Category Archive for: review

kultura

impotence in Astro Mayabang

Jason Paul Laxamana was obviously overwhelmed when he welcomed the audience to the gala screening of his movie Astro Mayabang, as was the crowd most of whom were in t-shirts with the movie’s title, Philippine flags (which i couldn’t understand), and banners for Aaron Villaflor who plays the title role. this is the difference between an indie with Ronnie Lazaro and an indie with a young commercial star.

i would wear a t-shirt with Ronnie Lazaro’s name anytime.

maybe Aaron Villafor’s name too, but let me give him a couple more indie films, and a decade more? in the movies. because if there’s anything that saves this movie it’s Aaron’s existence as Astro Mayabang. he is effective as the Kapampangan boy who walks in no direction other than the literal, who lives the days one at a time, who only cares for nation in as superficial a way as wearing his shoes. Aaron here is actually a surprise given his youth, and it was difficult not to feel for him when things fell apart, and think him crazy by the time the story ended.

and yes, i get ahead of the story because other than what happens, there isn’t much to say about this story other than it is brave, yes, in its use of Pampanga as context, the Kapampangan language throughout the movie, a look at contemporary Kapampangan culture. that is what’s brave about this movie. but the storytelling, the narrative, the world that was of Astro Mayabang’s, living in the bowels of Kapampangan society, is farthest from being special.

it’s like a soap opera really. Astro has a drunkard father and catatonic mother, one friend, a tiny room, and too many Pinoy pride paraphernalia. but what he owns figuratively is the park and people’s attention: Astro is called mayabang for a reason. he talks about his sexual experiences with the other park tambays, he fights with a white guy who refuses to give a beggar some coins, dances in the middle of the park by himself, makes and flies a kite like he owns the place. he walks through the streets as if he owns it, scolds the boy at the pirated dvd stall for not having more OPM, is easily irritated and seems to always be in a rush. which is a surprise because Astro Mayabang actually has nothing urgent going on in his life, save for buying Pinoy pride merchandise to celebrate his, uh, Pinoy pride.

but easily the question has to be about money and where he gets it, and in this movie Astro earns it via a relationship with a homosexual man who does nothing but sit in front of his laptop playing games. periodically, a man dressed as a holy week ritual flagellation sacrifice arrives in a mask, no shirt and loose pants, dances for him and gets some viagra. and always, after these instances, Astro holds money in his hands. of course this masked man is Astro, but that was suppose to be a surprise later on in the story, when Astro actually comes not for the money but for the viagra because he’s got a girl Dawn who he met in the park (where else?), and the movie reveals that he’s actually impotent. of course as with the masked dancing boy, this too was suppose to be a surprise. but given the way the story was told here, none of it was.

there was no big reveal here, and that is what made the story impotent. it could not be anything other than a superficial story about a boy who’s mayabang, who has a false sense of nationalism, and a false sense of his value to the world, and whose motivations are unclear, his anger at the Lord unexplained. when Dawn talks to Astro and tells him being Pinoy ain’t about what clothes one wears, and what one says, because what matters is what’s in the heart, this is almost an explanation for the movie’s whole point, and yet.

and yet, it also seemed so pointless here because when Dawn finally articulates these smart words (no matter that they are cliche), it’s barely important in the face of their hormones, the possibilities in an empty house, and Astro’s, uh, extra challenge of impotence. then it just become absurd: Astro travels from one end of the city to another, gets some viagra from gay fag then leaves him waiting, goes back to the other side of the city, forces Dawn to get it on with him because he’s ready, and suddenly a fight scene: Dawn throws him out of the house, he asks for everything he ever gave her, including a tiny bag of butong pakwan. and then Astro’s already non-life falls apart: he wants one of the limited edition jackets at the Pinoy pride store, finds out that the old fag now doesn’t care for him, he gets into a fight with the other boys in the fag’s house, loses the money he had to buy the t-shirt with, all this come to a head and he breaks down, tearing off all the posters of world famous Pinoys from his room’s walls, screaming “Wala ka, Astro!” over and over again, at some point hitting his thighs hard over and over again.

