tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119198652024-03-17T12:20:23.030+08:00Present Confusion (We talk about stuff.)John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02575200209630807189noreply@blogger.comBlogger914125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-34497758489646405152024-02-04T15:49:00.002+08:002024-02-04T15:49:44.848+08:00Japanese Film Festival 2024: We Made a Beautiful Bouquet (Nobuhiro Doi, 2021)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb3pPHhmjG2Nta33b644vtshW7mAi45nqKIvcJsOATwM0ecAYR0YCRzZfDbsG4s6OLZT_BgG6JfzsH1_eERo1n0U1ziNxW_UIl8avF0-KFi416IheFrS55COcjoaNpS5czcqOy8xWjJJVM4ZGFe2Z8njBzVZXN_3M3Mcy6vgE3gTsi90vbnekP/s2930/MV5BM2FiOTJmNjAtOTUxNi00ZTIwLWFkYTgtMGU2MTY2YmM3NzE4XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNzI1NzMxNzM@._V1_.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2930" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb3pPHhmjG2Nta33b644vtshW7mAi45nqKIvcJsOATwM0ecAYR0YCRzZfDbsG4s6OLZT_BgG6JfzsH1_eERo1n0U1ziNxW_UIl8avF0-KFi416IheFrS55COcjoaNpS5czcqOy8xWjJJVM4ZGFe2Z8njBzVZXN_3M3Mcy6vgE3gTsi90vbnekP/s320/MV5BM2FiOTJmNjAtOTUxNi00ZTIwLWFkYTgtMGU2MTY2YmM3NzE4XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNzI1NzMxNzM@._V1_.jpg" width="218" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Note: some spoilers.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">There's a part in Nobuhiro Doi's <i>We Made a Beautiful Bouquet </i>where Kinu (Kasumi Arimura) finds out that one of her favorite bloggers has died. Said blogger often (perhaps cynically) talked about the end of love, that every love story's beginning is the beginning of the end, that all love stories have an expiry date. This love story is no exception: in fact, the very beginning of the film has its two protagonists dating other people, the entire film being a flashback of the five years leading up to that point. This is not a story of love that endured forever; this is love that has run its course and has arrived at its natural conclusion.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">You wouldn't know it from the start, though: this film features one of the most romantic meet cutes in contemporary Japanese cinema. Kinu and her soon-to-be boyfriend Mugi (Masaki Suda) feel like they were born to be with each other, with their two actors bringing their A-game to the proceedings. I half-joke, but the only time where I saw Masaki Suda have more chemistry with his co-star was either with Renn Kiriyama or Nana Komatsu.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But things take a turn for the worse, and perhaps either by design or coincidence, the film gives us a clue to what dooms the relationship. Over time, Kinu and Mugi's relationship changes, and during one disastrous movie date, Kinu has that realization. The movie they are watching is Aki Kaurismaki's <i>The Other Side of Hope</i> (2017). <i>We Made a Beautiful Bouquet</i> feels like a response to Kaurismaki's romantic films that portray working class people striving to make ends meet in a bleak world. It joins films like <i>Never Not Love You</i> (2018) that show the detrimental effects of the ever increasing demands of labor on a young population. "Just endure it for five years and it'll be easy," a sempai tells Mugi as they drive around the prefecture, but what he doesn't tell Mugi is that it's not easy because the work will be simpler, things will be easy because he will have been numbed to the culture. While Kaurismaki optimistically believes in the endurance of love despite living in a capitalist world in films like <i>Fallen Leaves </i>(2023), in this film, at least in part, capitalism is the end of love. It kills something fundamental within us, where trying to <i>make a living</i> prevents us from just<i> living</i>, where marriage becomes a compromise rather than a commitment.