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.   

Ronald M. Rafer's "Gigolo" - Tens Years Back

Life hasn’t been a walk in the park for Julio (Mygz Molino) who, as a child, lived with a wicked stepmother who spared no affection for him. At last straw, he finally found the courage to runaway and live on the streets with other urchins. Fast forward to the present. Julio grows up an able bodied Romeo who, along with his friends (Maichel Fidelis and Jake Galeon), hang out in gyms and busy avenues to peddle his flesh to libidinous gay men. His girlfriend Margot (played by a girl who uses the ridiculous-sounding name “Kissy Babe Kisses”, believe it or not) doesn't mind. She herself is a prostitute.

One day, Julio overhears a story from Dominic (Christoff Ken), a gym guy with whom Julio is curiously drawn to, about Dominic’s mother Imelda (Carla Varga) who allegedly gave away her own child when she was younger. Why Dominic would unravel this to a complete stranger is stuff of legends. Anyway, Julio follows this lead and confronts Imelda. She was indeed the same mother who abandoned him. And she had been searching for him. They have a tearful reunion and vow never to be separated ever again. End of story?

Well, not quite. Julio comes home to find Margot battered and blue. Her last customer was Mr. Marquez (Rob Sy), an inveterate sadist. He gets his kicks torturing his girls. Julio vows to avenge Margot. He marches to the club where she works and finds the bald sadist. With great effect, he wears his hood and takes out his shiny knife, then bludgeons Mr. Marquez to his ultimate demise.

Next scene is a baffling testament to absurdity. The whole family: Julio and girlfriend Margot, mom Imelda and son Dominic walk the streets away from their house as they seek new glory under the sun. Yup, as easy as that. Murder completely erased from their timeline. Wide open smiles and bright inspired faces with no iota of guilt, grief or trepidation. Just how a fairy tale should be.

There has been a spate of entertainment writers and tabloid reporters who dabbled with Pink Indies. There’s Benny Andaya (“Tatlong Beses Isang Araw”), Sandy Es Mariano (last year’s “Jumbo Jericho”), and Ronald M. Rafer for “Gigolo”. Let’s not forget Ronald Carballo (“Pikit-Mata”). What’s the common denominator? Except for Carballo whose film we haven’t seen, each project is among the worst that Philippine Cinema has ever produced. In fact, giving these writers carte blanche to actually direct a film is several steps backward. Try 10 years! If this isn't a gargantuan slap on the face of Philippine Cinema, I don't know what is.

Rafer’s story telling technique is in desperate need of constitution. He tells his tales with barely any valid framework. Not only does he tell it in incongruent episodic clutter, he also resorts to spur-of-moment whims inserting narrative threads that do not belong to his story.

Let’s take the case of former Survivor Philippines’ Rob Sy and his protracted bed scene with the bar girl he hired to assault. Sy’s character could be absolutely stricken off because it dilutes the story of Julio and takes the focus away from the main characters. And it did. 

Rafer peppered his tepid story with its undeserved, unrelated and discrepant climax, but the character of Mr. Marquez is non-essential. He is disposable, and his presence puts emphasis to the movie’s randomness. Their scene which must have lasted a good 15 minutes involved an expendable, if not superfluous narrative string – a rape scene whose perpetrator humped away fully clothed! May medyas pa yata. :) How’s that for cinematic will or focus?

Rob Sy, Mahal, Maichel Fidelis and Ms. Carla Varga (Go figure!)

Rafer’s narrative exposition is painfully limited, and his scene transitions are very abrupt that one caterwauling scene briskly follows another head-splitting breakdown scene, then another “Magbabayad-ka-sa-ginawa-mo” scene. Carla Varga, who plays negligent mother Imelda, is a good example of Rafer’s very loose grip as director. Julio asks Imelda, “May anak kayo?” Then with no rhyme or reason, she bawls her heart out. They converse further. When Julio leaves, Imelda once again cries as though she just ate something awful.

TERRESTRIAL MYSTERY

Every scene with Carla Varga is executed with over-the-top melodrama, I half expected the Earth to open up and devour the actors for the noise they were generating. Moreover, I was befuddled why Varga is distinctively billed “Ms. Carla Varga”! Why the special title? Is she royalty in the league of Ms. Lea Salonga, Ms. Zsa Zsa Padilla, Ms. Lorna Tolentino or Ms. Eula Valdez? Is she an icon or hero? Is she vaguely popular? Raise your hand, children, if you know who she is. Is she young, vivacious and full of verve? Isn't she 55, or 65? Does she carry an enviable thespic prowess a la Nora Aunor, Bea Alonzo or Shamaine Centenera? Is she a personality of immense Helenic beauty? Mahal, is in fact, a more popular name than Carla Varga will ever be. Yet Mahal isn't billed “Ms. Mahal”. Mahal instead takes the film’s sidelight selling cigarettes at the bar entrance, with ribbon on her hair that's bigger than her head, screaming “Notice me! Notice me!” It’s woeful. We have a conundrum.

With all these peripatetic narrative detours, Julio’s story as “Gigolo” takes second fiddle. We are left out of Julio's kaleidoscopic world. Yes, there are more than half a dozen sex scenes, but some of them don’t even concern our protagonist. Rafer is taken to his “flights of ideas” leaving poor Mygz Molino disoriented in his own titular movie.  

Rafer further recruited some actors familiar in the genre for walk-on parts, as though he is cooking up chopsuey. Throw whatever he can into the brew to disguise the vacuity of his work. Brad Laurente awkwardly hams it up as a gayer-than-gay concupiscent queen bedding one of the guys. Jeremy Ian is likewise billed although I must have blinked and missed him.

