It is inevitable that we finally get the cinematic treatment of a standalone, origin story about Batman’s longtime foe, especially with the hero’s appeal waning throughout the years in the movie theaters. Director Todd Philipps has crafted Joker that consciously distances itself from the current crop of comicbook films. It is brutal, knowingly dark, and has borrowed a lot from noir and psychological thrillers. Philipps knows the strengths of his actors, particularly Robert De Niro, Frances Conroy, and Joaquin Phoenix. Sadly, Zazie Beetz is criminally underutilized here.
Much adulation has been said about Phoenix’s performance, and all of those are true. You simply cannot ignore Phoenix, just by the sight of him alone in each frame. He has this gangly body like stretched rubber, one that is always at the point of breaking. And break he did. This is an acting that is tremendous, almost grotesque in its unhinged ferociousness. Comparisons to Heath Ledger's Joker in Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight are valid. But Phoenix’s Arthur Fleck—the character before it became the infamous Joker—is different. Here is an unlucky man-child who works as a hired clown, dreams of becoming a standup comic, and lives with an ailing mother in a world that is systemically determined to make their lives miserable. It doesn’t help that Fleck has a condition that prompts him to laugh, painfully, at the most unfavorable times.
The movie has its funny moments (it is The Joker after all), but unlike the quippy Marvel humor, these moments still involve chaos and bloodshed. Yes, bloodshed. And poverty. And confusion. And government budget cuts. And secret bloodlines. And the good old cruelty and manipulative injustices of society. This sounds bleak and hopeless, but that is the point.
And it makes this movie dangerous.
It is basically a vivid representation of our flaws, of all that we usually ignore and the consequences we get from doing so. Despite its (successful) attempt at fleshing out the grey areas of our regular excuse of “us being simply humans,” it is terrifying to imagine the glee, the affirmation, people who have been equating mental health issues to something abstract and purely evil could get from this film. It is also difficult to shake off the feeling that it has the potential to heighten the stigma around said issues and to validate revenge fantasies—especially for people with impressionable minds in the age of violent instant gratification, Trump, and Duterte. With a pop culture subject that is as massive and influential as The Joker, it is not funny. It has just become too real and scary.
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Say what you will about M. Night Shyamalan and his recent films, but I just re-watched “Unbreakable” and, man, this guy is good. Really good. He is a master of mood and composition. It's on Netflix. Watch it.
I just think though that he needs an editor these days, or someone to restrain his wild wild ideas. To cut his philosophising. To focus on the emotion. (And to limit his cameos?) Because these are the methods that I believe made “The Sixth Sense” and “Signs” so tense, so moving.
His latest film, “Glass,” could've been great like those three. This is perhaps his wildest, boldest film to date but it is also his most frustrating, most perplexing. So ultimately, bad habits are just hard to shake off, noh? I guess he is not entirely unbreakable.
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Miko Livelo’s Unli Life is, just like last year's Patay Na Si Jesus, that odd but hilarious member of the family in this year's Pista Ng Pelikulang Pilipino. Vhong Navarro is Benedict, a podcast DJ who is too eager to please his girlfriend wherever they go, whatever they do, a trait that can be considered sweet or suffocating. Unfortunately, his girlfriend thinks it's the latter. Crestfallen after the inevitable breakup, he finds a bar by the street called Turning Point that is manned by Joey Marquez. Here he is offered a “wishkey,” a strong drink that takes him back to different eras and gets to meet the people he knows except with different personas. He believes this is his chance to correct something in the past to prevent his massive heartbreak from happening in the present. Here’s a disclaimer: The concept here is definitely high, but the comedy is grounded, old school. And it works. Navarro’s shtick can sometimes be overplayed, his physical comedic mannerisms far from fresh, but it’s the treatment of these on a material so unhinged makes Unli Life a joy to watch. Even if the anachronisms are all over the place, the props and sets laughably crude, many of its sight gags and jokes are gold, benta, a feat that can only be inspired by Wenn Deramas’ filmography. For example: “Sinong John Lloyd?” “Ah, John Lloyd... Yung poet.” Who thinks of that?! It breaks the fourth wall, it feels unscripted, brimming with a veteran improv’s tendencies, like it has the spirit of a Monty Python work. Livelo knows the space of absurdity his movie occupies, and he is not ashamed to flaunt. He flaunts it hard.
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Jason Paul Laxamana’s The Day After Valentine’s enlists again what makes his previous movie 100 Tula Para Kay Stella succeed despite its too-engineered plotting, which is the tandem of JC Santos and Bela Padilla, this time as Kai and Lani, respectively. (These actors have ridiculous strong chemistry). One evening, the two meet by chance where the Lani works, and like all love stories where two persons have no distinct commonalities—with Kai being private and cautious, and Lani being forward and spontaneous—they eventually find themselves stuck with each other, for reasons that are rarely seen in Filipino movies. It is immediately revealed that Kai self-harms; when his thoughts and emotions are too much to handle, he makes small cuts on his right arm to divert the pain. Lani, being a good person, comes to his aid. She believes she knows what and how he feels. She even goes the extra mile, literally, by flying back to Hawaii with the FilAm Kai, whose tourist visa is expiring. The movie soon shifts into a story of shared trauma and enlightenment instead of mere heartbreaks, and becomes an anti-love story, a direction that could either go really bad or incredibly good. The Day After Valentine’s goes somewhere in the middle. Metal health issues are taking major spotlight in many conversations today, which is good, but the movie somehow toys with the idea that you can be better if you have someone—can be with someone—and yet turns the other way around and reprimands you for bringing up the idea. All in all, it’s a dangerous idea. Nothing is more detrimental to a mind troubled by internal and external pressures than indecisiveness. But thankfully, in the end, it redeems itself with a message that barrels through this little ambiguity: Be kind to yourself because, like wounds, it always takes time to heal inside, and not one person can ever rush you to feel better, no matter the occasion.