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But the film does not end on a bleak note. Breakups can be planned in advance and treated with positivity, but they are hardly a clean break. Even though the love is gone, the act of having loved will never go away. Still, as long as it wasn't abusive, there's nothing wrong with treating past relationships with gratitude, because (hopefully) you and your partner changed each other for the better, and you will carry that to your next relationship, and to the next. The author Ranata Suzuki once said that "your heart is a mosaic of everyone you've ever loved," and this film takes it to heart.</div><p></p>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-17274535752046287692024-01-09T00:33:00.000+08:002024-01-09T00:33:09.768+08:00Present Confusion 2023 Roundup Part 2: Philippine Cinema Favorites<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijEOtsOzv3dazdzES_lrnn1NorRmeIO0LJBCwK4uhAk2ruZ_S0TSyoa3Ie1gZQpWqcnletuP4WebUKnH8HKvCt03uUIpvcX7ug3YYKqKgBo_z8vwO4G3Ip3g2BjJ7T_ebQXelkg_Ebc0_NFLvorIhFmYcBROzg5PNSahrpLNShU_vLLWa9eN4q/s2560/Black%20Live%20Movie%20Stream%20YouTube%20Banner%20(1).png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="2560" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijEOtsOzv3dazdzES_lrnn1NorRmeIO0LJBCwK4uhAk2ruZ_S0TSyoa3Ie1gZQpWqcnletuP4WebUKnH8HKvCt03uUIpvcX7ug3YYKqKgBo_z8vwO4G3Ip3g2BjJ7T_ebQXelkg_Ebc0_NFLvorIhFmYcBROzg5PNSahrpLNShU_vLLWa9eN4q/w492-h277/Black%20Live%20Movie%20Stream%20YouTube%20Banner%20(1).png" width="492" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">2023 was a year of regrowth for Philippine Cinema. 160 films were released in theaters, streaming or limited runs this year, surpassing output even in pre-pandemic times. A large chunk of these films were Vivamax releases of various levels of quality. While various other streaming services had their own productions (Netflix with a couple of romantic films and the Keys to the Heart remake, Amazon Prime with a slate of their own through collaborations with ANIMA studios and the Ideafirst Company,) Vivamax's streaming output was seconded only by the now defunct AQ Prime, who stopped releasing films near the middle of the year. Another streaming startup, Goblin films, started and stopped with only Jay Altarejos' <i>The Last Resort</i> as its sole would-be offering.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">In the relative absence of new feature film-centric film festivals, feature lengths from the surviving post pandemic festivals (Cinemalaya, MMFF) had to step up. QCinema, despite being still the best film fest in the country, has not yet returned to holding a competition local feature films. The newly established Manila Film Festival (not to be confused with the MMFF) debuted with a slew of poorly made student productions which barely got any buzz from audiences outside of the filmmakers themselves.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Cinemalaya was by far the festival that stepped up the most. Buoyed by funding from the FDCP and a film lab to further refine the potential films, Cinemalaya fielded one of its best (if not <i>the</i> best) lineups in its 19 year history. The only downside would be the festival's move to the PICC as the CCP underwent renovation - a good decision for a festival for people to meet up and talk, but not so much a film festival, as PICC venues are not designed for film screenings. If it still takes place at the PICC, next year's Cinemalaya should be sponsored by Salonpas.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">One of the year's biggest surprises was the MMFF, which, in the absence of films by either Vice Ganda and Vic Sotto, still managed to gross 1 billion pesos at the box office. Lines to the cinema are still long to this day, after the festival's run was supposed to end. While it looks like box office is still skewed towards a couple of high performers, the outcome of the festival may be a good sign that Filipinos aren't necessarily beholden to a few people - give them good stories that they can watch with their families and they'll come.