Hang the DJ February 9, 2010
Posted by Richard Bolisay in Music.5 comments
Well, I couldn’t think of any fitting comparison aside from what I have always thought: blogs are like bands. You create them, you spend time with them, you write entries like composing a song, you jazz them up with photos and widgets like arranging a symphony, and in the end you tell your friends about it.
In short, it’s an endeavor—an attempt—a musical project like Spencer Krug’s Moonface or Raimund Marasigan’s Squid 9. Most of them are “solo” efforts, complete with a cool moniker, like Zachary Condon’s Beirut, Karin Andersson’s Fever Ray, or Justin Vernon’s Bon Iver; or “side” projects, like Ben Gibbard’s Postal Service, Jack White’s Dead Weather, or Dave Grohl’s Them Crooked Vultures. But in essence, it’s all about finding the right outlet for things, finding the right group to fit in, and finding the right people to collaborate with.
And that’s what makes the third blog all the more exciting. If I may say it in the vernacular, Kalebel niya ang Broken Social Scene sa pagiging collaborative! (Well I hope, in terms of quality too, hehe)
Yeah, I clap my hands and say yeah.
Hang the DJ’s maiden issue is finally out. Album and track reviews from pop to hip-hop, from indie to R&B, from American Idol to SXSW, and from old releases to the new: they’re here. Featuring contributions from Faye Balanon, Thor Balanon, Rex Baylon, Richard Bolisay, Dodo Dayao, Ayn Marie Dimaya, Megan Diño, Glenn Ituriaga, Je Lapegera, Julius Maraya, Andrea Nicola, Monchito Nocon, Oliver Ortega, KZ Otarra, Kate Pedroso, Frances Mae Ramos, Juno Barbra Streisand, RM Topacio-Aplaon, Leo Ray Valencia, and Janina Vistan.
* Images courtesy of Megan Diño
Favorite Albums of the Noughties February 3, 2010
Posted by Richard Bolisay in Music.3 comments
Pardon me for posting another music list again. WordPress seems to be much friendlier in terms of layout and visits than the other blog, so this noughties list finds its home here. Without sounding too defensive I think my appreciation for the movies goes hand in hand with my love for music, that without one or the other, I wouldn’t be regarding them the way I do now, or even think of writing about them. They are inseparable fields, almost one.
All right, so without further nonsense, here are my favorite albums of the last decade. (List lovers, you won again.)
15. Stubbs the Zombie Soundtrack (Various Artists, 2005) My fondness for remakes reaches its climax here. The strangest of circumstances led me to discover it—considering I don’t play any video game. Must be fate, must be the ghosts of 50s and 60s songs reminding me that I was born in the wrong era. That being the case, this may be fate’s way of tolerating my homesickness. Every track in Stubbs the Zombie smacks of that ugly wound that never heals: the nostalgia of something that can never happen—and probably never will.
14. Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots (The Flaming Lips, 2002) The Lips regard each of their experiments like their only ticket to ride the popularity they have amassed since The Soft Bulletin. The record that comes after it sounds so fluid that when it ends it dreammorphs into air, occupying the space of future time, and taking all the hearts of dead hopeless-romantics they could ever get to use. Yoshimi is as bizarre as it is wonderful.
13. Greatest Hits: Chapter One (Backstreet Boys, 2001) The only record in this list which I can sing along to whether asleep or awake. Black & Blue should be here, but I opted for this instead because I listen to it the most; “Backstreet Boys obscurity” (frak what a term) is a no-no. I know every bit of ooohs and aaahs and yeaahs and babys in this collection, and I know where every one of them is placed. But above all else, it confounds me like the lost ark, what songs will they include in Chapter Two?
12. The Crane Wife (The Decemberists, 2006) A concept album that is more of an album than a concept, which is good, because most albums tend to get too conceptual and forget that they are albums, bought for a price and not just a giveaway. If you go ambitious, go more ambitious than ambitious; for even if you fail, at least you are still an ambition away from failure. The Decemberists are fine musicians, and are even made finer because Colin Meloy is a wonderful writer, he whose gifts never falter in every track of this record. Luscious to the core, The Crane Wife rewards like a great Japanese novel, slowly peeling to reveal its hidden treasure, gratifying word after word.
11. Plans (Death Cab for Cutie, 2005) I kill myself every time I listen to this, how in its melodies I find the comfort of a dying man, resuscitating me the living, only to keep my life shorter than it should be. So much for their name, in Plans, Death Cab is at their most bereaved.