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Jay Abello’s Pinay Beauty: She’s No White does not waste its time in showing its intentions, one of which is to poke fun at the many demands of our insecurities constantly playing in our heads. We are instantly introduced to the world of Chai Fonacier’s Annie and her dreams of having skin so fair, so “white”—like Disney’s Snow White but with bigger boobs. “I am happy when I am beautiful,” she would say. And serving as a tension to this journey to voluptuous whiteness, the story parallels to Migs (played by Edgar Allan Guzman), Annie’s boyfriend, who has wronged his uncle after stealing money for Annie’s plastic surgery. It also throws into the mix Maxine Medina’s Lovely G, a morena princess-like celebrity who dreams of getting better roles, to further complicate the movie’s attempts at social criticism. Despite the breeziness and mostly unassuming demeanor of comedy, everybody should know that comedy is not easy. And for someone reason, it feels like Pinay Beauty knows this very well, too, because it strains extra hard to make these scattered elements work. Yes, it is funny, it is charming, and this movie can be Chai Fonacier’s validation that she could lead a movie. She effectively portrays the whiplash changes of her character’s emotions. The movie does have the absurdities that are a requisite of a work of satire, but Pinay Beauty feels like it is pulling its punches, does not whole-heartedly embrace the dark, ironic humor that often comes with risky decisions. You know, like going under the knife to look better and, thus, feel better? The movie slightly touches on the issue of beauty and what constitutes the idea of beauty in the Filipino context, but slight is not what we need. All in all, the treatment that we get is harmless and tame for this subject matter. For first time in a long time, I think this is a movie that simply stumbles for being not ridiculous and exaggerated enough.
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Adolfo Alix Jr.’s Madilim Ang Gabi, the second Pista Ng Pelikulang Pilipino movie I got to watch this year, comes at a most opportune time in Philippine cinema. Fantasy, action, comedy, and romance are just fine, but we also need the mirror that reflects the conditions of our reality. It stars Gina Alajar and Philip Salvador—both showing stellar, understated performances—as the couple Sara and Lando. They live not far from the PNR railway tracks and, for the sake of their only son and a dream of good life, try really hard disconnecting their ties to drugs by selling the last of their supplies. They believe in change, not purely out of fear but also of necessity. It shows in the recognizable baller ID that Sara proudly wears wherever she goes. And then one day their son goes missing. Many non-mainstream movies that tackle on the lives of slum dwellers often showcase a kind of hardship and poverty that could be indulgent and leave some viewers distanced or disconcerted. Not with Alix Jr. In his hands Madilim Ang Gabi takes an even more urgent tone when it accompanies several scenes with actual audio recordings of speeches of our current administration. The words are terrifying, outlandish, but you know it is familiar because it is real. There is no distancing from the truth. The movie also features a dizzying array of cameos from veteran stars, slipping in and out of the moment, some lasting for only a few seconds, which could be distracting to those easily swept by celebrity. The “night” that the title speaks of arrives very late in the movie, and yet every scene might as well be the titular evening. We see lives eternally enshrouded in darkness, whether in daylight or moonlight, because of a violence that is bureaucratic and of a system that only favors the powerful and the influential. This movie is a dismantling of everything that led us to believe that this vast network of oppression is all right and ordinary. Our reality is never just a case of good and bad, one that can easily be summarized with a message on cardboard like “Wag Tularan” to know which is which, especially when the bad knows the good rhetoric that people love to hear. It has never been. Madilim Ang Gabi has its faults though—the meandering plot, the unhurried pace, and the growing fatalism that pulsates throughout the film—but at the rate our collective moral decline is going, all this is easy to dismiss. We are all dead, we can all be dead, either in the streets or on the inside. But like Sara in the middle of the film, it is never too late to start living with the right choices, to genuinely change, to remove from her wrist the false promises that come with the baller ID.