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Admittedly, I don't have the stamina I once had, but I endeavored to watch every single Filipino film released in Filipino theaters in some capacity in 2023, and thanks to friends over at the Society of Filipino Film Reviewers (SFFR), I have actually managed to do so - with the exception of Crisanto Aquino's <i>Instant Daddy</i>, <b>I have watched every 2023 Filipino film released in theaters</b>. The operative phrase there is "released in theaters," as unfortunately, I have not had the time to watch all of the films released through streaming - a couple of colleagues have, however, watched way more Vivamax films than I have, and I recommend going to letterboxd to check out their reviews. By the time this three part writeup is finished, I will have watched approximately 120 out of those 160 Filipino films, which is a clean 75%.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Honorable mentions (in no particular order) include: <i>About Us But Not About Us</i> (dir. Jun Lana), the last two segments of <i>Shake Rattle and Roll Extreme</i> (various directors), <i>Mallari</i> (dir. Derick Cabrido), <i>Essential Truths of the Lake</i> (dir. Lav Diaz) and <i>National Anarchist Lino Brocka</i> (dir. Khavn).</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Anyway, on to this list: any film, whether released on streaming or in a theater counts, and this is a list that belongs only to me, as you might have a very different list because everyone is different. <b>Short films are not included </b>here; they will be featured in a separate list in the third part of this writeup. Without further ado, here is</p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">John Tawasil's</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>TEN FAVORITE FILIPINO FILMS OF 2023</u></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyXnTfl5ymGfs2n3THCrsqCCfsNxyP9z42c9MyHWYLMmbLtYqRRXO239fJeKq2RnTcJUFKBz2ZeGB4efYIhYqx0b8g-rbU0LenqFVohxLWifIqyrEv4Wk2qZruc5elO_mgpQkEl_OEXs3hhSDSawDIzrgnS5rea_exRsT8zyHpWY8ugocYXl0w/s1444/love%20you%20long%20time.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1444" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyXnTfl5ymGfs2n3THCrsqCCfsNxyP9z42c9MyHWYLMmbLtYqRRXO239fJeKq2RnTcJUFKBz2ZeGB4efYIhYqx0b8g-rbU0LenqFVohxLWifIqyrEv4Wk2qZruc5elO_mgpQkEl_OEXs3hhSDSawDIzrgnS5rea_exRsT8zyHpWY8ugocYXl0w/s320/love%20you%20long%20time.jpg" width="222" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>10. Love You Long Time (dir. JP Habac)</b> - Habac's timey-wimey romance of two lovers whose worlds don't exactly align stayed with me the longest, after its surprise ending recontextualized its entire conceit. Also, Habac manipulates the frame - further experimentation from his earlier Dito at Doon - to emphasize its characters' distance.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjeKpl0CTGvf7d9pL9RSHzJmm8E10YfbcOeTu-_73zEXguZiBzwPij1535h5TpXK9PTiOMBl9Uxkwbz59EhL-f0ynHCtueHeiez7Wfosg2NhhPU8Pr0I16YUFSiBjQM-2eg_S2ucgsLt188yhUTTSZd9WdakDFaOQ9TOq70pUi6IJNn6DN1qRb/s273/download%20(3).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="273" data-original-width="184" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjeKpl0CTGvf7d9pL9RSHzJmm8E10YfbcOeTu-_73zEXguZiBzwPij1535h5TpXK9PTiOMBl9Uxkwbz59EhL-f0ynHCtueHeiez7Wfosg2NhhPU8Pr0I16YUFSiBjQM-2eg_S2ucgsLt188yhUTTSZd9WdakDFaOQ9TOq70pUi6IJNn6DN1qRb/w205-h304/download%20(3).jpg" width="205" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>9. Kampon (dir. King Palisoc)</b> - perhaps the weirdest Filipino horror movie of 2023, and I mean that in a good way. Kampon externalizes the various anxieties of parenthood into a malevolent, demonic force. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPvFZkMXuzkaIj3zhXemiJlPGIIeACW1FFRuz22q95PlKSByrBO0q1U9ufvRTcDJ-gjM30l4T9Dea3gaaWWZ0DndXyTEE_9OJ6hbneCfN0QZfREbzJhyphenhyphenmFLnxeOOVT4mO4brxba6d3zg5TthQ6v95W6XuCLKuo4CEv8_zDPjL0o6bhfvo4Pu_P/s3000/Gomburza%20Poster%20KV.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="2032" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPvFZkMXuzkaIj3zhXemiJlPGIIeACW1FFRuz22q95PlKSByrBO0q1U9ufvRTcDJ-gjM30l4T9Dea3gaaWWZ0DndXyTEE_9OJ6hbneCfN0QZfREbzJhyphenhyphenmFLnxeOOVT4mO4brxba6d3zg5TthQ6v95W6XuCLKuo4CEv8_zDPjL0o6bhfvo4Pu_P/s320/Gomburza%20Poster%20KV.jpg" width="217" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>8. Gomburza (dir. Pepe Diokno) - </b>a history film that stands in contrast to Jerrold Tarog's duology (<i>Heneral Luna, Goyo</i>) where its focus on historical fact is a reflection of its stance on truth and truth telling; an interrogation of martyrdom and how simply believing in what is right or becoming a symbol for change reverberates throughout generations.