What Were They Thinking? - 2014 in Head Scratching Moments

It's the little things you notice. Like when a science teacher explains the sound of a heart to her class, and she goes "Dug dug... dug dug..." Yet every one who attends a science class knows that the official normal heart sound is "lub dub... lub dub..." - and not something that reminds you of an animal that bites - or barks. 

Cathy Garcia-Molina's "She's Dating the Gangster" has other gaffes: The first 15 minutes briskly breeze through the news of a missing plane and an emergency landing in CamSur, with no list of survivors to speak of. But the possibility that several people, including Kenneth's dad Kenji (Richard Gomez), could be dead is absolutely lost on Kelay (Kathryn Bernardo) who's high spirited and bubbly, acting as though it's a festive season to hop around with wide grin on her face. Something here doesn't make sense, does it? 

Make no mistake, "She's Dating the Gangster" is one of 2014's most adorable movies. It's also Kathryn's best performance to date. The director's flair for dynamic story telling is undeniable. It is utterly charming that you tend to ignore the minor gaffes. When your movie earns P262 million domestically, who cares really about the nitpicking? Subsequently, would you be as sensitive, or just shrug your shoulders, if your film earned a measly P5 million (well, P5,165,190 - every nickel counts), like Nora Aunor's "Dementia"? The cast and crew of 15-20 people flying to Batanes alone would cost a fortune so P5M isn't exactly earning, is it? I rest my case.

With the film year almost coming to a close, Blush features some of the year's "Most Head Scratching Moments" on celluloid. The point here is: Film makers have to be attentive to the details used in their stories. After all, these films are commercial products that people pay good money to watch. There's plenty more where this list comes from considering the volume of releases this year. We have excluded some items that we've already written lengthily before. 

2014's MOST HEAD-SCRATCHING MOMENTS

Pop quiz. What do dogs, creatures without cognition, do when sideswiped by moving vehicles? They scuttle away, tails behind their legs, as dictated by instinct. Cats do the same, with claws bared out and fur standing on end. You'd think humans, even those with defective cognition, would do the same. After all, instinct universally dictates for "fight or flight" - for self preservation.

But Percival Intalan's "Dementia" shows one for the books. Mara (Nora Aunor) strays by the roadside, disoriented to time and place, looking around this strange place. Out of nowhere, a speeding bicycle then sideswipes her. She falls, then scampers to get up. Then for a split second, she grins with her saccharine sweet smile! What thinking creature grins after getting hit by a moving vehicle? Anyone with half a brain would wonder about such an incongruous reaction! Yet this film is called "intelligent" by many reviews. Go figure.

In another scene: Nora is doing her jigsaw puzzle on the table. Yul Servo then charges and loudly accuses her: "Bakit kayo ganyan sa akin? Wala naman akong ginagawa sa inyo, pero mula pa noon, minamaliit at minamata nyo na ako.” 

Yul's emotional outburst, of course, goes unnoticed because Nora didn't seem to hear anything. Deaf? The movie insists that this is "Dementia". But anyone confronted with such passionate display would get frazzled, or disoriented. And she'd rightfully get upset. Not catatonic! But Intalan decides to forget this salient feature and focus on those phantasmagorically expressive pair of eyes - and let's give her the extreme close-ups she deserves, while we’re at it. Ocular porn, anyone? This is how an "intelligent movie" should be.
                                           

Sigried Barros-Sanchez must have paraded what seemed like 3 dozen personalities in the first 60 minutes alone of his documentary "Ang Gitaristang Hindi Marunong Magskala". An hour later, you're nowhere familiar with his subject, legendary guitarist Nitoy Adriano of "The Jerks". Sanchez, who has always been fixated with 70's-80's pop culture, presents his "story" by way of an endless array of anecdotes from people like Bobby Balingit ("Wuds"), Ira Cruz ("Hijo"), Robert Javier ("The Youth"), Mike Brewer, Soliman Cruz, Ely Buendia, Bong Sotto, Noel Cabangon, et.al. The personalities are numerous, but the whole narrative is lost in the randomness of the exposition. While other documentaries take us to places, Sanchez heavily relies on his interviewees that, on the whole, know less about Nitoy Adriano as a person. What's worse, an annoying guitar riff plays throughout this series of clips while uneven sound comes out from his subjects whose voices are either drowned out by excessively excruciating noise or are hopelessly inaudible.

If "Cine Totoo" were truly a festival of "international caliber", why can't they "screen" their entries adequately? Were they wearing ear plugs when they screened this embarrassment? Shoddy film making is a legitimate criteria of exclusion if they're serious of this undertaking. This film was painful to watch, it almost prevented me from watching the other entries.

Let’s take the case of Thai film maker Urophong Raksasad's lyrically sumptuous "Songs of Rice", the dialogue-free visual dissertation on Thailand's "rice culture" set in places like Chiang Kam and the Don Yanang village. 

Even without words, you learn so much about a regional neighbor, something that was never accomplished in “Ang Gitarista’s…” million-words. "...Rice" was one of the last films to screen at the Cine Totoo Festival. 

Barros-Sanchez's "Ang Gitarista..." feels more like a great disservice to the personality it is paying homage to. The director is fond of giving "tributes". Remember "Mga Kidnaper ni Ronnie Lazaro" and "Ang Anak ni Brocka"? Now this particular work should've been abandoned altogether.

In Rod M. Ortega's "The Firefighters: The Unsung Heroes", a movie that doesn't have a clue what it wanted to be (a biopic; an instructional course - complete with slide shows about fire; a political propaganda?), Santi, portrayed by Jeric Raval, attends a class. A teacher then comes in declaring, "This is your Chemistry class. We are going to have a graded oral recitation." First question: "What is Chemistry?" Now that's a question I've never heard from my college chemistry professor before. Without much fanfare, Raval, in his bravest demeanor stands up and recites, in excruciatingly fractured delivery, "Chemistry is a branch of science that studies the composition, structure..." As if that wasn't enough, he adds, "The one practicing it is called a chemist." Then everyone claps, shaking their heads with wide-eyed wonderment. I had to stand up as well and give the guy an ovation. Where did they pluck this director? The water spinach farm? Opps, that's the kangkungan. Tee hee.

Angeli Bayani plays a field reporter for a TV news program in Nick Olanka's "Ronda". Her beat - the police precinct where Ai-Ai de las Alas works as a police woman. In one scene, Bayani, whom director Ang Lee calls as a "National Treasure", reports live at the scene. It was very telling because Bayani shows how gravely miscast she was for the fleeting role. She bungled her way through a short live telecast, mumbling inanities that just didn't feel real. If I were her TV producer, I'd have fired her on the spot! This goes to show that one cannot just "pretend" to be a news reporter. There are skills involved; skills you don't just acquire from presumptions. Otherwise, you'd look like a bumbling twat.