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Richard V. Somes’ We Will Not Die Tonight fits in the distinctive space that Pista Ng Pelikulang Pilipino holds, even if this festival is only two years old: good production values, unique plot, famous actors trying out new material. Erich Gonzales’ Kray is a stunt woman, working hard to meet both ends meet for her and her sickly father. Desperate to create her own luck, she agrees to do one last “raket” with her usual troupe of friends who are fellow extras and stuntmen, a job that is proposed by a former lover. Upon meeting their employers one evening, she realizes this is not the job she is looking for, which involves kidnapping street children to slice out their internal organs for some shady market. Shocked and feeling betrayed, Kray and her friends run away from the situation before they themselves would end up on the chopping block. This is a very strong premise, but unfortunately everything goes downhill from here. What starts as a story (seemingly) about a woman fending off every odd that comes her way, especially heightened by the fact that she works hard only to be in the sidelines, abruptly shits into a raucous and messy film that only drowns out everything it wants to say. It has a distracting soundtrack that sounds prepared by an overbearing hipster who worships punk and metal songs. We Will Not Die Tonight could have been our very own take on 28 Days Later [2002] or The Purge franchise but then it becomes a straightforward torture porn packaged as a hide-and-seek game. When a group of middle-aged men search for a little girl in an abandoned warehouse, with machetes in hand, and whisper words like “Do you want me to skin you alive?” with so much glee, you know something is off and unmerited. The film lingers on this type of violence for violence’s sake, relishes on the pounding, piercing, and slicing of the flesh. In short, it becomes exploitative. It is a huge waste because Erich Gonzales here does a better action film than Anne Curtis in the much buzzed-about BuyBust [2018] by Erik Matti. There is a genuine physicality and heaviness in her moves (or her double’s?), her pain onscreen so palpable it could make your palms sweat. Early on in the movie, a character criticizes Kray for her outdated moves on set. Like in the 80’s, too old, nothing new. It turns out this could be the movie’s own criticism.
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There’s always that instance when we chance upon something we don’t really need but we end up thinking it’s just what we need after all. One such instance is the premier of Ol Parker’s Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again. Nobody asked for a follow-up to the 2008 smash hit Mamma Mia! And yet, ten years later, as the subtitle implies, here we are, in this world of unease and uncertainty, about to witness a wild and colorful romp.
Here We Go Again is a strange prequel-sequel hybrid of sorts, and somehow it succeeds, considering it follows a film that is based on a theater musical that is loosely inspired by a bunch of songs from the Swedish pop group, ABBA. This latest installment traverses two timelines, with the present focusing on Amanda Seyfried’s Sophie, daughter of Meryl Streep’s Donna, and how she navigates a life trying to perfect, or at least capture, her mother’s ambitions. The past timeline, on the other hand, serves as a major performance showcase for Lily James (who is playing the younger Donna) and as a fleshing-out of the throwaway details that are mentioned in the previous film: How did Donna meet those three guys who become Sophie’s three fathers? How did she end up in that idyllic Greek island? Who is her mother?
Here We Go Again basically fills the gaps, and it does so with a balance of drama and comedy, and an excess of brisk and boisterous song-and-dance numbers. In here we get to see serious actors, once again, act like they are unsupervised and are just enjoying a break from the constraints that come with the label “serious actor.” Pierce Brosnan, Colin Firth, Stellan Skarsgard, Christine Baranski, and Julie Walters reprise their roles, and they are joined by a talented and absurdly attractive cast that serves as their younger versions. In full display they all get to perform both famous and lesser known ABBA songs (but are there really lesser known ABBA songs?).
Meryl Streep is little seen this time (spoiler alert!), but her duet with Sophie of the song My Love, My Life near the end of film could easily put anyone’s heart in a blender. Be prepared to ugly-cry. She is by far one of the greatest living actors of any generation. As if she is not enough, this movie introduces characters played by Andy Garcia and Cher, with the latter’s presence concretely affirming the case that we need to see her in many movies, that seeing her in only one movie this year is criminally insane. Cher is Cher, you get the picture.
All in all, it’s a bright and ridiculous, highly-saturated, overly-convoluted kitschy fun, but you won’t mind. Even if you’ve left the cinema, the songs are still playing in your head. Again and again. And then you might want to watch it again
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It is inevitable. Anthony and Joe Russo’s Avengers: Infinity War is basically a culmination, among many future culminations, of the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) that started long ago with Jon Favreau’s Iron Man in 2008. Seems like ancient times, right? Thanks to this universe, the comic book superhero knowledge of the general populace is no longer limited to Batman, Superman, Spider-man, Darna, and the X-Men.
Aside from then relatively unknown Iron Man, we are now familiar with the likes of Captain America, Bucky, War Machine, Thor, Loki, Hulk, Black Widow, Doctor Strange, Scarlet Witch, Vision, Black Panther, Shuri, Okoye, Star-Lord, Gamora, Drax the Destroyer, Rocket Raccoon, Groot, and Mantis. All this is no longer a geek’s secret source of delights.
These characters are but a microcosm of heroic desire, duty, and dedication in this massive if not overblown entry. The film’s story picks up right after the events in last year’s Thor: Ragnarok, and for the first time we finally get to witness the full menacing splendor of Josh Brolin’s Thanos, the latest big bad villain of the MCU. He is a stocky purplish giant in search of the Infinity Stones, six gems that grant anyone the supremacy of a god when gathered together in a gauntlet (some sort of glorified golden glove that Thanos had fashioned for himself). His ultimate mission? To eradicate half of the living entities in the universe in order to achieve cosmic balance.
Because some of the stones are held by a couple of our heroes (and antiheroes)—namely Loki with the Space Stone, Vision with the Mind Stone, Doctor Strange with the Time Stone—Thanos goes after them, and mayhem ensues. A lot of familiar and unfamiliar faces show up here and there, and although it requires a certain amount of investment in the MCU to enjoy Infinity War, anyone can still relish the whole shenanigan the same way one can appreciate watching a dog chase after its own tail on YouTube—it is sheer unadulterated entertainment. The stakes are higher here than previous MCU installments, the body count darkly indulgent, but being a Marvel film, there is the requisite humor and witty banter scattered all over the place.