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ6x8vTcW4NhB-SUIzl5u5OmIBQBGa4lsB0yuPJWpjX4gnMYMsX6Sgm2qQZUixIZNo2Y9TtbKybplCB_RHHFroCbWQHQUBtcakdvjpB49S_hJpk4YLEM2Fh_W-bdkby2natC52pMNurTXKHLFdRY_MXGfQTohP-7_gAVMA1PHmIDmj_FQOr_yx/s275/nowhere%20ner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="275" data-original-width="183" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ6x8vTcW4NhB-SUIzl5u5OmIBQBGa4lsB0yuPJWpjX4gnMYMsX6Sgm2qQZUixIZNo2Y9TtbKybplCB_RHHFroCbWQHQUBtcakdvjpB49S_hJpk4YLEM2Fh_W-bdkby2natC52pMNurTXKHLFdRY_MXGfQTohP-7_gAVMA1PHmIDmj_FQOr_yx/s1600/nowhere%20ner.jpg" width="183" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>7. Nowhere Near (dir. Miko Revereza)</b> - what starts with Revereza's continued exploration as a stateless individual, navigating neoliberal immigration policies in America (the rollercoaster scene still lives in my brain rent free) evolves into something entirely different once Revereza comes home, or rather, comes near a perceived ideal of "home" but never really reaches it. "Home" is a bunch of cracked, dilapidated steps - the last vestiges of history, eroded by colonial tides.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIf9p0YO6c6SIvHXY8hz6HaQOpIVluQYN9Sf45nLg0DN59maOOQreT-tQnm9IZki7TIMTnrLKm1Q8Oz9IxT-P1hWVcdHAie72cMxyBZongPjLfcVpM2iZ-LQ2NPGd5TvJiKkYTJIJCT1buyDXkGuR1tztesCsFIhxB0L-WikhCRCSz3QEiAECA/s886/POSTER_Ang-Duyan-ng-Magiting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="886" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIf9p0YO6c6SIvHXY8hz6HaQOpIVluQYN9Sf45nLg0DN59maOOQreT-tQnm9IZki7TIMTnrLKm1Q8Oz9IxT-P1hWVcdHAie72cMxyBZongPjLfcVpM2iZ-LQ2NPGd5TvJiKkYTJIJCT1buyDXkGuR1tztesCsFIhxB0L-WikhCRCSz3QEiAECA/s320/POSTER_Ang-Duyan-ng-Magiting.jpg" width="217" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>6. Ang Duyan ng Magiting (dir. Dustin Celestino) - </b>discoursive, provocative - Celestino's latest navigates through all the complicated nuances of nationalism, and how it can be closely intertwined with violence of all sorts.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_NmcbLCFdQynf9IMwWOfRhodjjbRCzVQEW3w-zdW4Iqfl52R7YrdSOS7jh2dqZCN7p3oFyCRuJM3aLHXdqRYXivWFnhuRIzIJgnd7If6QfcPB65JCQVTShOPI5VY4A-xhnXTvmbWSq-Sn5Zl0IpuWcIp_L4wqDEMum1Mmk4KlJi3EHEaG8gJW/s900/POSTER_Huling-Palabas-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_NmcbLCFdQynf9IMwWOfRhodjjbRCzVQEW3w-zdW4Iqfl52R7YrdSOS7jh2dqZCN7p3oFyCRuJM3aLHXdqRYXivWFnhuRIzIJgnd7If6QfcPB65JCQVTShOPI5VY4A-xhnXTvmbWSq-Sn5Zl0IpuWcIp_L4wqDEMum1Mmk4KlJi3EHEaG8gJW/s320/POSTER_Huling-Palabas-1.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>5. Huling Palabas (dir. Ryan Machado)</b> - metamorphosis, coming of age, a record of transition from one era to the next, Huling Palabas shows time, place and person all in a state of flux, with at least the latter settling into a sense of knowing, in some capacity, one's place in the world.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgOuVfB1UJttljDIJz5k8QqJPG6XycBxDonYaA6a_uzLrZqNssnGkRgMuBAMrzMBdvnMQSshs2Occw4bA102kL6GmC4bSYGLe-vH4EX0WNLHEtbYVf-Hm2Mycpm_JSrRhhZYm_5WnvDpyFUIipXFUINoIVxYe5iS84ydhyzP7luxwyxDXp8Hrg/s900/POSTER_Iti-Mapukpukaw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgOuVfB1UJttljDIJz5k8QqJPG6XycBxDonYaA6a_uzLrZqNssnGkRgMuBAMrzMBdvnMQSshs2Occw4bA102kL6GmC4bSYGLe-vH4EX0WNLHEtbYVf-Hm2Mycpm_JSrRhhZYm_5WnvDpyFUIipXFUINoIVxYe5iS84ydhyzP7luxwyxDXp8Hrg/s320/POSTER_Iti-Mapukpukaw.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>4. Iti Mapukpukaw (dir. Carl Joseph Papa)</b> - our entry to the Academy Awards' best foreign film is one of the best choices in this year's lineup of films: an examination of trauma that isn't afraid of going to dark places; a tender and loving testament to how understanding (or at least, the attempt to understand) ultimately leads to healing. One of the best endings of any Filipino film this year.