10. The ‘59 Sound (The Gaslight Anthem, 2008) It’s all but a feeling of looking back. Brian Fallon sings and alludes to Charles Dickens, Bob Dylan, Tom Waits, Sam Cooke, Miles Davis, old Hollywood movies, and of course, their main influence, Bruce Springsteen. He sings them like parting ways with their memories, full of energy, brimming with force, non-stop, never petering out. Amid all the references, the hodgepodge doesn’t feel in any way contrived; on the contrary, it is the record’s absolute distinction.
9. Bring it Back (Mates of State, 2006) Mates of State are better than the White Stripes not because they are less popular but because they don’t care. They create music filled with harmonies that are always in good spirits, but without lying to us about the ugliness of the world either.
8. Lesser Matters (The Radio Dept., 2003) Remember that childhood habit of singing in front of an electric fan in full speed, and enjoying the sound that comes out of it, like alien noises or trapped spirits in chorus. Oh how we spend lazy afternoons just doing that. The Radio Dept. sound just like that, only theirs is lyrical, melodious, and polished. It’s twee the way twee should be: dainty, fragile, and almost shivery, but beautiful nevertheless. Lesser Matters is light but not lightweight, sun-dappled but not too sunny, and all its tracks are refreshing like an ice-cold glee.
7. Sound of Silver (LCD Soundsystem, 2007) Sound of silver talk to me, makes you want to feel like a teenager, until you remember the feelings of, a real life emotion of teenager, then you think again. James Murphy sings these words to me while in fact I am no longer a teenager, but he still makes me feel like one. A dance album that does not only leave me dancing, it also leaves me in a state of unexplained giddiness that I end up wailing the way an Air Supply song does.
6. Silver Series (Donna Cruz, 2006) Quite possibly the greatest pop star of her time (although she barely made it there) and on a par with Nora Aunor and Vilma Santos during their musical heyday, Donna Cruz is more relished now when she is no longer active. And that’s the test of greatness, I think, feeling the loss when the career is no longer there, fumbling only with the crumbs left of it. Still, in my wildest dreams, I picture a Donna Cruz comeback, and in them she sings all these songs, never waning, divine and garish, guesting in an old noontime show. I always get this feeling that she’s like J.D. Salinger, stopping when she’s at the peak, but not regretting it in the slightest. A legacy untarnished until now.
5. Dragonslayer (Sunset Rubdown, 2009) Too soon you say, but if Dragonslayer only has “You Go On Ahead (Trumpet Trumpet II)” it will still be here. The hidden epic feels more pronounced as it continues, like it rolls until it finally explodes—only it doesn’t explode but silently kills. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry when Krug cheers, “This one’s for the critics and their disappointed mothers!” but how nice of him to say.
4. Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (Wilco, 2001) Calling it life-changing doesn’t even feel like an exaggeration, or an empty pronouncement that overjoyed fans always find themselves saying. But truth, as always, reveals. Yankee Hotel Foxtrot is already deemed a classic right after it came out, and looking back nine years after, it still is, coming out shy from the recognition. It’s like a heart saved from dying; beating with a renewed appreciation of life every time it plays. I figure if this were a film list, this would be that Hong Kong movie with a man telling his secret to a tree.
3. Sung Tongs (Animal Collective, 2004) More interesting for me is how music critics have managed—and have continued to manage—to convince us that Animal Collective are not only terribly good musicians but also consistently great artists, like they can do no wrong in the future. In my fanaticism for the band, I admit, I have always raised that as a concern. My friend asks me, almost rhetorical: are we really aware that we’re mostly growing up with music journalism and not with the music itself? Yes, that’s true, and I am completely aware. And it’s weird his question only started to bother me when I finally got down making this list. Thinking about it I remember that Sung Tongs is one of the first records that opened its doors for me to discover many great things—like Alice in Wonderland or Willy Wonka when we were young—and if that’s the effect of bandwagon journalism and canonizing way of writing I am always exposed to, I feel there’s no reason to be sad about it. On the contrary, I’m thankful that this came along my way. Sung Tongs only has Avey and Panda working; and albeit stripped, its temper hops like a crazy kangaroo, and it sounds like a cricket humming in a coma. For an album that starts with cats and rabbits, this one is a rare occurrence of a fey portent—the will-o’-the-wisp of all Animal Collective records.
