Category Archive for: kawomenan

kultura

Chris Martinez, FTW!

on Temptation Island 2.0

It might have been the more apt title, actually, for the benefit of those who are so strict about originals and remakes, and imagine faithfulness to be about keeping to the level of copy. But there’s no crossing the same river twice, and it’s a foregone conclusion that every remake is a retelling, every retelling a different story altogether.

And so the question for Chris Martinez’s remake of Joey Gosiengfiao’s 1981 Temptation Island (Regal Films and GMA Films) is: does it still work? Is campiness something we’d know to be an exaggeration? Would campiness work with this set of five girls, three guys, and a gay man?

Could Martinez make it work?

He apparently can, at least if we take the laughter in that almost filled theater as an indication of success. I myself was familiar with the lines from the original and still found myself laughing, sometimes too loudly or just earlier than the rest of the audience in that cinema. Because there’s a learning curve here, during which the audience seem to warm up to the idea of exaggeration and extremes, the kind that campy relies on.

So when the movie begins with Lovi Poe’s Serafina, with her overtly slow and husky voice, and a body in the eternal act of posing, it was easy to feel the audience’s discomfort: ah, this is this kind of movie? Never mind that it wasn’t clear what kind it was. By the time Marian Rivera was delivering Cristina’s lines while dancing with her crook of a boyfriend, the over-the-top delivery seemed to have sunk in, if not the obvious look and feel of an Austin Powers movie.

click here for the rest of it!

kultura

too much Torre 1: on Amaya

i’ve begun to call the saturday inquirer Nestor Torre Day: open it on any given Saturday, and there he is dishing it out about local TV and celebrities. now this would be fine, though a bit shameless (isn’t it, to have your name appear so many times in one section of the paper, on any given day?), were he obviously keeping in touch with popular TV and contemporary culture. but this, as he himself reveals, he doesn’t do.

recently Torre raised two things in separate articles (of course) about the epic serye Amaya: (1) Marian Rivera’s acting and whether or not she deserves the title “queen of teleseryes” and (2) Amaya‘s storytelling as predictable over and above a setting that’s nothing but exotic. on the latter, Torre says:

<…> after some weeks in play, the series’ plot line is turning out to be a mere variation on teleseryes’ generic penchant for love, perceived betrayal, revenge, and all sorts of strife and convoluted conflicts.

really now. Torre obviously missed a chunk of this show if this is his assessment of it. he seems to have missed that wonderful father-daughter relationship between Datu Bugna and Amaya, one that was anything but simple, one that was informed by the complexities of honor and trust, of woman power and oppression. and what of Amaya’s refusal to be tied to her hut as binukot, her insistence on being brought out into the night by her uripon, and knowing enough to take responsibility for it when they got caught?

via igma.tv
via igma.tv

and where is romantic love here, really? Torre makes it seem like this is nothing but a love story, when in fact Amaya hasn’t been shown to care much for Bagani’s fascination with her. in fact, the kind of focus Amaya keeps on her struggle for liberation after her father’s murder is what resonates here: love isn’t on the table, and her heart is not a topic of conversation.

and yet Torre’s saying this is nothing but cliche, and is completely unhappy with this story, which makes one wonder: how much of it has he seen? this tells us how much:

To be fair to Marian, she works really hard to make her latest TV starrer a success—to the extent of “going backless” in some scenes to show how cruelly her character has been punished and degraded. She also shouts and expresses anger with greater unction than ever.

