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.

Richard Bolisay: Una sa lahat, congratulations! Kumusta ang pagkapanalo? Bukod sa masaya, siyempre.

Ray Gibraltar: Salamat. Matagal bago nagsink-in, sa dami ng iniisip at kailangang gawin. Mas na-excite pa nga ako nung awarding ni Pacman e. Kaya nung awarding medyo mababa na ang energy.

RB: Ah, kasabay nung awarding ni Pacquiao yung awards night ng Cinema One?

RG: Oo, boksing ni Pacquiao nung umaga, tas nung gabi awarding naman ng Cinema One.

RB: Inagawan ka ng moment ni Pacquiao.

RG: Hindi naman. Pacquaio yan e! Moment lagi. *tawa*

RB: Lagi mo na tuloy ‘tong maaalala, kasi kasabay ng pagkapanalo ni Manny.

RG: Actually, dun ako sa Makati nanood. Event ng Nike. Nakakatawa nga e, sinama lang ako ng kaibigan ko. So event nga ng Nike, e di lahat ng tao naka-Nike T-shirt, outfit. . . Papasok na kami ng venue nung na-realize ko na ang laki pala ng logo ng Adidas sa damit ko!

RB: Mabuti walang umaway. Haha.

RG: Wala namang umaway. Deadma lang.

RB: Siyanga pala, first time mo ba ‘tong manalo sa isang festival sa Maynila?

RG: Ilang beses na ‘ko nanalo sa Gawad CCP para sa Alternatibong Pelikula,  at sa Moonrise.

RB: Pero para sa full-length?

RG: Para sa full-length, eto pa lang. Sa totoo lang, ‘di naman ako naniniwala sa competition.

RB: Bakit?

RG: Subjective din kasi. Kung ma-tripan ng judges, e di okay. Kung hindi. . . e di ayos din. Pero siyempre mas okay manalo!

RB: Onga, kung may premyo naman bakit tatanggihan. Haha.

RG: Korak! Premyo na lang. Haha.

RB: Pero bakit ka sasali kung hindi ka naniniwala?

RG: Experience. At saka yung effort sa side ng filmmakers e pagkapanalo na yun. Lalo na at ginagawa nila sa labas ng sistema.

RB: Sabagay, akala nila madaling gumawa ng pelikula ngayon porket indie daw. Napanood mo ba yung ibang mga pelikulang nakasama mo?

RG: Yung iba. Medyo pagod kasi ako nung screenings. Lutang pa talaga. Pag naka-tiyempo, papanoorin ko ulit yung iba. Pero ako, personally, ayaw ko sanang pumupunta sa screenings ng mga pelikula ko. Lalo na sa premiere. Ewan ko. Hindi ko lang trip.

RB: Ayaw mo makita ang reaksyon ng mga tao?

RG: Hindi naman sa ayaw. At wala naman akong pakialam sa ire-react nila. *tawa* Kahit mag-walkout pa sila. O mag-riot.

RB: Parang pelikula ni FPJ.

RG: ‘Wag lang magpatayan. Anti-violence kasi ako. Eto na nga ang pinaka-mensahe ko sa Wanted: Border. Tama na ang kabaliwan. Tama na ang violence. Kumain na lang tayo!

RB: Anti-violence pero cannibalism ang pelikula. Haha. Kumain tayo ng violence!

RG: Yung cannibalism, metaphor lang yun sa mga totoong nangyayari. Actually baka mayroon nga talagang gumagawa nun, sa sobrang baliw na ng lipunan natin.

RB: Ang mga tao hindi masyadong sineseryoso ang cannibalism. Parang konsepto lang siya ng mga sinaunang tao at hayop. Masyadong alien yung ideya. May cases ng cannibalism sa iba’t ibang bansa, hanggang sa ngayon. Sa Filipinas, ‘di ko lang sigurado. Malay natin!

RG: Kumain na lang tayo ng kansi!

RB: Ano’ng kansi?

RG: Bulalo!

RB: Ah, haha, mahilig ako sa bulalo. Pero bulalong baboy a, hindi tao. Teka, dito ka na ba sa Maynila kasama ng pamilya mo? Dito na kayo nakatira?

RG: Hindi, sa Iloilo pa sila. Pero misis ko ang taga-Maynila. Umuwi lang kami ng Iloilo noong 2004.

RB: Kakaiba a, siya yung nandun, ikaw yung nandito. E di malungkot?

RG: Malungkot talaga. Ngayon lang kami ulit nagkahiwalay. Kaya nung nag-post prod dito, hirap ako. Umiiyak lagi ang anak ko. Nasanay kasi ako na araw-araw kasama yung misis ko at anak ko.

RB: At para ito sa adhikain ng pelikula? *tawa*

RG: Yun nga e! Pakiramdam ko nag-iisa ako sa masikip at mataong metro! Ang ironic.

RB: May mga kaibigan ka naman!

RG: Marami akong kaibigan. Kaya nga nakakagawa pa rin ng pelikula. Sila lang ang puhunan ko rito, mga kaibigan.

RB: May permanente ka bang trabaho ngayon? O naghahanap ka?

RG: Naghahanap. Simula sa Grade One. May trabaho ba diyan?

RB: Wala sa pagkakaalam ko. Hindi ba big-time ka na ngayon? Dapat nilalapitan ka na ng ABS-CBN. Haha.

RG: Big-time na ano?

RB: Big-time na filmmaker! *tawa*

RG: Palagay mo kaya kukunin ako ng ABS sa mga ginawa ko?

RB: Kukunin ka nilang mag-direk ng May Bukas Pa.

RG: Big tummy lang ako. Haha.

RB: O kaya, Big-time artist! Yuck.

RG: Tang ina, hindi ako artist. Hindi ko itinuturing na artist ang sarili ko. Hindi nga ako naniniwala sa art. Marami nang artists, at mga nag-a-artist-artisan, ayoko nang dumagdag. Basta alam ko yung ginagawa ko at masaya ako. Ayos na yun. Kung sa tingin nila e art yun, e di art. Kung hindi, e di hindi.

RB: Problema kailangan mo i-define ang art. At iba-iba tayo.

RG: Kaya nga hindi ako naniniwala sa art. Ang daming definitions ng mga bagay-bagay. Magulo. Tang ina, kuwentuhan na lang tayo tungkol sa pagkain kaysa art. Next question! *tawa*

RB: Yan ang nagpapagulo sa buhay. Haha. Ano’ng tingin mo sa mga taga-Maynila kumpara sa mga taga-Iloilo?

RG: Una, mas maraming tao rito. Mas laid-back doon kaya gusto ko. Dito parang araw-araw kang nakikipaghabulan para mabuhay. Pero halos pareho lang naman ang mga tao sa Maynila at sa Iloilo. Halos pareho lang ang struggles natin. Mas mabilis lang ang ikot ng mundo rito.

RB: Ang daling tumanda rito. Ilang taon ka na ba?

RG: 23 lang ako.

RB: Wow.

RG: Haha. . . 23, ten years ago. Pagdating ko rito, 23 lang ako. Ngayon, 33 na. *tawa*

RB: Ang bilis tumanda dahil sa stress.

RG: Korak!

RB: Kumusta pala ang buhay sa seminaryo?

RG: Masaya ang buhay-seminarista, kaya tumagal din ako ng pitong taon dun. Mula high school. Malaking impluwensya ng formation sa loob ang dala-dala ko hanggang ngayon. Kaya kahit hindi ko trip maging pari, tumagal ako sa seminaryo.

RB: Kabisado mo lahat ng dasal?

RG: Ngayon hindi na. Dati kabisado ko.

RB: Nagamit mo ba yun sa mga pelikula mo? Yung karanasan sa seminaryo?

RG: Oo naman!

RB: Tulad ng? Pagdadasal na sana matapos ang shoot? *tawa*

RG: Haha, noong high school pa lang kasi nagma-mount na kami ng mga play. Competition yun. Kanya-kanya kaming sulat ng stage play. Mount dito, mount doon. Pati teknikal. Lahat ng aspekto ng production. Kinakarir namin talaga yun. Competition, banggaan ng year levels.

RB: Ang saya. Nananalo ka naman?

RG: Ay, hindi ako nagdidirek nun.

RB: Artista ka?

RG: Taumbayan kamo! Extra. Dadaan lang sa entablado. Mga ganun. *tawa*

RB: E sa paggawa ng pelikula, sa obserbasyon mo, may pagkakaiba ba ang paggawa ng pelikula sa Iloilo kumpara rito? Sa estilo at diskarte ng filmmakers?

RG: ‘Di ko pa naranasan mag-shoot dito. Maliban sa ilang exercise shorts nung nasa Mowelfund pa ako. Sa Iloilo kasi halos lahat ng tao kamag-anak mo, kaya madaling makiusap.

RG: Binabayaran din sila?

RG: Oo naman. Hindi nga lang sa oras. At saka ‘di masyadong kalakihan. Kahit pangkape lang nila. Masaya na sila dun. Mababait naman ang mga tao kung para sa pelikula.

RB: Kaya siguro hindi masyadong magastos. Pero paano yung mga gamit? Sarili mong kamera?

RG: Dun kami nagagastusan. Sa gamit. Ayaw ko naman kasi sayangin ang material, kaya kahit magastos nagdala kami ng CMB sa Iloilo. Mga tracks, ilaw, etc.

RB: Gaano ka katagal sa Mowelfund?

RG: Halos isang taon. Ilang workshops din. Mula directing, screenwriting, cinematography, editing. . . at siyempre, inuman!

RB: Ilang pelikula ang natapos mo? (Pagkatapos ng mga inuman. . .)

RG: Marami-rami rin. Karamihan mga full-length na docu, ilang shorts, at katakot-takot na AVPs.

RB: Panood! Lalo na yung AVPs!

RG: Yung ibang AVPs nasa Timawa na. *tawa*

RB: May mga film grants at film competition din ba sa Iloilo? Parang Cinemalaya o Cinema One?

RG: Wala.

RB: So sariling gastos ng filmmakers yung mga pelikula nila?

RG: Oo. Kung may grant, galing NCCA. O may iba ring nagbibigay. Pero dun sa Iloilo wala.

RB: Saan nila ipinapalabas?

RG: Sa CCP. Saka sa mga paaralan ng mga bata, minsan. Sa mga museo, sa resto-gallery ng kaibigan ko, nagpapalabas din. Buti nga ngayon may Cinema Rehiyon na. Hopefully magkaroon na rin kami ng sariling filmfest.

RB: Siyempre wala masyadong kita dun. Kasiyahan lang talaga.

RG: Wala talaga.

RB: Paano pala nakarating dito sa Maynila ang Timawa? Naalala ko nag-premiere yun dito sa Cinemalaya.

RG: Naglakad siya mag-isa. *tawa*

RB: Astig!

RG: Inimbita ni Ed Cabagnot. Tinawagan niya ako. Tinatanong kung mayroon akong ginagawang pelikula o kung may tapos na. Sabi ko mayroon, mainit-init pa. Wala pa nga lang subtitles. Yun yung Timawa. Marami kasi kaming footage sa prod house. Naisip naming paglaruan. Hindi namin sineryoso ang paggawa nun. Puro side trip lang.

RB: Pero sineryoso namin. Haha.

RG: Oo nga e, nagulat din kami na sineryoso niyo! Pero personal sa akin yung pelikulang yun. Dalawang ate ko kasi nurse. Mga tita ko karamihan nurse. Pati misis ko nurse. Kulang na lang ako maging nurse. Haha. Sinubukan nga nilang kumbinsihin e!

RB: Haha. E ba’t ‘di ka nag-nurse?

RG: Gusto ko kasi maging rockstar!

RB: Haha. May cult status na nga ang Timawa sa Maynila. Hard-to-find. Parang fictional film lang.

