Back in the days, before naked men became fashionable, there were nubile nymphets with mammaries bigger than their heads; and they were a dime a dozen. The story would be familiar: a country girl tries her luck in the big city and ends up in the salacious hands of pimps, enterprising gigolos or sex starved men.
The list is long, but to mention a few: Jennifer Lee for “Co-ed Scandal”, Nika Madrid for “Unang Tikim” and “Hamog sa Bukang Liwayway”, Kuhdet Honasan for “Maharot”, Tracy Torres and Clarissa Mercado for “Mapanukso”, Kat de Santos for “Agos” and “Lipstick”, Nadine Schmidt for “Room Service”, Aleck Bovick for “Tampisaw”, Criselda Volks for “Takaw-Tingin”, Monica Midler for “Saplot”, Pyar Mirasol for “Katawan Mo, Langit Ko”. Every forgettable names and faces made to perform repeated 10-minute shower scenes. I thought those days had passed, but there is a bothersome resurgence of such exploitation girlie flicks.
Such is John Ad. Castillo and Malaysian director Z Lokman’s “Seksing Masahista” originally titled “Crazy Idiots” which would have been a more appropriate title given the masterful artistry in this earth-shattering masterpiece.
It follows Mona (Mocha Uson) who’s desperate for a job. Like her out of luck husband Tony (Zyrus Imperial), the young wife presents herself as a masseuse in a massage clinic somewhere in Timog (she claims that as a child, she used to assist her midwife mother-cum-manghihilot back in Samar). Her equally fit hubby Tony gets accepted as janitor in the same “clinic” being run by an unscrupulous couple Boss Estrella and wife Lydia (Rommel Padilla and Ramona Revilla, respectively). As a side story, Estrella is knee deep in negotiations to buy a beach resort (worth P6.2 million) in a partnership with seedy Malaysian businessman Mr. Ashman (director Z Lokman) with the intervention of another cringe-worthy soul named Mr. Patrick (Telly Babasa). The story gets even more confounding when Boss Estrella makes it his business to play with his unwilling employees, to the consternation of his wife (she admits, “Ilang araw na nya akong di ginagalaw sa kama.”)
One salubrious day, Boss Estrella finds Mona drunk. She conveniently drops to the floor, giving Estrella undue advantage to the inebriated Mona. Now this is for the books: from some vantage point outside the same clinic, a fuming Tony “miraculously” witnesses the dastardly deed – so he runs to rescue Mona only to find out that the sword has been fittingly "inserted". What’s a husband to do?
Mocha and Zyrus face a dilemma (left), while director Z Lokman hams it up as an actor with Rommel Padilla: "Don't raise your voice to me, Mr. Estrella." My heels shook with fear.
When flaunting your wares is the right thing to do. ;-> Zyrus Imperial, aka. Bernie Villaflor decides to be less modest.
Ramona Revilla and Zyrus Imperial
The narrative gets even more confusing because from here on, every character plots for their vengeance. Wife Lydia decides to lure a resistant Tony to plug his rod in her (and it is a tad silly watching a seemingly unyielding muscular guy pumping away as though the “willful devil made him do it”). When Tony finally gets Mona home, he blames and forces himself on her, but not before asking her, “Nasaan ang panty mo?” Meanwhile, Mona is also seeking redress by demanding money from Boss Estrella (he hands her P50,000, and quips, “Yan lang ang pera ko”). Without even reaching the first trimester, it seems that Mona miraculously carries a child? When Tony winds up of the possibility, he offers the “baby” to Boss Estrella in exchange for a litigation-free settlement and more money (P250,000). How will the latter finance a beach resort and a baby? Will Mona and Tony ever live a harmonious existence?
The stream of events is random, haphazard and wildly unfocused, infusing a hundred and one side stories that don’t quite mash up seamlessly; you end up scratching your head. Boss Estrella, Tony finds from out of the blue, is infertile and is incapable of siring a child. So the “pregnant” Mona is actually carrying their matrimonial child after all.
MOCHA AND THE ART OF NOT DROWNING
Mocha Uson, undeniably statuesque and sophisticated, seems completely misplaced in this movie, but in what seems like those aforementioned 10 minute shower scenes, Zyrus Imperial gets wet and steamy with the bosomy beauty – mashing away her pigmented areola and sucking into her larynx like there’s no tomorrow. But it was fascinating seeing overgrown mammaries jingling in wild abandon, while perky nipples point to coordinate-specific directions. It was like watching Jello with a brownish outcropping being transported on a rocky road! I tried to re-enact this by jumping on my trampoline, but the effect isn't the same. The thrust of force must come from below, instead of directly defying gravity. Now I'm starting to discern why men love jiggly boobs so much. I swear if she falls into the ocean, those twins would float and save her from drowning! I was tickled fuchsia. There were no pink bonuses here unless you consider Imperial in skimpy briefs as adequate pink fodder.
ACTING IT OUT
When Zyrus Imperial (Bernie Villaflor in real life) spews his line: “Niyurakan nya ang dangal at puri ng aking asawa!” I almost fell off my seat! Not only was he hard up with his delivery, the next scenes also showed him blaming his wife though he was himself the material witness! I’d have been more appreciative of a little consistency. Didn’t Imperial head AMA’s theater group (Teatro AMA) in Pasay? The over-the-top histrionics of Rommel Padilla reminds me of the one-note performances of iconic baddies like Max Alvarado, Rodolfo Boy Garcia and Paquito Diaz, but theirs was an era where such thespic tack was requisite. This is the new millennium where such performance is deemed hammy.
Touted as a Malaysian-Philippine co-production, this film is really a testament that you can’t exactly buy talent nor cinematic excellence. The outpouring of finances is hardly evident here. Production design is virtually non-existent; script is nothing but underdeveloped caricatures. Mocha Uson takes her part as though this was going to take her to the Oscars. After all, didn’t they drum up interest by saying they were going to show this flick in Latin America (God forbid!). To make a thematic statement for this, they employed canned music like Sergio Mendes’ “Mas Que Nada”, the second time this song was used in a film this week. (You can hear a better, more appropriate version in the animated blockbuster “Rio”.) Aren’t they aware they may be impinging on some copyright claims?
If such aesthetic is Malaysia’s contribution to Philippine cinema, we already have a surfeit of bad cinema to speak of. We don’t need anymore assault such as this. And director Z Lokman subbing as an actor is a blood-curdling exercise of conceit. Ugly conceit, if I may add. Please spare us from further agony! Go spend your Malaysian ringgit elsewhere.