Unfortunately, she looks too fair and soft to be believable as a “warrior princess” in the making. Her crying scenes are still too “hagulgol” to be truly touching. And, her training scenes as a warrior are patently nominal and phlegmatic.

first of all, ser, the bare back is culturally grounded in the epic’s pre-colonial setting: a sign of Amaya turning from binukot to uripong. she is not the first or only one who’s backless in this show, which should tell us all that it’s symbolic for something bigger than just, uh, going backless. second of all, and more important, ser, fairness is a trait of the binukot, a product of her being kept inside her hut, her feet never touching the ground, her face unseen.

as for Marian’s acting, i do wonder what the peg is for good acting as far as Torre is concerned. because i’d like to think that i’d scream too were my father being murdered in front of me; i’d scream too were i being lashed with a stick; i’d cry and scream in defiance when my servants-turned-friends are being lashed as well. were Torre watching this show, he might have a sense of how this louder voice Amaya’s now using is but logical in light of her voice as daughter: playful and loving in equal turns, too intelligent for her own good, smarter and kinder than her half-sisters, hidden as she was. were Torre watching, he would’ve seen this as an evolution of the lead character versus just the one truth about her character.

as for whether or not Marian is the “queen” of teleseryes, it seems but logical doesn’t it, that we look at the terrain of soaps in recent times: lead female characters are few and far between, as the male leads have begun to take on equal if not the more central roles in soaps and seryes across both networks (Coco Martin in Minsan Lang Kita Iibigin, Robin Padilla in Guns and Roses, Richard Guttierez in Captain Barbell, for example). in this sense it’s easy to see that Marian as queen is premised on the fact not just of a network investing in such a huge project for her, but that she’s in this title role at a time when there’s no other show like it.

but too, what Torre fails to consider is Amaya as a show, period. he fails to see how this show’s pre-colonial reality actually works and is difficult to dismiss, which of course would only be apparent if you’re actually watching the show. this is a show that had obviously prepared to take itself seriously, at the same time that it was careful in dealing with its fictionalization of history. and of making sure to create a story of one binukot that can only be powerful as it highlights the possibility of a powerful woman being part of our roots, if not as historically viable ideological truth.

now if all that a reviewer can see in Amaya is simplicity and cliché, then that barely seems like the show’s problem.

radikalchick.lit

the gift of elsewhere*

i grew up not really knowing what being an inaanak means, where i never had to call anyone ninang, where that didn’t mean any different from a standard aunt.

but the three kids all the way in Holland began calling me such, and i realize it means something, especially when it comes with Lucien instinctively leaping onto the bed to hug me, or Francisco giving me a shy knowing smile like we’re the same age (coz we probably are you know), or when Jacinta began calling me ninang inang. and last year, by all counts, along with the rest of a nuclear family that moved heaven and earth (OA!) to send me to Holland, these three kids saved me.

and Jacinta who kept me company, in bed for afternoons on end, or on the couch on mornings on end (so yes, you guessed what I did there), was supergirl of those three without knowing it. with her it all made sense, the daily ritual of watching the same cartoons, of doing the same puzzles, of still finding these absolutely entertaining. easy laughter is one that’s a gift of good friends, or just of children who love you and want to play.

how telling that on that first time that i could visit these three kids in their Holland home, they probably did more for me than i did for them. which is exactly what they do for me now, still, even if only via pictures, fresh from being forced into bed and hospital by an ailment reminiscent of my own shortlived motherhood.

Jacinta turned 4 recently, and so did another inaanak Mayumi, all the way in America. unlike Jacinta who has slept in my bed in Manila, and who resurrected my old barbie dolls and dollhouses on her last visit, i have yet to meet Mayumi, all four years old of her.

but i remember now what i told Mayumi, what i wished for her, on her christening. where i promised there would always be home in Manila, that there would always be us here who love her and her parents, and that in fact we are always with her, no matter how that seems so ambiguous and abstract. i remember i told her to not forget nation, to not let it go, regardless of America, of wherever it is she goes.

i think of that now and realize things have changed. i would still wish Mayumi, as I do Jacinta, a love for this nation, but now i know enough, now i’ve become a mother enough, to realize that there are things far bigger and brighter than nation. and it’s not because Europe or America is richer than the Philippines, it’s not because it’s cleaner where they are, not because it’s third world where i am.

it’s because where i am, women’s rights have yet to be seen as a valid enough cause period, one that can logically, rationally and single-handedly mean passing laws for our protection. it’s because in this country i call mine, one that belongs still to Jacinta and Mayumi, their rights and futures are always sacrificed for the louder more powerful voices of the men who rule — the congressmen and senators, the priests and conservatives. it’s because right here, where i would wish them both to come home someday, they will become adult women who will be subjected to the Church’s presumptions of their sinfulness, the men’s insistence on their silences.