Good thing Angeli Bayani has had a spate of star turns in the recent past. She gave a powerful performance in Francis Xavier Pasion's gripping drama "Bwaya" where she played Divina, the mother of a girl attacked and devoured by a crocodile in Hinuotan, somewhere in the marshlands of Agusan del Sur. She was also seen in Lav Diaz's "Norte, Hangganan ng Kasaysayan," one of my favorite movies in the recent years. Let's not forget her understated grace in Anthony Chen's poignant "Ilo Ilo" (2013). In the latter, Bayani played the role of a nanny working for a struggling Singaporean family.

"Ronda" was one of those films with a story that meandered, employing scriptwriter Adolf Alix's penchant for static shots and long takes. While I love narrative slow burns, there has to be a discernible build-up that leads to a focal point. This one wavered into several side stories that muddled its focus. Cesar Montano, playing a guidance counselor, didn't even look or speak the part. He had this protracted phone conversation that seemed like hollow adlibs. Think wandering salesman.

The film is an uncomfortable showcase piece for the comedienne. It is also thematically derivative. You know that you've seen something like this in the last 5 years or so. And if you believed for a second that Ai Ai delas Alas, with her distractingly gargantuan mammaries juggling around, was a police woman, I am the Queen of Versailles.

One of QCinema's documentary features this year was Barbara Politsch's "Cemetery Life". The film follows three people who have chosen to take residency, albeit illegally, in some of the neglected mausoleums of Manila North Cemetery's 54 hectare sprawl. Ricky, an aging ex-convict, navigates the tombs with arrogant demeanor, cursing often to show he's made of sterner stuff. Helen is a middle-aged woman who has dispossessed a corpse of a coffin to secure a comfortable bed. And Rachel, born in the cemetery, returns to her birthplace pregnant. With a mere P50 fee, these denizens get free electricity; a massage parlor, a sari-sari store and the occasional raiding team to color their makeshift lives.

Description of the movie is more interesting, and I quote, "It is built like a ghost town... the last refuge for the wealthy deceased. Social outcasts have discovered this place. At first sight, it seems idyllic. The poor who have set up their homes within these walls live in makeshift suburban Utopia." Sounds like a prize-winning documentary already, right? Think again. The finished product is unfinished, 3 years after it started collecting video materials for this project. In fact, Ricky's story is the only subject with a fuller narrative structure. Moreover, his story looked scripted. Helen, you hardly see; and Rachel is almost non-existent. You hear voices instructing its subjects instead of just observing them in their natural environment. This is, after all, their home, and no one should dictate how they live their lives, which defeats the purpose of this quasi-documentary. This is worth its P2 million grant? Seriously? What self respecting film maker would even present an unfinished work, deeming it competition-worthy? Better yet, what ambitious film festival would screen unfinished works? Now consider what happens to the cash-strapped Cinemalaya if these QC amateurs begin to artistically control the content of the beleaguered festival? It is nothing short of a festival disaster waiting to happen.

SLEEPWALKER'S FESTIVAL

The finished product is a big technical headache: 70% of the material is characterized by regular buffer stops, playing out like a bad internet connection. You feel like watching incoherent video fragments with a consistently delayed sound. Anyone who considers this worthy of festival admission is in dream land and does not know what he's doing. Otherwise, you realize that whoever curated this festival has been sleepwalking through his job. Quezon City Film Festival seems to be scraping the bottom, and has no insight on quality features. No one screens or monitors its entries. Or at least no one with semblance of a working brain.  

In Chito Rono's riveting "The Trial", theater royalty Isay Alvarez ("Katy", "Miss Saigon") plays lawyer Patricia Celis who has taken on the case of "rape victim" Bessy Buenaventura (Jessy Mendiola). On her first meeting with Amanda (Gretchen Barretto), she wears a baffling smirk. The lawyer carries unusual vitriol, regarding Amanda with absolute acrimony. She's haughty and morose. You would think that Atty. Celis has a personal stake on the case. You’d likewise mistake her as the aggrieved party. As counsellor, wasn't she supposed to approach the case with sobriety and rational savvy? Which lawyer gets herself a gargantuan slap from a would-be witness? 

In Wilden Anonuevo's sex-comedy "Swapped", Brando (Jobben Bello) and Kelly (Adrana Gomez) get into a heated argument with each other while an old woman watches on.

The morning after, our warring strangers realize that they've fortuitously swapped personalities. The plump man gets the vivacious girl's body, and vice versa. What happens when each of their partners starts flirting with them? Billy (Luke Pradia) does a sexy strip dance for his girlfriend Kelly. And KC Miller wants to do the naughty deed with lover Brando. Can true love's kiss really turn the spell around?

While intended to be humorous, we soon find out that the funnier parts weren't the otherwise drab and absolutely predictable situations that came after.

Chaka Khan will be proud.

In one scene, straight guy Brando, now inhabited by straight girl Kelly's identity, wakes up and starts playing music - Chaka Khan's "Through the Fire". Before long, Brando is impersonating Chaka Khan's bravado belting - and all hell break loose. Did Brando get a girl's identity? Or got possessed by a gay man's floridly swishy personality? Hilarious doesn't even begin to describe the scene.

Who can forget Wenn Deramas' "Maria Leonora Teresa"? In the story, an eccentric psychiatrist (Cris Villanueva) peddles his dolls as therapeutic regimen to facilitate the grief therapy of Faith (Iza Calzado), Julio (Zanjoe Marudo) and Stella (Jodi Sta. Maria).

The trio lost their children from a vehicular accident on the day they were to go on a field trip. I understand that these therapeutic dolls can be cuddled by patients diagnosed with clinical depression, dementia, or trauma, but who on earth would cuddle the ugliest dolls I have ever seen? Who chose these dolls? Or were they blind when they picked them?

The movie also showcases Iza Calzado's first bad performance of her entire career (I didn't think this was possible), thanks to Deramas' ambiguous vision on the different manifestations of bereavement. Trust the director to bring out the worst in his actors. Good thing Jodi Santa Maria, the only positive aspect in this poorly conceptualized flick, was on board to save the day. But what sets this horror flick apart from other scary movies was how funny it turned out to be. I have never heard my yaya chuckle throughout a screamfest. Horror = laughter! Who'd have thought that such formula was possible? It's something that only Deramas can accomplish - without even trying!