then Pacquiao has a fight, but he isn’t there. he’s in church talking to God saying that he’s unfair because he didn’t create men equal. and cut to next scene: the park, people murmuring about Astro, and him as loud as always, talking about the Lord. yabang transformed into preaching.

the point of course is that Astro shifted gods from nation to, well, God. the point of course is that he has found himself, but at this point this cannot be literal at all. it just becomes as absurd as the rest of the movie. and i don’t mean that in a good way.

kultura

redefining the Pinoy action movie: or in love with Ishmael

Now I never like disclaimers before watching a movie, and usually don’t read reviews beforehand either. But boy, was I thankful director Richard Somes introduced his film by saying (among other things) that this was his homage to the Pinoy action film ala FPJ, Ramon Revilla, Dante Varona. Of course it still wasn’t enough to prepare me, at least not for the gore.

Because if there is one spoiler I will give you before you go and watch Ishmael, it’s that prepare yourself for some blood. Other than that, I think it would do every other Pinoy good to go and watch this movie, if only for two things: one, Ronnie Lazaro, and two, the Pinoy action film redefined.

Granted I would love to see Lazaro doing a movie where he ain’t a bad guy, here at least he was given something else to bite into instead of the standard fare. And so was Pen Medina. And Mark Gil. And as audience, we also had something new to be enthralled by, and yes this is an action flick, and I’m the girl who cannot for the life of her watch a Manny Pacquiao fight with conviction. For Ishmael, what does work though is the fact of it being an indie film, amorphous as the definition for that has become, confused as it currently is. For all intents and purposes the label of “indie” at least to me, allows for expectations to be suspended and surprise to be expected, in the way that new unfamiliar things do.

And here it is this. Lazaro as Ishmael is obviously farthest from being the clean-cut and the always clean action star in Pinoy movies, who will fight the bad guys, throw punches and kicks, without ruining his hair or getting his shirt bloody. Lazaro also doesn’t do death-defying stunts with motorcycles or helicopters, not even with a car. There is too the fact of age, that is, some middle age spread for Lazaro, though still quite the sexy guy walking through the darn town as if he owned it. Let’s not even begin with the tight-fitting shirts and jeans, and those boots.

The music and make-up had a lot to do with how this movie worked. Much of the scenes that established characterizations and were important moments happened to the tune of the music of good ol’ action, the kind that’s old school but so familiar I was bobbing my head to the beat. And goodness, the make-up was fantastic (save for Agnes having some glittery eyeshadow obvious in some of her close-ups), especially for Ishmael’s final wounds.

There were also no fake action sequences, everything was real suntukan, saksakan, mano-mano.

And all of it works. Lazaro as the ex-soldier who’s been toughened up by jail and is pretty much hopeless. Gil the man who the town has seen as saviour, sleazy and scary in equal turns. Medina as the blind man who traversed the line between friendship and religiosity, a history with one man and the truth of survival with another. Ria Garcia as the young girl Agnes who is symbol for ultimate oppression and abuse, the one that needs to be saved (and who I pray will not be enticed by commercial acting jobs because I tell you it will ruin the bright eyed acting she did so well in this movie).

But Ishmael ain’t just about its unconventional actors, it’s also about a lot of the new and modern and the now in the action genre. Yes, even when direk Somes insists that there was nothing here but “may pinatay, may naghiganti, ganon lang yon!”

I say, not at all. In this story of Ishmael, it’s clear that many things in the storytelling come into play, things which the Pinoy action film of old didn’t have. There’s the fact of space being important, the removed island that was setting the reason for such an absurd religious cult to be all-powerful, and the reason for escape to be almost impossible. There’s the truth of tragedy and any community’s contingent need for saviours and heroes, no matter that all they have is the gift of words and speech. There’s the fact of forgiveness and the dire lack of it in any Pinoy space, for those who have paid their dues in jail, but will never be forgiven by society.

Here is where the story of one guy Ishmael is delivered to us in medias res, because much of his life is over and done with, as the line about what’s done being done is repeated. Given his personal history, Ishmael is ready to die and therefore is the perfect character to be given a reason to live. Any other action bida would take heroism by the horns, but Ishmael resists it and in fact refuses it until the end.