2. Illinois (Sufjan Stevens, 2005) How to profess my love for something that only silence can tell? The late nights are my witness: this comforts me without me asking for it. Illinois is Sufjan’s literariness at its coltishly best, charming all the way through even in its lonesome moments. Every time Sufjan opens his mouth to sing, all the trees in the field clap, all the leaves sway in merriment, and all the roots climb their way up just to glimpse at his face.
1. In Rainbows (Radiohead, 2007) How much for a memory I can’t remember? It is a feat in almost everything, a skyrocket that explodes after takeoff, and every shrapnel shoots to the heart and bury themselves there. What else to say aside from “this is not Kid A“?
Mobile Men (Apichatpong Weerasethakul, 2008) January 30, 2010
Posted by Richard Bolisay in Asian Films, Short Cuts.add a comment
Shot, edited, and directed by Apichatpong Weerasethakul
Cast: Jaai Loongsu, Nitipong Thinthupthai
For something commissioned it could be tricky. Apichatpong films two young men in a pick-up truck who show off their bodies and tattoos, as they move the camera alternately while the truck runs in full speed. The effect is somewhat hedonistic, how the man shouts in the end, laughs as he mocks himself, the camera capturing his happiness and indifference. Apichatpong tells in an interview that the main actor—I presume the man without the tattoos—is a Burmese migrant worker; the other, I am guessing again, is Thai. The conditions of migrant workers in Thailand, specifically those from Burma, Laos, and Cambodia, are even aggravated by the fact that they were given special provisions upon their stay in the country, prohibiting them from “leaving their designated housing at night, using mobile phones, and from gathering together outside their houses in groups of more than five.” The contrast between the two men is never felt, as Apichatpong seizes in the film that enjoyment of having time on their hands, that cheerful and careless attitude toward life, like engaging in a thrilling ride albeit short. There’s a glimpse of Apichatpong’s face in the middle, and the microphone is revealed when the man with tattoos removes his shirt in the end. And there goes that feeling again—of being in the presence of something beautiful yet inexplicable, of something interesting without being close to hypothetical.
Phantoms of Nabua (Apichatpong Weerasethakul, 2009) January 26, 2010
Posted by Richard Bolisay in Asian Films, Short Cuts.add a comment
Shot, edited, and directed by Apichatpong Weerasethakul
Cast: Kumgieng Jittamaat, Miti Jittamaat, Phetmongkol Chantawong
Watch it as it is, with no regard whatsoever to its background and intention, and you still get a faint sense of completeness in Phantoms of Nabua. It’s like the box you keep under the bed or inside the rusty cabinet, the box containing papers and nitty things of your youth, memories which only make sense to you, keepsakes that will only be gone once you decide to bury them in your heart and not in your mind. The implication of that, of course, is necessary. When you bury things in your heart, you may not remember them well, but you will feel them pointedly; you will remember the feeling even without connecting it to the actual memory, even without any sense of coherence, even without anything at all. Just the main feeling trying to crawl out of your heart, trying to stick out, hands and feet swinging on your cardiovascular bars, aiming for recollection without consciously wanting it.
Phantoms of Nabua lingers as far as it remains immobile, and stays as much as it tends to bring itself back to life again. It doesn’t tell the truth but it doesn’t lie either. Time is not just a concept. Time is tangible; and the film depicts time in that respect—using light as representative, representation as the only option that will suffice. Lights are everywhere: from the fluorescent lamp and the light of the projector and the screen, to the lightning and the ball of fire being kicked around, burning the grass and setting the screen ablaze. The light is the parent of the images—the parent of the film itself—the light that triggers the fire. The eerie sound of the ball being kicked punctuates the mood of its indeterminate setting, without having a before or an after, a prior or a later, and a during or a since—only a here and a there. And Apichatpong, amid all the bustling sparks, where is he? Where do we see him? Was he the one who lit the bonfire in our heads that caused the rapture? And how come it feels so familiar when we have never really been there at all?