RG: Kayo kasi masyado niyong sineseryoso ang mga bagay-bagay!

RB: Napanood ko yun sa Mogwai. Ipinakilala ni Alexis (Tioseco). Gustung-gusto niya. Paano pala kayo nagkakilala?

RG: In-email niya ako. Actually dalawang beses lang kami nag-meet ni Alexis. Madalas kami mag-usap sa chat o email. Magkakilala sila ni Oscar Nava, yung producer ko at DOP ng Timawa.

RB: Kumusta ang pag-shoot ng Timawa?

RG: Masaya. Kapag gumagawa kasi ako, half-serious, half-playful. Laro lang din. Importante kasi na masaya sa shoot. Pero seryoso rin na tipong binubuhos ko talaga lahat ng oras ko sa paggawa ng pelikula, mula pre-prod hanggang post.

RB: Ganun nga yung lumalabas sa mga pelikula mo e. Serious and playful at the same time. Isa sa mga naalala kong unang rebyu ng Timawa ay galing kay Jessica Zafra.

RG: Oo nga, si Jessica unang nagrebyu nun! Maiksi pero maganda. E kilala mo naman si Jessica, iba ang taste nun.

RB: Sosyal ka! Matagal na ba kayong magkaibigan ni J.I.E. Teodoro?

RG: Oo parang kapatid ko na yan. Sa bahay yan lagi kumakain! Ako rin sa bahay nila lagi kumakain. At isa siyang sirena!

RB: Wow, gusto ko ng mga sirena.

RG: Dapat mabasa mo ang mga tula niya. Sa kanya ko pinattern yung character ni Timawa; kay Oscar naman si Delgado. Hanapin mo yung blog niya.

RB: Nabasa ko nga minsan. Natawa ako dun sa kuwento niya tungkol kay Piolo.

RG: Nandun siya nung awarding (ng Cinema One). Dun niya sinabihan si Piolo ng “I love you”. Haha.

RB: Bongga.

RG: Baliw yun. Nanalo siya sa National Book Awards nung nakaraang taon. Mga sanaysay naman. Ako ang publisher niya. Dummy publisher. Haha. Mga pito na ata ang libro niya. Limang beses na siya nanalo sa Palanca. Dito na siya nagtuturo ngayon sa Maynila.

RB: Astig, publisher ka rin. Saang eskuwelahan siya nagtuturo?

RG: Sa Miriam siya ngayon. Part-time sa La Salle.

RG: Ayos. Ayan, kuwento mo pala sa akin kung paano ipinanganak ang Wanted: Border.

RB: Matagal ko na nasulat ang Wanted: Border. 2001 ko sinimulan. Noong nasa Mowelfund ako. Mga panahong napapagod na ako sa buhay sa metro. Yun nga e, sa maling karatula sa harap ng apartment ko nakita yung WANTED: BORDER. Araw-araw ko ba namang nakikita yun. Kaya na-inspire ako. Sinimulan kong isulat.

Ang unang taong naniwala sa material ko ay si Cesar Hernando. Pinabasa ko sa kanya yung concept at storyline. Nagustuhan niya. Sabi niya gawin ko raw na full-blown screenplay. E wala akong trabaho nun. Binigyan niya ako ng pera. Sabi niya, huwag ka muna tatanggap ng raket. Eto, panggastos mo habang sinusulat mo. Kaya ayun, isang buwan ko sinulat, halos hindi ako lumalabas ng bahay.

Nakagawa ako ng pelikula dahil sa mga kaibigan. Kaya ngayon naghahanap din ako ng baguhang filmmaker, at kung magustuhan ko ang concept niya, bibigyan ko rin ng kahit maliit na pera para makapagsulat. Malaking boost yun sa akin, hindi dahil sa pera, pero dahil may naniniwala sa ginagawa ko.

RB: Tama, parang pay it forward. Tulungan lang. Saan nanggaling yung character ni Saleng?

RG: Si Saleng. . . di ko rin maalala kung sinong inspirasyon ko sa kanya. Yung karinderya kasi na suki ko dati e Salvacion ang pangalan. Baka dun ko nakuha.

RB: E yung ideya na nagluluto siya ng tao?

RG: Ah. . . mayroon kasi dating nagtitinda sa amin ng kakanin at isaw. E may tsismis na aswang daw. Puta ang sarap ng tinitindang barbecue nun! At isaw!

RB: Lasang tao?

RG: Hindi, lasang tae. Haha. Hoy, isang oras ka na!

RB: Kaya pa! Teka, marami bang aswang sa Iloilo? Siyempre maraming kuwento rito pero wala naman talagang may alam kung totoo. Personally, nakakita ka na ba?

RG: Wala namang aswang sa Iloilo. Ako lang. Haha. May mga kuwento-kuwento. Pero tang ina, ‘di totoo yang aswang!

RB: Sa Maynila nga may aswang e. Napanood mo ba yung Yanggaw ni Richard Somes? Yun pagtalakay ng aswang dun mas direkta; yung sayo mas symbolic, mas socially-oriented, mas madilim.

RG: Oo, napanood ko. Yung kay Richard naman kasi aswang talaga na aswang. Yung sa ‘kin, oo nga, tama ka, mas socially-oriented.

RB: Yung sa ‘yo tungkol sa mga aswang tulad ni Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo.

RG: Tiyanak yun!

RB: At tulad din ni Palparan at Raul Gonzales.

RG: Sila nga yun!

RB: Mahilig ka sa mga pusa ano? Ang daming kuha ng mga pusa sa Wanted: Border.

RG: Hindi! Kabaligtaran. Ayaw ko sa pusa. Lumaki kami na walang pusa sa bahay dahil allergic ako sa balahibo nila.

RB: E ba’t ang daming pusa? Intensyonal ba ang pagkakalagay mo?

RG: Siguro dahil hindi ako nagkaroon ng alagang pusa. Pakiramdam ko rin kasi mas sincere ang mga pusa kaysa mga aso e.

RB: Totoo yun, mas kilos- at isip-tao ang pusa kesa aso. Isnabero sila. Teka, alam mo, sa lahat ng mga supporting characters dito, pinakanaintriga ako dun sa matabang babae. Unapologetic kasi yung pagpapakita sa kanya. Tipong walang pakialam sa mundo, hindi insecure.

RG: Kapatid ni J.I.E. yun, si Shine (Sunshine Teodoro). Ganun talaga yung pagkatao niya. Walang pakialam. Hedonist. Kung ano masarap. . . panalo! Kumuha ng medicine yun si Shine. Chain smoker. Manginginom. Chubby. At artista!

RB: Nung sinulat mo yung character siya talaga yung nasa isip mo?

RG: Hindi, yung isa kong kaibigan. . . Pero pasok din sa kanya.

RB: Mataba rin? Kailangan talagang mataba? At tipong hayok?

RG: Yup. Kailangan talaga. Hayok sa laman! Laman ng baboy! *tawa*

RB: Haha. Thematically ang pelikula mo ay tungkol sa pagkahayok naman. Parang bomba film. Speaking of bomba, kumusta pala ang pagdidirek kay Osang?

RG: Seryoso siya sa papel niya. Nung una, siyempre, medyo alangan. Sabi ko nga sa kanya, “Naiilang ako mag-direk sa ‘yo, Osang. Kasi dati pinagbabatehan kita!” *tawa*

RB: Haha, panigurado, tawa yun nang tawa!

RG: Parang ate ko lang si Osang. At prayer partner.

RB: Nag-aral ba siya mag-Hiligaynon?

RG: Sinubukan niyang mag-aral. Pero mapagmasid naman kasi siya, kaya ‘di siya masyadong nahirapan. Ang mahirap lang, kasi nasal siya. E hindi nasal magbigkas ang mga Ilonggo. Kaya ayos lang din na kaunti ang dialogues niya. Kahit ‘di kasi siya magsalita, malakas na yung character niya. Pasado rin yung punto niya. Pero wala na akong pakialam sa punto. Natuwa nga ako at naiba. Nabigyan ng bagong texture, na hindi naman nababoy. . .

RB: May kritiko nun ang Yanggaw na pinuna ang punto ng mga artista. Disturbing daw. Kaya naitanong ko.

RG: Mas matino nga ang Yanggaw e. . . Ayos lang, disturbing naman yung film e. *tawa*

RB: Eto seryoso nang kaunti. Nangyari yung Ampatuan Massacre pagkatapos maipalabas yung Wanted: Border di ba. Nagbago ba ang pananaw mo sa karahasan? O lalong napaigting?

RG: Hindi naman nabago. . . Pakiramdam ko kasi matagal na yung ganung karahasan sa atin. At lalong naisapubliko nang nangyari ‘tong masaker. Sa akin naman, kahit anong pangalan pa ang itawag natin, o i-tsismis lang natin yung ibang tao, parang minasaker mo na rin sila e, sabihan ng masasamang salita. . . parang si Saleng. Naisip ko ngang ipalabas ang Wanted: Border sa ibang lugar para suportahan ang pagkondena sa Amapatuan Massacre, at yung nangyari rin kay Alexis. Napakarahas ng pagpatay sa kanya.

RB: Para sa akin, marahas ang pelikula mo. Kahit hindi ipinapakita. Yung nangyari sa Maguindanao, napakarahas na, nakikita mo pa.

RG: Tingnan mo, kung hindi pa naipalabas sa TV yung nangyari sa Maguindanao, hindi pa natin mare-realize na ganito pala ka-demonyo ang sosyedad natin. Kaya minsan kailangan talaga makita natin at maramdaman ang mga bagay-bagay para matuto tayo. Kung hindi man tayo matuto, makapagnilay man lang o makapag-isip. Yun lang ang layon ko sa Wanted: Border. Ipakita o ipadama ang violence para mas mapahalagahan natin ang kapayapaan.

RB: Tama ka. Pero ang malungkot, parang nakakalimutan din paglipas ng panahon. Tas may bagong karahasan ulit. Bagong ipaglalaban. Nagpapatung-patong lang. Panahon ni Marcos, panahon ni Cory, panahon ni Gloria.

RG: Sa Cambodia, milyon nga ang namatay. Kahit saan siguro, matira talaga ang matibay. Importante ngayon na mas maging mapagmatyag tayo.

RB: Buhay ka na nung Martial Law di ba? Ganun din ba kalaganap ang pangingidnap at pagpatay ng mga kumakalaban kay Marcos sa Iloilo?

RG: Ang kuwento nila may mga kotseng itim na namimik-ap. Iyon ang kinalakihan ko. Pinagbabawalan kaming maglaro ‘pag gabi kasi baka damputin kami ng itim na kotse. Awto-bitin ang tawag namin dun. Marami ring naging biktima ng political killings noon sa Iloilo.

RB: Dinadampot kahit hindi aktibista?

RG: Oo. Yung iba napagkakamalan lang.

RB: Nangyayari pa rin yun hanggang ngayon. Maraming kaso. Dito rin sa Maynila. Kaya mag-ingat ka. Haha.

RG: Naku, okay lang. *tawa* Dapat tayo na ang mamik-ap. Wala nga lang kotse. Taksi lang. Haha.

RB: Una nating damputin si Palparan.

RG: Tang ina, demonyo yun!

RB: ‘Di siya dapat ipakain. Malalason ang mga tao. Itapon na lang siya sa kanal. . . Teka, na-imagine mo bang ikuwento ang Wanted: Border nang linear? Tipong hindi kalat. . .

RG: Intensyonal yun. At ako rin kasi, ganun. Baligtad ako magkuwento kahit nung bata ako. Kalat na may disiplina. Mas naaalala ko kasi kung saan ko inilagay ang mga gamit ko kapag kalat. Kung maayos, naku, nahihirapan ako lalo!