Thanos is unquestionably an antagonist that necessitates a congregation of super-powered beings. But what makes him even more terrifying is that he falls under the classic category of the guy with the noble intention but with the problematic methods—a category that sticks too closely to our truth. His scheme to commit mass murder to attain peace and order resembles the many motivations of our outspoken, charismatic leaders from all over the world who couldn’t care less. If there is one wish that we, as viewers, can take from Infinity War, it is that we hope our very own mighty heroes could come and save our world real, real soon.
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All works of movie-making demand attention, but John Krasinski’s horror film A Quiet Place takes that truism to a whole new level. It is almost void of dialogue one must pay attention to every detail unfolding in the screen. The characters do not speak for almost 90% of the movie. Yet, in the hands of Krasinski, who does not only direct the film but also co-writes it and stars in it with real-life spouse Emily Blunt, the tension is cranked several notches up with the simplest of things: stairs, corn kernels, nail, some objects you wouldn’t expect.
The story is set in a not-too-distant future wherein the entire population has dwindled to a couple few and the world is infested with blind homicidal creatures gifted with exceptional hearing. The slightest sound sets them off in a murderous rampage. It is never explained where these monsters come from, but what it known is that an incident with one of these has left the Abott family traumatized. Lee (Krasinski), Evelyn (Blunt), and their children have managed to survive, thanks to their familiarity with silence. The eldest child Regan is deaf (played astoundingly by Millicent Simmonds who is a deaf American actress), thus, the family communicates in sign language way before the dystopia began.
Even if the Abotts live a secluded life now heavily constrained by rules—never speak a word, do not use plates and utensils, only walk on sand paths to dampen any sound—some things are just bound to happen, like in most horror movies. But A Quiet Place is not just a horror movie. Although the premise could easily be in a Shyamalan film, the whole setup is saved from ludicrousness for being wise instead of simply being clever and for having wisdom instead of having gimmicks. There is more to tell but to divulge any further information might lessen the impact of that brilliant, flawless ending.
The movie’s near total absence of sound is oppressive like it is a character in itself that heightens all the other sensations. The dripping water goes in cadence with your racing heartbeat and the creaking floor weighs on you like a ton. Basically every scene just rattles your nerves. The accomplishment of combining spare dialogue with high suspense speaks to the genius of Krasinski’s solid vision and craft. It helps that he has a team of actors and film professionals who is up to the demands of this crazy idea.
It is not difficult to see A Quiet Place as a mirror to our current reality. Each day there’s the confusion that tries to rob our logical reasoning, the unspeakable horrors shrugged by many as ordinary. In fact, the creatures must be an embodiment of incessant noise that invades our waking moments—political conflicts, fake news, never ending acts of prejudice and hate. And if that is the case, obviously, a quiet place is what we all need
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Anything that deals with the past can sometimes be a turnoff to some people, that the antiquated must only be revered in museums, journals, and sweet old memories. But Steven Spielberg’s latest film, Ready Player One, which is adapted from a 2011 novel of the same title by Ernest Cline, tries to flip the table on that mentality. In here, Spielberg proves that the old can actually be just as interesting as the new. Because when it comes to pop culture—which is basically the fabric of this movie—the old is what becomes of all that is treasured.
Aside from being a critique on modern day distractions and anxieties (corporate greed, privacy issues, social media catfishing!), Ready Player One is a wild, visual feast of nostalgia. It’s as if it serves as a geek’s guide to 80’s and 90’s music, movies, pulp fiction, video games, comic books, and other sundry items that are usually deemed too inconsequential for lofty-minded individuals.
The story is set in the year 2045 and introduces us to Wade Watts (played by an effective but easily forgettable Tye Sheridan), a young man who spends most of his time in the Oasis as Parzival, a virtual world created by James Halliday. This is where anything goes, depending on the limits of your imagination (and the digital coins you collect in this computerized reality). Upon the death of Halliday, his avatar (or his digital persona) reveals to all players that there are three challenges to three powerful keys that grant ownership and control of the entire game. Everything changes when Watts meets Art3mis (yes, that’s spelled correctly) who reveals to him that this is no longer a game, when the order of the world is at stake and the gap between classes of society gets even more pronounced—especially that the power-hungry technological company Innovative Online Industries is doing everything it can to take hold of these keys.
Ready Player One has little of the subtlety and poeticism that shaped Spielberg’s other ambitious, fantastical works like A.I. Artificial Intelligence and Minority Report, but it certainly has the frenetic energy of The Adventures of Tintin and War of the Worlds. It just keeps going and going, with little pauses to process all the pop culture references bombarded at you before the next batch arrives.
Yes, it does wholeheartedly embrace the wonders of the past, which give the movie a tendency to tread on clichés and camp and the requisite shots at admiration of the familiar, but all this does not rob it of the fact that it is so satisfying to walk down memory lane. Each scene is like this homage to something exuberant, something vital to our understanding of reality, no matter what time it is derived from. Whether we as viewers are in it for the nostalgia trip or not, this movie sure knows how to play its game
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Movies that are based on video games have a long and rocky history of success (see Super Mario Bros., Warcraft, Prince of Persia, and Assassin's Creed) and audience recognition. Not everyone toys a keyboard or a game console for hours in front of a screen, right? But the Tomb Raider brand must have enough worldwide appeal in its arsenal that it is rebooted for the year 2018. This time around, in the hands of Norwegian director Roar Uthaug, the plucky heroine Lara Croft is played by Oscar winner Alicia Vikander and the plot drones in on the days before she became the braided, frequent-flyer, two-gun-wielding adventurer that she is famously known for. In fact, the version of Croft here is so primal her weapon of choice is a bow and arrow combo.