Kevin Mercado, Keanna Reeves' delectable 20-year-old boyfriend, shares screen time with her more senior girlfriend in Joric Raquiza's ridiculous "Magtiwala Ka - A Super Typhood Yolanda Story". In the movie, set in Basey, Samar, we separately follow rice farmer Malaya (Keanna Reeves) and her stolid-looking kids; and farmer's son Leo Dagami (Kevin Mercado) who dreams of finding his fortune in Manila. Storm depiction  was so amateurish, it looked like one of those fake rain machines drenching all dolled up Keanna. Her lips were red as blood, and she didn't even run for shelter.

But it's the aftermath that's funnier. We find Leo in half a dozen scenes parading different hip attires, as he feigns to look for his lost mother. I started suspecting this was one big fashion show. Did he really lose his garments during the storm? Why does he have so many new, well-ironed shirts?

In a couple of these scenes, Leo, ever so dashing (I couldn't take my eyes off this fresh-faced boytoy, promise!), would suddenly kneel down the ground and start crying - while a plump girl (Dhen Ibanez) would start singing in the background - in irritating music video fashion. The nerve-wracking song gets repeatedly played throughout the film. I started getting ideas how tortures are to be carried out.

Ironically, my attention never wavered. This was one of those "excruciatingly bad films" that entertained in its cinematic cluelessness. I was hooked! And it didn't disappoint. It downspiraled into moronic levels no other film maker has gone before. Later in the story, we finally unravel the raison d'etre of this project: Dr. Manny Calayan starts appearing to promote his medical expertise (I actually cringed at the thought), alongside products called "Unipak sardines" which get distributed to the typhoon victims. Hands down, this takes the cake as the years most awful movie!  

Move over, Enrique Gil. Kevin Mercado can give you a run for his money. Just don't let him speak. LOL

Can someone please prescribe a "reality pill" for this atrociously dreadful director named Joric Raquiza? He makes G.A. Villafuerte look good! Planting camote on the mountains of Alitagtag would be a better career option for this godawful film maker. The other option is migration to an uninhabited island in the Spratlys. Chain him there... for Pete's sake!

A bankrupt patriarch (Robert Arevalo) takes his grown up grandchildren Anna (Cris Villonco) and Ricky (Rafa Siguion-Reyna) to Alapaap, a derelict 4-story tenement in Tondo to help them "grow balls". In the process, he pimps heart broken Anna to a ngongo (Lorenz Martinez) and even encourages for a romantic tryst with him; pushes frustrated musician Ricky to a group of street musicians (Aiza Seguerra, et.al.) who sing but one song! He also introduces them to eating "pagpag"; to sleep in a room full of roaches and a toilet that hardly flushes. I mean, if we're into teaching them how to toughen up, why not take them to the jungles of Basilan and Sulu, debah? The whole idea is nothing short of preposterous - especially when you are compromising the health, safety and well-being of the people you love.

Cartoon characters. Think "wicked stepsisters".

One can't help but question the logic behind such irresponsible actions. After all, Arevalo isn't completely disenfranchised. His grown-up children are still rich; surely, they wouldn't begrudge him of a comfortable home to stay. "Mayaman yun eh," he even quips, referring to son-in-law Daniel Fortaleza (Eric Quizon), Anna's father.

His other children Olivia (Ali Sotto) and Julio (Audie Gemora) don't do so badly themselves, they carry wads of cash around (the scene where they bribe their encargado Rez Cortez with stacks of legal tender).

Carlitos Siguion-Reyna's "Hari ng Tondo" plays out like a modern-day fairytale with quirky characters and charming protagonists. Bibeth Orteza's old-world "komiks" sensibility is quite palpable. Charm floats around all over, but it's like eating cotton candy. The content is all sweet and fluffy - but without much nutritive value. Heck, even Cardo's greedy children feel like one-dimensional characters straight out of Cinderella (the wicked stepsisters). And can anyone please tell Rafa to stop singing? Leave that to Cris Villonco who's a cinematic revelation here.

Let's pick a representative from the fast dwindling Pink Cinema. In G.A. Villafuerte's "Damong Ligaw", a reconciling mother and daughter hug each other as the latter bids her mother goodbye. The mother (played by producer Elona Mendoza, who painfully struggles with simple lines) then rallies for her daughter Loisa, comparing her to a "damong ligaw", a wild grass, if you will. I wanted to roll on the floor laughing. Other parents would compare their daughter to a rose, an angel, a breath of fresh air, a teddy bear, even a "touch of heaven" - but this mother can only think of the titular "Damong Ligaw". Ouch. Here's a suggestion to the director-scriptwriter , who's undoubtedly artistically bankrupt (he repeats his stories ad nauseam; his movies are interchangeable; he only changes the names of his characters): "You're like an ethereal wild flower that blossoms in the most unexpected places." Now isn't that more poetic? Translate to: "Para kang magandang kampupot na bumubukaka sa burak." ;)

PBB FIXATION

In this inanity, Villafuerte, who always writes his own godawful scripts, names his characters after PBB housemates: There's a Ranty (RJ Rodrigo), a Loisa (Mendoza), and a Jacob. In another film, he names a girl Aina. Why not Cheridel?

But it's the epilogue that qualifies for "Ripley's Believe it or Not."

To tie all his loose ends, he writes 5-sentence paragraphs for all of his characters, including the bumbling parlorista and postman! (wink wink) Imagine 10 characters with full epilogues after their frozen faces. You'd think you were in a reading marathon.

Villafuerte must have forgotten that the movies are a visual medium! You do wonder where he must have acquired his film education. I shiver at the thought. Wherever it is, it needs to be shut down. Fast! But I am not done, a film called "Housemates: Are You In or Are You Out? Get Out!" was slated to be shown as of this writing. Nope, I'm not making this up. This isn't a joke. If you've heard of the most ludicrous titling, this should take the cake. Imagine, Villafuerte is probably patting himself stupid for what he seriously believes is brilliant titling. Stroke of genius? Try the other end of the spectrum, hon. More importantly, he needs electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) to get over his fixation to PBB. Seriously.

While we're at it, in G.A Villafuerte's recently shown "Sana Maibalik Pa Ang Kahapon", Monica (Elona Mendoza) gets the shock of her life when she sees Raffy (Joseph Francisco) walking on the street. Rafael was the boy that got away. What baffles her was how he hasn't aged a bit; not a day older when she last saw him 22 years ago. Dorian Gray anyone? She tells this to her gay brother Dennis (Princess Jolens) who quips, "Di siya tumanda, nagka-amnesia!" Half my brain slid down my throat. Since when has looking youthful been equated to amnesia? Is it virus or bacteria, right Wenn Deramas? So funny.