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-DzMvZZsw7mCUwQkB5Uj0BK6d-xmtgMV0fEf2SY0vB5cqWeRJ3YNa87nkp50cZwBHJxK0LYpRJBhwJo5lk9lwRFmIfUjeTzDehtNAQR0aHyWFdXgILCe189e2QZUYOGdtL4lqPVLhAXANHSkK-MLlwdVzde7AdaQvnxfMQ2UA5dRwR_Uut3Cj/s270/Third%20World%20Romance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="187" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-DzMvZZsw7mCUwQkB5Uj0BK6d-xmtgMV0fEf2SY0vB5cqWeRJ3YNa87nkp50cZwBHJxK0LYpRJBhwJo5lk9lwRFmIfUjeTzDehtNAQR0aHyWFdXgILCe189e2QZUYOGdtL4lqPVLhAXANHSkK-MLlwdVzde7AdaQvnxfMQ2UA5dRwR_Uut3Cj/s1600/Third%20World%20Romance.jpg" width="187" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>3. Third World Romance (dir. Dwein Baltazar)</b> - sadly overlooked by mainstream audiences, <i>Third World Romance</i> finds common ground with another exceptional film from world cinema: Aki Kaurismaki's <i>Fallen Leaves</i> - where two people, chained to the unfair demands of a capitalist society, try to find happiness in each other.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioxUM6tm_NqILABgH78JN4Nt5EMPI8nMunALljCHT9GlIYxwvZPJeO6aeVkyK57xKk8iEWiLl4aYp066bNMAuCcIddt2zEQoOfJAJ7M2ZIwywmJsfzE3hgvTo4aIVFnk3vglDYFsvM4QXloosZypZo06J08ht5RawYtN4aDZnHUGgQzPMj7y70/s900/POSTER_AS-IF-ITS-TRUE-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioxUM6tm_NqILABgH78JN4Nt5EMPI8nMunALljCHT9GlIYxwvZPJeO6aeVkyK57xKk8iEWiLl4aYp066bNMAuCcIddt2zEQoOfJAJ7M2ZIwywmJsfzE3hgvTo4aIVFnk3vglDYFsvM4QXloosZypZo06J08ht5RawYtN4aDZnHUGgQzPMj7y70/s320/POSTER_AS-IF-ITS-TRUE-1.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>2. As if It's True (dir. John Rogers)</b> - to me, As if It's True is an essential film that captures the nebulous state of truth in online spaces, the creation of virtual images and online personas, and the creation of subjective realities in the backdrop of a post-truth society. Its manipulation of form to further blur that distinction between what is true and what is not is unmatched by any other film that I've seen this year.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhdmo1qqOe4DDBIxHLiHghl6yXhoRrKqumZWJB3_IhUAg0bqublEv5n43bdn53F_J9VzH8gbkgeRrbdpjwPGX17rymTroT7Y2Wqz5ewXfOp1LZG6uhRZBMjIfgG8gSBtQlwyqWm0SM3IBP5p1JIpkkpzgX4ZWER6qb2OSz8zxz9SSIWYp6jqta/s889/POSTER_Gitling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="889" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhdmo1qqOe4DDBIxHLiHghl6yXhoRrKqumZWJB3_IhUAg0bqublEv5n43bdn53F_J9VzH8gbkgeRrbdpjwPGX17rymTroT7Y2Wqz5ewXfOp1LZG6uhRZBMjIfgG8gSBtQlwyqWm0SM3IBP5p1JIpkkpzgX4ZWER6qb2OSz8zxz9SSIWYp6jqta/s320/POSTER_Gitling.jpg" width="216" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>1. Gitling (dir. Jopy Arnaldo) -</b> anyone who knows me will probably figure out my choice for favorite 2023 film of the year. In my opinion, it's not even close. Wrapped in a familiar, romantic package, <i>Gitling</i> is an exploration of language, in how language shared helps us form bonds and share experiences, how the structure of language itself shares its DNA with how we deal with metatextuality in film, in the process of how we intuit the construction of sentences is not all that different in how we intuit the endings of films made many times before. Its final frames are haunting, layered with meaning, so much so that instead of watching a few more of those 160 films, I opted to watch <i>Gitling</i> one more time - and it's time well spent.</p><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Usually the remaining segment of this roundup is spent on documenting the weirdest and worst moments in Philippine Cinema, but this time let's do something different. For the final part of this 2023 roundup, I want to tell a few stories about movies that I saw this year (both good and bad), and, a few words about the future of this blog. Stay tuned.</p>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-28552420263840649432024-01-05T04:15:00.003+08:002024-01-12T23:30:50.667+08:00Present Confusion 2023 Roundup Part 1: World Cinema Favorites<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgErn5eVyYyWpZUMaFhyhbf3W7TJJIXmWdf12DMirB4dzt77m9WzL8h4sYB7ej_CfJZIdvzrDGiRS4ALFzshvuGQbLsTwnTzk_GPDSj024sBGX4NRgTwzEbFraIBkJiKGXCZej8JzjahU1n2jWzAeOscw6iXPJD7rBllFQ4iutg2q5qTn8MgGDQ/s2560/Black%20Live%20Movie%20Stream%20YouTube%20Banner.