This story is still basic in that it feels like a teenager’s uninspired computer game narrative in the 1990s and early 2000s. After realizing she cannot entirely live her life as a food deliverer, Croft faces the mysterious disappearance of her aristocrat father and employs the help of an Asian boat captain to get to the island of Yamatai, where she believes she will find her father. This also turns out to be the place where the mythical tomb of the fabled Japanese Queen of Death, Himiko, is located. Because this won’t be a Tomb Raider movie without a tomb.
Despite doing a good job at fleshing out the relationship between Lara Croft and her father, while also informing us of the major plot points ahead, the flashback scenes are, more often than not, distracting. It does not help that the requisite villain goes for the cold-blooded, two-dimensional killer route, which is unfortunate for the talented actor Walter Goggins’ who plays Mathias Vogel, a recruit of the shady organization Order of Trinity.
Yes, things are clunky, but once the machinations finally invest on the premise of Indiana Jones high-stakes action, it delivers. Vikander may not have the magnetic charisma and bombshell curves of the previous Tomb Raider titleholder, Angelina Jolie, but she makes it up with her grit and intense physicality. Despite Vikander’s petite frame and the excessive computer effects thrown around her, one could feel every grunt and squirm that she endures. This is one girl who can channel her struggles out of the screen really well and proves she can overcome anything in her capacity.
Perhaps this is the reason why this new Tomb Raider comes out at the height of the #MeToo and Time’s Up movement (and coincidentally, National Women’s Month in the Philippines). Even if Lara Croft is the only female actor with significant screen time (even the extras are mostly male), the movie still celebrates the strength and intelligence of a woman, that being one does not have to be limited to being sexy or a damsel in distress. Women can be tough and smart at the same time, and that is basically what many of us have known for a long while now.
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The journey of Loy Arcenas’ award-winning film, Ang Larawan, to Bohol is one that parallels the difficulties of getting it made and seen by an audience in the first place. It was never shown in any of our malls during the entire run of the Metro Manila Film Festival 2017 last December and January. When it got the chance to be screened in Bohol, it was cancelled and moved to another date due to typhoon Basyang. But the fates are still good, the hardworking culture-bearers of Bohol better.
Continuing the activities of this year’s National Arts Month, and being part of a school tour that would also take the film to Cebu and Negros Oriental, Ang Larawan is finally shown with two screenings at the Bohol Cultural Center on February 19.
Before the 7:30PM screening, the Loboc Children’s Choir performed a suite of pop musical pieces. Actors and producers Celeste Legaspi and Rachel Alejandro also sung in a cappella, after joining Loy Arcenas and producer Alemberg Ang for a symposium. The four of them fielded questions from the audience that touched on characterization, how commercialism could coexist with art, and the need for micro-theaters (or cinematheques) in provinces like Bohol that could readily accommodate unconventional, non-mainstream works and provide movie consumption diversity.
And how lucky these students and teachers were, these culture and art enthusiasts, these regular moviegoers, to finally experience Ang Larawan. Rarely do Boholanos see a Filipino musical of this pedigree. It is not just different for diversity’s sake; it is a landmark in Filipino artistry. This movie is based on a stage musical with translation and lyrics by National Artist for Theater and Literature Rolando Tinio and music by Ryan Cayabyab, which is also an adaptation of the play A Portrait of the Artist as Filipino by National Artist for Literature Nick Joaquin.
Ang Larawan is set in 1940s Intramuros, before World War II, and focuses on two spinster sisters, Candida and Paula Marasigan, who live in a cavernous house with their artist father Don Lorenzo—the man who painted the titular larawan and who kept to himself inside his room for a year and counting after a mysterious tragedy. The once glorious household, where the alta sociedad frequently mingled, now relies on financial support provided by their siblings Manolo and Pepang, who both agree it is better to sell the property than to hold on to it like dead weight. But all this could not hold up to the daily expenses; Candida even considers her rat-catching talent and Paula’s fluent Spanish as lucrative jobs, but both eventually acknowledge this is not true. Thanks to Tony, a charming vaudeville piano player and male boarder who the two sisters have to take in, the idea of selling the last Marasigan painting for $20,000 to an American collector is put on the table. This sets Candida and Paula in a head spin and moves the story forward to situations no one would ever expect (unless you have seen or read the original play).
The movie is so lovingly made, as evidenced from the very first frame down to the last melody of a song. It is the type of movie that grows on you even as it confronts you with difficult, conflicting ideologies—principle or practicality, heritage or commercialism. Even if it brims with the gilded beauty of the past, it is not afraid to remind everyone that everything can be preserved as much as it could be ravished by the consequences of a decision or force that is beyond anyone’s control. Very much like a representation of how the culture and the arts in this country often balance on a precarious tightrope. The movie does not explicitly take sides, but any logical viewer can instantly decide where one must lean on. In fact, Joanna Ampil’s tremendous portrayal of Candida drives home the message.