Turns out Raffy is Rafael's son, making him the brother of Noel (Arlo Soriano), Monica's gay son. Elona Mendoza has always produced and appeared in these godawful films where she'd be seen in gawky cameos. In her very short roles, she would uncannily mimic robots and deliver lines as stolidly as her tongue. Fast forward to 2014. She has graduated as an "extra" and has conveniently made herself "lead star" - with similar painfully fractured renditions, it seemed like something got stuck down her posterior pharyngeal wall. Pakapalan na lang. Other than her absolute cluelessness to acting, she insolently displays her 3-gallon collagen pout and a "proudly" 4C bumpers. In each of her scene, I'd notice her lips growing tighter and fuller, I half expected her to make animal sounds next: quack, quack, quack! This is misplaced ambition this side of Carla Varga.

In Nico Salvador's "Tatay Kong Bading", titular protagonist Ike Sadiasa salivates as he watches son-in-law Charles Delgado bathe in wild abandon, soaping away his privates with grave intent. Aren't people supposed to peep through holes? This "banyo" has a proverbial window, openly inviting spectators while they soap away their dirty inches. Sadiasa might as well take a chair inside for a ringside seat.

In "Sine, Laging Kasama", a Jet Leyco documentary that attempts to trace the evolution of cinema in the Philippines - from the European shorts that first introduced the medium during the Spanish colonization era to the birth of the dynamic independent cinema, there' stark absence of the most influential name in the 80's - Sharon Cuneta. Only Wenn Deramas mentioned her in passing.

In a line-up that includes sound bytes and film clips from stars like Dolphy, FPJ, Lino Brocka, Christopher de Leon, Don Jose Nepomuceno, Judy Anne Santos, Tito, Vic & Joey, Toni Gonzaga, Charo Santos-Concio, Boots Anson-Roa, Ricky Lee and Jolina Magdangal, failure to discuss the reign of the "movie queens" and the influence of the star system make this work seem emaciated; as though a chapter of Philippine celluloid has been totally ignored.

SOCIAL RELEVANCE

In the same documentary, Wenn Deramas shares, "Pag binigyan mo sila ng horror, dapat matatakot sila." Is that why "Maria Leonora Teresa" was so darn funny? Meanwhile, Erik Matti, the director of "On the Job", fervidly discusses social realism in cinema as though he is the exponent of the genre. Let's be reminded that he's only done - drum roll, please - one! Or just maybe, the new age definition of a socially relevant film equates to "Gagamboy", "Scorpio Nights 2", "Pedro Penduko", "Tales from the Enchanted Kingdom:", and "Tiktik: The Aswang Chronicles". Oh, let me add "Mano Po 2: My Home". The conceit of pretense made my stomach turn, I suddenly required a vomit bag.

GHOST SALUTES TV HOST

In Romy V. Suzara's "Sigaw sa Hatinggabi", a spiritual medium Salvacion (Regine Angeles) guests in a popular TV show hosted by a confrontational cynic named "Kapitan" - a Tulfo-style TV host. When asked if she feels any "presence" in the studio, she closes her eyes and a soldier's apparition then appears behind the host. The soldier then possesses Vacion's body who suddenly stands up to salute the Kapitan. The skeptic host then salutes right back. I almost fell off my chair laughing.

In another scene, the director named (believe it or not!) Allan Pangalan, played by a bumbling Hero Bautista, assigns roles to his spirit questors, "O kayong dalawa ang mag-nobyo. Ikaw ang nerd." Questors have to play roles like they were actors? This TV show was supposed to be a reality show about seances investigating the presence of wandering ghosts in a haunted house. Why assign roles? Someone's obviously confused. The movie, eternally bathed in darkness, is one of the four cripplingly inane entries in FDCP's Masters Series, an annual festival of mostly unemployed veteran directors with no clues how "film language" is expressed in the age of digital cinema.

If you're big on personalities, there are several worth catching here. With a messy story telling and mediocre film making on board, you might as well find another source of amusement. Barbel-on-his-face personality Lance Raymundo returns to the big screen. Pink film denizen Alvin Duckert renames himself (for the third time) as Alvin Nakassi. He figures in the film's only sex scene - what do you expect? Cebuano bikini-open model David Karell also makes his film debut. While you hardly see anything in the movie's third (the set ran out of lights or budget), you will hear more than you require. As I have mentioned in the past, horror directors with limited insight resort to loud sudden noises. There's auditory overload here.

GHOST ATTENDS WEDDING

But one of the most bizarre scenes we've seen this year was that of a ghost attending a wedding! Jason Abalos plays Arman, closeted Ricky Davao's love interest. During Victor Neri's wedding to Ritz Azul, Davao, who isn't even close to Neri, attends the wedding. Don't ask me why. In the story, Davao plays a bank officer who facilitates Neri's car/business loan. I never had any bank officer attend weddings in our family - so this was a stretch! More than that, the ghost of Jason Abalos joins Ricky Davao to witness the church ceremony. Don't ask me why again. This was so hilarious, and clearly incoherent, considering that Davao and Abalos did not even consummate their "relationship" (unless there's a Director's Cut I missed). I almost died and went to heaven laughing.

Director GB Sampedro desperately wanted to hook up all his characters and narrative strains in one neat moment. And what could be more unforgettable than the dearly departed witnessing a marital ceremony, right? And I thought I've seen everything.

Rod M. Ortega's "The Firefighters: The Unsung Heroes"

Rod M. Ortega's "The Firefighters: The Unsung Heroes" follows the story of Santi (Jeric Raval) an obedient boy of Abuyog, Sorsogon who grows up from a simple family. At breakfast, he gets a reminder from his morose-looking mother saying, "The family that prays together stays together." I got misty-eyed from such sentiment. We see him chop wood and fetch water. We also see teenage Santi (Paolo Gumabao) loitering the beach with his girl friend (Nicole Gee), just like a normal young man.

One day, Santi witnesses three girls drown from what appears to be the shallow waters of a polluted beach (they sniffed the air apparently, and lost their ability to swim; isn't that tragic?) He charges into the water fully clothed (long sleeved sweat shirt and jeans) - just like a hero should - and tries hard to save them. All three girls drown anyway. It's the thought that counts, debah?

But the incident has scarred him for life that from here on, he shall save drowning girls - by enrolling as a police man at the Philippine National Police Academy (PNPA)! Save drowning girls = police! Not as a lifeguard nor a doctor, but a police officer. Get nyo? Fate takes him to the fire brigade where he eventually rises from the ranks, despite conniving nemesis Brando (Jethro Ramirez). He hurts himself during one of their operations while trying to save the life of a guy trapped inside a burning building. But his wife (Hanni Miller) is constantly beside him despite occasional marital conflicts. End.

