Bradley Liew's "Singing in Graveyards" - Life Under Scrutiny

Scene opens. Sixty eight year old Pepe stands in front of a mirror naked. He's wrinkly all over, a roadkill of life lived as a silhouette of somebody else's greatness. As the story unravels, we realize that director Bradley Liew has a metaphor to tell. Pepe has been working as an impersonator of legendary rock star Joey Smith for 30 years. And his life goes under scrutiny as he struggles to make ends meet. He navigates his solitary existence playing gigs in clubs with an audience that mostly ignores him. His occasional visits to his married son (Ely Buendia) endures similar fate. He even pays struggling starlet Mercedes (Mercedes Cabral) to sleep "beside" him, but she refuses to be touched. Forget the cash; no way is she allowing him to touch her flesh. This scenario left me with a strange feeling of desolation. I couldn't help it.

"Singing in Graveyards" is an existential exposition that examines the value and dignity of life in the twilight years of a man's existence. When we're reduced to a pitiful and unwanted state, do we surrender to despair? It is admirable how the protagonist doesn't easily give up despite the overwhelming odds. Are we mere reflections of the greatness of others? Louisa May Alcott ("Little Women") once wrote that some people seemed to get all sunshine, and some all shadow. Surely, Pepe has monopoly of the latter. In fact, Pepe's existence is a personification of Alcott's statement.

The film has several scenes that left me breathless, not the least of which was Pepe's visit to the graves of the rock star's former band mates (Sheron, Paolo and Eric of "The Jeeps"), as he implored on their souls to help him compose a love song. But even the dead have no answers for him. When Pepe is offered to open for the comeback concert of rock icon Joey Smith, he suddenly finds his deliverance, one that shall sum up how much his life is worth, 30 years later. 

In a scene that offered a slice of magic realism, the "real" rock star is set aflame inside his van while Pepe looks around the singer's posh house. It was the perfect time for Pepe to claim the life he deserved. He takes a chair by the roadside and sits contentedly, watching from the periphery.   

"Singing in Graveyards" is one of the year's best.   

Ligo Na U, Lapit Na Me - Sexual Games

Intoy (Edgar Allan Guzman) is having the time of his life. In his junior year in college, he crosses path with Jenny (Mercedes Cabral). While Intoy – Karl Vladimir Lennon J. Villalobos – seems content with his occasionally cash-strapped existence, Jen sashays around the campus in fashionable garbs like some object of male adulation. And she is! Fortunately for Intoy, Jen isn’t disinclined to hide her fondness to our protagonist. But despite appearances and cool-campus-dude disposition, Intoy is a novice by way of sexual kinship. One day, during a break from class, Jen asks him point blank, “How’s your sex life?” Though initially dumbfounded, he replies, “Lahat natikman ko na. Tao lang hindi.” (I’ve tried everything, except humans.) Then Jen furthers her proposition, “I want to go to bed with you now.” What’s a red-blooded young man to do?

Jen is a free spirit. She speaks her mind and does what she wants. She’s someone "who’s curious of her own body". She is generous, yet never accepts gifts. When made aware of Intoy’s financial predicament, she insists on paying for their every rendezvous. After all, they’re usually her ministrations. She scoffs at any romantic gestures, making their couplings fancy and commitment free. She insists, they’re just “friends… with benefits.” Isn’t this any guy’s fantasy?

But Jen is also loopy and labile. She would, at the drop of a hat, declare, “Ang hirap mo naming ligawan.” Or insist that Intoy trades barbs with her: “What is a good day to commit suicide?” After a few prodding, Intoy had to come up with a delightful enumeration why: “Not January because it’s the new year. Not February because it’s our prelims and people will be busy studying. Not March because it’s graduation, not to mention fire prevention month; and people might not attend your funeral. Not July because it’s the nutrition month. ” And so on... One day, Jen drops a bomb: “I’m pregnant… but this baby isn’t yours!” Then she disappears from his life forever. Well, almost.

Written with tongue-in-cheek candor and some of the most ineffable ideas that espouses everyday life, Erick C. Salud’s “Ligo Na U, Lapit Na Me” (Star-Crossed Love) is a brave exposition on present day sexual mores. It’s tantalizing and presents feminism by way of sexual liberation. The concepts here spread out of our comfort zones, like sympathizing with a woman who gets into a sexual relationship by dissing emotional commitment altogether. Yet we do relate to Mercedes Cabral’s enigmatic, albeit flawed Jen. Her character is too befuddling and deserved an adequate historical backgrounder (how has she evolved into this vamp? What made her become so emotionally distant?). Otherwise, it's difficult to take her character seriously. There has to be a legible explanation into her eccentricity; her stand-offish demeanor. We are creatures shaped by our past, aren’t we? Though Cabral adequately personifies Jen’s abundance of sensuality and impulsiveness, we find her just a wee bit too mature alongside her supposed junior classmates.