The only hitch in this near-perfect production is that its movements stick closely to the structure of theater, that sometimes the pacing feels lumbering and too deliberate for a movie. There is no questioning the genius of Rolando Tinio’s libretto and Ryan Cayabyab’s compositions (whose score breezes through bombastic jazz and zarzuela), but the musical exposition it employs is in the vein of a Stephen Sondheim musical; the songs can be hard to sing along with.
It is easy to brush off this movie as another passion project that’s weighed down by its own ambitions, which makes it dismissible by an audience contented with slapstick humor and cheap thrills, but the movie’s mere presence in this time and age, let alone in Bohol, should be enough indication that we do have something great and important in our hands, that something even more precious could arrive someday. Has anyone heard of the movie Smaller and Smaller Circles by Raya Martin that features a host of Boholano talent but is unfortunately never shown in our cinemas in 2017?
It is no simple task, to remind everyone of this when people are getting used to with what they usually get (read: horror, romantic comedy, Vice Ganda), but last Monday’s audience turnout, with the help of both the local government body and private sector, suggests that a cultural renaissance is indeed possible. These are all concerns and ideas that have yet to meet a solid, committed prioritization in Bohol, but for now, let us at least revel at the thought that, at long last, the portrait is finally unveiled to Boholanos. To echo one of the movie’s cries, contra mundum!
[ article previously published in The Bohol Chronicle, 25 February 2018 ]
After reading many of the searing reviews of "Justice League" three days ago, I went to the cinema to watch the movie for myself, with the excitement of a trip to the dentist. You'd go anyway even if you know you'd end up getting hurt because you've been through it all. But, boy, was I surprised. I liked it from start to finish. "Justice League", directed by Zack Snyder, who I think from now on should be a cinematographer instead, has the director’s staple sins: the addiction to slow-motion, the painfully obvious male gaze (do we really have to see Diana’s behind when people are having a conversation?), the third act that always falls into the DC Extended Universe (DCEU) movie rote of unsubtle CGI spectacle. Yes, there are hurried jumps from one scene to another, typical of a Snyder attention span, but I don’t quite agree with the incoherence complaint. I think it’s a sentiment that’s overblown, attributed to the frustration to finally see a great DC movie (next to Wonder Woman and Nolan's Dark Knight trilogy)—especially a Justice League movie—only to end up not being rewarded with one’s expectations. In fact, the movie is the most coherent in all DCEU movies in that it has the most simplistic story to tell. It’s so simple you can it sum it up in one sentence: Bruce and Diana have to round up a team to prevent three magical boxes from merging and stop an invasion that would literally demolish the human world. Each of the team has enough character this time—not just grim and brooding. Gal Gadot’s Wonder Woman remains a wonder. She is a delight in every scene. Ezra Miller’s the Flash and Jason Momoa’s (ultra-scruffy) Aquaman got me looking forward to their solo outings. Cyborg and Batman though looked tired all the time, I feel sorry for them. As for Superman…(?) The dynamics here reminded me of the 90’s Bruce Timm Justice League animated series on Cartoon Network wherein its unsophistication makes it charming. It is quite refreshing, too, compared to the lofty mythologizing, heavy-handed philosophical musings of the previous Snyder-DC films (let’s forget about Ayer’s “Suicide Squad”). Even Danny Elfman’s score goes for the classics, closely honing on John Williams’ Superman theme and his very own Tim Burton-Batman theme. But, of course, he manages to slip in there Hans Zimmer’s now iconic piano tinkling for Superman and electric cello bursts for Wonder Woman, and I do not really mind. When I left the cinema, I totally forgot what the critics had said. I had an awesome ride. That ending got me excited, and that is something I rarely say for a DCEU movie. We need to see more. This franchise needs to be saved.
[ photo borrowed from this site ]
Mikhail Red’s “Birdshot” is a work of art. The film centers on 14-year-old Maya who lives with her father Diego in some undisclosed farmland. Diego’s wife died in childbirth, and he is getting old, so he tries everything he can to teach Maya the ways of living—and that includes hunting. One day, with her shaggy black dog Bala, Maya finds her way to the sanctuary. She needs to prove to herself that she could stand on her own, and this brings her to an irreversible decision that changes everything. She unknowingly shot a haribon, a Philippine Eagle that is now close to extinction due to urban developments, illegal logging, and forest burning. This is where police officer Mendoza and his rookie subordinate Domingo come in to investigate. It’s hard giving justice to its brilliance without spoiling it. Even if “Birdshot” utilizes the methods of a police procedural and the coming-of-age story, it propels forward to places that you’d never expect, to situations that would unnerve and jolt you. Red’s direction is close to perfect. He has the polish of Chito Roño, poetic flourishes of Lav Diaz, the critical sensibilities of Marilou Diaz-Abaya. The absence of the specificities of time and place gives “Birdshot” an almost mythic feel. Everything's not what it seems to be—scarecrows seem to come alive, shadowy figures lurk in corners—and this is best portrayed by how complacency and good intentions of a higher system can actually have deeper, more sinister motives. Idealistic minds could get corrupted. In one scene, John Arcilla’s Mendoza tells his partner, “Trabaho lang yan… iinom lang natin yan”, and you cannot help but think of our country’s nightmares that consume our waking moments—like the innocent 17-year-old Kian Delos Santos who was killed by police officers last August 16. As the end credits rolled, I suddenly felt all the wrong decisions this country has made, and just broke down and cried. Fiction creeping into reality is nothing new. But when the distinctions are blurred or altogether removed, when life becomes stranger than fiction, it is high time we stand up, speak out, and remedy the situation. “Birdshot” is that eagle’s cry we all need to hear.