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="2560" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgErn5eVyYyWpZUMaFhyhbf3W7TJJIXmWdf12DMirB4dzt77m9WzL8h4sYB7ej_CfJZIdvzrDGiRS4ALFzshvuGQbLsTwnTzk_GPDSj024sBGX4NRgTwzEbFraIBkJiKGXCZej8JzjahU1n2jWzAeOscw6iXPJD7rBllFQ4iutg2q5qTn8MgGDQ/w400-h225/Black%20Live%20Movie%20Stream%20YouTube%20Banner.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Another year of great movies done. Hi. regular readers of this blog. It's time for me to tell you about all the films I liked in 2023.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Let's mix it up a little. In previous iterations of this roundup, we've put the world cinema selections for last. This time, let's make it first. Why? I just want to. And give that I have an announcement at the end of part 3, there's a bit of a reason for this specific order.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I think in terms of movie watching, 2023 is the first year where we truly found ourselves free of the coronavirus pandemic. And by "free", I mean the virus is totally still everywhere (transmitted even more in its entire history by some accounts) but most of us pretend it isn't there because we're all tired of this shit. People returning to the cinemas categorically includes annoying people, and predictably, twoish years of isolation in our homes messed us up in ways we are still beginning to discover. I have also been guilty of this at times, I am no saint, sometimes I even annoy myself.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Something also shifted the moviegoing public's preferences this year. For some reason, Hollywood tentpole franchise films are no longer the guaranteed financial successes that they were before the pandemic. Disney was hit hard by this shift, with many of their releases (including several movies from their vaunted MCU) barely making a fraction of their budget, and a pittance compared to their past box office glories. Audiences found themselves drawn to biopics such as <i>Oppenheimer </i>and relatively well constructed commercial products like <i>Barbie</i>.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Streaming in festival spaces died down as more festivals returned to face to face screenings, with hybrid setups rare or even gone in some instances. Various film industries geared up their production, but only time will tell how the landscape will change from here on in.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">This list includes all my favorite 2023 films that I saw in the past year; any 2022 film is counted; and ranking is relatively loose and based more on vibes than anything else. I used to say "favorites, not best" but heck, my favorite films are the best to me. This list <b>does not include Filipino films</b>, that's in a separate list. Also because I'm a weeb (or something), a lot of these films are from Japan. Go figure.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">here is a list of</p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">John Tawasil's</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><u>25 WORLD CINEMA FAVORITES 2023 EDITION</u></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3KP3DqKoQjl9-hhU1LYc6dL44cGMBwLhAiH5sib5HvQhaDDq7RnlK0dAwqRuqc00ggeWZ1H8NJ_3t93FBIJZx6ahC0bMV6-MowSQ8ytZtI41hVl6PJA_hcKhVR1fa1SQnrWU0jyxneDVgxAEO1ixEKOLxBUgEJDm3gEAGZ3a0QH2DVTeRFxRM/s268/shayda.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="268" data-original-width="188" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3KP3DqKoQjl9-hhU1LYc6dL44cGMBwLhAiH5sib5HvQhaDDq7RnlK0dAwqRuqc00ggeWZ1H8NJ_3t93FBIJZx6ahC0bMV6-MowSQ8ytZtI41hVl6PJA_hcKhVR1fa1SQnrWU0jyxneDVgxAEO1ixEKOLxBUgEJDm3gEAGZ3a0QH2DVTeRFxRM/s1600/shayda.jpg" width="188" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>25. Shayda (dir. Noora Niasari)</b> - many of the films on this list are hewn from personal experiences. Based on the director's personal experiences in a women's shelter, <i>Shayda</i> is a prayer for breath in a suffocating world where freedom feels like a distant dream.