Edgar Allan Guzman has had prior experience relevant to thematic slices within this film. In last year’s “Magdamag” (also scripted by Jerry Gracio), he essayed the role of a young man who spent an intimate night with an older married woman (Rita Avila). Some of the intimate scenes and verbal tussle in “Ligo Na U…” are reminiscent of the narrative atmosphere in “Magdamag”. Guzman exhibits a winking portrayal that displays both his dramatic and comedic skill, all in one coherent, insightful package. His flirtatious interplay with Cabral is entertaining, and the scenes involving his financially hard-up parents (Mel Kimura and Simon Ibarra) are soberingly affecting.

Gracio’s script is a delightful drollery. But they make you think. To say that Burmese people eat cats like we devour burgers seems like a misleading idea. I’ve heard of a small group of Koreans and aboriginal Australians, but Burmese? When Intoy wonders of Jen’s influence in him, he remarks: Why can’t she stay in my loins, and not in my head? And you wonder why some people do the same too. Other remarks verge on being silly, but hilarious nonetheless: “Walang suka (vomit) na di nakakatawag pansin.”

Luis Alandy cameos as a taxi driver who takes Intoy around on the night of his graduation. The latter has been given P3,000 as his parent’s gift – to splurge (for a change). But Intoy instead heads to the seedy sidewalks of Quezon Avenue, looking for Jen (who’s gone incommunicado since the big news). I’m a bit lost why he would look for Jen among street walkers. Jen was supposed to have come from a rich family (her parents were former bankers).

I have a problem with last 3^rd of the narrative as it awkwardly tries to settle into a more appropriate conclusion. We’re made acutely aware that the undeniable energy and verve that jumpstarted and buoyed this movie has all but dissipated. It wasn’t a very satisfying finish. The film is an adaptation of a novel by Eros Atalia. We're not quite sure how the story was tweaked to suit the cinematic palette, but this should explain the sundry of verbose clutter found in its text work: "Bakit gusto natin ng mainit na kape kung pinapalamig din naman natin ito?" Because hot temperature helps dissolve the caffeine bits thus affecting a good mix? There's more where that came from, and if you like these smart alecky lines, you'd find pleasure in this film. “Ligo Na U, Lapit Na Me” (Star-Crossed Love) is an inspired and gratifying cinematic frolic. With an engaging story and earnest portrayals all around, it shouldn't be missed. Does it mirror the sexual games you play?

Mercedes Cabral: Indie babe!


Edgar Allan Guzman: Appealing take as Intoy.


Mercedes Cabral

Ang Babae Sa Septic Tank – Endlessly Tickling Our Funny Bones

Marlon Rivera’s “Ang Babae sa Septic Tank” (The Woman in the Septic Tank) is a high wire act of film making. It’s perceptive and hilarious in ways too far removed from the usual Pinoy comedy. It playfully runs rings around human folly where boundless ambition is held up to scorn and ridicule. In fact, this is one work that elevates local humor to greater heights. This likewise underscores the capability of the Filipino to weave a yarn dripping with wit and hilarity, I’d be proud to recommend this to anyone: friends, family, foe - even to Indonesian producer Delon Teo who believes that movies should bear no logic (go figure)!

In the film, the narrative follows an independent film making crew – director Rainier (Kean Cipriano), producer Bingbong (JM de Guzman) and their production assistant Jocelyn (Cai Cortez) – as they wind their way to making a film about a woman with seven children as they navigate their environs in urban squalor. The filmmaking crew's budget allows them a mere 12 days of principal photography.

With a script on hand, they scrutinize every detail of the production, from the story (straight out narrative versus docu-drama), the camera to be used, post production requirement and editing, the look and setting of the film, the titling ("Walang Wala"), its poster, and its eventual casting.

With international festivals provocatively whirling at the back of their minds, the pumped up trio eventually lands at the door of Miss Eugene Domingo, the actress who’s being offered the role of Mila, the desperate housewife from the slums who’s out of her wits feeding her seven kids with watered down noodles. One day, Mila finds herself peddling her little boy to a Caucasian pedophile. Now, how receptive is Domingo to the project? We find out in one of the most joyous conclusions that had us laughing in shameless stitches and beguilement.

The movie is a social commentary on poverty porn, this dime-a-dozen new age genre of Philippine cinema that takes advantage of the country’s sweeping poverty - the squalor, despondency and moral ambiguity that pervades in society. It likewise generously takes shots of the inflated egos running around the world of legitimate independent film makers.