recently i was made to see that my issue with un-freedom is one that isn’t my fault. it’s the fault of a nation that’s unable to take care of me, and my needs as a woman. i cannot give this possibility of shackles to any daughter, i cannot wish them this fight that’s both frustrating and tiring and ultimately feels like a lost cause.

i especially cannot wish it on Jacinta and Mayumi who are already in places where they are cradled by laws that will protect them, as children, as women, as human beings, period. where they will have freedoms that i can only imagine having, where they will be given choices and will not be scared of it because they will also know to do the right things. where they are, they’ve got their families, but more than that, where they are, they’ve got rights.

and if that’s also the gift of not coming home, if that’s the gift of being far away from the rest of family, from language and culture, from roots, then i say, it’s a gift that’s worth giving. it’s a gift that’s theirs, that comes from my heart. because now i know i’ve been wrong: there might be many wonderful things about this nation, but there is so much more to be said about freedom.

*for Jacinta in Holland, and Mayumi in America. with all love possible from Ninang Ina(ng).

kultura

too much, in the name of love

In The Name of Love (directed by Olivia Lamasan, written by Lamasan and Enrico Santos) had the promise of courage.

Its OFW story is one that deals carefully with the fact of male bodies, where Emman Toledo (Aga Muhlach) and his dance group are hostos in Japan: dancing in a club and stepping out of there with blonde women in tow. The crisis of the Filipino family in the face of the OFW phenomenon is shown here with a bright honesty: there is no one to blame, there are no judgments, some loves don’t survive the distance. Coming home from Japan and into poverty is shown as a matter of provincial conditions: the OFW is home, he’s got nothing.

But the crisis of Emman, as powerful as this story already is, is made more complex in a narrative that didn’t know when to stop, as if the unhappiness wasn’t enough.

read the rest here! :-)

kultura

Kilig down pat in Catch Me I’m In Love

And when I say that this movie proves Sarah Geronimo and Gerald Anderson individually and together have the kilig down pat, it’s that someone my age, with my history of bad love, could actually still get kilig. Yes, kilig to the bones circa 1980s, complete with stomping foot, loud laughter, sinking into my movie seat, nudging elbows with my younger sister (ex-student now friend) beside me, in the end tired from the roller coaster ride that a two hour love story can still be. Kapagod pala kiligin. Some things I’ve forgotten.

In Catch Me I’m In Love, the kilig is difficult to ignore, as it carries what is an otherwise expected story through to its logical happy end. It’s also a surprisingly believable love between a girl and boy who are really only bound by country, and when I say that, I mean the government of the Philippines complete with scenes of Malacañang Palace.

Gerald plays Eric, presidential son, who’s unhappy with being in the Philippines and is sent by the President to a far away provincial community so he may learn of purpose. Eric is accompanied by Roanne (played by Sarah), an NGO worker who deals with nation from the grassroots level, a confident girl who inadvertently shoots down the presidential son at an awarding ceremony in her NGO. She is appointed by the President (Christopher de Leon) to be Eric’s mentor in living with a community he would otherwise not care about.

The rocky start is obvious, even more so in the context of impoverished Isabela: between waking up at 4 AM to walking long distances, Eric was beyond his comfort zones of clubbing, girls, the gym. Never mind, since all that would be forgotten by the time he comes home from Isabela and is in his words, “a better man” because of Roanne. She who challenged his spoiled boy sensibilities, pointed out in cliché terms the fact that what these children in impoverished communities need is time and attention, not money.

Eric was changed by the experience, Roanne was only in her turf. But Roanne’s intelligence and confident stance about nation was happening alongside her crisis as a girl, who wants to stand in front of a boy, and ask him to love her. This she will do at the end of the movie, but in the meantime she is just sad about her status as NBSB (no-boyfriend-since-birth to the unlearned in local pop culture), as she is teased by her three older brothers about it, as she is oblivious to the fact that the rapper neighbor Vito (played so well by Matteo Guidicelli) is trying to court her but doesn’t know how.