A Letter to Uncle Boonmee (Apichatpong Weerasethakul, 2009) January 20, 2010
Posted by Richard Bolisay in Asian Films, Short Cuts.1 comment so far
Directed by Apichatpong Weerasethakul
Cast: Kumgieng Jittamaat, Miti Jittamaat, Phetmongkol Chantawong
The camera moves like a phantom, not that I have seen one, but if a phantom moves like a human being then there is no reason to call it a phantom in the first place. So ascribing its movement to a phantom’s seems fit; how it glides, roves, and circumvents; sometimes even floats from the ground. What it sees is different from what it captures, for Apichatpong has able to personify the camera with non-human qualities—something less human in layman’s terms—and share exuberant glimpses of the house in Nabua through its mobility. It is A Letter to Uncle Boonmee’s distinct quality, as well as other Apichatpong’s films: locomotion. For locomotion is not just about a movement of location; it is also about a movement of time, a twitch of reincarnation, and a reoccurrence of possibilities. Hence the origin of the word: locomotive + motion. The subjects are the locomotives and Apichatpong does their motion, driving them toward some memory through a telepathic grapevine of sorts, the political past blurred but still there, like a faded photograph grayed by time. The memento remains; the hurt lingers; but they are no longer obvious. And us viewers, we say the images are beautiful, the rhetoric is magnificent, the ethereal quality of the film overwhelms; but how come we tend to tolerate Apichatpong as he turns the nightmare of military occupation into such drifting experience? Knowing the history of the place, how can we be deceived? How come the intrinsic quality of the film overwhelms its source, which in itself is blankly mystifying? Apichatpong’s aesthetic, like any great fiction, bewilders, to the point that after watching it the second time I felt there were things missing, things I failed to see again, images that were lost, scenes that got pregnant and were conceived without me noticing. The sound is integral too, especially when it gets pitched and turns silent, sashaying like the visuals. Looking back on A Letter to Uncle Boonmee’s roots, it is revealing that our farmers have the most stories to tell and yet they are the quietest. These farmers had died; but their stories, and even their spirits, had stayed. When people become things, that’s when they affect more, the tropical malady seems to say. But then beyond is where Apichatpong is going; and beyond is where he has always been.
Sherlock Holmes (Guy Ritchie, 2009) January 15, 2010
Posted by Richard Bolisay in Hollywood, Literature.add a comment
Directed by Guy Ritchie
Cast: Robert Downey Jr., Jude Law, Rachel McAdams, Mark Strong
Based on Arthur Conan Doyle’s characters and stories
I’m sure whatever it is that I don’t get in the film is in the books, which I haven’t read, but the closest I have managed to relate to Sherlock Homes is through House—yes, House, the medical drama—so I was still able to follow at least. House as Holmes and Wilson, of course, as Watson; and Moriarty shooting House at the end of season two will probably be coming in the film’s sequel. The wordplay is intentional as much as the allusion is, not to mention how both characters interact and deal with each other, Holmes and Watson apparently engaged in bromance decades before the word is coined, even before they are aware that such relationship will be an important stuff of TV sociology as it is right now. The homosocial intimacy is part of the appeal of Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmes, to the point that Adler may not have existed and it wouldn’t hurt the story that much. It may not be faithful to the text, but who cares? Holmes mentions, Crime is common but logic is rare, and Guy Ritchie prefers the former, the text intact and the execution almost as we have imagined, but is still lacking because the logic is not chosen as priority. Interesting is when Holmes ponder his actions before doing it— like a bullet reflecting on its direction before hitting the target—and Downey just has it, his eyes are always lovely to look at. But as he proves his point to Lord Blackwood, There was never any magic! Right, there was never any in the film.
The Tioseco-Bohinc Film Series Presents “When Timawa Meets Delgado” January 11, 2010
Posted by Richard Bolisay in Invitation, Noypi.5 comments
The Tioseco-Bohinc Film Series picks up where Alexis Tioseco left off with his Fully Booked screenings, casting light on independent cinema that deserve more audience than it has. An extension of the tireless passion and unconditional love both he and Nika Bohinc put into giving permanence and viability to truly independent cinema, it is also an active remembering of their work and life .
Long championed by Alexis Tioseco, Ray Gibraltar’s “When Timawa Meets Delgado” (2007) is one of local independent cinema’s best-kept secrets, an experimental narrative documentary about health care and the nursing boom in the country that is virtually indescribable and also funny as hell.
The film will be shown on Sunday, January 17, 2010, at Fully Booked High Street (U-View) from 3 pm to 5pm. Filmmaker Ray Gibraltar and poet J.I.E. Teodoro will be in attendance. Hope to see you there.