In one of several masterful narrative devices discussing their choices of actress to portray their cinematic heroine, we find Eugene Domingo, Cherry Pie Picache and Mercedes Cabral alternately portraying Mila; a tack that’s such a delectable treat for the audience’s cogitative state. In fact, we find ourselves engaged in the casting of Mila. It conjures interactive participation from its audience. Who would have thought this was possible in Philippine cinema?

In another scene, the buttoned up production assistant re-imagines the story told as a musical, and once again, it gallantly comments on the inherent mawkishness of the medium – was it referring to the previous Cinemalaya hit, Florida Bautista’s “Saan Nagtatago si Happiness?” or even Chito Rono’s “Emir”? There were very similar scenes as a crowd of irregular settlers dance in wild abandon. While Mila waits for her child by the stairs, we see Domingo immerse herself in dire emotionality typical of the genre. We were actually snickering.

I have two favorite scenes: The first was the trio’s encounter with the high-flying Arthur Poongbato, the indie film maker who, on his very first film, won big at the Venice, and got rave reviews at the Cannes. Someone suggested to us that this was Pepe Diokno whose “Engkwento” (Clash) won a couple of awards at the Venice Film Festival, but we know this wasn't so. Diokno, who’s Ateneo-bred, obviously knows his subject-verb agreement; is known to be mild mannered, and is aware of his espressos from “expressos”. Another tweety bird told us that this was Auraeus Solito, a brilliant director (we love his “Busong” to bits) who doesn’t seem to have a lot of local fans or friends within his filmmaking crowd. In the movie, the jetsetting new director is in a daze with all the international film festival invitations he has to attend. “Parang umuuwi lang ako ng Pilipinas para mag shower,” he remarks in jest. And he has yet to fly to these remote-sounding places: Mar del Plata (Argentina), Cairo, and Vesoul. When asked where Vesoul is, there was the unmistakable chirping of the crickets.

Fact is, we have a subcommunity of film makers who take a premium on international film festivals, ignoring the local scene altogether; their works never see exhibition for the 95 million Filipinos to appreciate. What good are these awards if they don’t even lift a finger to get their works shown in commercial theaters? What is their international recognition worth, but inflated egos, and not much else. At least not to the home crowd who can’t fly to Toronto, Pusan or Rotterdam to watch their masterpieces.

Our other favorite scene was when they finally meet the voluble Eugene Domingo to discuss the project. Domingo executes her mastery of the comedic language in flagrant strokes that defy adequate description. When she finally objects to scenes involving her physical immersion in a septic tank, all hell breaks lose. And on my second viewing, we found the scenes even more hilarious. “Tae yan; madumi ang tae,” Domingo emphasized.

When Domingo drops her lines with a certain rhythm and cadence (check out the three types of acting in her book), we shriek with laughter. She is such a joy to behold.

Frontal nudity, check! Sex scenes with actual penetration, check! Domingo enumerates things she’s willing to do for her art. But a septic tank? Will she or won’t she? You have to watch this to witness one of the most hilarious highlights to ever grace the silver screen. Scriptwriter Chris Martinez outdoes himself and turns up a tight, insightful work that, as one of his characters underline, works in many levels. Not the least of which is as one darn funny movie.

We chuckle at the sheer ambition and arrogance of its young film makers, but we're somehow lost in the preternatural re-imaginings such as the narrative that turns into a protracted musical - or a gritty in-your-face docu-drama. When Domingo lampoons herself as a mainstream personality (replete with product endorsements), her segment significantly veers away from thematic focus, as much as all her suggestions - in the guise of being "collaborative" - ultimately water down much of the film makers' raw vision on realist cinema. And didn't anyone notice Larry Manda's underwhelming cinematography? The film, in fact, opens with pixelated images adorning the opening frame. But these are minor quibbles. If anyone fails to recognize the superior craftsmanship in a film such as this, then you can be sure there won't be a lot of movies better realized and more superior than Marlon Rivera's flick.

The Depressive Effect of Watching "Ang Babae Sa Sementeryo"

It's uncanny the way a film can drive a person to depression. So I was in my cinema seat, slouched down feeling so sorry for myself and thinking, that yet again, I have to blog about yet another horrible Tagalog film. For a while there I was honestly feeling dejected. It had been one bad Tagalog film after another, and this is driving me bonkers!

Such is the state of the local film industry! When the most prodigious and most exhibited works on commercial theaters are from one of the following: Neal Tan, Crisaldo Pablo and those shameless Pink Film-directors, oh boy, we are indeed fucked!