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0z5iUXWM4UVPJtbjBq37kTW0Vy6wABVVDe-VPz3api2v4keZSAbJl7c2wDwCoPVQBq89LrUzrX2GM_h4fF0UctbOAZuSlbDTodThh9c4TKMJNA0CF9ahq3b5F_QXzZXXb9uB2kggqug0_wLqPcyx1RKqUS9Tj6w6eMzi9IEf8QTK8DorTPKRU/s1333/animalia.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1333" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0z5iUXWM4UVPJtbjBq37kTW0Vy6wABVVDe-VPz3api2v4keZSAbJl7c2wDwCoPVQBq89LrUzrX2GM_h4fF0UctbOAZuSlbDTodThh9c4TKMJNA0CF9ahq3b5F_QXzZXXb9uB2kggqug0_wLqPcyx1RKqUS9Tj6w6eMzi9IEf8QTK8DorTPKRU/s320/animalia.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>24. Animalia (dir. Sofia Alaoui)</b> - Animalia is also about seeking freedom - this ambitious, imaginative mix of science fiction, horror and Islamic eschatology depicts metaphorical birds in metaphorical cages, where the end of the world ironically gives them what they need, though not necessarily what they want..</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgojNh4h5-OeSmAgy3c6tJoHroJyhmcjgTNcq0v79myBAI2Ut5-LNhqj1h5Tcl4CTxfPUU2e2NzKbDTyJf5DgTP3Z4x_MIg4gM2TJornxwmlTg_3Cx_rPTHZYS0XDSQFbNt6MleBc1ojkcJEhiPkRHcmKMFb6VQo_NvR7XeGO4BhEsv7ER-r0Nl/s1481/past%20lives.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1481" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgojNh4h5-OeSmAgy3c6tJoHroJyhmcjgTNcq0v79myBAI2Ut5-LNhqj1h5Tcl4CTxfPUU2e2NzKbDTyJf5DgTP3Z4x_MIg4gM2TJornxwmlTg_3Cx_rPTHZYS0XDSQFbNt6MleBc1ojkcJEhiPkRHcmKMFb6VQo_NvR7XeGO4BhEsv7ER-r0Nl/s320/past%20lives.jpg" width="216" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>23. Past Lives (dir. Celine Song)</b> - this was dangerously close to not being included in this list, but I do so after a rewatch where I fixated on John Magaro's character, where I read the film not necessarily as a story about fated love, but a film about endless regret; a film not necessarily about immigrants, but a film about trying to understand them; not necessarily a film about those who leave and those left behind, but instead about the people who choose to stay and the people who keep those people where they are. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbrPsh6Ma5c6R4VWxI1_eWvf8UwClieeU_2qCpe664vyYe_WTDuNGiyksphCB68Z-hjsM23gyzxDkf7ZLbi9Y0zam7GEqqEzpbdzXQchf00qVoN-4uMMJ6abxhF2Ng-nBb-cSSzSIN_4ikmLPVDINiQuCIlayeqIAg6_vQ5qNOVDOu-7V0O5I7/s1061/slam%20dunk.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1061" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbrPsh6Ma5c6R4VWxI1_eWvf8UwClieeU_2qCpe664vyYe_WTDuNGiyksphCB68Z-hjsM23gyzxDkf7ZLbi9Y0zam7GEqqEzpbdzXQchf00qVoN-4uMMJ6abxhF2Ng-nBb-cSSzSIN_4ikmLPVDINiQuCIlayeqIAg6_vQ5qNOVDOu-7V0O5I7/s320/slam%20dunk.jpg" width="226" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>22. The First Slam Dunk (dir. Takehiko Inoue)</b> - Slam Dunk fans have been waiting years - even decades - for a final conclusion to the story, and this is a near-perfect way of doing so, Inoue proving he has a grasp of film as skilled as his grasp on manga. And even for non-fans, The First Slam Dunk is a wonderful, exhilarating film that will keep you on the edge of your seat up until that final buzzer.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj1zwXBX7PVe__kDVhy3pktlOMYPy9WL7kug8Ij_AHxOdRuEV13e-aA9qdW_FMECbivlyiecBCJOXmXXp2cU_kA2HnPadeo5ugvTFRJQX-R428j_ZZu6_m21VucJXuyPt5Knp5Mh6qN9yQUltsJRNRLv_AkHjnruCi9mYY32PFXwdXXiQUbaL3/s3000/concrete%20utopia.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj1zwXBX7PVe__kDVhy3pktlOMYPy9WL7kug8Ij_AHxOdRuEV13e-aA9qdW_FMECbivlyiecBCJOXmXXp2cU_kA2HnPadeo5ugvTFRJQX-R428j_ZZu6_m21VucJXuyPt5Knp5Mh6qN9yQUltsJRNRLv_AkHjnruCi9mYY32PFXwdXXiQUbaL3/s320/concrete%20utopia.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>21. Concrete Utopia (dir. Um Tae-hwa)</b> - in the space of two hours and ten minutes, through propulsive, compelling filmmaking, Um Tae-hwa creates a microcosm of the human condition, and shows humanity in all its flawed glory: equal parts civilized and barbaric, equal parts enlightened being and savage animal all in one.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtRcw3jipv2kIKUNPNsiMUtHYl4PBqegOXOb2fqZIBbDzLjoax6nwCTN8pV5AaELYX1kl2n1yob8ShCtnEkf8A0pKbqMVGhEnYEfetwc8PfeJoArhJQSkxaGsRizQTY7ZVPRVoBLIiInVjJrpMjKoF3lmf3i6fgOfAPqA5h-UICmQEc2tE43ux/s785/lonely%20glory.