Link: Oggs Cruz on When Timawa Meets Delgado
* Poster design by Oscar Nava; Drawing by Eli Gegantoca
Ang Panday (Mac Alejandre and Rico Gutierrez, 2009) January 8, 2010
Posted by Richard Bolisay in Asian Films, Festival, Literature, Noypi.4 comments
Directed by Mac Alejandre and Rico Gutierrez
Cast: Bong Revilla, Iza Calzado, Phillip Salvador
Based on National Artist Carlo J. Caparas’ comic series
Hindi ko napanood ang Panday ni Bong Revilla. Hindi naman libre ang sine, at hindi naman ako ipokrito para sabihing handa akong maglustay ng pera sa pelikulang alam ko na ang lasa bago ko pa man tikman, kaya minabuti ko nang premyuhan ang sarili ko ng kapayapaang hindi sasakit ang ulo sa loob ng dalawang oras. Pero dahil tila isa siyang mahalagang pelikula, naghanap ako ng nakapanood. Siyempre hindi naman mahalaga kung pangit o maganda ang pelikula, mas mahalaga kung mahalaga siya. At ang Panday ni Bong Revilla ay mahalaga, kung di man sa habang panahon e kahit papa’no sa taong nakalipas.
Kaya naghagilap ako ng kaibigan. Teks, teks, Walang tawag, tawag, susko, hindi ko na nga ako gumastos sa sine e, tapos gagatos ako sa tawag? Neknek mo Bong. Ayun, may mga sumagot namang mga kaibigan. Iniwasan din nila. Yung iba hindi pa rin nakakanood. Pero suwerte ata ang bakasyon ko dahil isang gabing umuwi ang ate ko at ang mga anak niya, akalain mong nanood pala sila ng Panday. May pera! At naisip ko, bakit pa ba ako lalayo e nandyan naman si Iya, ang pamangkin kong limang-taon na mas maalam pa sa akin sa pagkakaiba ng pangit at maganda. Akalain mo yun, napanood ng pamangkin ko ang Panday ni Bong Revilla. Taob ako. Talo ang credentials ko, kung meron man.
Kaya ayan, pagkatapos maghapunan ni Iya, kinontrata ko na siyang irebyu ang Panday. Ang mga bata, natuklasan ko, wala namang konsepto ng pagtanggi. Basta’t pagmumukhain mong mahalaga ang sasabihin nila, papayag sila. Hindi katulad ng mga utaw na ibang klase kung magpapilit. Ang mga bata, konting bola, konting udyok, papayag na. Wala naman kasi silang mga trabaho at walang mga hang-ups sa buhay. Ayun, papayag si Iya basta raw bibigyan ko siya nung chocolate na nakatago dun sa ref at hindi ko sasabihin sa nanay niya na yun ang kondisyon niya. Ayos, sabi ko, walang problema. Basta pag sumakit ang ngipin mo bahala ka nang magpabuko. E di sabi ko, dali, sulatin mo na. Kahit isang talata lang.
Hawak ang papel at bolpen, tiningnan muna ako ni Iya nang matagal. ‘Kala ko nasa mukha ko ang isusulat niya kaya hinintay ko lang siya tumungo at bumalik sa pagsusulat. Kamukat-mukat mo, may iba palang dahilan. Nung tinanong ko kung bakit di pa siya magsulat, sumagot siya.
“E tito, hindi pa ako marunong magsulat.”
Tang ina, oo nga pala, ba’t di ko ba yun naisip. Akalain mo yun, nakasalalay ang pinakamagandang rebyu ng Panday sa isang batang hindi pa marunong magsulat! Anu’t anuman, hindi maaaring hindi marebyu ang Panday, ngayo’t natagpuan ko na ang pinakatapat na taong maaaring humusga nito. Isa pa, gusto ko rin talagang malaman kung anong tingin ni Iya sa pelikula ni Bong Revilla. Siya lang ang paniniwalaan ko sa lahat.
Kaya minabuti kong kausapin na lang siya. Binitiwan niya ang papel at bolpen at binuksan ang chocolate na suhol.
“O dali, sabihin mo na lang sa ‘kin kung anong tingin mo sa Panday.”
“Hindi siya maganda!”Habang may chocolate pa sa bibig.
“E bakit? Maganda raw sabi ng kuya mo a.”
“Ang pangit-pangit ng istorya. Ang pangit-pangit. Parang yung kalaro ko.”
“Ba’t pangit?”
“E kasi, yung lalaking kalbo, ang pangit na, masama pa. At saka yung dila niya ang haba-haba. Tas itinali niya si Panday sa dila niya. Saka pinagbubugbog niya gamit yung dila niya. Kadiri.”
