study on Brocka. Fortunately, organized and militant documentary collectives with close ties to disadvantaged communities have also sprung up. Antonette Jadaone has not made a film as smart as Six Degrees of Separation From Lilia Cuntapay (2011) but her commercial romances are more grounded and less reliant on meet cutes. Lav Diaz, ever uncompromising, has more resources than ever, now its just a question of getting his films to people. Regional cinema is blooming slowly but surely. Prospects are dim because of the pandemic, but I believe the spatial gap will eventually be closed, by an emerging generation of filmmaker, conscious of both the victories and defeats of the movement before them.  

I concur with Bolisay that long-form blogging is not as vibrant, but the virtual conversations on films is far from dead, whether it is in the form of tweets, FB hot takes, vlogs, podcasts, or even memes. A few hours or a day or two of trending might not seem much, but Philippine cinema’s next century is still unfolding. It must not be hard, to convince a loving critic to pay attention. Why read Bolisay? Because his critical rigor and dedication is as important during a golden age as much as during an industry slump. The book also included reviews on Working Girls (Ishmael Bernal, 1984) and the lesser known Krimen: Kayo Ang Humatol (Jun Raquiza, 1974), proving the conversation on the Second Golden Age itself is not quite finished yet. I believe where are in a parallel low point similar to the post-Marcos 90s, and it is very dangerous to revert back to nostalgia. I hope this sense of discerning wonder will also be instilled in others, as much as Bolisay reignited it in me. Even more so as the bloody years of the Duterte regime drags on, this aspiration for what is possible, not just in film but in society, has become a matter of life and death. Everyone, collectively, has a role to play.

Break It to Me Gently and Pro Bernal Anti Bio are available at the Everything’s Fine website, but they also have an account in Lazada. Both books are highly recommended and will be on sale soon, in time for 11.11. I would like to thank Oliver for entertaining my questions, and helping me in my order.

Five Neoliberal Lessons in Through Night and Day (Veronica Velasco, 2018)

Audiences are not resistant to change, but they are still particular with their money

In Through Night and Day, destiny is not as involved in the plot, the leads have quirks instead of having token comic relief best friends/siblings/family, the characters more nuanced and raw (though this will be capitulated to more conventional melodramatic tropes in the second half). Initially a flop in 2018, the movie enjoyed renewed interest in Netflix. Some say this is a film finally finding its audience, in a different platform. Or it further reveals that the difference between a ‘successful’ movie and one that is a ‘failure’, is a robust marketing machinery. Companies like Star Cinema, owning both production and distribution, rarely made flops (though the future of the company is currently uncertain). Regarding exhibition, it must be acknowledged that cinema-going (making a day out of it, eating out with friends or family, braving the commute, etc) is becoming drastically inaccessible to many. Streaming is on a roll, as it entails lesser risks in costs (monetary or otherwise), on top of a pandemic (and an incompetent state response) that drags on. So is it a miracle of local cinema after all? It is hard to tell, since in the context of underdevelopment, appreciation is closely tied to where you spend the little money you have. Will a film ‘trending’ change the playing field? The latest Erik Matti rant is curiously enlightening.

Official pubs from 2018, image from here.

Yuppies like stories about themselves, without the anxieties

Related to the previous point, because of a changing (or rather decreasing) audience with surplus purchasing power, young adults take the center stage in recent romance stories. These are urban educated youths, putting off marriage or disregarding it completely and most likely found employment in BPO companies. Generally cynical towards the government, focus is on upward social mobility and pursuing other middle-class fantasies. Politics and the State is always absent. Aspects of work is modified. There is minimal worries of paying bills and supporting family members, and even if it comes up it is resolved by passion and handwork. In Through Night and Day, there is not only an absence of adult responsibilities (Ben, Paolo Contis, manages a family business, Jen, Alessandra de Rosi, is a flippant law student, both details mentioned or shown very briefly), but also the absence of sexuality. Green jokes were convenient substitutes. Contis after all is a mainstay in Bubble Gang. Aiming for a general patronage rating, you need to infantilize young adults.

Traveling for leisure is desired by a nation of labor migrations

The main trust of the movie, a vacation in Iceland from being a experience of leisure is the backdrop of the relationship’s breakdown. Considered by bourgeois common sense as a reliable relationship litmus test, travelling here serves multiple purposes and follows conventions both recent and old. It is significant that Ben and Jen live in Baguio, a space transformed by a deliberate colonial project and the city would later serve as a local setting for mimicry and cosmopolitan aspirations in film during the postwar period up to the 90s. They don’t travel just anywhere, they go to a temperate country like Iceland where they wear slightly thicker coats. There are token scenes of wonder and vexation towards foreign space like dealing with higher costs of living (groceries, car insurance), and even a snotty fellow Filipino tourist. The locations are touristy, but also economical production wise. Just like in Northern Lights (Dondon S. Santos, 2017), sightings of aurora borealis is CGI.

Official pubs from 2018, image from here.

After a big fight, both consult their parents. Ben talks to his mother in New York, where he intends to eventually migrate as well with Jen. His mother’s advice is revealing. When both of you get here, you will further learn compromises. This is textbook relationship advice, but grounded on the fact that affluent Filipino migrants when settling abroad end up in blue-collar jobs and lose their cultural capital and privileges. Decades long policy of labor export is framed as a builder of character. Many linked the film’s affinities to de Rossi’s earlier Kita Kita (Sigrid Andrea Bernardo, 2017), which I considered, among other films, as a propagator of the gentrification of migration narratives. Relationship woes unfold with metropole scenery in the background makes for an uneasy viewing experience; especially recently hearing about massive lay offs, suicides, resorting to scavenging, and migrant Filipinos in different parts of the world generally being hit the hardest by the pandemic.

Audiences want mature resolutions without brushing aside romance

How to steer clear of the notorious happily ever after? Insert a perfectly understanding new partner for Ben, and Jen ravaged by disease but not too much (semi-bald head of a woman usually works fine, as a completely bald head would evoke pity) to prevent them from going on a nostalgia trip that ends with closure. Death is of course implied, not shown. You satisfy both those happily in a relationship and those who are single (who may or may not have unresolved baggage). Films like Never Not Love You (Antoinette Jadaone, 2018) and Hello, Love, Goodbye (Cathy Garcia-Molina, 2019) would flawlessly integrate concerns of labor and migration to heighten conflict and tension in their narratives, bringing out a facade of ‘wokeness’, which also pulls on the heartstrings of the yuppie crowd. Through Night and Day does the opposite, and still works.  Either way the individual self and its emotional pursuits or laments reigns supreme, making invisible the neoliberal order.

Movie trends are symptoms of their historical periods.

Loosely, the last twenty years have shown the following trends; resurgence of bold films in the aftermath of the Asian financial crisis, but would lay the ground for the gritty indie wave under GMA administration, blockbuster romantic comedies under PNoy, and lastly the reinvented romances of/for young adults that are both light and lachrymose in the time of Duterte. What do these illustrate, about an audience and an industry perpetually in crisis, and where are we headed? More importantly, what are our alternatives?

Official pubs from 2018, image from here.

Through Night and Day is available for streaming in Netflix.