RB: Pero may sense pa rin kahit kalat. Sa totoo lang dun nga nanggagaling ang husay ng naratibo mo e, sa structure.

RG: Normal na kasi sa akin na kalat magkuwento. Pero kahit ganun, naikukuwento ko naman siya nang maayos. Di ko ma-imagine na gumawa ng linear script. Pero gusto ko mag-direk ng linear na love story at cheesy na film. . . Challenging yun!

RB: Star Cinema! Magpapansin ka! Handa kang magkompromiso?

RG: E kung alam ko naman sa simula palang na mainstream yung proyekto, walang problema sa akin. Ayos ako sa kompromiso. Mainstream yun e.

RB: At saka kung malaki naman ba ang TF e!

RG: Korak!

RB: Natapos ang Wanted: Border na may pagka-hopeful. Ba’t dun mo tinapos?

RG: Hopeful ako sa lahat ng bagay. Hindi naman tayo dapat mawalan ng pag-asa. Kahit siguro hindi ako relihiyosong tao, mataas ang pananampalataya ko sa nasa itaas. Preachy nga yung Wanted e. Pang-retreat na pelikula!

RB: Iba-ban ng mga pari. Haha.

RG: Kung iba-ban nila yun ibig sabihin insecure sila sa sa mga itinuturo nila.

RB: Sabagay, e alam mo naman ang mga pari, insecure din sila pa-minsan. O teka, ikuwento mo na sa akin yung ending na one-take. Napanood mo ba yung The Passenger ni Antonioni? May pagkakatulad ang ending nun sa Wanted. Mas mahaba nga lang yun at komplikado, anim na minuto ba naman! Lumabas ng bintana yung kamera.

RG: Ay, ‘di ko pa yun napapanood. Maka-Hollywood ako bro! Trip kong ma-entertain sa sinehan. Mababaw lang ako sa trip. Haha.

RB: Hindi naman mababaw yun. Ako rin naman Hollywood baby. Mas marami nga lang napanood kasi nakakahiya naman kung nagsusulat ako at wala akong alam. Pero di nga, saan galing yung ideya? At paano niyo nagawa?

RG: Matagal ko nang gustong gawin yung ganung shot. At naisipan kong subukan dito. E timing na nagawan ng paraan kung paano ma-e-execute. Kaya sinubukan namin. . . Ayun, mukhang maayos naman. Teka, magagalit si Ogi (Sugatan) e. Sikreto namin yun! *tawa*

RB: Sige hindi ko na kakalkalin kung nakadepende ang buhay mo.

RG: Basta gan’to, tatlong tao ang naghawak ng kamera sa shot na yun. Pinagpasa-pasahan namin.

RB: E di kinuwento mo rin! Pero hindi magalaw. Paano siya nakalusot dun sa. . . anong tawag dun?

RG: Sa kawayan. . . Pinasa sa loob. Tapos dumapa lang ang nagpasa sa harap. Iba na yung naghawak sa kamera papasok.

RG: Ayos. Isang take lang yun o inulit niyo?

RB: Isa lang. . .

RB: Nakakapagod?

RG: Nung pag-preview kasi okay na e, kaya go na ako dun.

RB: One take good take!

RG: Kaunti lang ako mag-take. Minsan nga hindi na ako nag-se-safety. . .

RB: Ayos. Iniisip ang kapakanan ng crew. Si Kubrick nga di ba nakakalampas 100 takes.

RG: Iniisip ko rin kasi na film ang gamit ko. Yung disiplina lang na huwag magsayang ng takes. . . at oras.

RB: So si Kubrick walang disiplina?

RG: E tang ina, ikaw ba naman ang mag-take ng sobra sa isang daan! Hindi naman robot ang mga tao sa set.

RB: Astig pala ng pamagat mo. Parang Star Cinema lang.

RG: Minsan maganda rin kasi ang maling spelling. Haha.

RB: Tingin mo ano-ano ba ang mga “border” nating mga Filipino? Parang hindi naman kasi talaga geographical. Mas malalim ang borders natin. Internal. Ang dating sa akin sa ending mo, kahit imposible (yung shot), kahit halos imposible magtulong-tulong lahat ng Filipino mula Luzon hanggang Mindanao, kaya naman nating gawin.

RG: Yun ang mahirap sa ngayon e. Hindi tayo malaya sa sobrang dami ng pinagdadaanan natin. Mali ang pag-intindi ng ilan sa pananampalataya. At nagkaroon tayo ng marahas na lipunan na likha ng mga sakim na lider. Marami. . .

RB: May pag-asa pa ba?

RG: Meron.

RB: Paano?

RG: Kung nagawa nga namin yung huling shot. . . bakit ‘di natin puwede gawin ang imposible? Yun nga lang, siyempre, kailangan magtulungan. Katulad nun, tatlo kaming naghawak ng kamera, pinasa-pasa namin. . . bayanihan. Natutuwa nga ako at binabasa niyo yung last shot. Napaka-hopeful ng shot na yun.

RB: Kaya nga kita tineks kaagad pagtapos ng pelikula e!

RG: Statement din yun. Political statement. Dapat nang patayin ang bulok at luma nating pag-iisip. At kahit pumasok tayo sa butas ng karayom para sa pagbabago, gawin natin! At magagawa natin yun nang sama-sama. Yun nga lang, di namin siguro kakayanin ng DOP ang butas ng karayom! *tawa*

RB: E kung mga katulad ba naman ni Gloria ang nasa paligid mo, nakakawalan ng loob. . . tipong, ano ulit yung bayanihan? Nahulog yung sentido-kumon ko. Hinihila tayo pababa. Nakakabobo.

RG: Haha. Hoy! Overtime ka na!

RB: Teka. May call time ka ba bukas?

RG: Masakit na ang likod ko. Haha.

RB: Magpapadala ako ng libreng masahe. Haha. Ano bang mga trip mong pelikula? Foreign o local, kahit ano.

RG: Ano ba. Marami e. Mga pelikula ni Kubrick. At Scorsese. Sa local. . . mga pelikula ni Carlo J. Caparas!

RB: Wasak! Akala ko ba anti-violence ka e mga ma-trip sa violence yung director na  yun a. Lalo na yung huli!

RG: Paborito ko yung Taxi Driver. . . A Clockwork Orange. . . The Shining. . . Marami. Hindi lang naman kasi violence ang mensahe ng mga pelikula nila e. Nang ipinanganak tayo, marahas na yun. . Yung separation at physical pain sa nanay, sobrang masakit. Kaya nga siguro innate na sa atin ang violence. Madugong proseso.

RB: Sabagay. Hindi matatakasan. (Ganun din ba mag-isip si Carlo J?) Miss na miss mo na siguro yung pamilya mo. Nababanggit mo na sila kahit hindi sila ang nasa usapan. Haha.

RG: Oo nga, kakatawag lang ng anak ko. Umiiyak. . .

RB: Umuwi ka na raw. Magkaiba ba ang reaksyon ng mga tao rito sa mga pelikula mo kumpara sa Iloilo?

RG: Hindi pa namin pinapalabas sa Iloilo at Bacolod ang Wanted e.

RB: Pero sa mga dati mong gawa?

RG: Malamang meron yun. . . Nung pinalabas ko ang Timawa, puro SRO kami. Ang dami kasi naming kaibigan! Pero siyempre may screenings na yung ibang tao naglalabasan.

RB: Salamat sa mga kaibigan! May mga bagong proyekto ka ba? Kuwento naman. Kahit yung mga medyo matagal pa bago matupad.

RG: Meron. Taglugar ang pamagat. May grant mula sa NCCA. Pero pahinga muna ako sa ngayon. Draining e. Mga AVPs muna para sa mga nagbi-birthday!

RB: Sana marami pang senadora ang mag-birthday at lapitan ka!

RG: Kailangang mabayaran ang mga inutangan sa Wanted. Haha.

RB: Buti mababait ang mga inutangan mo, puwedeng matagalan ang bayad.

RG: Hindi lahat mababait. . . Haha. Mababawi din namin yun kapag na-market na ang Wanted.

RB: Good luck!

RG: Salamat dilaga sa Wanted. . . y nyo han sa pagbiga. Salamat sa pagbibigay-halaga niyo sa Wanted.

RB: Siyempre! Malakas ka sa ‘min. Tungkol saan pala ang Taglugar?

RG: May pagka-environmental. Treasure hunting. Military abuse. Hindi violent. Haha.

RB: Ayos. Naalala ko pala, inialay mo kay Alexis ang Wanted.

RG: Oo. Malaki ang nawala sa atin e. . . Pero dahil din sa pagkawala niya, malaki rin ang impact. Ako, mas na-inspire ako gumawa (ng pelikula). . . nagkaroon ng hinaharap ang Philippine cinema. Sigurado yun. Actually dahil kay Alexis maraming nag-iisip na kritiko ang ipinanganak. . . sa tingin ko lang ha.

RB: At maraming filmmakers ang nagseseryoso na. Pero ba’t kailangan niya mamatay para mangyari yun?

RG: Siguro ganun lang talaga. May magsasakripisyo. Bago ko pa i-shoot ang Wanted, pinagkukuwentuhan na namin yung pelikula through email.

RB: Ano sabi niya?

RG: Excited daw siya mapanood. . . Sayang hindi na niya inabot.

RB: Tingin ko, kung mapanood man ni Alexis ang Wanted, kung nasaan man siya, proud siya sa ‘yo.

RG: Sana nga. . . Alam ko matutuwa siya rito.

RB: Sigurado yun. Uy Ray, eto na ang hininintay mo. Salamat sa oras. Sabi nila kapag big-time daw lalong nagiging busy. Kaya nilubos-lubos ko na. Pasensya na’t hindi natupad ang isang oras na pangako.

RG: Big-time lang ako sa mga kaibigan ‘tol! Sana sa susunod big-time na sa pera para kain at inom tayo!

RB: Ayos! Sagot mo! Pag bayad na ang mga utang. Haha.

RG: Sige, dre, salamat nang marami. God bless!

RB: Salamat, salamat, salamat. Maaari mo nang ipahinga ang likod mo.

RG: Ayos. Pasensya na ha. Sana may sense naman ‘to. Wasak lang talaga ako.

RB: Wasak! Maraming sense. Magandang gabi at salamat ulit.

Lungsod ng Maynila
Biyernes, ika-11 ng Disyembre, 2009

(Ang mga larawan ay mula kay Ray Gibraltar at sa kanyang Facebook account)

Kim to Derek, her bones projecting themselves very well, “Don’t you find me attractive?” (Easily, 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 be even called 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.

So I’m planning to grace the new year with love; and that love is Noah Lennox.

Noah, more known musically as Panda Bear, is a member of Animal Collective. He writes songs for the group, sings, drums, dubsteps, provides and mixes samples, and god knows what other things. He’s attracted to skateboarding (thus the video for “Comfy in Nautica”) and though he admits not being good at it, he is an aficionado. He relates his love for skateboarding to music, saying, “It’s often pretty brutal but I think it’s really the going for it and going for it in your own way with your own style that I find so attractive. The going for it and the trying to make impossible magic is what I’d always like to be aiming for with music even though that sounds out there.”

The stereotype that skateboarders are mostly rebellious—generally into hip-hop, hard rock, and reggae—when interspersed with Noah’s image and music, not to mention the type of trippy music his band plays, strikes me as bizarre. But in a good way, of course. Somehow I get the idea of his trying to point out similarities between professional skateboarders and professional musicians, which is not a bad comparison at all, but when I discovered three of his short films of which he stars as the lead actor, well, well, well, I see that nature has endowed him pretty much with sterling abilities. Writes well, sings well, acts well—well! that’s cinema, music, and literature all in one man.