Equal opportunity is a double edged sword. Anyone who dreams of directing can buy or borrow himself a camera and call himself a director with no heed for the filmic language or its artistic requisites. See any of G.A. Villafuerte's flicks to realize that the guy tells a single story in 15 of his films all told within 525,600 minutes. Repetition is supposed to turn into mastery, right? Not with Villafuerte, and in this case, Rafer, whose talents are limited to besting how to get worse than their last. In this country, even a secretary without any aptitude for governance can rise to become a Senator. That’s what makes this country great… and shitty.

Mygz Molino is Julio.

Note:

Please read our featured post on Cinema Bravo and why Web Criticism sometimes makes us nginig:
- http://makemeblush2.blogspot.com/2016/10/cinema-bravo-film-criticisms-execrable.html

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 For Adults Only - More of Nothing

Mart Delgado (Charles Delgado) is tinseltown’s latest “it” boy. He graces blockbuster sexy flicks that are talk of the town. To up his ante, he decides to team up with his rival Lance Jacinto (Jeremy Ian) who’s only too willing to share the spotlight with Mart. The film, directed by Pink Flick auteur Popoy Legaspi, is called “Rated X”, and it promises to be as magniloquent as the title. Publicity mill starts drumming up interest and several male starlets want to be part of it. Unfortunately, just before wrapping up principal photography, the supervising producer runs away with the production budget, leaving the project unfinished and in limbo. What happens then?

To save the film, Mart and Lance decide to shoulder the expenses. But they don’t have much, and they’re desperate to get the movie done. After all, in this business, you’re only as good as your last project; and plenty is at stake here. When the director refuses to budge without payment, Mart and Lance decide to offer their non-financial assets, err, I mean “riches”. When the limpwristed camera owner refuses, Mart presents his six-inch solution. Quite fetching, right? But their carnal bounty just isn’t enough. Film editing alone costs P30,000 per session.

Then a solution presents itself: a lady (Priscilla Perez) is offering P20,000 for a concupiscent three-way with Mart and Lance. Since such “bookings” aren’t foreign to both actors, they agree to this exciting misdeed. After their libidinous session, the girl further proposes: that if Mart and Lance go at it, she would double the fee. They acquiesce, unaware that the girl is secretly recording their salacious same-sex coupling. What’s more, she is the girlfriend of one of the film’s auditionees (Rocco Mateo). Not long after, bootleg copies of their shenanigan spread like wildfire, pre-empting the commercial release of their film. Could they rely on their director’s help, who’s being relentlessly seduced by young upstart Anton (Jerome Pineda)? Will the film ever get shown? Mart and Lance have cooked up a tricky maneuver that involves a bottle of Muriatic Acid. Will this ruse work?

Charles Delgado as Mart Delgado

Jeremy Ian as Lance Jacinto

Jerome Pineda as Anton.

This week’s Pink Film tackles a familiar world. Director Darry dela Cruz’s “For Adults Only” recreates this subculture of the third-rate film business populated by the ugliest gay men I’ve ever laid eyes on. In fact, many of the scenes involve a flamboyant television anchor who does nothing but nag, fuss, and bitch around. He’s given carte blanche to deliver protracted monologues about how successful he is and how he’s irritated by the people around him. It was almost too painful to keep watching him insult people around when his mere presence was adequate enough for any cinematic audience to self flagellate. Crisaldo Pablo used to do this a lot – i.e. he populates his flicks with the ugliest beings ever to have walked the Earth; now Darry dela Cruz follows through.

Erotic dramas are supposed to cajole and seduce their audience, right? So – is it wise to field the most hideous creatures for people to ogle at? Were they going for titillation or vomiting? Anyone with a fourth of a brain would be cognizant to this dilemma. It’s really a no-brainer. But, lo and behold, these critters are given longer exposure than the stars of the film. I almost went out of the cinema bloating with evanescent hives and engorged larynx. You see, I am allergic to excessive ugliness, like the Madam who loves her expensive shoes. This film has that! Manong Pedring, my driver, was inconsolable as he drove me home, while I belly flop with my rendition of : “Dahil sa ‘yo nais kong mabuhay…” But let’s get back into the story.  

If you read through the narrative flow, there seems to be a crucial and considerable chronology of events, right? But the story is told in the driest of techniques, it was like watching paint dry. The only “proof of life” is Charles Delgado who looks youthful and earnest. Even Jerome Pineda frames his scenes with smug confidence – and clenched teeth, it’s baffling! Every scene is punctuated by bored blocking, they might as well film my Tita Blessy as she partakes her daily novena. At least she has more brio with her prayers. There are half a dozen shower scenes, but even these are as tired as the intelligence quotient of its makers. Yup, no peekaboos nor mushroom heads to whet the pervs’ appetites. Moreover, the sex scenes are as passionless as the drying laundry from my neighborhood window. Goodness.

Like other Cleo Paglinawan and Darry dela Cruz films, there’s always an unexplained scene where “straight guys” suddenly go at it – like rabbits in heat. After the deed, they would chat: “Ba’t natin ginawa yun? Bakla ba tayo?” Yes, check Dela Cruz and Paglinawan’s other works and this scenario is ubiquitous. Regardless of the script writer (this one is written by Len Ortega and Dela Cruz), the situational entanglements are always similar. Another familiar narrative strain is: at the end of the story, someone always dies of a violent death. This is Darry dela Cruz trademark. Straight guys shag each other then they end the living daylights out of their existence. This penchant for tragedy must be some subconscious circumspection to deal with his artistic dearth. Poor man.