[ photo borrowed from this site ]
After 75 years since its inception in comic book form, we are finally blessed with a “Wonder Woman” movie. And in a milieu that often witnesses several remakes of Batman, Superman, and Spider-Man, it is refreshing that Patty Jenkins—a female director no less—finally gets the superheroine to the silver screen and gets it right. Here is a straight-up origin story; how a young resolute Amazon in mythical island nation of Themyscira becomes Diana Prince in hideous First World War-era London and ultimately becomes the savior that the story requires (and the whole Justice League narrative in the coming years). The narrative is precise, and it is a film not beleaguered by beautiful but incoherent moments, the same moments that bog down “Man of Steel” [2013], “Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice” [2016], and “Suicide Squad” [2016]. Credit goes to Gal Gadot who embodies Wonder Woman’s intelligence and naiveté, royalty and athleticism so effortlessly. She is born for this role. All of these traits make for a perfect foil to Chris Pine’s spirited, believably charismatic Steve Trevor. I also think this is the first time in a long while in a superhero movie that a group of women in tight and curiously skin-baring armours never felt gratuitous and vulgar, with not a single shot lingering on cleavages and derrieres. Instead, the film focuses—quite unbelievably because it has never been portrayed that way until today—on these women’s wit, strength, and above all, compassion. The past DC films have been aggressive with their philosophy, masculinity, and pandering sulkiness, as if everyone has gone cold and dead inside. But “Wonder Woman” goes the other route. Although it is not a perfect route, especially the latter part's CGI bonanza, it reaches its goal in making a necessary and relevant hero: that one needs to have heart, even in a time of hate and deception. It is a film (not just a superhero film) that is surely remembered for its message, not its minor flaws. Simply put, this film is way “above average.” If you know what I mean.
[ image borrowed from this site ]
In theory, David Yate’s “Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them” is a difficult material to grapple with. It is not based on an actual novel but on a fictional textbook used in a fictional school. It features weary-looking adults that we are not familiar with. And for all its heavy-lifting to connect to the Harry Potter universe, it does not feature the three main characters that have made that universe endearing in the first place. I think this is why J.K. Rowling herself, the mastermind behind said universe, is hitched to write the movie’s script. The first story that showcased Rowling’s Wizarding World was released on 1997 and the latest was in July 2016 in the form of Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, a stage play performed in London and soon in New York. Now, decades have passed, and two factions have grown between the sporadic updates that Rowling expertly drops here and there: those who relished the revelations and those who grow tired of over-selling the story. As a millennial who first introduced the Harry Potter books to my elementary classmates when I was eight years old, obviously, I belong to the former. After thousands of pages of histories and back stories that all started in 1997, it is nothing short of fantastic that everything seems to connect so flawlessly into one elegant narrative, one that links the brand-new story of Newt Scamander in 1920’s New York in the “Fantastic Beasts” movie to The Boy Who Lived. Its plot is simple: a wizard goes to foreign land, accidentally unleashes mayhem, solves the problem, and stumbles upon new threats along the way. Eddie Redmayne was an odd choice to play Newt, but he proved himself capable of fitting into the world of nifflers, alohomoras, and wizard politics without standing out too much. Speaking of standing out, Alison Sudol’s mind-reading Queenie and Samantha Morton’s ultra-orthodox Mary Lou Barebones were clearly the salt and pepper that spiced up this movie. They stood out in many good ways. As for that surprise in the end? Not so much. I won’t spoil it here. There seems to be missing arcs in all the characters which drags the story from becoming truly exceptional. What is Newt’s real motivation for coming to the Big Apple? Why is the magical community in this city so backward? Why does Tina look eternally teary eyed? Despite the presence of the beasts that give the movie its bright humorous spots, there’s a veneer of sadness on each scene, or an undertone of something sinister and terrible is about to happen soon. Rowling is often accused of expanding (and milking) too much the Wizarding World, but with a tale teeming with cultural paranoia, political discontent and bigotry, this feels solid and relevant. Even with the obvious plot holes and the need for more instalments, I’d be happy to dive right into the chaos. I’m a fan.
[ photo borrowed from this site ].