Noah made the films while he was attending college in Boston University, and in all three he portrays the dweeb—the lanky, wimpy, introvert, and seemingly attractive but without-the-thick-glasses geek who tries to reach out and go out of his comfort zone. With the pretty face, perfect teeth, disorderly hair, and being “such a pioneer in the way he dresses,” twenty-something Noah seems very comfortable in his roles. The man, as I read his interviews, is as terrific as his music, not to mention incredibly modest. And though this entry is initially intended for fun, I couldn’t help but take the fun seriously.

Fish Sticks │ Directed by Andrew Drazek │ 4:47 mins │ 1999

“Fish Sticks” was shot in 1999 using a Bolex camera. This was back when these cameras are to-die-for among film students. I was once a student myself, and the Bolex is actually a dream camera for all of us; it is old and bulky but still revered for the quality it produces, well, if luck is with us and it does not flip out. There is something about the painstaking process of shooting in 16mm—about being too careful and too excited—that makes it memorable. Not to mention the tension of waiting for the print, if the shots came out as planned, or if something came out at all.

“Fish Sticks” captures that feeling; and it sort of reminds me of those days in film school, thus the pensive introduction. It is a student film like any other; it features beautiful black and white photography, use of exterior locations, and unavoidable reference to old films. The running time is short—I imagine it didn’t go as planned—and the story is simple but the filmmaker tries to put a lot of things to intertextualize, i.e. with the books, the posters and the photos in the background, and the various details inside the room. I like the effort to shoot outside—again, as I observe, every film student goes through that happy Nouvelle Vague phase, which I am also guilty of—and they are done quite decently, rather evocative I must say, like the opening shot of a pair of shoes in the water. The ending is a shoutout to 400 Blows—the sea as the background—without the much-copied freeze frame but with the same beautiful boy looking at the camera.

The boy is named Gil (pronounced as gill), a fish hobbyist, who “admires fish. . . like a teenage girl who is obsessed with Jerry Lee Lewis.” He has 216 books on fish and sometimes spends his whole day in the aquarium. At night he gets some nightmares about fish getting caught and fried, and he wakes up disturbed. Near the end, Gil laments, “I have yet to find anyone who shares my interest in fish, let alone in me.” Oh, Noah.

Gil is a little like the narrator in Julio Cortazar’s story “Axolotl,” in which the narrator turns into an axolotl after visiting the animal several times in the aquarium. The narrator, as he looks in the eyes of the axolotl, later on believes that his eyes become theirs’, “watching what used to be his face on the other side of the glass.” Gil somehow feels that way toward fish, seeking communication, identifying with how they feel, loving them like they are him. His friendlessness allows him to find another form of friends, diverting to them his comradeship, devoting to them his time and love. Hence, selfless companionship is developed, something that people around him are incapable to deliver.

Clocking at near five minutes, “Fish Sticks” is quite a nostalgic work, beautiful at times, and has moments of sheer visual goodness, like the sincere homage in the end. It also features one of Noah’s songs in his first album, “A Filmmaker and a Musician”.

Appy Halloween │ Directed by Theodore William Beck │ 9:22 mins

In “Appy Halloween” Noah plays this teenager who speaks of George Washington, obsessing the President, telling a lot of things about him. He dons this George Washington outfit, wig, and sword; and stands beside a misspelled Happy Halloween greeting where he shapes his hands and fingers to form the missing letter H. No one seems to be around. The elevator doesn’t work. He tries to open the doors of his neighbors in the apartment, barging into them but every one of them is locked. He runs and makes some effort to be noticed. But nothing happens. He cries in a corner. Then a masked man appears who gives him the missing H. Noah replaces it in the greeting, the happy music plays, and when he presses the elevator button, it opens. The end.

I don’t really dig it that much, but “Appy Halloween,” like the two other films, is about Noah the loner, the geek in school who secludes himself most of the time but tries his best to socialize. He is at the dining table by himself; and his parents seem to be faraway. Halloween is no occasion to be alone, of course, but here we see him talking to himself, wearing “uncool” clothes, looking like a wimp crying in one corner. The masked man emphasizes this even more—though he is not a companion—as he offers him the missing piece to complete the night. Noah is rather helpless, bored with his loneliness. I figure he is going out to meet some friends, a costume party perhaps, and he’s off to have some fun.

By the way, if you’re a trivia-killa, there’s a short but special participation of “Did You See The Words” somewhere in the middle. Look for it.

Fecal Matters │  Directed by Andrew Drazek │ 9:47 mins │ 1999

This is probably the most obnoxious among the three short works but definitely the most fun that a film starring Noah Lennox can get. Here, Noah plays Bobby, an introvert who hatches a plan to attend the party of the school’s most popular guy, Rhett, who bullies him and beats the shit out of him. His only friend Lance, who is in the wheelchair, talks him out of it, but Bobby is pushing the plan for three reasons: “(1) to spite the man he hates, (2) to impress the woman he loves, and (3) to fulfill the dream that has been far too long coming.”

Seems like every geek’s masterplan to get back at the great tormentor, but what Bobby did was far more brilliant when seen than imagined. He literally eats his own shit in front of Rhett and his friends. He chews it like the most delicious meal in the world—like the food that will deliver all his lost dignity back—and licks around his lips to his audience’s delight. Everyone claps and accepts him. They hug him and talk to him, unlike before. Rhett even kisses him in the forehead and says he’s now part of his “firm”. The girls also start to approach him. Only when he did that act that he feels the sense of belongingness which he has always longed for and which in no way he regrets. To top it off, he gets a tender kiss from a girl after eating his shit—with all the bits around his lips and teeth—to the tune of Sixpence None the Richer’s ultimate song. In the film, literal seems to be the overlying motif.

I must admit I dig this shit. It’s a hoot! Come on, student films should be like this! Not the corny, boring, and serious stuff we often see. “Fecal Matters” delights mostly because of Noah’s portrayal of Bobby. He plays the character like a pro, a true natural. He is naïve but not irritating, which is cool especially when his quirks are shown. He is funny, interesting, weird, and disgusting. It is hard to imagine how far it is from Noah’s own personality, considering the music he had been doing during those days—Panda Bear released his first album in 1998—which were put to good use in some of his colleagues’ films. His embodiment of the geek—the one who finds comfort in his own room alone, “a boy of few talents, unpopularity being the only thing he excelled at,” “socially inadequate and immature,” among other things—is charming, nonetheless. Somehow this effortless act makes it all the more appealing; and makes the idea of “eating one’s shit to fit into a group” resounding in the context of high school-type of relationships. When Lance asks him, “But how is eating your own shit gonna make them think any better of you?” it is a plain and simple rhetorical high school question. Nothing can really talk a geek out of doing something he dreams up for a long time.

Then there go those funny scenes—the Dave Matthews song playing in the party, the bathroom scene when he dons a “woo-girl” attitude, the title itself, the sight of Vincent Larusso that reminds every young heart of Mighty Ducks, and I can’t put too fine a point on it, Noah dancing. (Yes, just “Noah dancing”; on second thought, why is Noah not dancing in Animal Collective’s live shows with that talent?)

He mentions in an interview, ““I’m a huge fan of all forms of dance music and I really like going to clubs and being around people dancing. I like that energy, and I really get psyched about large groups of people all kind of agreeing to just move around together.” Noah was doing Person Pitch that time, which sort of made sense, come to think of it, because the album has the groove of a dance album in it. Going back, the scenes I mentioned above are too cool to be left unsaid; and for nine minutes there is that side of Noah that we are unaware of, which we see at full throttle in “Fecal Matters”.

These three films side by side with Noah’s three albums are such pleasure to dive into. Starting the year with these seems the geekiest I can get to welcome the good tidings to come. So with all the happiness and luck to share, God bless us every one! And that’s me being Tiny Tim, finally being allowed to greet. Happy New Year.

P.S.

Noah now resides in Lisbon, Portugal with his wife, fashion designer Fernanda Pereira, and daughter Nadja. His followup to 2007’s Person Pitch is in the works, which is “something totally different”. Meanwhile, the Animal Collective film called ODDSAC will have its premiere in the Sundance Film Festival this month. It’s been four years in the making, with the band doing all the musical stuff and Danny Perez finalizing the visual neccesities. Something really good to look forward to.

Some good reads:

Panda Bear talks new solo albums, “super dark” films, and living in Portugal. Pedestrian.TV. November 23, 2009

Good Times, Other Realities: A Conversation with Panda Bear. PopMatters. March 26, 2007. Interview by Jennifer Kelly.

Before writing the perfect review the writer undresses himself. He undresses his clothes and skin until nothing else is left. Reduced to the barest, the writer can now write the perfect review. But writing is not when the writer holds his pen and moves it; or when he taps the keyboard to write his ideas for him. All the perfect writing comes before and after the act itself, when the writer is unaware of what he is about to write, and when he is unaware of the effect of his words when they are read by his unaware reader. The writer believes that the perfect review should never base solely on intentions—he shies away from acknowledging them—for if film writing relies so much on intentions the perfect review cannot exist. The writer also believes that the perfect review is not only perfectly-written; it is also perfectly-rewritten. After writing the perfect review, which he is unaware he just did, the writer goes back to his life: unwriting. The perfect review is published. Only the reader can recognize the perfect review, for as much as the writer writes the perfect review every time he picks up the pen or faces the monitor, two things are clear: he can never recognize the perfect review, and  he can never be the perfect writer. The perfect review and the perfect writer can never co-exist.

The jury asked me: the absence of words of the presence of them to prove how they fail? I chose the former. Laziness is always the glory hog.

This is everything I ask and more: the twenty mighty records of the year, and the others.

20. Les Inrocks Reprises Volume 2 (Various Artists)

Recommended tracks: Maps (Wakey! Wakey!). Hallelujah (Beirut), Mushaboom (Bright Eyes), Bitch Ain’t Shit (Ben Folds), Oranges and Apples (The Trash Can SInatras), A Forest (Bat For Lashes), This Modern Love (Final Fantasy)

19. LP (Discovery)

Recommended tracks: Orange Shirt, Can You Discover? I Wanne Be Your Boyfriend (feat. Angel Dreadoorian)

18. Years of Refusal (Morrissey)

Recommended tracks: Something Is Squeezing My Skull, I’m Throwing My Arms Around Paris, All You Need is Me, One Day Goodbye Will Be Farewell

17. The BQE (Sufjan Stevens)

Recommended tracks: Introductory Fanfare for the Hooper Heroes, Movement II: Sleeping Invader, Movement V: Self-Organizing Emergent Patterns, Movement VI: Isorythmic Night Dance with Interchanges

16. Logos (Atlas Sound)

Recommended tracks: Walkabout (feat. Noah Lennox), Sheila, Attic Lights, Quick Canal (feat. Laetitia Sadier)

15. It’s Blitz! (Yeah Yeah Yeahs)

Recommended tracks: Zero, Heads Will Roll, Runaway, Skeletons

14. Ambivalence Avenue (Bibio)

Recommended tracks: Fire Ant, Lovers’ Carvings, S’vive

13. Middle Cyclone (Neko Case)

Recommended tracks: This Tornado Loves You, People Got A Lotta Nerve, Never Turn Your Back on Mother Nature, Magpie To The Morning

12. Dark Was The Night (Various Artists)

Recommended tracks: Knotty Pine (Dirty Projectors + David Byrne), You Are The Blood (Sufjan Stevens), So Far Around The Bend (The National), El Caporal (My Morning Jacket), Hey, Snow White (The New Pornographers)

11. Veckatimest (Grizzly Bear)

Recommended tracks: While You Wait for the Others, Two Weeks, Southern Point, Cheerleader

10. Bitte Orca (Dirty Projectors)

Recommended tracks: Cannibal Resource, Stillness is the Move, Useful Chamber

9. Get Guilty (A.C. Newman)

Recommended tracks: There Are Maybe Ten or Twelve…, Like A Hitman Like A Dancer, Prophets, Elemental

8. Time To Die (The Dodos)

Recommended tracks: Two Medicines, Fables, Small Deaths

7. Dragonslayer (Sunset Rubdown)

Recommended tracks: Idiot Heart, Apollo and the Buffalo and Anna Anna Anna Oh!, Nightingale / December Song

6. Clues (Clues)

Recommended tracks: Perfect Fit, Approaching the Throne, Ledmonton, Remember Severed Head

5. Tarot Sport (Fuck Buttons)

Recommended tracks: Surf Solar, Olympians, Space Mountain, Flight of the Feathered Serpent

4. Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix (Phoenix)

Recommended tracks: Lisztomania, 1901, Girlfriend, Lasso, Countdown (Sick for the Big Sun)

3. Psychic Chasms (Neon Indian)

Recommended tracks: Deadbeat Summer, (If I knew, I’d tell you), Should have taken acid with you, Mind, Drips, Psychic Chasms

2. The xx (The xx)

Recommended tracks: VCR, Crystalised, Heart Skipped A Beat, Basic Space

1. Merriweather Post Pavilion / Fall Be Kind (Animal Collective)

Recommended tracks: Summertime Clothes, Lion In A Coma, Brother Sport, What Would I Want? Sky, Graze, Taste

Honorable Mention:

Favorite Reissues: Crazy Rhythms / The Good Earth (The Feelies)

Going hey hey hey hey hey hey hey, as Mr Coppola sings.

