Francis Jun Posadas' "Aninag" - Back to the Past (aka Documenting Bad)

When a recruiter took off and disappeared with Aldo’s (Lance Raymundo) down payment for his application for overseas work, all he could do was go home to his wife Alma (KC Miller) and sulk. But the indomitable human spirit takes him to another agent who could be legitimate this time. Trouble is, a placement fee of P20,000 is required to get his foot in the door… and he’s all tapped out. In fact, bills are piling up at home and Alma is knocking on friends’ doors for help. 

To do her part, Alma secretly turns to her friend Jem (Lang Lopez) who works as a prostitute. She takes Alma to her boyfriend and pimp Gardo (Andrew Nanos). 

For her rite of passage, Gardo sleeps with the reluctant Alma who didn't realize there were two guys to "sample" her as her first clients - then she earns her P20,000. What’s worse, the dastardly deed was recorded for commercial, albeit underground distribution. Alma comes home with the cash, but is visibly shaken. 

One day, Aldo gets hold of the new “scandal” in town; that of Alma’s. All hell breaks lose, and Aldo menacingly drives Alma away. What could have been a promising marital future has turned into a tenebrous situation. When it’s this grim and gloomy, would there be a flicker of hope , i.e. “aninag”, for the couple? (Swak ba?)

The Girlie Flick (aka B-movie eroticas) has always existed in our country, whether you like it or not. This genre has considerably dwindled and almost disappeared in the first decade of the new millennium. Contributory to this was the refusal of the largest chain of cinemas to show them. Less venues meant limited profitability. But lo and behold, they are gradually making a comeback, competing with the venues where Pink Films used to thrive. Ignoring or disregarding them altogether, as though they do not exist, won't hide the fact that they are a piece of the pie of Philippine Cinema. You just cannot disregard the runt in a litter because they actually exist.

I am repeatedly asked why I give time and write about these films. The answer is simple really: Because they exist! Sometime in the early 70's, eccentric artist Andy Warhol produced several "underground films" notorious for being crude, amateurish and indecent, like "Trash", "Heat", "Flesh" and "Flesh for Frankenstein". The films mostly featured Joe Dallesandro (left), the pioneer of the male sexual revolution, who mostly flaunted his bare essentials, traipsing from scene to scene fully naked.

Director John Waters likewise came up with "Mondo Trasho", "Hairspray" and "Pink Flamingo" (with the obese transexual Divine who, in one scene, even ingested the feces of his pooping dog). Yes, they were trashy and decadent, but decades into the future, the audience found amusement in how ridiculously bad and laughable they were, they essentially became entertainment. These days, the films of Warhol and Waters are frequently screened as retrospective features in London's British Film Institute. Who would have thought? The movie watching experience opened my mind. How can we totally comprehend what a good film is if we haven't seen the worst of them? Now, imagine if these films were totally ignored or undocumented? There'd be no musical remake of the delightful "Hairspray", right?  

Back to the local scene, Director Francis Jun Posadas tells a straight forward story that takes us back to the 90’s when women were the focal subject of soft erotica; those B-flicks that Seiko Films “proudly” churned out because "they must be good". In fact, Posadas directed a flurry of such films: “Itlog”, “Kaulayaw”, “Tampisaw”, “Bakat”, “Kerida”, “Balat-Sibuyas”, and dozens more. The good news is, Posadas doesn't resort to those gag-inducing protracted showers and ambiguous sexualities to move his story. He takes the “straighter” route and puts the fairer sex back to the spotlight. By doing so, the story becomes a more credible affair than the fantastical yarn of the execrably non-thinking Pink directors like G.A. Villafuerte, Paul Singh Cudail, Darry dela Cruz, Cleo Paglinawan, Ronald Rafer, Toni Te and Jigz Recto – an exclusive company of the country’s most God-awful film makers. "Pinabili ng suka, nakapulot ng camera, director na," as they're frequently referred to. Unfortunately, the earlier good news stops there. While Posadas is a notch higher as a story teller, his film making skill leaves much to be desired. In fact, he takes us back 20 years in the past. And let's not pretend that this vehicle is a thespian's plate. I'd be better off dancing the hula than extolling the artistic virtues of these actors. So I tell it as I see it. Fair?

Clocking at less than an hour, the scenes are carelessly shot, thought it somehow benefits from brisk editing. While Aldo discusses his options with the new recruiter, the scene goes on without a sound. What’s this? A game of guessing mimed statements? Several other important scenes roll along with no audio, as when Aldo confronts his wife. They bickered and yelled at each other yet we couldn't hear a thing! Cinematography is so bad that the images seem like blurred pencil sketches. Moreover, you couldn't read the names of the cast when the credits roll. Cinema is a visual medium. If you cannot deliver valid visuals, turn to radio drama which doesn't require moving images. While Posadas' style is a throwback to a different era when women were the more desirable objects, and is thus surprisingly refreshing, those movies – like this one – were irrefutably bad. And bad isn't good! Ask Vhong Navarro.  