Or maybe outdoes it to its surprising end.

Suffice it to say that there is nothing in this movie that is quite expected. Halfway through, I thought the movie was over. Yet when it continued I thought, how great that it did, and without clear redemption or forgiveness or life through to its end, though with a tinge of love and possibility, I thought it was the most beautiful Pinoy action movie I’ve seen in forever. Yes, the blood and gore notwithstanding.

Ishmael is one of seven films competing in the 6th Cinema One Originals Digital Film Festival 2010 at the Cineplex of Shangrila EDSA. The festival runs until the 16th. Tickets are at P150, and for Ishmael it is SO worth it.

Ishmael screening schedule as of November 11, 8AM:
Thursday — Nov 11 — 12 nn
Friday — Nov 12 — 4 pm
Saturday — Nov 13 — 3:30 pm
Monday — Nov 15 — 9 pm
Tuesday — Nov 16 — 8 pm

kultura

the art of lightness by Arlene Sy

The display window of Heima Store in LRI Design Plaza is all about Arlene Sy’s first exhibit of hand-drawn illustrations. Entitled Inflated Dreams, this collection couldn’t be ignored despite its small size of five pieces. It might have been the delicate colours and lines of the works, or maybe it was the fact that it played around with the image of balloons, and women. Maybe it’s all of the above.

Light Headed

Inflated wear

Two works seem cliché in their use of balloons as clothing, but what makes them unique is Sy’s ability to interweave such an obviously avant-garde idea with women’s faces that speak of so much more. In “Airier Than Thou” balloons in pink hues are worn around the body, a seeming random creation of a dress that’s bulky as it is formless. Here, the woman seems to be in action, hands on her waist, looking away from the camera and in the direction that her body’s angled towards. A cape seems to fly from her shoulder and disappears into the canvas’ edge, a strong black and white line that’s lightning-like and which contrasts with the bright round happiness of the balloons. There is a sense of flight here, of being carried by the balloons to elsewhere.

In “Light Headed” a bunch of balloons in various colours and designs make up a hat, the form of which is reminiscent of those that the members of the Royal family wear. That hat is about as big as the woman’s face drawn close-up, looking questioningly into the camera as if she need not be captured in this way. One hand rests against her neck; it holds a lollipop, that could be a balloon, that could be a lollipop. The lightness of this illustration is in this truth: if balloons were on your head, would you feel them at all?

Balloons held

Tread Lightly

An exhibit such as Sy’s wouldn’t be complete without the standard bunch of balloons held in one’s hand, reminding us of how high the sky is. In Sy’s hands though, this is rendered differently with the image of a girl with stringy hair, blush and lipstick, in a black and white striped tube top, holding in one hand a bunch of balloons that seem to fill the ceiling of the canvas. The contrast in color highlights what is about joy versus what is about stability, the sky versus the ground.  And with the title “Bearable Lightness” Sy is able to make this less about cliché, and more about this: some lightness can be unbearable, where this one isn’t.

“Tread Lightly” meanwhile is farthest from being conventional or usual. Here, the balloons still seem to be in flight, but are drawn on the bottom of the canvas. A pair of feet wearing striped stockings is tiptoeing on the surface of the balloons, highlighting a struggle between the one above and below, with the feet being pulled down and the balloon being pulled up. Yet there is lightness here, as the feet refuses to break through the balloons, making the existence of both elements in the picture stable and powerful, a struggle that’s found balance. Maybe because of the pale hues of the balloons, maybe because all these works are on a white canvas, this just seems possible given the rest of Sy’s works in this exhibit. Or maybe this is all in the dreaming.

Inflated space, as space

Happy Birthday

Because this is ultimately an exhibit that dreams, given the way it handles the notion of balloons and air and lightness. This dreaming is taken to another level in Sy’s “Happy Birthday” which surprises in its use of the inflated balloon. Five different balloons surround and encompass a woman drawn from the shoulders above. Her angular face, tense lips, an almost frown on her forehead, a tense neck, and a gaze that’s strong and unwavering, distinctly contrasts with the delicateness of the balloons that surround this woman. It takes a while to realize that the woman is inside one of the inflated balloons, and her face doesn’t look at all like it is suffering for it. Instead this woman’s strong face becomes about resistance and endurance, in the face of what is impossible to survive. Or do in real life.