Tigil. Kumuha pa si Iya ng chocolate. Mukhang may sasabihin pa siya kaya hinayaan ko muna siyang magpatuloy.
“Nakakalungkot yung istorya. At saka si Panday nabulag siya. Tas yung babae ni Panday magpapakasal dun sa kalbong lalaki! Yung pangit na kamukha ng kalaro ko.”
“Bakit, ano ba yung magandang palabas? Ba’t hindi yun yung pinanood niyo?”
“Yung Shake Wattle and Woll. Pinakamaganda yun sa buong mundo. Pinilit lang nila ako manood ng Panday. E me pera naman ako. Sabi nila iiwan daw nila ako sa loob ng sinehan pag di ako pumayag.”
Tigil ulit.
“Gusto ko ng nakakatakot. Gusto ko ng kinakabahan. E sa Panday hindi ako kinakabahan kasi ang sama-sama nung lalaki. Ang pangit-pangit! Ang sama-sama nung kalbong lalaking kamukha ng kalaro ko!”
Parang hanggang dun na lang ang kayang sabihin ni Iya; kaya minabuti kong ihinto na ang pagtatanong at patulugin siya, kasabay ng paghahangad na hindi niya mapanaginipan si Phillip Salvador. Tama, ito na nga ang pinakamatapat na rebyung hindi ko kayang isulat.
#
P.S. (isang P.S. na mas mahaba pa sa S)
Gusto ko lang isingit bilang nandito na rin. Kasagsagan ng MMFF nang imungkahi ni Bong Revilla na magpalabas lamang ng isang Hollywood movie sa loob ng isang buwan. Ginawa niyang halimbawa ang kaso ng South Korea, na diumano ay lubhang nakatulong ang limitasyon sa pagpasok ng pelikulang Hollywood upang umunlad ang sarili nitong industriya.
Alisin ang konteksto, may kabuluhan ang gustong mangyari ni Bong Revilla. Matagal nang patay ang pelikulang Filipino dahil sa mga import na palabas. Mas maraming gustong manood ng Paranormal Activity kaysa Villa Estrella, ng Up at Wall-E kaysa Urduja at Dayo, ng New Moon kaysa Yanggaw. Pero kapag tinanggal mo lahat ng tubig sa dagat, ano-ano at sino-sino nga lang ba ang maiiwan? Si Kim Chiu at Gerald Anderson? Si Vic Sotto? Si Piolo Pascual? Mano Po 97? Shake Rattle and Roll 105? Napakagandang sitwasyon.
Sa totoo lang, pinapaniwala lang tayo ng mga katulad ni Bong Revilla na nabubuhay ang pelikulang Filipino minsan sa isang taon dahil sa MMFF—na palagay ko ay mas akmang tawaging “burol ng pelikulang Filipino” kaysa isang okasyon. Oo nga, kumikita ang mga pelikula, pero makabuluhan ba ang mga ito? Totoo bang na-enjoy siya ng mga tao tulad ng madalas nilang sabihin kapag itinapat na ang mikropono? O dahil Pasko lang at walang karapatang maging salbahe? Ganun na lang ba lagi, maganda ang pelikula dahil pinaghirapan? Sinong ulol ang gusto niyong lokohin? Maski pamangkin kong limang-taong gulang nga hindi niyo nabola e. At kahit maglabas pa ang ABS-CBN kada isang oras ng ambush interview na napakaganda ng I Love You, Goodbye—at kahit sabihin pa ni Kris Aquino na maganda ang kahit anong pelikula ng Star Cinema mamatay man siya—e alam naman natin kung sino ang tunay na nagagantso.
Alisin ang konteksto, layunin ni Bong na pasiglahin ang pelikulang Filipino. Dahil kaunti na lang ang palabas na Hollywood, “mapipilitan” ang mga taong manood ng mga lokal na gawa at dahil dun, masaya ang producers, masaya ang MTRCB dahil marami silang mahuhuthot na buwis sa bawat pelikulang ipapalabas, masaya ang gobyerno dahil sa limpak-limpak na buwis na mananakaw, masaya ang mga tsismosa dahil mas marami silang mapagtsi-tsismisan, masaya ang mga artista dahil lagi silang may trabaho, at masaya ang kabit ng mga artista dahil hindi sila mawawalan ng sustento. Ang saya-saya ‘no? Isa lang naman ang hindi magiging masaya e. Ang manonood.