The hipster is back, and instead of a list of films, which takes longer time to make, I have here my picks for the best tracks of the year. These are the songs that more or less define my 2009, from heavenly ups to disastrous downs. This is no easy thing to do, of course, but I tried my best to collect and select songs that I indulged in the past twelve months, to write about them the best I could, and to tell how they have affected me emotionally. That’s the most important thing about music, right? To communicate the affection. Neither the world is changing for us nor we could change the world in our lifetime, so let’s just try to console ourselves with the things that make us happy, like the music that helps us forget our worries. So without further nonsense, let me present to you the best in this year’s music, the songs that continue to hold my hand and comfort my heart, the wind that moves the clouds in my beautiful piece of sky.

25. Pull My Heart Away (Jack Peñate)
Album: Everything is New

A surprising opener from Jack Peñate, surprising in the sense that the other songs in the album don’t come close to its freshness, to its lively tune and emotional lyrics passing through our hearts. . . unable to find an exit. It’s one of those sad songs that celebrate—it shouts: enough wallowing! enough misery! enough heartache!—optimistic right at the first note, looking up, all smiles. Jack sings happier than what he seems, and the trick is that we sing along with that happiness, pretending, moving on. Pulling one’s heart away is easier sung than done, and better by not doing it with a lonely face.

24. Treat Me Like Your Mother (The Dead Weather)
Album: Horehound

Okay, so Jack White has another band. Is he putting up one every year? Not sure about that, but The Dead Weather got me excited less about Jack but Alison Mosshart—she kills, and she kills just right.  “Treat Me Like Your Mother” is a square off between the two—much like its video that shows them shooting at each other—and my bet is of course on her. There is that electrifying energy, that noisy exchange between them, and the hooks M-A-N-I-P-U-LATE! or You blink when you breathe / And you breathe when you lie / You blink when you lie that are just irresistible. You just got to hate this, as much as Jack and Alison seems to hate each other, and bang your head frigging hard.

23. Cousins (Vampire Weekend)
Album: Contra

“Horchata” had me doubting on the next Vampire Weekend record. Surely Ezra and the gang could do better than that; unless they want their eponymous album be called a fluke. But “Cousins” puts those worries away for two minutes. The lyrics don’t make sense, like a preschool taking his first shot at composition, random words here and there, good-sounding, rhyming, picking up thoughts at the very least. But there go the riffs, the melody, the hyper-activeness, the things we love about the band. We could forgive their words being lame and unintelligible; in fact, to tell you something, when I first listened to the first album I disregarded the lyrics at all—because I didn’t understand them! The tracks are high on wooing drugs, like every one in the group, and “Cousins” proves why we continue to love them. I say, Contra better be good. January 12, better be 2010-good.

22. You and I (Wilco feat. Feist)
Album: Wilco (The Album)

Feist did not release an album this year, but she did three remarkable contributions to two albums—with Ben Gibbard (“Train Song”) and Grizzly Bear (“Service Bell”) in Dark Was the Night and with Wilco in Wilco (The Album). “You and I” is a beautiful duet, laid-back, gentle, and sincere—like Jeff Tweedy and Feist almost made it together, looking back, reminiscing—and hearing those lines Oh I don’t need to know everything about you / Oh I don’t wanna know / And you don’t need to know that much about me, I imagine they really did. Feist is this year’s enchanting muse; her duets share a love as alluring as her music, as pretty as her face.

21. Fuck You (Lily Allen)
Album: It’s Not Me, It’s You

Bluntness is Lily Allen’s best trait. She couldn’t care less about revealing herself, her dissatisfaction with her lover’s abilities in bed (“Not Fair”) or her thoughts on the life of the famous (“The Fear”). These thoughts flow like she is telling them in public, smoothly even if the message is harsh. Big-mouthed Lily sings “Fuck You” the way “fuck you!” is meant to be said—with feelings, and with absolute sense. It’s an angry song whose message is sent across clearly—and may it be addressed to George W. Bush or the British National Party, all the better. But come to think of it, if you have other fucking people in mind while indulging in this—let’s say, Gloria Arroyo, Chavit Singson, Kris Aquino, Sigrid Fortun, or your frigging co-worker passing her job to you, or your ogrish former boss who keeps coming back to your office to show his ogrish face—that’s just as good. They should be feeling that hate word for word.

20. Relator (Pete Yorn and Scarlett Johansson)
Album: Breakup

I had to watch a live performance of this to check if Scarlett isn’t really singing through her nose. And she isn’t! But where is that sound coming from? The critics have been carelessly humorless about this; they didn’t appreciate the fun, the hearty courtship, the pettiness, the light beats. The hot chick sings with the cool dude—Pete guiding her to a nice direction, Scarlett yielding to him—and “Relator” best describes the beginning of that relationship, asking out, dating, talking about nothing, the start of the intimacy. That hook gives it life, but the rapport between the two sails it away. Scarlett’s a hit among the French—the way Eva Longoria is so hot in their eyes—and Pete is no longer that one-hit wonder who is compared inferiorly to David Gray. The two of you, never mind those big mouths, go on with your love and tell us what happens. By the way, Serge and Brigitte just called. Congratulating.

19. Cannibal Resource (Dirty Projectors)
Album: Bitte Orca

Brilliance seeps through Bitte Orca from start to finish, and it begins here. The voice is the instrument, much like the guitar, the bass, the keyboard, and the drums provide sounds. The voice gives rhythm, vibrancy, irregularity—a seeming luminescence of a dead star—disarray, and complacency. Mesmerizing like a helix descending endlessly, “Cannibal Resource” is a ride so comfy the illusion of familiarity becomes disillusioned. A voice calls, Next stop: “Naughty Fine”. Now where is that place and where did that voice come from?

18. My Warning Song (Everything’s Gonna Be Alright) (Wheat)
Album: White Ink Black Ink

If a band ages like their music, then Wheat’s fifth album feels younger than what they really are. There’s a mixed quality of newness and obscurity in White Ink Black Ink, particularly in the first half when the band is in more creative control—beautiful hooks, nodding beats, bright lyrics, and a certain strangeness that woos and wins at the same time. “My Warning Song” belongs to that comely first half; the drumbeat serves as the omnipresent element, the guitar follows, the words repeat, and the second voice provides an eerie yet captivating noise. More songs like this and Wheat are sure to be immensely popular, which I’m sure isn’t something they really want in the first place. But if they choose to stay the same, everything’s just gonna be damn alright.

17. Doomsday (Elvis Perkins in Dearland)
Album: Elvis Perkins in Dearland

Elvis Perkins is the son of Anthony Perkins, the actor who’s been in everyone’s nerves after watching Hitchcock’s Psycho, especially while taking a shower. So I can’t help but imagine the older Perkins’ face when I listen to Elvis Perkins in Dearland—not that my thought is relevant to the song but anyway. . . “Doomsday” begins with the sultry sounds of horns, then the acoustic guitar follows, then the drums, then the instruments talk about their plans. . . the big band coming near. Elvis’ voice fits like Cinderella’s feet to her shoes, and the images begin to loom—the dusty road, the sweltering men, the lost cars and trembling hearts driving south, looking for comfort. The song lets them in, promises fun, and delivers. It always feels good to be faraway, engaging in novel things, square-dancing somewhere else—off to a place where this band plays.

16. Roslyn (Bon Iver & St. Vincent)
Album: The Twilight Saga: New Moon (Soundtrack)

These two had resorted to other names to call themselves as musicians; and both had exceptional releases this year: Justin Vernon with his EP, Bloodbank, and Annie Clark with her album, Actor. Of all projects they meet in the most peculiar compilation: the New Moon soundtrack. Bon Iver and St. Vincent sing Roslyn, likely an ode to a city in Washington, but basing it on the lyrics, no one really knows. The vampire movie casts these artists with terrific vampire voices; when they blend they sound like howling, summoning for something. And upon hearing it, one can’t tell which is which—they sing together like one person, inseparable, unthinkable to isolate. Bon Iver and St. Vincent may be giving the teen flick more than what it deserves; and I hope while they’re at it, Team Jacob and Team Edward fans will stop the childish fight and might as well dig this pair’s music to compensate for their taste in movies.

15. Epilepsy is Dancing (Antony & The Johnsons)
Album: The Crying Light

With that voice Antony Hegarty is sure to wake the dead. But us alive we regard that voice as the voice of divinity, of the trees, of the water, of the wind, of the sky, of the moving clouds covering the sun. . . That voice summons images, phantasms crowding inside our heads, paintings, apparitions, specters, vampires, zombie architecture frozen in music. Built not to collapse. Built to last, eternally. “Epilepsy is Dancing” shares some memorable images (I cry “glitter is love!” / My eyes pinned inside and Cut me in quadrants / Leave me in the corner) and Antony sings them like a prayer. The song gives me the creeps and hugs me so tight it always moves me to tears.

14. Wishes and Stars (Harper Simon)
Album: Harper Simon

That it took Harper Simon thirty-three long years to finally release his own album since his appearance with his father on Sesame Street means it must be something. In fact, it is. Paul has a strong influence on him alright, that can’t be helped, but that’s put to good use especially in his songwriting. “Wishes and Stars”, hands down, is the most quoted song of my year. It’s a lonely man’s song, a man resigned to his loneliness, a man crucified on his solitude, and he doesn’t care, he doesn’t want to change. He observes how ironic the world he lives in is, how people around him regard things differently, how he’s content with his little life—he doesn’t complain. Harper sings, I’m not too certain about many things / I’m not too sure who I am, and he sings it like he has met us, his words prudent, tender, commiserating, embracing so tight. And when he whispers, I got no girlfriend to hold my hand, I feel he was exactly the childhood buddy I never saw again.

13. El Caporal (My Morning Jacket)
Album: Dark Was the Night

A friend and I had a conversation. “Oh, I love El Caporal.” “Weh? Eh it’s like MMJ doing Calexico.” “That’s it! MMJ doing Calexico is even better than Calexico doing Calexico.” “No, I love MMJ’s Evil Urges.” “But how can you not be moved! It’s sweet.” That was a few months ago; and I listen to it again now, it still is a very sweet song. “El Caporal” sounds dated, old-fashioned, like a 50s or 60s one-hit wonder—horns and chummy words notwithstanding: Have we played all the chords we can finger / Have we made all the musical shapes / I just hope that my kisses love will linger / On your sweet, confused captain’s face —remembered for all it’s worth, how little it may be, but remembered still. Every time I listen to this I can feel the song is courting me, and by the time the refrain kicks in I have nothing to do but give it a kiss.