But we are reminded: this is about inflated dreams, and in Sy’s hands this isn’t just about balloons and its usual representations. Here, balloons are shown to be about the air within and without it, about being lighter than air and larger than life, about changing us by default because it necessarily invokes a certain kind of happiness that’s reminiscent of childhood. But most importantly, here Sy proves that you don’t need huge canvasses and heavy dollops of colour to make art, all you need is an imagination that can take flight and hands that will bring it to life, in all its delicateness, in all its airiness, in all its light.

komentaryo

wa’ epek si juana change, or why the RH Bill doesn’t need this

But here being the most important point: the recent Juana Change video Mga Anak ng Diyos is just disappointing. For the most part, it barely gets a discussion going on the truths about the RH Bill versus the lies that are spread about it, nor does it bring the discussion to a level that’s more intelligent as it seems to just be screaming in our faces the whole time. Here, there isn’t a sense of how the RH Bill is NOT about being anti-Church or anti-God, how it isn’t at all about abortion, how it isn’t just about enjoying sex. And yet throughout the video words like cunnilingus, blow job, hand job are thrown around for no good reason and without a clear sense of what these mean vis a vis the RH Bill. This might get extra points for the daring to say these words, but it’s also ultimately dangerous to be throwing them around without a sense of what for.

There is also no good reason to include the issue of priests impregnating members of their flock in this – or any – discussion of the RH Bill. In Mga Anak ng Diyos, Juana herself plays the role of the woman whose first child is the offspring of a priest, now monsignor, the role which Lou Veloso plays, whom she faces in the present as the more critical follower who asks questions abou birth control and has had a ligation. This might be to concretize the hypocrisy of the Pinoy Church, or to point out that even Church leaders commit sins that are bigger than we can imagine, but to point it out here brings the discussion elsewhere other than the RH Bill. It also seems to be pointing a finger at the Church for being sinners too, when the discussion on RH shouldn’t to begin with be about sins, or immorality, or burning in hell.

click here for all of it!

radikalchick.lit

no money, no Muji

or meeting my middle class self at the Muji Manila opening

There was much talk about a Muji Store opening in the Philippines, and it would only be a couple of days before opening day that it would be announced as a truth: it was here, the brandless brand from Japan, the one that will bring us the best of Japan’s home and office supplies. And I kid you not, I loved it. And yes it was more expensive, but that’s to be expected, and on this opening night it didn’t really seem like the rich of this country cared.

The middle class forewarned

My friend A warned me, that’s going to be filled with the rich, Ina, and of course I was prepared – or so I thought. Now the thing with events like openings and such, for arts and otherwise, is that I’m reminded of how middle class I am, and yes I am proof positive that the middle class exists. And I enumerate:

1. I have a car (broken as it was) to drive to Bonifacio High Street with (which is inaccessible via public transport unless it’s an expensive cab ride).

2. I knew of Muji before it arrived here, have been to Japan once in my life, when there was money to spare, when Papa said that I needed to see Japan, because he worked there when I was a little girl, it would be good for me to experience it.

3. I followed what the invite said: wear a touch of white. And yes that means I had options in my closet.

I mean I understand the argument that the middle class doesn’t exist, but really, let me be myself and insist that I am, just because I live it every day, much like the effect of skin whitening sold by women to women must be seen as mine to talk about (and you can’t convince me otherwise, kahit tunay na lalake ka pa). I was forewarned with the notion of the rich as well because my friend knows of my middle class self, and how I will see it and feel it, my difference from this rich. She had put me in my place without knowing it.

Exclusivity and yayas

So I enter and realize there’s a guest list, and remember that I invited my friend B to come follow me to the opening, there’d be free food and nerdy shopping for school and office supplies. I refuse to worry about it, wanting to get to the merchandise and see how cheap they were and what pens I could buy for Mama who had said she wanted Muji pens, without really knowing what they’re like.