Suffice it to say that between Eric’s need to become a better presidential son, and Roanne’s dream (literally) of getting a love life, this movie set it up so it all seemed possible. It also speaks of NGO life and the nation it builds as wonderful, where changing the world begins with talking to people and knowing how they live — a great thing to see in a mainstream commercial movie.

It’s in this setting that the NGO worker and presidential son fall in love, without the trappings of the usual. After another trip where boy surprises girl in Isabela (that’s what I call going the distance), they come home to Roanne’s lower middle class family to tell them the truth: without the process of conventional courtship, they were now together (kami na, in the vernacular).

Which as it turns out is unacceptable to the general public who think Eric to be eligible bachelor, and who will make Roanne subject of tsismis, evil as that becomes: she doesn’t deserve him, she looks like a maid, it won’t last long. To add salt to wound, a socialite who is the complete opposite of Roanne in looks (Sam Pinto) enters the picture and makes like she’s out to win the presidential son. Now Sarah is no ugly girl, in fact she was overwhelmingly Pinay pretty in most the movie. But vis a vis the socialite and the trappings of a presidential dinner she pulls out that social class card and it just works.

In fact discomfort and insecurity is a game that Sarah plays well, and it’s in these moments of crisis that we see how she’s gotten better at acting, allowing us to forget her iconic character Laida Magtalas (her role opposite John Lloyd Cruz). In this movie, Sarah’s role as intelligent NGO worker comes in painful contradiction with the insecure girl-in-love, and when Roanne breaks down and breaks it off with Eric, Sarah proves a broken heart in real life does wonders for one’s acting.

Gerald meanwhile needs to get over the fact of his good looks, and into acting like it doesn’t matter. Because his role here is that of Fil-Am heartthrob, Gerald sometimes seems like he’s playing himself. Yet when he was an arrogant presidential son in the beginning, it actually worked; when he became the gentleman who would carry Roanne on his back because she had a sprained ankle, he knew to balance arrogance with machismo; when he became this boy who’s pushed against the wall by Roanne’s insecurities about herself that brings her to suggest they break up, Gerald’s helplessness as he asked “Kaya mo?” will melt your heart. And let you forget his abs.

Which is what there’s plenty of in this movie, generally un-needed since it’s done in relation to pagsasaka, and Sarah isn’t one to show some skin or have a kissing scene. If the goal was to establish Gerald’s, uh, hotness, then one scene with abs seems enough doesn’t it? Plus there are his good looks, which is used to the hilt in this film; and those eyes, the use of which Gerald has mastered.

Sarah meanwhile, has mastered this role of the lower middle class girl getting paired off with the rich guy, fulfilling the layers of impossibility in love. Now this isn’t a new role at all (think Judy Ann opposite Piolo Pascual, Marian Rivera opposite Dingdong Dantes), but it’s one that’s done only by Sarah in her age bracket. This is all fine, but maybe it’s time to give Sarah something she can sink her teeth into. After Laida and Roanne, it would do commercial audiences well to be shown a role that doesn’t peg Sarah to financial and emotional immobility because of love. Maybe a role that doesn’t put such a premium on the latter, and lets the intelligence and independence shine? Maybe a movie that stars as well that bunch of supporting characters who make for Star Cinema movies.

Ketchup Eusebio and Janus del Prado play two of Roanne’s brothers here. These two were not only comic relief, they point to the value of supporting characters that hold the main story up, and remind us of the travesties that surround the fact of star power in this country. That the infinitely talented Eusebio and del Prado are not starring in commercial films has become normal to us. That I dream for these two a bigger project, becomes possible given a star like Sarah, who I think will ably carry a film all her own, maybe with Eusebio and del Prado as (gay) friends to a Sarah without a big time love interest, if with love at all. Now that would be a powerful image, wouldn’t it. One that hasn’t been done before. Ah, the dreaming is what happens after the kilig.