Mabibilang mo sa daliri ng iyong kamay at paa kung ilan lang ang magagandang pelikulang Filipino na lumalabas sa isang taon, kabilang na diyan ang mga kasali sa Cinemalaya, Cinemanila, at Cinema One, yaong mga bukas sa publiko upang panoorin; at sa takbo ng mainstream cinema sa ngayon, sino nga ba ang talagang talo? Hindi ba’t kami na nagbabayad para sa pelikula, kami na may karapatang pumili kung saan namin gustong gastusin ang perang pinaghirapan naming ipunin, kami na umaasang maaaliw pero lumalabas ng sinehan na sising-sisi, kami na naniwala sa sinabi ni Piolo at KC na maganda ang pelikula nila pero hindi naman pala. Bakit sa lahat ng tao kami ang kailangang magdusa? Hindi ba’t tama lang naman na kapootan namin kayo at sigawan ng, Putangina niyo, bakit hindi niyo na lang pagandahin ang mga pelikula niyo? Bakit kami ang titikisin niyo at huhusgahan sa panlasa na mayroon kami? At bakit kayo ang magdidikta ng kung ano ang magandang palabas na maaari lang naming panoorin?
Lilinawin ko, hindi ko punto na lahat ng pelikulang Hollywood ay maganda. Sa totoo lang, karamihan ng mga dinadala nila rito ay yaong mga tingin lang ng mga distributor ay kikita—dahil siyempre pera-pera lang naman yan. Yung mga magaganda, inaasa na lang natin sa pirata at download sa Internet. E kung pera-pera lang din naman pala, bakit ko pa payayamanin si Bong Revilla at tutulungan siyang makagawa ng mga pelikulang tulad ng Panday na sabi nga ng pamangkin ko ay, “Ang pangit-pangit! An pangit-pangit!”? Kapag nanggaling sa bata ang salitang pangit, mga 98% lang naman siguro siyang totoo.
Sasabihin ko sa inyo, kapag maganda ang pelikula, manonood ang mga tao, krisis man o hindi. Matalino po kami. Baka po kayo yung hindi. Manonood kami kapag gusto namin; manonood kami kung naniniwala kaming may mapapala kami sa pelikula. Kahit na hindi kami kumain habang nanonood, basta solb na sa palabas. Kahit maglakad pa kami pauwi. Ganun naman ang tunay na pagmamahal sa pelikula ‘di ba? Sa sinasabi mo Bong Revilla, kailan pa kinailangan ng awa (at hindi ng suporta) ang pelikulang Filipino?
At bilang pahabol, huwag na natin alisin ang konteksto. Iwan mo ang konteksto at si Bong Revilla ay hitik pa rin sa kanyang messiah complex. Siya diumano ang ating Tagapagligtas. Itinuturing niya ang mga manonood bilang Katrina Halili at ang Hollywood bilang Hayden Kho. At handa siyang maglaan ng pagkahaba-habang speech sa Senado para ipamukha sa atin kung gaano siya kakisig upang ipaglaban tayo. Hindi niya tatantanan ang mga Hayden Kho sa mundo hangga’t hindi sila natatanggalan ng lisensya. At nakakapag-Ingles na siya ngayon, dahil kinakailangan. Ang lalaki nga naman! Gagawa ng paraan basta’t makaiskor lang. “Ang pogi mo, Bong!” gusto niya atang marinig mula sa atin. O kulang pa, “Ang macho-macho mo, Bong! Pahalik!” Magsama kayo ng pelikula mo sa basurahan.
Minsan nakadepende rin ang mungkahi sa nakaisip nito.
Isang Panayam kay Ray Gibraltar January 4, 2010
Posted by Richard Bolisay in Asian Films, Cinema One, Indie Sine, Interview, Noypi.add a comment
Kagagaling lang ni Ray Gibraltar sa isang shoot ng AVP para sa kaarawan ng isang dating senadora bago niya paunlakan ang panayam na ito. Small-time lang daw, habang naghahanap siya ng trabaho sa paglagi niya rito sa Maynila. Tubong Iloilo si Ray—nagtapos ng kursong Philosophy sa University of Saint La Salle sa Bacolod at naging seminarista sa loob ng pitong taon—at doon nagsimulang magkainteres sa paggawa ng pelikula, hanggang sa mapadpad ang ilan sa mga ito sa Lungsod.