But the store was being prepped for what was “the opening of doors” and we were all crammed and cramped outside the store with endless wine and champagne and vodka sprite and Japanese inspired finger food. I thought I was in heaven, social class notwithstanding. It’s so middle class of me. And I enumerate:

4. I sold this event to my friend in relation to free food. In relation to nerdy supplies, yes, but to the free food too (haha!) and it sure was good fancy Japanese food.

5. I thought the merchandise would be cheap, i.e., Japan cheap, where 1 yen stores exist, spaces that I thought were different versions of heaven. I also thought there would be some free stuff for the press/media, but then again, sometimes good food and drinks are enough. See number 4 above.

6. When I say social class notwithstanding, I don’t just mean me vis a vis the rich and the celebrity. I mean me and the number of yayas in uniform, feeding their alagas, who had obviously been brought by their parents for a Friday night out with family. And yes, some of those alagas were Japanese – how’s that for assimilating into our culture via household help. *hay*

No money, no Muji

And then the doors opened, and we all went up to the second floor of the GAP Store where Muji Store Manila now stands, and it was this peculiar kind of heaven that I love because it is monochromatic. I’m such a Capricorn, really, for being inspired by just blacks and whites, and wood and glass and navy blues. And I was in love with this store, thinking of pens for Christmas gifts, thinking of how cheap it would be when it went on sale, thinking of it as a cheaper (and better!) alternative to Banana Republic because it has nice cotton tops and dresses, with embroidery and ruffle details, and very simple beautiful merchandise. Thinking of bringing Mama the next time we have cash to spare for nice clothes.

But many things became clear to me after I filled a basket with supplies, and at some point I found I could let my basket go. Why let go of Muji products on Muji night? Because there was no discount for opening night, and it didn’t make sense to fall in that long line just to get the products ahead of everybody else, as my friend B agreed. At that point this opening night barely made sense to me, as everything else in that space began making sense. I enumerate my middle class thoughts:

7. This wasn’t for me, obviously, who had no money, therefore no Muji. I could’ve used my credit card, but that would mean this was an urgent and necessary expense. The latter is true for pens and their function in my life, but I wouldn’t be able to defend the former if my life depended on it.

8. This was for the rich who were there, the ones who could spend without thinking, the ones who knew of Muji elsewhere and thought it the best thing that it was now in the Philippines, and were ready to spend. They were in line and leaving the store with bags and boxes to prove it, too.

9. Muji was for me too, who looked at that merchandise and remembered too much of a visit to Japan three years ago, long enough to have forgotten, but easy enough to rewind and rewrite with proper erasures and revisions.

10. I become friends with the Kuya/Manong waiters in events like this so at some point they’ll bring me the dessert(s) that I want, or just keep giving me alcohol. I’ve never wondered why, I always thought it was because I’ve got my Papa’s rockstar blood in my veins: he who will talk to everyone, walang masamang tinapay. At this Muji Store opening, it was suddenly clear: no one ever made the waiters chika. No one.

There was a joy to Muji still, my lack of money notwithstanding. There was something special about looking at that merchandise and seeing so much of what I used to have, things I had given away, let go of, released to the world. There was a feeling of freedom here, the kind that allowed me to see these things and thank heavens that I could be there and have no memory at all of when it was it was that I first encountered Muji.

Instead I saw these: teeny tiny staplers and cutters, small sticks of glue and tape and scissors, the kinds that can fit in any kikay kit for fashion emergencies. I saw these for that supply kit that should always be in every person’s car. I saw the containers and thought of all the things I might need or have lost a container for: pills and tablets of all shapes and sizes, lipsticks and eye glasses, creams and soap and cologne. Many of these things are obviously for travel, but too, they are for the working girl Pinay, the ones who commute every day or live out of their cars like me.

And the pens – oh my heart! – I had filled my basket with every kind, choosing the colors very carefully just because I couldn’t afford all of it. This basket I had let go of, knowing I would just come back when it was time. Which is to say when there’s money, and middle class as I am that might not happen any time soon.  Oh heart, poor heart.