If there ever was a contest for film making cluelessness, this would be among the finalists. The film is a curmudgeon of genre, and doesn't quite settle into one, simply because its director just doesn't have the facility to do so. When the heavens distributed talent for story telling, Ortega must have fallen asleep. He throws a lot of random scenes together, and prays to the heavens that they organically transform into a coherent story. Wishful thinking, of course. This, it turns out, is one cinematic mess. It's hilarious without meaning to. And in the general sense, annoying for wasting precious time and money. I had to travel far to be fed garbage. It's nothing short of deplorable.

The narrative composition is one big mystery. There are classroom scenes of a boy reciting a gag-inducing poem ("Ang Guro") about a teacher called Mrs. Catapia that concluded with something like, "Hindi lang siya mabait, maganda pa. Ang suwerte ng mister nya." Then the teacher's husband is shown with a wide grin, peeping from the classroom window. Huh? A group of children grilling corn would alternately deliver lines with no rhyme or reason, my niece had better school programs in school, and I didn't have to pay P200 to watch them.

From out of the blue, Joseph Bacareza, head honcho of the Fire National Training Institute (FNTI) suddenly discusses what the institute is all about. I was of course disoriented by Bacareza's sudden appearance because I wasn't there to learn about the darn institute. Then random footages of the Philippine National Police Academy (PNPA) appear. Cadets perform their exhibitional gun drills. This then shifts to a fire prevention training where an instructor is teaching students about clove hitch knot. If you aren't perplexed by this confounding turn events, hang on to your knickers, there's more.

SLIDE SHOW

A powerpoint presentation follows. Yup, a slide show. What is fire? What are its 3 stages? What are the modes of heat transfer? Was I in the right venue? Or was this really a tutorial on fire prevention more than a cinematic event? Ask director Rod Ortega. He must have an idea. The plot returns to Jeric Raval training at the fire institute. While everyone on training is bald, Raval sports a full head of hair replete with his characteristic squint and tough-guy grimace.

Cut to Raval courting his new girl friend who replies with an ecstatic, "Yes na yes na - basta pakakasalan mo ako ha?" He was just asking her to be his girl friend, mind you. The film shifts again to a commercial about "Textfire" and the modern facilities acquired by the organization, including a 10-second feature about a volunteer named Gerry Chua. Someone is shooting blanks in all directions. But wait, whatever happened to Santi?

Santi, now a successful fire chief, complete with Dolphy-and-Panchito channeling bodyguards (comedian Kuhol and another poor soul), returns to visit his hometown in Sorsogon. He donates a complete set of musical instruments for his band, "Santiago Serenade and Friends" whose songs are being played all throughout the movie. If I have to say, these are kakapangilabot original songs about love, written in English, played a la bolero, sang in godawful diction. I wanted to squirm and turn into a prune. Moreover, it inspired violent tendencies - like running amok and start shooting the audience inside the cinema. Population: 2. Believe me, watching this so-called movie just isn't healthy.

Another scene shows Santi briefing his fire brigade during one very sunny day. Listen and learn: "Maghanda tayo. Ang bagyo ay tatama sa loob ng dalawang oras." I shivered with fright.

Jeric Raval, looking youthful, tries to carry the story with a straight face but is limited by the absence of a decent plot. Former sexy star Hanni Miller (as Santi's wife) isn't given much to chew on either. Young upstarts are showcased, albeit fleetingly. Paolo Gumabao plays the teenage Santi. Despite his "baby fats" (check out his scenes at the beach), it is clear that Dennis Roldan's son is his father's spitting image. He actually reminds me of dashing Jake Ejercito - with lipid excrescences, of course. Nicole Gee and Marina Salvador look promising as well.

The film could be any of the following: a biopic; a flight of fancy; an invitation to the PNPA; a tutorial about fire prevention; a political propaganda for C/Supirentendent Santiago E. Laguna. Someone's probably eyeing for an elective position. Inspiring, this isn't. Quite frankly, this won't help Mr. Laguna. In fact, this dug him a hole. Without a doubt in mind, this godawful flick made me want to play with fire: Burn every darn personality responsible for producing this movie - then  feed them to Kuhol. And please include the SM Cinema executives who thought that this movie deserves to be seen by a paying audience. If this is what characterizes an SM Exclusive, I'd rather stay indoors. Thank you for wasting my time.

Gumabao and Gee enjoy baby-fat moments!

Hanni Miller

Nicole Gee

Paolo Gumabao channels Jake Ejercito

Jethro Ramirez plays bad guy Brando.

C/Supt. Santiago E. Laguna

Jigz Recto's "Katabi" - Of Stiffled Affections and Attention-Grabbing Bulges

Tom (Rafael Perez) and Jeff (Jigz Imperial) have known each other since they were kids. When Tom moves to the big city for work, Jeff follows suit. But life in the concrete jungle isn't easy so Tom invites his best friend to live with him. They do everything together: take their meals, share shower times and sleep in one bed.

One day, Jeff shares that Rhea (Nina Rossini), the girl next door, has agreed to become his girl friend. Would Tom want to meet her?

But the girl is a complex item in their equation. Rhea secretly flirts with straight-laced Tom who, one day, finally takes her bait and sleeps with the predatory girl. (Rhea, by the way, wants a luxurious watch similar to Jeff's prized possession. Such lofty ambition, debah?) This has put a strain on Jeff's relationship with Rhea.

She ends her commodious coupling with heart-broken Jeff who just borrowed P20,000 to get his girl the watch that she wanted. (She'd offer him heaven in exchange of riches; something that she's only too willing to impose on Tom without him asking. Go figure.)

When Jeff learns of Tom's concupiscent rendezvous with Rhea, the two friends quarrel. In tight white briefs, they engage in masculine fisticuffs, rolling on their small bed in errr, wild abandon. Accusations are thrown around - and Jeff finally kicks dear, dear Tom out of his house. Might as well. Tom's work is already suffering due to Jeff''s constant loans: the expensive gifts, the celebratory drinking sprees, etc.  Is this the end of their life long friendship? Guess.

Rafael Perez

Jigz Recto's "Katabi" is unexpectedly superior from his previous works, though this isn't in anyway an endorsement of his directorial acumen. Far from it. But this is ten notches better than his unenviable body of work characterized by bathetic stories that overly dramatize confrontations, stretched out for what seems like a dozen lifetimes. These were mawkish dregs of misplaced emotionality, interlocked with repeated shower scenes and peekaboo wonders, and acted by borderline wanna-be actors too clueless to delineate real emotions from make-believe. Moreover, these dramatic highlights are punctuated by persistently heavy-handed suspenseful music that go louder as situations progress.

Don't get me wrong. Shower scenes are still a staple in Recto flicks, but they've been moderated (blame the holier-than-thou  MTRCB for this very conservative trend of late). In one scene, the two friends bathe together; they "rub" each other's backs amid long, silent stares, broken by, "Nababakla ka na ata sa akin." These romantic coquetry create a few moments of unbridled sexual tension - that actually fizzle.