The Philippine Movie Industry is in deep shit! Just thumb through the list of Tagalog films being reviewed in this blog from January 2010 alone. It would make you wonder why I even bother to write about them when directors of films like "Fidel" can't even grasp the fact that the artistic merits of his film go beyond horrid and non-existent. Yet week after week, we are served up vomit-inducing ouvres hailed like masterpieces (read: "Tarima"). There evidently is no accounting for taste these days!

It's also getting tricky to write a discourse about films with thematic substance as thin as a clarinet reed. It's like rendering flesh and meat to an otherwise emaciated tuberculosis-afflicted patient. But if I were to really complain about the state of the local movie industry, I can only do so if I've actually watched these films. Any person who huffs and puffs about the state of Philippine Cinema doesn't deserve to do so if they didn't even bother to watch any. Sasabihin mong pangit, wala ka ngang napanood, which should make you a pretentious twat not dissimilar to director Mark Shandii Bacolod discoursing about what a good cinema is - and even using his own work "Fidel" as specimen of great cinema. Of course we are aware that maybe he was just exercising his right to be either a humorist or a ironist.

Director Neal Tan, prolific in his dim-witted artistry, is once again fielding another gag-inducing fiasco with "Ang Babae sa Sementeryo" (The Graveyard).

The film follows a northern town's chief of police (Roi Vinzon) investigating a series of murders around the vicinity of the local cemetery. But it isn't the itinerant souls rustling around. Uming, the caretaker (Mon Confiado) takes advantage of the empty tombs to expand his burgeoning prostitution metier. While Uming is cashing in on Aliway (Mercedes Cabral) and her friends, we are introduced to a bumbling duo of journalists (Jigo Garcia and Bryle Mondejar resurrected from oblivion) who navigate the bowels of the departed with a video camera, you somehow wonder if they're just perverts afflicted with Hayden Kho-syndrome. Moreover, flashbacks take us back to Barbara (Ma. Isabel Lopez), the erstwhile iconic hooker "mysteriously" murdered by a monster! The plot is even made thicker than lard when her story opens with her incestous affair with her father. And yeah, lest we forget, she bore a daughter Agnes (Ella Guevarra) from this apocryphal affair. Agnes grows up witnessing the indiscretions of her prostitute mother. She would beg her mother for food while she's in the nick of her salacious trade. "Gutom na gutom na po ako," she'd implore while being reverently ignored. Despite all her pleadings, we actually see a beautiful and healthy child with rosy cheeks and Pantene-dabbed hair. Isn't that peachy?

Once again, Neal Tan's cofferful of riches is able to gather a formidable cast - Tommy Abuel (who plays a Joonee Gamboa-like narrator), Boots Anson Roa (as a clueless nun), et.al. But this a testament to the obvious that money cannot buy intelligence or directorial expertise! Tan's technique is easily summarized - he gathers a series of incipient ideas, throw them all together in a pan, add a dash of unemployed local actors and a couple of veterans to render it a mainstream veneer - voila! You have a semblance of a movie! Lamentably, there is nothing in this film that is worth even one peso of your movie admission's time!

Let's take for example some of the lines:

While the chief was interrogating Uming, he asked, "Maraming patay dito, di ka ba natatakot?" (Duh! It's a cemetery, you twat!)

A nun remarked about child Agnes, "Ni hindi ko sya nakitang nagsalita o umiyak," yet when she came to the convent, she was bawling her hearts out! (The nun should be deaf, dontcha think?)

When the child was caught "eating" people, the chief's assistant rationalized, "Di kasi pinapakain ng tama." (Oh my god, have you ever heard of such idiocy?)

When they found carcasses filled with fingers, eyeballs and other body parts from Agnes' bag, an assistant once again offered his enlightened commentary: "Ano naman ang kinalaman ng bata?" (There are dismembered body parts in her bag, you idiot! Doesn't solid evidence ring a bell?)

These are just a few from a long list of asinine details that litter this clutter! The director is wildly conflicted regarding his theme so he writes up scenes that would check out both "psychological thriller" and "horror flick" into it. The more themes, the merrier, right? LOL

Yet there were more brain numbing scenes without resolutions: whatever happened to the daughter of the landlady (you would see her dressed in baro't saya with a veil up her head, then she'd disappear at second glance). Mr. Tan's head is so full of random ideas he doesn't know what to do with them. My suggestion would be to rest it all away... forever!

I was dazed coming out from the movie theater. From hereon, I am dedicating a portion of my prayers so that the heavens would send Neal Tan somewhere really really far from the destructive effects of his mediocrity! Somewhere remote and somewhere he couldn't depress people with his works. Oh heavens, please take Neal Tan to Burundi, Nigeria or Zimbabwe! Or anywhere far from his high-definition movie camera!