Unang nakilala si Ray sa pelikulang When Timawa Meets Delgado noong 2007, at kamakailan lang ay nasungkit niya ang pinakamataas na parangal sa Cinema One Originals para sa pelikulang Wanted: Border. Natapos din niya ang Syokoy, isang documentary tungkol sa Guimaras oil spill, sa tulong ng manunulat na si J.I.E. Teodoro at kapwa-filmmaker na si Oscar Nava; at ang Joy To The World, ang Prosesyon, na ipinalabas noong 2008 sa Cinemanila. Layon ng panayam na higit pang makilala ang filmmaker, partikular na ang pagtalakay sa pinakahuli niyang pelikulang Wanted: Border. Ang usapang isang oras na panayam ay umabot ng tatlo. Heto’t tunghayan.
I Love You, Goodbye (Laurice Guillen, 2009) January 3, 2010
Posted by Richard Bolisay in Asian Films, Festival, Noypi.4 comments
Kim to Derek, her bones projecting themselves very well, “Don’t you find me attractive?” (Hands down, the runaway winner of the best movie line of 2009)
*
Directed by Laurice Guillen
Cast: Angelica Panganiban, Gabby Concepcion, Derek Ramsay, Kim Chiu
In the Church of England—this I lift from the dictionary—a vicar is “a person acting as priest of a parish in place of the rector, or as representative of a religious community to which tithes belong.” Meanwhile, the Roman Catholic Church describes it as “an ecclesiastic representing the pope or a bishop.” “The Pope uses the title Vicarius Christi,” Wikipedia adds, “meaning the vicar of Jesus Christ.” As you see it is quite a sacred word, something that holds power albeit secondary. In common usage, the vicar is “a person who acts in place of another”; like a substitute or a deputy. It doesn’t take a genius to know that it is where the adjective “vicarious” is derived from, the adjective used to mean something “performed, exercised, received, or suffered in place of another” or “felt or enjoyed through imagined participation in the experience of others”. There is no one-word appropriate synonym for “vicarious”; it seems that any close word fails to capture its essence. In Pushing Daisies literature, though, “vicarious” could also mean the “by-proxy-high-five” Chuck and Ned once show to express their excitement, to which Emerson Cod, the vicar, answers with “by-proxy-vomit”.
So I devoted a long paragraph just to introduce the word, which in a way not only describes I Love You, Goodbye and the agony of seeing it, but also applies to all Star Cinema movies released in the last ten years. Vicarious also seems fit to describe the feeling I had after seeing the movie—that while I was not thoroughly angered, I felt that I watched something that was not there, like all the emotions I felt are just felt for me, like all the thoughts I had inside the theater are just plain submission to that said vicariousness. Pardon my use of jargon, but the experiences of the four amoebic characters are shown “without utilizing real emotions” and “without undergoing the tedious sublimation and distillation of true feelings”. In short, their experiences never passed through because they were fakes; and early cognition already sorted them out from the real. Like a profound idea, it dawned on me that Star Cinema are creators of cyborgs; we just think we feel that way because their robots are acting that way, replicating the emotions they should feel, which they really don’t possess, and which by virtue of intention we should also feel while watching them (I suppose when we’re dead). The writers and the crew all help to create them but in totality they are just mere buttons of the toy, doing what is ordered.
I Love You, Goodbye is too stiff to be enjoyed, too humorless to pass as entertainment (except for Matet and Ketchup, who, after realizing I was robbed of enjoyment, have led me to believe that Star Cinema are keen on creating obligatory side characters who are way, way, way more interesting than their inutile main characters), and too lifeless to even call it a movie. Guillen attempts to make the flashbacks appear like old-school melodramas—like something that will make the present-day narrative replete with interest—that after being aware of their backstories, we expect to see the characters in a different light, but no. The narrative only becomes as stale as any moldy bread, and worse, we get to eat it. After seeing I Love You, Goodbye, now I know what go suck a lemon means; and what an unpleasant way to know the unpleasant answer. Even Kim Chiu asking Derek Ramsay ”Don’t you find me an attractive?” which in the trailer sounds funny and thought-provoking, falls flat like a flat chest. The story aims to be turbulent but only comes out flatulent, turgid like a bloated corpse. The ending is likewise a nightmare like no other. And if I should make a late suggestion, they should have omitted that comma in the title, for purposes of logic.
Never has it sounded so true: it’s a whole lot better to support bright people making stupid works than see stupid people attempting to look bright. Case rested.