Such mood making is sustained after a drinking spree (Ugh. Didn't you expect?). When Jeff gets too inebriated to walk, Tom is only too glad to help. Jeff vomits on Tom's shirt while the latter takes his friend to bed, disrobes both their garments, until they're only donning their impeccably clean tight-and-white briefs. Tom then cleans his friend all over with a wet towel, every crevice diligently sponged. Meanwhile, the camera intermittently pans on Jeff's attention-grabbing bulge, you could probably use it as compass while it points north-east to pleasure first then switches south-west to joy. Jigz Imperial, it turns out, is directionally versatile. Incredible. Ooohlala!

Nina Rossini, playing the shrewd Rhea,  conveniently becomes a cinematic third wheel. But then this is a Jigz Recto movie where girls are third-class citizens and guys tintinnabulate their own bells. See Imperial rabidly sponge his privates (it must be exquisitely durrrty) as he makes several "dukot dukot" while intently bathing. It's almost an Olympic sports event at the rate he's doing it. Don't we just adore meticulously clean guys?  

Jigz Imperial is directionally versatile.

Carl Joseph Papa's "Ang Di Paglimot ng mga Alaala" -

Two years after a tragic chapter in her life, Pia collates and presents materials while trying to remember her cancer-stricken mother Lilibeth. From a bevy of fading photographs to video conversations with her Aunt Nancy who lives in North America, the thread of events covers the period from December 1997 to a more current time, March 16, 2012 to April 2012, when the mother has finally admitted defeat, “I’ve lost the battle but won the war.”

  

While the concept presents a novel idea for narrative exposition, the material ultimately fails to gather enough traction to make a case worthy of one’s attention. In fact, the early part constituting old photographs ushers into something that briskly alienates the viewer when the latter becomes an indifferent spectator of what seems like random chronicling of a person’s life. More importantly, the subject isn't even interesting to begin with. It’s like getting stuck in a long haul, 18-hour flight with a chatty seat mate who panders to the stranger’s ineluctable boredom, blabbering on about his mundane life. If you’re the recipient of such attention, you’d have to sit through hours of torture listening about a most disinteresting life.

In the film, Pia Franco, the narrative protagonist , goes prattling on to a distant aunt Nancy about random topics: buying a hula hoop she hasn't even learned to use; watching television series like “Supernatural” because season 5 has become an engaging watch; getting through the novel “Catching Fire”; dissing the ex-boyfriend who has migrated to Ontario, California; sharing her career change because she prefers fixed hours than the “flexitime” that pays nil for OT’s; or reminiscing about her mother who tells an erring teacher “Bullshit!” The story ultimately centers on the plight of the mother who gets diagnosed with breast cancer, stage 2 as it spirals down to her ultimate demise .

The movie experience, at some point, felt like punishment. You start watching a girl who’s too cheerful for her own sake. She’d giggle at anything she’d say. What transpires before you are sapped out monologues, it doesn't even matter if they're real or not. While it is valid that people will always have stories to tell, not everything is a cinematic event. And not every novel idea is worth the price of a movie ticket. In this semblance of cinema, what transpires on celluloid does not entertain, does not provoke and does not engage. It kills time though... in a plodding wasteful manner. 

Elwood Perez's "Esoterika Maynila" - Contemporary Realities

In Manila, there’s a healthy dose of mayhem and magic.

Who knows this better than Mario (Ronnie Liang), a naïve nursing student who's on a trail of self discovery. While working as a cook in a Chinese restaurant, he meets Donato (Federico Olbes) and Mona (Adelle Aura). In their presence, Mario discovers his penchant for the arts and an insatiable thirst for knowledge. Enamored by the beautiful Mona, the strapping lad starts a relationship with the besotted “widow”. Meanwhile, Donato introduces him to a motley of eccentric characters, including a photographer, a tourist guide, a writer, and a graphic artist. Then comes Raul (Vince Tanada), a frustrated opera singer who’s desperate for work. 

Donato is in love with Raul who begrudgingly sleeps with his elderly benefactor in exchange for favors: Donato lends him a car; takes him to meet prospective producers; offers a room in his apartment, etc. But unknown to Raul, Donato has plans of moving overseas. To make matters worse, the elder gentleman’s fortunes are fast dwindling. 

Out of Raul’s chagrin, he submits himself into the dark corners of the city, losing himself in drugs and the lure of seedy cinemas where the flesh trade takes him to a netherworld.

One day, while on a train, Mario sees Solita (Solita del Sol), an enigmatic girl who has infatuated him so. He breaks up with the disgruntled Mona (who turns out to be a transgender), and starts pursuing the elusive Solita. Mario is further introduced to exciting experiences so foreign from his sensibilities - and he likes them. He meets Carlos (Carlos Celdran), a tourist guide, who reminds him that what molds people is his past. This is a country that spent “300 years in a convent and 50 years in Hollywood”. Carlos takes Mario to his lover Tessa (Tesa Martinez), a photographer who convinces Mario to model for her. But what Mario belatedly finds out is that Carlos and Tessa are “frustrated vampires”. On occasion, they wear fangs and role-play the part.

Things come to a head when Mario gets pursued by Raul who’s agonizing over his sexual relationship with Donato, unaware of the latter's love for him. Things downspiral when Raul learns that his movie project isn’t pushing through. Will Mario find his way in the realm of artists and the elite? How will Raul survive without Donato’s money or influence?
 

Elwood Perez’s “Esoterika Maynila” isn't for everyone, thus the apropos titling. But its unlikely charm rests in its idiosyncratic story telling and psychedelic vibe. It is whimsical and occasionally bewildering. The script, co-written by Perez and Jessica Zafra, has an astute sense of dynamism and intelligence. The story could have benefited from a judicious splicing of a number of narrative strains. But Perez imbues it with adequate verve and dedication that despite its flaws, the audience is taken for a capricious, albeit captivating ride. It veers into “Crying Game” territory (and you see this a mile away) then gets right back to its intended course.

You can’t miss the film's homoerotic flourishes. Three of its characters are transgenders (Gilda played by Boots Anson-Roa, Mona and Solita); there are fellating scenes between Raul and Donato, then again between Raul and a male prostitute inside a cinema; and there’s Solita’s full frontal revelation. (Yup, no need to blink. It hangs down in its full flaccid glory.)