12. Lisztomania (Phoenix)
Album: Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix

They say Liszt—the first classical pop star—is handsome and his music is timeless and audiences scream during his performances, but in an alternate universe what would he say when he hears this? Or yet, what would he say when he sees the movie made about him by Ken Russell? Oh, but I digress. Pounding with energy but sounds like all humming throughout the cheery four minutes, Phoenix opens their album with huge hopes, and if you did have listened to it, they live up to them till the end. A knockout in hooks, trademark repetitions, stupendous beats, and Thomas Mars in deceptive sotto voce, “Lisztomania” defines show time. It’s showtime, it’s showtime, it’s showtime! Time! Time to show it off, time to show it off, it’s time to show it off! See how infectious it is. If I were Liszt I would really be flattered.

11. Dog Days are Over (Florence + The Machine)
Album: Lungs

It’s like a tornado coming straight in front of you. Whirling, it carries you along, from the calm start to the frenzied middle up to the stunning end. Florence sings, “Happiness hit her like a train on a track,” and her is you—hitting you on the nose, delivering you amid the hypnotic claps, the crazy percussion, the summoning voice of Florence, and all the instrumentation that dances along the build-up—reaching a glorious close that feels more like an affirmation of things to come than a permanent halt. True enough, the coast is never clear; the pounding remains in your heart. The horses, indeed, are coming. This is pop bliss at its finest.

10. Summertime Clothes (Animal Collective)
Album: Merriweather Post Pavilion

Avey Tare, Panda Bear, Deakin, and Geologist are four technically proficient musiclords. Their records attest to that—in fact, that’s the most prominent thing about their sound: the layering, the sweeping use of instruments and foley, the unabashed efforts to experiment and discover new ways to create beautiful music. But in the heart of Merriweather Post Pavilion—undoubtedly their most tremendous album to date—is the exquisite tug of words, particularly in “Summertime Clothes” when the descriptiveness overcomes the technical dexterity, the latter putting up a good fight, of course. There’s a “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” feel in it—the clouds an arm-stretch away, the stars twinkling at their brightest, the constellation like gods of light, forming life-changing shapes and figures—that hypnotizes and transcends the four-and-a-half mundane minutes and turns it into a vast and illuminating spiritual experience.

9. Stillness is the Move (Dirty Projectors)
Album: Bitte Orca

What a shame. I only heard about Dirty Projectors early this year when Bitte Orca got leaked onto the Internet. When I popped the record in, I thought, is this what they call the most “mainstream” the band can get? And what the hell is Bitte Orca? Or Cannibal Resource? Or Temecula Sunrise? Crazy—that while I feel a bizarre disconnect between reading the lyrics and hearing them sung, with all the high-pitched harmonies and colorful arrangements around, there’s still this mind-bending coordination of everything. “Stillness is the Move” walks straight from the unfamiliar and stops right in your face, performing with no regard whatsoever to how you’ll react, the words sounding like a pagan love song. The effect is nothing short of dazzling, extraordinary, and out-of-this-world—like the way I imagine when Sirk finally meets Leone, Dali meets Luna, or Saramago meets Carver. Mariah should record this; and let’s count a million indie converts who are off to dig her classic butterfly-carnival albums.

8. You Are The Blood (Sufjan Stevens)
Album: Dark Was The Night

Sufjan’s version is more than twice the length of the Castanets original—the longest in the album, in fact—but that doesn’t mean he’s just showing off. He’s done the same ‘horsing around’ before, and quite majestically I must say: his version of “A Free Man in Paris” may have baffled and delighted Joni Mitchell, and I’m sure Bob Dylan, if he had the time to listen to I’m Not There’s soundtrack, would be pleased with his charming orchestration of “Ring Them Bells”. Sufjan continues to outdo himself—taking projects left and right, helping co-artists, contributing to wonderful compilations such as this—and with “You Are The Blood” he stays with the same subtle interest; his music never fails to stir our hearts and imagination. Listening to the crazy ornamentation, the elaborate alternation of instruments, the meticulous arrangement—not to mention his alto voice that is rather horrifying—I think the man just deserves our warmest hug for all he’s done this year. I hope he goes back to being cheerful.

7. Ledmonton (Clues)
Album: Clues

Much like the Animal Collective album, it’s hard to single out any track from the Clues debut record because every one of them contributes differently, each has its own outstanding quality that composes the album and makes it terrific not only on the first listen but also on the succeeding plays. As I write this I am still trying to make up my mind among “Approaching the Throne”, “Perfect Fit”, and “Ledmonton”. But the last one is playing right now, specifically clocking at 1:29, when the bombastic “La! La la la la la la! La la la la la la. . .” starts to pound like a huge hammer—and without question, yes, I’m sold! “Ledmonton” begins deceptively, un-preparing us for the things to come, but when it did, we are rather thankful. The way it progresses, remains mysterious, and strikes a close like an apocalyptic anthem, I realize, it could never be the wrong choice.

6. Prophets (A.C. Newman)
Album: Get Guilty

It’s all How I Met Your Mother’s fault. This plays in the season finale when Marshall finally overcomes his fear of jumping off from his apartment’s rooftop to his neighbor’s, doing it almost every year just for his dream tub. When he did, the gang follows suit; and this A.C. Newman song plays in the background, Strike ground zero, it says. It’s corny to call the jump metaphoric, but yeah, most truths are corny anyway so might as well say that that finale has left a strange impression on me, due to this song partially. “Prophets” is brief, and you realize it’s barely finished when you notice it. A.C. Newman’s gift shines through every corner of his second album; and  “Prophets” amid all the other fantastic tracks will always be special because of that reason I’ve shared above—and damn I know I won’t be able to say anything coherent when it becomes personal. Spontaneous but not immodest, rhapsodic but not overdone, melodious but far from twee-pop, “Prophets” nails the anger and confusion and turns them into a gem of a statement, bursting into fireworks, the beautiful lights scattering and falling down one by one, like fireflies finding their way home.

5. 1901 (Phoenix)
Album: Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix

Why I prefer this to “Lisztomania” is better left unsaid—honestly, I just don’t know—but I would rather dance than explain it, lose myself to its refreshing tune than make sense of its historical references, enjoy the thrilling ride and press repeat over and over again than stay grumpy and ponder the sad day ahead. Listening to Phoenix I would rather be alone; they seem enough as company. And this song in the album stands out as the sunniest, friendliest, and most captivating, always getting me on my feet, raising my hands up, and blowing me away.

4. Heart Skipped A Beat (The xx)
Album: The xx

Everything in The xx’s debut demands another listen. The songs are remarkably polished, sexy in their minimalism, stripped beautifully in their bare skins, revealing a brilliance that is bound to be called classic in no time. “Heart Skipped A Beat” is somewhere in the middle of the record; yet it could just be anywhere to fill the “love gap”. It sounds like two lovers singing faraway, their words so close, their promises spoken under their breath—so intimate they’re like having an intercourse, seducing, clapping, sharing their love. Unknown to us, we just turn into voyeurs.

3. Fables (The Dodos)
Album: Time To Die

The Dodos have always had the knack for simplicity, yet never in their simple arrangements have had a dull moment; instead, their songs shine in their honesty; the plain but graceful blend of acoustic guitar, drums , and vibraphone sounds effortlessly vigorous. In their music, a leaf falling is nothing different from a volcano erupting; actions are not defined by the meaning we ascribe to them. Everything is intrinsic, inherent to the codes of its universe. “Fables” echoes from within, an internal yearning for something unspeakable—too emotional to be put into words—yet we know it, we feel it when we hear it, because we are it. The strumming pattern insists all the way through, the drumbeats follow religiously, and the vibes stay close, complimenting the affectionate words delivered like a breeze. I don’t want to go in the fire / I just want to stay in my home / I don’t want to hear all the liars / I just want to be with my own—that’s my 2009, summed up in those four lines.

2. Graze/What Would I Want? Sky (Animal Collective)
EP: Fall Be Kind

Yes, I’m cheating. I’m putting two songs in this spot. I can’t help it, and I am not sorry. You’re just a step away from the summit, anyway! So don’t stop here. These two are inseparable—in fact, they are placed consecutively in the EP, perfectly—and I couldn’t imagine liking the one better than the other.

“Graze” begins with Let me begin, feels good ‘cause it’s early, Avey Tare talking about mornings and ideas; and if you remove the subtle background music it almost sounds like a ballad, a mellow monologue, relaxed like waking up from a long sleep. But then, it suddenly turns all the way around in the middle, drastically, revealing more of what he’s trying to say. A complete change of world, a complete change of everything. Walls are stripped, all bright and sunny, with the dirty leaves on the ground.

Panda Bear comes along and starts talking to Comfort—Why can’t I reach you? / When I most need you / You’re at the beach and / I’m in some strange bed—asking its whereabouts, and we realize he is alone. Where the hell is Avey? Panda’s talking to himself, he has no audience, and he wakes up in such need for answers. This part turns the piece into an agnostic worship, a disarming dance ritual—which reminds me of the dance of death in The Seventh Seal—only much livelier, short but unforgettable.

“What Would I Want? Sky” follows immediately. Similar world, perhaps. Picks up where “Graze” ends, dancing still. Avey, back singing, continues his questioning, rhetorically, but here the answers are more elusive; more like the questions should be left unanswered, for our own good. Images ooze out of the words; and the sound is drowning them with effervescence. Then comes the Grateful Dead sample, and it feels like the lord has showered the earth with its first rain in long years. The lawlessness of breaking time signatures, such crime.

Call it existential, call it philosophical, call it metaphysical, but Animal Collective explode here with frigging vitality and euphoria that I can’t express in words how I feel. This is the Comfort referred to in “Graze”, going every time, running for something. While Avey and Panda share what they are, they also share what they are not—what they are trying to be—their weaknesses, their faults. Old glasses clinking and a / New order’s blinking and I / I should be floating but I’m weighted by thinking, unsure of anything, seeking help from us. In “What Would I Want? Sky” the past is echoed in the same way the present and future are. We are left to distinguish; and to see the need if ever.

I lift this metaphor from some comment online: if Merriweather Post Pavilion is summer, Fall Be Kind is autumn, with a touch of winter. Animal Collective, indeed, are like Midas who turns everything he touches into gold; the alchemy of their music is forever changing, and forever gratifying. In “Graze”, Avey asks, How does a band turn into such a thing? And we’re just too stumped to give him an answer.

1. While You Wait for the Others (Grizzly Bear)
Album: Veckatimest

The list culminates here, and rightfully so.

Grizzly Bear are a humble band; nothing about them puts me off in terms of musicality, attitude, or live performances. They are just here to share some music, no less. And that music, especially in Veckatimest, makes me appreciate that modesty even more. They gain the respect of their peers—Thom Yorke, Jonny Greenwood, and Jay-Z to name just three—and 2009 proves to be the most fruitful for them, both commercially and critically.

I listen again to Michael McDonald’s version of the track and as he sings, the band is just behind, doing the harmonies, and doing the second-voice. The collaboration is wonderful; the band can let other people sing their song and help them the best they could. McDonald’s version is as brilliant as Grizzly Bear’s. And that’s the thing about “While You Wait for the Others”. It’s not just a Grizzly Bear song; it is something shared and something collectively personal—and interpretations come out as beautiful as the original. The band creates the music and lets us hear it, trash it if we like, but they will stay and continue doing their craft.