When I learned that Scott Derrickson’s “Doctor Strange” was finally screening in the local cinemas, I was genuinely excited. But one evening, upon leaving the theater, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that I’ve been through this before. You see, the latest Marvel Studio’s film is like Iron Man but only with magic—here is an arrogant man that went through disastrous circumstances and went through a period of recovery and then discovery and went on saving the world (and the reality of existence itself) and went on meeting an Avenger. This is not to say that Benedict Cumberbatch’s performance as the titular character is unimpressive. In fact, it is the opposite. He is full of wit, full of sharp, biting British humor. But then again, it feels like I’ve been through this before too. Case in point: his performance in the much-superior “Sherlock” TV series. It is a shame because this film has rounded up such an extraordinary, talented group of actors. There is Tilda Swinton who, without surprise, manages to pull off being a bald, seemingly-Oriental sorcerer but remains only as a fortune cookie wisdom-giver to our hero (which only further confirms my belief that she is Hollywood’s Meryl Streep for surreal, out-there characters). There is Mads Mikkelsen who is born to be a villain (see “Hannibal”, “Casino Royale”) but unfortunately ends up just like many of the villains in the past Marvel films: forgettable. There is Chiwetel Ejiofor who is such a solid artist in films like “12 Years A Slave” [2013] and “Children of Men” [2006] but also ends up like Mads Mikkelsen. There is Rachel McAdams who, as always, aces her job as a tough-cookie woman in a world dominated by men, just like in her past movie and television roles, only to be relegated in this movie as the obligatory love interest of our hero (which even felt forced). There is Benedict Wong who seems to be added in the cast to quiet down the controversy of having Tilda Swinton taking over the role of an Asian character. But all in all, it was an enjoyable viewing, especially if one does not think of all these little grievances or those who couldn’t care less (just like those in the audience who didn’t laugh at moments of hilarity but laughed at the sight of a black man). And those visuals, what a treat! I will not say they are original. In fact, such bombastic imagery has been previously showcased to great effect in films like The Matrix Trilogy, “Dark City” [1998], “The Adjustment Bureau” [2011], and most obviously, Christopher Nolan’s “Inception” [2010]. I think the action sequences are what saved this film from being mediocre at best—when the laws of physics are violently wrenched and broken here and there by both friendly and unfriendly sorcerers, the Rube Goldberg, M.C. Escher-like set pieces will certainly leave everyone in awe, as in literally, you will open your mouth in amazement. Which is kind of good, I guess, because it will remind you of your popcorn getting cold in the dark.
[ photo borrowed from this site ]
So this is the story. It looks like being single is a crime. That’s why we have a luxurious hotel where we can find our potential partner. The only catch: You’ll transform into an animal (of your own choosing, at least) if you can’t find one in 45 days. The pressure is on, really. It’s as if the worst and most surreal of reality television are gathered together and taken a notch higher. The Greek director Yorgos Lanthimos’ “The Lobster” thankfully sustains this absurd premise until the end. It made me wish I knew his films prior to this. Collin Farrell is doing a Matthew McConaughey here; after a long absence in a major movie production, Farrell enters the first frame of the film as David with assuredness and the weight of his dilemma. You can see it on the slouch of his shoulder. He even has a beer belly to match the character’s seemingly baffled and expanding state of mind. (Also, this only me excites for his turn in David Yates’ “Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them” come November). And Rachel Weisz, even with the minimal dialogue, is stellar as usual. Although the story’s year is not stated and we can only assume it is happening many years from now, Weisz’s is the character on film that is closest to the thinking that we have right now in 2016, albeit heavily cynic. The film is painful to watch, too. No, it doesn’t have ghosts, screaming teenagers, and grotesque monsters in the form a giant lobster. It doesn’t have any of that trash. Instead, it is unsettling not only because of its dystopian setup but because the conditions of the story almost resemble our present-day relationships: the fleeting emotions, the blurring between love and necessity, the disconnect. In this day and age of dating and hookup apps, the need for mental health care, and now Pokémon Go, “The Lobster” provides us a glimpse of an open window which presents an un-reality that’s bound to happen soon. I guess it’s safe to say let’s start thinking now of our preferred animal transformations.
[ photo borrowed from this site ]
Bryan Singer returns with “X-Men: Apocalypse,” and to say the least, it is good. I watched it on premier night, and now I could finally sum up the experience with this: I enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed Zack Snyder’s “Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice.” Yeah, give me the boos. The thing is, after the superb “X-Men: Days of Future Past,” this latest installment of mutant mayhem has unfortunately not sustained the momentum. We are in the 80’s, and we have Apocalypse as the main antagonist, and yet they do not feel weighty, insane and engaging enough. Hello! That’s Apocalypse we are talking about, one of the craziest foes in the Marvelverse! And yet his character falls flat and boring in this film. He even looks small next to Olivia Munn’s Psylocke (who was a perfect but another under-used choice, honestly). Oscar Isaac was a waste of talent. And on the opposite side of waste is the overexposure of Jennifer Lawrence’s Mystique. It is hard to dim the limelight for an A-list actress like J-Law, especially in a big blockbuster ensemble movie, but her presence and protest rally-like speeches in the story seems forced. She makes me wish for the darker, unpredictable Mystique of Rebecca Romijn instead. What truly stand out in this film are the younger mutants. The normally bland Cyclops is played by Tye Sheridan with so much attitude. Sophie Turner of “Game of Thrones” fame is surprisingly fit for Jean Grey. Evan Peters’ Quicksilver and Kodi Smit-McPhee’s Nightcrawler provide the humor in the right places (but let’s just forget the latter’s hair please). And we finally see Storm, played by Alexandra Shipp, who showcases her powers that closely resemble their portrayal in the comics and animated series. After assessing the previous X-Men films up to the recent one, I realize what makes this “X-Men: Apocalypse” not apocalyptic enough. Its plot is almost the same as those that come before it. Here’s an egocentric baddie, here’s a united team. Familiar, right? It’s because we have seen it all before. P.S. I also expected a lot of fireworks from Lana Condor’s Jubilee, but, oh well.
[ photo borrowed from this site ]