From the top (clockwise): Lance Raymundo, KC Miller, Andrew Nanos, Jayvee Capio, Jerome Tolentino, Lang Lopez

Lance Raymindo

Andrew Nanos

KC Miller (above and below)

KC Miller

Darry dela Cruz's Midnight Temptation - Predictable Debauchery

Like clockwork, Jess (Jed Juico) leaves his sleeping wife (Lang Lopez) daily at the stroke of midnight. He works as a security guard for an undisclosed firm. But unknown to his wife, Jess diligently takes arcane detours to satisfy his craving for human bratwurst. He secretly meets his lover Rex (Brad Laurente), a hustler. Meanwhile, Jess’s wife has agenda of her own. As her hubby departs, she takes midnight showers, then meets her lesbian lover (KC Miller). By day, the married couple lives their conjugal lives like they sincerely care for each other. They even share intimate moments together.

One day, Jess starts having distressful dreams. In them, his lover and wife are seen canoodling with each other. It doesn't help that his colleague from work keeps warning him against marital neglect – and an impending break-up. This disconcerts him so that he finally decides to quit his job to avoid what seems to be the inevitable if he stayed. 

Jess tells Rex about this, but the latter's adamant: “Ako na lang ang gawin mong asawa. Ikaw lang ang nagmahal sa akin nang ganito… at ikaw lang ang hindi ko sinisingil.” Any closeted gay man with half a heart would be properly flattered, right? But Jess’ resolve is final. He takes his wife away - eloping like modern day Romeo and Juliet. Why they need to move away is beyond me. Meanwhile, the lesbian lover (earlier dumped by Lang) – who happens to be Rex’s obstinate landlady, knocks on Rex’s door. She has suddenly decided to bunk in with her troublesome tenant and “taste the meat” he’s constantly offering. “Dito na ako titira,” she barges in without much invitation. “At least, 'di ka na magbabayad pa ng renta… at libre ka pa ng pagkain,” she sweetens the deal. Then the lesbian landlady and the gay hustler lock lips and start rolling in the hay. Now tell me there are no happy-ever-afters in Darry dela Cruz’s flicks? So inspiring, debah? Weeh!

Director Darry Dela Cruz suddenly grows conscience and decides to do away with his penchant for random violence and mayhem. Thanks to Kenneth Montero's mind-shattering script, of course. This time around, Dela Cruz doesn't stab his protagonist nor poison them – or drown them at the kangkungan. So what better to fashion a new beginning by compelling an impromptu coupling between a dyke and a hustler. This way, everyone’s happy. Gusto n'ya happy kayo, debah?

There’s no denying the stark absence of credible emotion and motivation. The characters in Dela Cruz’s narrative joyously blur sexual orientation and gender preferences. Straight men suddenly fellate gay hustlers, and devoted housewives share their concupiscent bed with lesbian neighbors. Guilt and skepticism aren't a party to these indiscretions. There are no buts and ifs here. They just transpire with the bat of an eyelash and flick of a finger. Heck, our protagonists hardly show legitimate emotions for each other. The new age robots of Tokyo are capable of showing emotions more than these insipid souls. 

Brad Laurente is an enthusiastic actor, but he possesses awkward facial expressions that need artistic oversight. And enthusiasm doesn't translate to competence, making Laurente nothing but a beefy ham with a salami hanging between his legs. He probably knows the disposition of his hustling character by heart so when he offers himself to his landlady ("Baka gusto mo akong tikman."), you know that he means it. Outside this realm, Laurente grasps at straws.

Jed Juico does worse, and it doesn't help that his character is banal, while his dramatic chops are innocuous. Plus - how do you take someone seriously when he says: "May ka six (sex) daw na iba." The ladies in the cast are mere cosmetic afterthoughts in the story. Like most hybrid of Pink and straight Erotica, "Midnight Temptation" boasts of lots of back sides and pert (if dark brownish) nipples. 

Dela Cruz’s “Midnight Temptation” couldn’t help but provide the de rigueur shower scenes as well. Otherwise, he would probably lapse into virulent seizures. Or worse still, catatonic coma! But what can a film that barely runs for an hour expound in the midst of six shower scenes (Laurente, Juico and Lopez all have two bathroom scenes each)? 

Add to that is the real time filming of Lang cooking fried rice and fried eggs (yup, from start to finish); clipping her nails; washing clothes and hanging her laundry out to dry. It’s nothing more than a tutorial on how to consume fried eggs during breakfast. Why would any film maker linger on such mundane scenes? Were these expositions about boredom? Or about routine household work? Clearly, it's because he has nothing much to say, thus he stretches his cinematic palette with mundane scenes with no relevance to the story at hand. If you enjoy watching these domestic chores from start to finish – and a dash of Jed Juico’s fleeting full frontals (in its shriveled state, of course) – then you might consider this ouvre a masterpiece of Moron Cinema.

Like other cinematic pieces from the burgeoning Moron Cinema, logic is but a figment of narrative invention. And logic has long left the building since Dela Cruz and his cohorts plundered, pillaged and violated mainstream cinemas week after week. How low can this B-cinema go? These people have designed their artistic platitude integral to their banal desideratum. Should we laugh or cry? I get angry and I write about it.