Liang’s liplocking scenes with the epileptic Tanada feel irrelevant. You have a sneaking suspicion that they're set up for Tanada's amusement than to move the narrative. It would have been easier to swallow if Tanada studied his convulsive fits more realistically. Like a true patron of modern day Pink Cinema, Perez unnecessarily includes a nocturnal scene with Liang waking up while one of his cousins masturbate on his bed. And the point being...? But the film’s brave indulgences are refreshing. If anything, this is largely unforeseen because I absolutely hated Perez’s pretentious opus “Otso” (2013).  

Ronnie Liang has an imposing presence. His handsome face and sculpted frame make him a worthy protagonist because despite his passive demeanor, he is able to command attention. While it is true that Liang is occasionally too stolid and too tentative to persuade us of his character, he benefits from the early “innocent demeanor” of the naive provinciano. After all, his character is on a journey of self discovery. On paper, it's easy to believe that he represents the chaste soul who eventually gets corrupted by the inherent vices and conceit of the big city. He required coaching in some scenes, like when he suddenly jeers, "Abominable! But that's sodomy!" It was too awkwardly and painfully delivered that for the rest of the screening, I suffered from diction-induced visceral toothache.

Vince Tanada, on the other hand, continues to repel us with his over-the-top histrionics. It would be instructive to tell him to temper down his theatrics because his emotive skills are too obvious, too crass that at some point he comes off as either annoying or just plain silly. Federico Olbes, in his geriatric debut, is a find. His skill is raw and at times gawky, but his look and stance (not to mention his vacillations to French, Spanish and English lines) provide a delectable character to the twisted story.

The film likewise gathers an enviable line-up of personalities doing cameos: John Hall, Snooky, Serna (her scenes are from Lance Raymundo’s indie flick, “Fidel”); Cecile Guidote-Alvarez, Jessica Zafra (who looked too pained to be in front of the camera), Tessa-Prieto-Valdez, singer OJ Mariano, et.al.  

Perez has painted a cinematic canvas of an urban landscape where impossibilities unravel. It isn't always a pretty picture, but they are part of contemporary reality. In the film, there’s an unsettling acknowledgement of the presence of fetishes and of what others would deem as deviant. Somewhere in its exposition is a subtle appeal for acceptance or tolerance. They don't make hindrances to one's notion of success.   

Baby Ruth Villarama's "Little Azkals" - Little Film, Big Heart

"The only way to be better," shares Phil Younghusband, Philippine Azkals' most prominent personality, "is to play with better players." Younghusband, an iconic figure in the sports, was invited by the team that gathers 22 under-11 boys from all over the nation to take them to Loughborough in Leicestershire, United Kingdom. This cultural partnership with the British Council and the British Embassy ambitiously endeavors to help train - for three weeks - the young upstarts right in the home of football, the world's most popular sport.

The undertaking isn't a walk in the park, uprooting kids to a place so far removed from their environment, some of whom still sleep beside their parents. Babysitting these boys can be a tactical nightmare. The team is composed of five kids from Mindanao (Cagayan de Oro, South Cotabato, Davao, Bukidnon and Dipolog), nine from the Visayas (Cebu, Negros Occidental, Iloilo, and Dumaguete), and eight from Luzon (Laguna and NCR).

There's Agiel of Negros Occidental, Niel of Malabon, Charles of Cebu, Shane of Malabon, Jil of Iloilo, Kano of Koronadal, Michael of Muntinlupa, Nicolai of Laguna, and 16 other kids from all over the land. Trouble starts early on when a typographical error almost bars one child from getting to his Emirates flight to London. 

For the upstarts, England is a virtual fantasy land, far from the gaze and nurturing care of their parents. Their only guardians are their coaches. Their new environment is cold and food has "no taste". Loughborough, for the next three weeks, becomes home. The place hosts football lessons the way they play it in England, and allows them matches against British teams, testing their skill against a race who lives and breathes the sport. Styled like a boot camp, the children sleeps at 10 PM and wakes up at 6 AM. Their days start with football exercises with day visits to good ole London, visiting Wembley to watch World Cup qualifying games (UK vs. Moldova); English Premiere League games (Albion vs Swansea); and Manchester United's turf. To some quarters, these provide a surreal experience.

On their first game, the "Little Azkals" lost against Quorn JFC 2-3, a game that discombobulated some of the players. In fact, Kano Rojo of Koronadal scores "for" the rival team. If this is quite telling, it's because the young Azkals played against a team that has been playing "together" for the last 5 years. They, however, are a new team, hailing from different provincial leagues. On their next game, they win an impressive 4:1 against their opponent. How's that for kids who have trouble playing their offsides and even have intermittent crying spells because they miss home?

Baby Ruth Villarama's "little film" wears a "big heart" so it's hard not to fall for our little hopefuls. In a country where "basketball" is the grassroot sport, "Little Azkals" shares tidbits of inspiration by taking baby steps towards an ambitious goal - the Under-17 FIFA World Cup of 2019. By that time, many of these young pups would have turned 16 and wiser in ways of the game.

INTERESTING MOMENTS

Daddy Rob visits the Little Azkals.

There are interesting moments worth mentioning: Like Phil Younghusband referencing his then-girlfriend Angel Locsin to get the children to listen: "Angel threw me a party last night. Do your girl friends do the same?" Rob Gier, co-captain of Philippine Azkals and centre back of Ascot United, also drops by to help coach the children during one of their matches, and - oh, what a gorgeous sight, but that's just me. ;)

In another scene, the children use an inordinate amount of salt to put flavor to their pasta. "Walang lasa," says one kid. We are a nation known to favor extreme taste; sweet or sour, and almost nothing in between. Or when one of the kids throw almost half his room to the laundry bag. Then there are the difficult wake up calls. Or when their English Coach  Stuart noticed the language barrier so he says in jest, "I'd have to speak 20x slower." Ouch. During an earlier pep talk, the coach also highlights the most important thing about the sport. That more than trying to get better in the game, you have to "enjoy yourself first". After all, games are supposed to be fun, and so is playing them.

The film, endearing though it may be, is rough around the edges and feels random than anything ground breaking. Camera work, for example, fails to capture winning goals on cam. While that may not be the point of this documentary, essential moments like that render a sense of urgency. What is a basketball documentary if it doesn't even have dribbles, dunks and making goals? This is a stark contrast to Cha Escala & Wena Sanchez's  "Nick and Chai" which has beautifully framed and efficiently photographed scenography. Sometimes "a big heart" just doesn't suffice when you're presenting an artistic medium like cinema. You just don't point and shoot unless you're content to being labelled an amateur - or someone hiding behind the guise of "documentarian". To put it bluntly, shoddy camera work is not art, unless you're Lars von Trier.