Maybe it’s the lyrics—the way So I’ll ask you kindly to make your way shows a lot of sincerity and respect, or the way Yes you’ll only bleed me dry sounds so immediate and painful that we take them to heart. The song is written like it can only be sung, for if we just say the words prosaically without the tune they wouldn’t come out as emotional as they are when the music accompanies them. But the culprit is not just the words; it is that sublime arrangement that peaks in the coda, that even when Daniel Rossen shouts, his voice still sounds like a whisper, a powerful whisper of some secret, of resignation to breaking up.

Not to put too fine a point on it: “While You Wait for the Others” is both a lyrical and sonic perfection, honed by a band that only gets better record after record, song after song, performance after performance. Nothing comes close to it, and nothing can ever come close to it, this year.

[Honorable mention: These Are My Twisted Words (Radiohead); All for the Best (Thom Yorke); In For The Kill (La Roux); Jackie Collins Existential Question Time (Manic Street Preachers); Brother Sport (Animal Collective); Remember Severed Head and Perfect Fit (Clues); Palace at 4 AM (A.C. Newman); Deadbeat Summer (Neon Indian); Two Weeks (Grizzly Bear); Girlfriend (Phoenix); Hallelujah (Beirut); Nothing Broke (Meursault); Let’s Go Surfing (The Drums); Paparazzi (Lady Gaga);  Little Secrets (Passion Pit); Blood Bank (Bon Iver); Two Medicines (The Dodos); The Strangers (St. Vincent); Dek-a-Doodle-Dandy (Duster); Maps (Wakey! Wakey!); Orange Shirt (Discovery); Knotty Pine (Dirty Projectors + David Byrne); Saddle Up (The Boy Least Likely To); Mushaboom (Bright Eyes); French Navy (Camera Obscura); Revenge (Danger Mouse and Sparklehorse feat. Wayne Coyne); Young Adult Friction (The Pains of Being Pure At Heart); Zero and Heads Will Roll (Yeah Yeah Yeahs)]

* With thanks and apologies to A. C. Newman for the title

Written and directed by Quentin Tarantino
Cast: Christoph Waltz, Brad Pitt, Melanie Laurent, Michael Fassbender

There is always a reason to dislike Tarantino’s films—they’re gimmicky, they sensationalize, they poke fun and turn serious the same way, they make over-the-top references and go crazy in stacking them scene after scene, their stories wander like a headless chicken—and more so, to dislike Tarantino himself, the way he insists on doing them, amusing and bemusing critics and audiences alike, like Lars von Trier minus one of his balls. Yet he cannot be ignored. People still watch his films. Young ones dig his popular works; the obscure continue to dignify his early, and even latter, B-movies. Tarantino has gained a following that he himself may not be aware of, for he seems to be less pressured and more confident: his only responsibility seems only to entertain. Quixotic as someone puts it, his latest work Inglourious Basterds would always be called ambitious—the World War story that demands a multi-lingual crackerjack, the Nazi colonel who meets everyone in the narratives whose characters who have similar intentions never actually meet—but Tarantino tramples on that said ambition, only to come out smoking with a ridiculous yet convincing historicity.

The war as setting hints at responsibility—the idea of effort, the difficulty of achieving accuracy, the possession of ideologies, the need to make a stand, the utter risks of blasphemy—but that’s the ruse of history: we tend to give it the importance more than it deserves; or maybe not. But that’s beside the point. Tarantino does not see it as history. He sees it as story—which it really is—fiction, its authenticity lost but its power stays as persuasive as always. The War ended; it happened. But in the film it ended differently, curiously. Only we find it appalling—even appealing—because it did not actually happen. Hitler, Goebbels, Bormann, and hundreds of Nazis did not die inside a burning cinema, did not die in the hands of a Jewish couple; did not die as overly dramatic as that. Tarantino’s big lie remains big until it reaches the climax, which, if Goebbels’ words are to be believed, describes its being cinematic: “. . . when one lies, one should lie big, and stick to it. They keep up their lies, even at the risk of looking ridiculous.” And yes, how silly it has become to reach that final fold.

The lie that Inglorious Basterds tells isn’t something to be taken seriously, though; the lie is so deliberate in its outrageousness that, like any Tarantino film, one is aware that this is cinema. The presence of an absence; the most beautiful fraud, as Godard regards it; cinema the colossal lie-maker. Tarantino treats the War like the Los Angeles lowlifes, the killing like the Bride exacting her revenge, the various faces of the war like the faces of the thugs planning a heist. But with the palette of the War—a grand scheme of everything corollary and contradictory—it leverages the so-called aestheticization of violence more easily, not even an excuse but a reality, something that glorifies it more, soaking the film with profanity and citing the Holocaust as immediate response to criticism. Surely, what happens in the film couldn’t be any bloodier than what really happened, right? So there.

Notable how Tarantino seems less constricted, freer to inject his homages, more credible in his use of music, not to mention more dynamic (like the tunes are dancing their way out of the screen in effect), and as perfect as ever in his casting. The last two—the choice of music and of actors—being Tarantino’s inimitable asset; that while his hands are in full control, touches of his quirk splattered everywhere in his films, one cannot deny the presence of John Travolta and Bruce Willis in Pulp Fiction or forget Dusty Springfield soothingly singing “Son of a Preacher Man” in it; the way in Inglorious Basterds there is the royal highness that is named Christoph Waltz—who, truth be told, is the singlemost achievement of the film, a menace who chews more than he could bite off, and is possible to emerge as the most effective yet most loved devil in recent years, his baleful tenderness so alluring his presence is such grace—and Morricone that makes the potpourri all the more insane.

The indulgent quality of Tarantino’s works is what actually makes them click. It is a self-conscious decision—to throw references left and right to the point of overexertion, making the audience aware that he loves spaghetti westerns and macaroni combats, that he identifies with the films and the actors of his youth, that he prefers his soundtracks to sound like mixtapes, that he adores Godard, that he loves bastardizing the things he love and making it look otherwise—and over the years his aesthetic has always been described and defined as cool, and it still is right now, if the term is not so overused. But he runs the risk thinking that the audience could easily relate to them. He is indifferent; but that’s not to say that he is irresponsible. He is more concerned with seeing the result of his pastiche, the surprise of seeing them work after all. And again, I must say, it did work in Inglourious Basterds.

It has able to remove the importance on its sleeve; like the War is just some event in the past that can happen again anytime; how is the War different from the wars we face everyday anyway? not in the tone of existential questioning but in the rhetoric of having it asked. Self-awareness is evident in every frame; this is entertainment, this is cinema, this cannot be any farther than what it isn’t. Yet even those who are not committed to cinema—those who don’t consider films as their boyfriends and girlfriends for life—could also enjoy it, though not as much as those who do.  Tarantino converts filmgoers into film maniacs; and he makes film maniacs love films even more, obsessing in them like he does.

Is she reading The Man in the High Castle?

In his review of the film Noel Vera makes an important mention of Philip K. Dick’s novel The Man in the High Castle, comparing its vision to Inglourious Basterds’. He argues: “Dick, in effect, plays with reality in ways Tarantino can’t even begin to grasp—where Tarantino thinks in terms of victory or defeat, death or revenge, Dick thinks of broad political and economic forces, shaping a complexly realized society that in turn shapes us in complex ways; where Tarantino indulges in Three Stooges slapstick with a dash of sadism, Dick has a Japanese insulting an American with an offer to mass-produce his wares (it takes the American some minutes to even begin to realize he’s been handed a putdown, not an opportunity)—the exquisite cruelty of the moment goes beyond anything in Basterds. Dick’s High Castle is the game of make-believe played at grandmaster level; Basterds feels more like a session of tug-o-war with the other end of the rope tied to a fireplug—stupid and pointless, if occasionally amusing.”

While Mr. Vera’s point makes a lot of sense, I can’t see why it should make the film any less inferior—not only to the book, but to the genre of science fiction itself. The tone, in a way, suggests that while PKD’s novel has a grand vision of things that had not become, therefore a healthy imagination of sorts, which by all means I agree, Tarantino’s film is more like junk food compared to it—like fastfood meals or hamburgers in highway stands consumed out of convenience—marketed so well that almost everyone eats them, the customers so delighted they promise to come back. That may be right; but not exactly.

Interpretation is the writer’s business. PKD and Tarantino are interested in maintaining a certain fiction, a valid misrepresentation of history, or, as what this genre would love to say, an alternate-reality—the alternative present. This alternative present means there is an alternative past and an alternative future; an alternate history and making of history so to speak. PKD’s idea of cross-cultural roles are in fact deeply rooted on race—the Germans, the Japanese, the Americans, the Jews, the Africans; and in those classifications there are smaller classifications that further define their roles. The race functions as identity. The realities are dictated by the ones in power; though optimism is an existing motif. PKD has big ideas; he may really be the man in the high castle, the I Ching itself.

Tarantino’s idea, however, decides to hide those big ideas—surely, he has them; otherwise what else could he show off?—and decides to ridicule them instead; in fact, the way I see it, they even become more pronounced. Comparisons are unavoidable, of course; but how good they can be but mere reinforcement of approval or dissent? Qualifications of a certain work should not be trampled based only on comparison; specifically, on what it is not, using the idea of other works that excel on doing the same thing as be-all and end-all example. I regard The Man in the High Castle as an exemplary piece and if another writer writes an alternative world tale better than it is, I would acknowledge it—but it wouldn’t change the fact that PKD’s novel is great (not to mention that he’d been there first; his vision developed way before we had all these technologies around us.) On the same note, discussing the qualities of Inglourious Basterds as opposed to Night and Fog’s own, for instance, is insane, useless, and downright ridiculous; unless someone is up for something less than the film but himself.

Well, for the sheer fun of it, I’ll give it a try. If I should make my own comparison, running instead against the greatness of PKD, and shaming myself—I ask, could someone read The Man in the High Castle in two-and-a-half hours and be as entertained as watching Inglourious Basterds? I am afraid I have to wait for answers, but as of now, by default, Tarantino wins that match. But then one could argue about lasting importance, about contribution, about vision, about credibility. . . See? Stale comparisons don’t work. They just put someone on top, and someone else below; which is more than what writing really is. Better to remember PKD’s version of the Gresham’s Law instead: the existence of fakes undermines the value of the real. History is all perspective; fiction is all-powerful. Our servings of fake realities are our survival. Glorify the fake and enjoy it while it lasts.

And while we’re at it, it just strikes me, Inglourious Basterds tells us that Cinema kills the Nazis, right? I can’t help but laugh on the idea. Could there be any thought as berserk as that? Or is this the parallel universe that the sci-fi writers are talking about? Go, tell. Fiction, how amusing and how great.

Ang paghahambing marahil ng nakalipas na Maguindanao Massacre sa trahedya ng bagyong Ondoy at Pepeng—dalawa sa pinakamalupit na pangyayari ng taon—ay isang kasumpa-sumpang pahayag; subalit kung liliripin, taglay nila ang pagkakatulad sa ganang sa tao nagmula ang dahilan upang sila ay maisakatuparan.

Ang bagyong rumagasa sa Kalakhang Maynila at Luzon ay matagal na nating napaglaanan ng panahon upang mangyari; unti-unti nga lamang kung kaya’t madaling ikaila sa ating mga sarili. Sa kabilang dako, ang masaker sa Maguindanao ay kagyat—isang halimaw na produkto ng administrasyon ni Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, isang kahindik-hindik na bangungot na matagal nang hinahabi upang pumasok sa ating kamalayan at nang sa gayo’y hindi natin malimutan. Sa iba, higit pa ito sa trahedya na maaari nating gawin sa kapaligiran—likha ito ng demonyo. Ngunit kung nalikha na ito ng demonyo, ano pa ang maaari nating gawin upang mapuksa ito? May magagawa pa ba tayo—magagawa bukod sa paghingi ng katarungan, pag-alay ng pagmamahal, pagtangis, pagkagalit sa rehimeng Arroyo, pagpapatuloy ng sining at, huwag naman sana, pagkalimot—pagkatapos ng lahat? May magagawa nga ba tayo o iniisip nating may maaari tayong magawa upang mapaniwala ang ating sarili na hindi na ito mangyayari muli—na hinding-hindi na, na hinding-hindi na kailanman ito mauulit?