Moreover, the film feels like a fragment of a bigger picture. We don't see the earlier selection process that lead them to qualify for the Under-11 team. It's like getting into a novel midway into the book, and we're made to swallow what's being spoonfed. The prologue feels wanting. We're shown a few kids returning to their homes.  These limited scenes don't even have enough traction to get through as narrative denouement. What has the kids taken with them from their very British experience? Where has this journey taken them? Are they better players, or persons, after their experience? If anything, there's a sense of expurgated closure; an unfinished story waiting to be told.

Bright faces pose for posterity.

Wenn Deramas' "Moron 5.2 The Transformation" - One Big Blooper

Albert, Isaac, Aristotle, Mozart and Michael Angelo (Luis Manzano, Billy Crawford, Marvin Agustin, DJ Durano and Matteo Guidicelli respectively) have grown up and gone “wiser” after graduating from high school. 

Albert (Manzano) takes up law, but is disenchanted by the course’s constant debates so he ends up selling hopia in Ongpin, pretending to be Chinese. Isaac (Crawford) seeks the limelight, doing auditions for roles he’s unlikely to get cast in: they want everything he isn't – thin, woman, child, ballerina, gay, etc. Aristotle (Agustin) dabbles into culinary, but his take on dishes are discrepant from his superiors’ (He serves paella for a “sinigang na tahong”). Mozart (Durano) manages a gym but ends up hurting his clients. And Michael Angelo (Guidicelli) recovers from an incident that has accidentally burned his face. His plastic surgeon has done wonders for his facial reconstruction (thus Moron 5’s Martin Escudero becomes Matteo Guidicelli).

On the home front, each of our protagonists has raised a family of his own, with beautiful wives (Yam Concepcion, Danita Paner, Nicki Valdez, Mylene Dizon) and smart bemedalled children (named Fidel, Macoy, Gloria, Corina) to boot. (Except Michael Angelo who shall serendipitously meet his princess.) Unfortunately, the children are embarrassed of their fathers’ bungling antics. “Sana ice cream na lang ako… para matunaw ako sa kahihiyan,” quips one of the kids. They’d rather hire strangers who shall pretend to be their fathers to attend their commencement ceremonies than be caught dead with their biological, albeit moronic fathers.

One night, while on a drinking spree, the quintet discovers what seems like a power-emitting object falling from the sky. After trying to retrieve it, they were struck by lightning – twice! Surviving from the catastrophe, the guys start to believe that this accident has transformed them into superheroes. And they've vowed to follow Peter Parker’s mantra (“With great power comes great responsibility.”) and help people in need. They've become invincible beings. Or have they?

Meanwhile, Beckie (John “Sweet” Lapus), the quintet’s former nemesis, has languished at the asylum. It’s been 7 years. His mental status exam has been deemed promising by his psychiatrist (Karla Estrada) who plans to discharge Beckie. But when asked what his name was, he replies, “Gretchen Barretto”. 

With his release deferred, Beckie plots to break out from the asylum. Without pulling a muscle – and the blundering help of his loony colleagues (Manuel Chua, Boom Labrusca) and a bollixed security guard (Chrome Cosio), they find themselves out of the mental institution. Together, they form Moron 5’s unlikely adversary. Will the evil forces succeed against our heroes? Guess.

Like its predecessor, the energy on display is quite stirring that the audience is left breathless from the film’s lightning pace and exuberant energy. There’s really no accounting for logic. With zippy speed of delivery, you aren't given enough time to think beyond the shallowest subject matters. 

Let’s take the case of one joke that lingered longer than it deserved: What time are the children’s dismissal from school? 3:15 or 3:16 PM? Getting the time right, as the joke would have you believe, spells a difference of “3 hours”? Or an hour? Hilarious, right? And if you bite the bullet, you must have noticed how this idiocy has been stretched for good measure until Deramas felt it served its comedic glory.

Perceived humor pulsates in similar fashion all throughout the movie. When Isaac cogitates, “Di ko maisip eh.” “May isip ba tayo?” Irony plays out effectively as this is reflective of the storyteller’s acumen. Is there an intelligent being behind the shenanigan? Cinema 8 was unnaturally quite. No laughters, no snickers, no slap on the lap - but then maybe it’s because there were just 5 of us inside the huge cinema. Where’s the usual Deramas crowd that loves to get dumb or dumber?

In this new era, slapstick absurdity a la Luciano Carlos seems misplaced. Have we moved forward into the new millennium? Is contemporary comedy really this vacuous? We seem to be stuck in the epoch of Pugo and Togo, Dolphy and Panchito, Babalu and Tange. At least the aforementioned have anchored their humor on comic situations instead of barren ideas. Moreover, constant references to Billy Crawford’s public disobedience, inebriation and transient incarceration smack of poor taste. Presinto, presinto, presinto. Crawford’s run-in with the law wasn't funny. It was't hip either. Otherwise, we might as well get uncontrollably drunk and maul a lady police officer – then we can all laugh about it, right? Hey, young punks! Let’s get drunk and smack a police man for harmless fun!

Why should people watch the movie? Their publicity drumbeaters proudly say, "Because the film teaches about family values." Isn't this a figment of fantasy? We have kids as young as 8 and 9 years old with doting, non-abusive fathers and seemingly contented mothers. Yet they'd rather denounce them, albeit very publicly, if I were to add, because they're stupid. Of course they had a change of heart when they realize that they're actually superheroes. But what values are we teaching our little ones? That love is conditional. We shall love our parents only if they're rich, successful or intelligent. The losers we shall cast away to the wind? I cringe at the thought of a society who accepts this line of thinking as valid measure of familial devotion. Have we forgotten the fifth commandment, that we "should honour thy father and thy mother"? This commandment is all encompassing and without a caveat. But just maybe, in Deramas' inane and fantastical world, elementary education doesn't have values education.

Were there even consequences for the children's cunning? Without them realizing that what they did was deplorable, these tykes shall grow up selfish pricks, opportunistic demons and greedy Philippine politicians. If I were their parents, I'd nip them in the bud and send them to Siberia, with Deramas as guardian, until they take real family values to heart.

Joy Viado’s role as Matteo Guidicelli’s romantic interest brings some comic moment. After all, Viado has mastered the art of self deprecation where her appearance is involved. Turning Viado into a romantic heroine is funny stuff, something that should have been realized early on by Emerson Reyes, the director of “MNL 143”, who huffed and puffed for the sake of artistic freedom when the Cinemalaya bigwigs balked at his idea to pair Viado with Allan Paule for a romantic drama; the conceit of arrogant rookie film makers who cannot be nudged to reconsider their stilted and pompous cinematic choices. Now wasn't that work forgettable? But I am digressing.  

Unlike other Wenn Deramas flicks, “Moron 5.2 The Transformation” doesn't have the requisite bloopers that get played at the closing credits. But this actually avoids redundancy. The whole movie is one big blooper.