Ang pinakamalinaw na kaibahan ng dalawang pangyayaring ito para sa akin ay ito: aakuin ko ang sisi sa bagyong Ondoy at Pepeng, ngunit hinding-hindi ang Maguindanao Massacre. Hindi ko ito maaaring maging kagagawan, at maski marahil ikaw ay hindi sapagkat kilala natin kung sino ang maygawa, kung sino ang maysala.

Ang idinulot ng kalamidad ay lungkot at pighati; ang idinulot ng walang habas na pagpatay ay galit, muhi, at poot. Ang sining na mabubuo mula sa galit, muhi, at poot ay inaasahang higit na magiging malakas—aalingawngaw sa bawat sulok ng hustisya at ipaaabot upang mapukaw ang mga nagtataingang-kawali—kumpara sa sining na mabubuo mula sa lungkot at pighati. Totoo, hindi kailanman magkakaroon ng herarkiya ng trahedya batay lamang sa bilang ng namatay o emosyong naging resulta nito, subalit higit na magiging mahalaga ang ating pagtugon upang hindi na ito maulit.

Pinili kong magsulat tungkol sa mga pelikula dahil pagpepelikula ang kurso ko sa kolehiyo. Naisip kong ito ang maaari kong gawin upang mapakinabangan ang mga taong ginugol ko sa pag-aaral. Ang pagsusulat ang bokasyon na inaakala ng iba na madaling gawin; tangan mo lamang ang iyong sarili at kaunting kaalaman tungkol sa lengguwahe ng pelikula, at siyempre, ang kakayahan at kagustuhang magsulat, ay sisiw na ito. Hindi ko nais pasubalian ang naturang pananaw kahit ikinagagalit ko ito. Hindi iyon ang dahilan kung bakit ako nagsusulat. Ikakunot man ng iyong noo o ikatindig ng iyong balahibo, pinaninindigan kong ang kritika ay sining. At ito ang sining ko.

Ngunit higit na priyoridad ng kritika, sa mga panahong tulad nito, ang pag-aanyaya. Maaaring isantabi ng kritiko ang kanyang pagsusuri ng pelikula upang manawagan sa mga filmmaker na gumawa ng pelikula, na gumawa nang naaayon sa kanilang paniniwala, at sa likod ng kanyang isip siya ay nag-aasam na sana’y maganda ang kalabasan ng mga ito: matalino, responsable, mapanghikayat, at mapanindigan. Tulad ng ibang sining, ang pelikula ay nagtatala ng panahon at nagsisilbing sanggunian. Madalas man itong hindi pagkatiwalaan ay hindi maitatatwa ang mga bagay na nabuo nito sa kadahilanang nalikha ito—naisakatuparan, nabuo, at naitawid mula sa kabilang pampang. Maaari mong itanong, pagagawa ba ng pelikula ang solusyon? Paggawa ba ng pelikula ang makatutugon sa paghanap ng hustisya? Mababawasan ba ng paggawa ng pelikula ang pait na dulot ng naturang kagimbal-gimbal na pagkitil ng mga peryodista at sibilyan?

Hindi. Hindi, kailanman. Hindi ang sagot sa lahat ng tanong.

Sa pamamagitan ng paggawa ng pelikula ay kinikilala nito ang kanyang kahinaan. Produkto man ito ng imahinasyon ay nakatali pa rin ito sa tanikala ng realidad—ng realidad na tumutukoy sa mundong kinakamulatan natin tuwing gigising sa umaga, ng realidad na nagtutulak sa atin upang kumilos at may gawin, ng realidad na nag-uudyok sa akin upang sabihin ang mga bagay na ito—ang realidad na hindi maaaring saklawan ng pelikula. Sapagkat alipin lamang ang pelikula ng realidad na ito, katulad na tayo’y alipin din ng ating panahon.

Oras na kilalanin ang kahinaang ito, sabi nga ng kaibigan ko, ay tanging oras na ang sining ay magkakaroon ng kahulugan. Totoong madalas tayong pangunahan ng emosyon. At sa pamamagitan ng emosyong ito, nawa’y maitawid natin ang mga nais iparating, gaano man kalabis o kakulang ang sining na maaaring gawin. Ang pangyayaring tulad ng Maguindanao Massacre ay hindi maaaring malimutan. Maikukuwento natin ito sa ating mga anak, sa mga anak ng ating mga anak; maililimbag sa mga dyaryo at libro; mababanggit sa mga diskusyon; maaalala sa mga tula, sa mga nobela, sa mga kuwento, sa mga awit, sa mga pelikula; maipipinta, maisasayaw, at mailililok; mabubuhay at mananariwa lagi sa ating sapantaha. Ngunit—ano nga ba ang ating maaalala? Ano nga ba tungkol sa masaker ang ating maibabahagi? Ano nga ba tungkol sa pangyayaring ito ang ating maitutula, maisusulat, maiaawit, maipipinta, at maisasapelikula? Ano nga ba ang ating pipiliing maalala at mabigyang-pansin habang iniisip na anumang ating gawin ay hindi makasasapat? At higit sa lahat, hanggang saan tayo handang umalala? Hanggang kailan natin ito handang panatilihin sa ating mga sarili?

Hiling ko lang, hindi matulad ang Maguindanao sa Mendiola.

*Unang nilimbag sa ika-12 issue ng High Chair, Hulyo-Disyembre 2009

Written by Wes Anderson and Noah Baumbach
Directed by Wes Anderson
Cast: George Clooney, Meryl Streep, Jason Schwartzman, Bill Murray

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After all is said and done, more is said than done. (I’m sure Aesop was laughing when he was writing this.)

*

I haven’t seen the popular film version but I am acquainted with the French fable called Le Roman de Renard (The Tale of the Fox in English). It is a famous story in European medieval literature about the fox named Renard who tricks the animals in the kingdom habitually. Receiving numerous complaints, the Lion as the king summons the fox to appear before him. Renard, after many attempts, is arrested. The king and the other animals have decided: Renard should die on the gallows. When the rope is about to leave him hanging, Renard tells the king that he needs to share with him a secret. He confides that some of the animals are planning to dethrone him; and a treasure is hidden somewhere that only he knows where. Deceived, the Lion gives him parole and allows him to escape.  Renart promises to give him his share of the treasure. Hearing the verdict, the other animals protest. The Lion finds out later that no such treasure exists. The end.

That’s the story I’m familiar with—a childhood wasted in anthropomorphic friends—but I’m sure the other variations of the fable either continue the story after Renard’s escape or expand the second act to make room for suspense and humor. The story, however, had left me wondering as a kid why I kept rooting for the “bad” character instead of wanting him to be punished. Unknown to me then, it may be my first encounter with the adult territory, grâce aux livres.

No, I will not make a connection between Le Roman de Renard and Fantastic Mr. Fox—not because it’s too obvious, but also because I haven’t read Roald Dahl’s book. What I’m interested in sharing is what I found out just a couple of days ago, which is rather stupid of me to discover this late—since I work at a French library—but then upon seeing the big book that spells the title as LE ROMAN DE RENART, I think I may have something to say about Wes Anderson’s fantastic film as well.

Renart is the name of the fox—the protagonist—derived from the name Reynard (or Reinhard). One of the first thorough versions of the story was written by Pierre Saint Cloud in 1175 called Le Roman de Renart, the t and not the d was used. In French, the original word for fox is goupil, but since saying the word goupil among farmers is known to cause bad luck—probably their crops will not see the light of harvest or some bad omen will await their families—they opted to use renart instead, after the famous character. Through constant use, renart became renard, which up to now, is commonly used to denote the animal. Goupil, the Old French word, became obsolete; and renard, formerly the proper name, lives on.

The replacement reveals the nature of language to change through time. It is not only dictated by the need to create, but also by the necessity bound by a set of beliefs observed by its people. The case of the French farmers shows how superstition can override normalcy, how connotations are often more powerful than the plain and simple meanings of words themselves. Thus, if I should now relate this long interpolation to the film that I should be talking about, I must say that popularization of previous works must be careful. Texts are very brittle and malleable; they can easily infiltrate the culture and become actively used for a long time. Popularity is always definitive of the status quo; and once these texts are no longer popular, one way or another, they have already reserved their space in our memory. After a period of time, we use them at ease; we use them as considerable references. In Anderson’s case, nonetheless, I see no reason to doubt it and be cynic on the thought—there is no way I’d damn it with faint praise.

It is a common reaction to observe how terribly painstaking the job is after seeing an animation film. One can imagine how many years it took the animators to perfect the details, to apply the colors, to smooth the transitions, to look for appropriate voices for the characters, to find the most effective music, and a lot of other things. When I see a Pixar or a Studio Ghibli film, for example, and especially when I stay to read the credits, the craft woos me. The drawing trick touches childhood memories. Fantastic Mr. Fox does that to me—and how awful!—I imagine, one by one, how the crew stops to shoot an angle, then another angle, then a closeup, then another closeup, then fix Mrs. Fox’s hair, then put some color on Mr. Fox’s tail, then where’s the next set? et cetera, et cetera. It overwhelms me. And this is not to say that I like it just because I see how difficult to have it made; but otherwise—the delivery amid the difficulty.

There is that leap of imagination that escapes the pages of the book—the creativity not fettered by Dahl’s words—that Anderson has able to translate. The fox figures of Mr. Fox’s family, not to mention the other animals, are charming, not even scary. It is minimal in visual depth; there are no outlandish embellishments or efforts to see what’s beyond the screen. What gives the film a specific character is the storytelling—the way Anderson inserts the subtitles here and there, the way he jumps into a beautiful closeup of one of the characters, the way he writes the dialogue and we hear them spoken impeccably, the way Desplat’s music and The Beach Boys’ songs (oh, that Brian Wilson voice and harmonies!) shoot the moon, and the way the humor keeps them all together, without being too preachy on their moral overtones.

Fables endure because more than anything else, they tell a good story. Saying that these animals are (like) us—I think using metaphor rather than simile fits better—is too elementary an argument to say, but that’s really it. These stories are meant to be simple and easy to undertand; and they are narrated with the intention to entertain and to impart a lesson. Anderson does that; in an an hour and thirty minutes; and greatly so. When I see the animals interact with the humans, I thought I’d find it weird—especially in the end when the animals win over them—but it’s surprisingly delightful. The young mind is enthralled; the adult mind is captivated; and it’s not on account of different things. When it comes to great stories, after all, there is no age to consider. We are all young at heart.

Text from the event’s Facebook page

The Tioseco-Bohinc Film Series picks up where Alexis Tioseco left off with his Fully Booked screenings, casting light on independent films 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 .

For its premiere, the Tioseco-Bohinc Film Series with the help of the Jeonju International Film Festival is presenting Lav Diaz’s “Butterflies Have No Memories”. One of three 40 minute films commissioned by Jeonju for the tenth edition of its annual digital project, “Butterflies” is set in Marinduque, where once wealthy islanders undergo economic upheaval in light of a mining company’s withdrawal. The arrival of a young woman from Canada changes everything.

The film will be screened on Sunday, December 20, 2009, at Fully Booked U-View (Bonifacio High Street) from 3 pm to 5 pm. Lav Diaz will introduce the film through a video directed by Waise Azimi, who will moderate the discussion right after. Feel free to come and invite your friends.

*Poster design by Dodo Dayao