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="785" data-original-width="556" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtRcw3jipv2kIKUNPNsiMUtHYl4PBqegOXOb2fqZIBbDzLjoax6nwCTN8pV5AaELYX1kl2n1yob8ShCtnEkf8A0pKbqMVGhEnYEfetwc8PfeJoArhJQSkxaGsRizQTY7ZVPRVoBLIiInVjJrpMjKoF3lmf3i6fgOfAPqA5h-UICmQEc2tE43ux/s320/lonely%20glory.jpg" width="227" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>20. Lonely Glory (dir. Keitaro Sakon)</b> - I enjoy a good villain story - or rather, a story about a protagonist so ruthless in their design, so doggedly stubborn in their desire to achieve their goal, that only in retrospect do they see the wreckage (both human or otherwise) in their wake. With a career-highlight performance by Kokoro Morita, Lonely Glory surprised me in ways I didn't expect.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiubs4WlaSZnBDKC37X0O3__VOSc3Po7dOgZOgnx52YC5zCVS1-YX6tbnTcuSHy0Lc23FAZAs6UJw3GViwRFGchJikKkmNIlXbkN5ZhVALEtCJSXbF506KGjfhuv2mfud6XyjrUXQMtsVIcq5PjudwyCX25HbZ7CVqiwplwqXe2m1CA4xzd3jD9/s1481/poor%20things.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1481" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiubs4WlaSZnBDKC37X0O3__VOSc3Po7dOgZOgnx52YC5zCVS1-YX6tbnTcuSHy0Lc23FAZAs6UJw3GViwRFGchJikKkmNIlXbkN5ZhVALEtCJSXbF506KGjfhuv2mfud6XyjrUXQMtsVIcq5PjudwyCX25HbZ7CVqiwplwqXe2m1CA4xzd3jD9/s320/poor%20things.jpg" width="216" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>19. Poor Things (dir. Yorgos Lanthimos)</b> - Yorgos at perhaps his funniest and most twisted, <i>Barbie</i> without the corporate paradox and flawed iconography, a claiming of self drenched in sex and violence, messy and flawed and even problematic, but ultimately a blast to experience and autopsy its various little parts.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrVXI2IUBE5xeHRCWXJh3cLUO1sca-hPnygxiqpNlk0ufe9xr4caszmbhBYbYemb6kMsLChaE4TPSh_YIzxaSgUvNlWHUeq-q1ODPPScm4SQTnfGQNPke8KQXbwrq4V9II-Etj6SQuLB6kbiY4hTe1g-eVCp2cF9fphC1WSfK2dW91NpvVL9-q/s802/ryuichi%20sakamoto%20opus.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="802" data-original-width="560" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrVXI2IUBE5xeHRCWXJh3cLUO1sca-hPnygxiqpNlk0ufe9xr4caszmbhBYbYemb6kMsLChaE4TPSh_YIzxaSgUvNlWHUeq-q1ODPPScm4SQTnfGQNPke8KQXbwrq4V9II-Etj6SQuLB6kbiY4hTe1g-eVCp2cF9fphC1WSfK2dW91NpvVL9-q/s320/ryuichi%20sakamoto%20opus.jpg" width="223" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>18. Ryuichi Sakamoto Opus (dir. Neo Sora)</b> - one of my most personal picks in this list. Opus is my favorite concert film of the year, a solemn yet powerful goodbye to a peerless artist who gave and gave to his art until, in the end, there was nothing at all. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6LcBUiaAy8CkOOjuakSghcM5nXA9IyvF1mCzjBtVF3TkZdKnzpimfzThrCbTHjINounF1Ixr_JmwTx5Z2ESvXz3fB0_d_lMlEUDSEAaoQRVdJJtIx5wzxBWaY_VUnc1mp1lkR9MmmplXqknXsawAak_Bt5WrDcJgDcQBx9srKLS_tUdB42t5y/s633/seventeeners.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="633" data-original-width="431" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6LcBUiaAy8CkOOjuakSghcM5nXA9IyvF1mCzjBtVF3TkZdKnzpimfzThrCbTHjINounF1Ixr_JmwTx5Z2ESvXz3fB0_d_lMlEUDSEAaoQRVdJJtIx5wzxBWaY_VUnc1mp1lkR9MmmplXqknXsawAak_Bt5WrDcJgDcQBx9srKLS_tUdB42t5y/s320/seventeeners.jpg" width="218" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>17. Seventeeners (dir. Prithvi Konanur)</b> - a harrowing portrait of two people who otherwise mean well and want to do the right thing, but whose hands are tied because of a society more concerned with appearances rather than what is right.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTLts85nfAAGnQY041ZSshvRDPpaZfXWp3D9qmM19FwAwr9WTtRDGCRCKq94mkBh5iIWSJ_5fnxKo4xLmB0lowp0UFoes5WzuJNGzjhxyDKOsVsdGbMKJOb1H9TZyu_Dp_IkEkAGyzjeju8xTA8Stc7v1qs860EaxXHxHt92JBv5pIqgUHBfwS/s1446/killers%20of%20the%20flower%20moon.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1446" data-original-width="1170" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTLts85nfAAGnQY041ZSshvRDPpaZfXWp3D9qmM19FwAwr9WTtRDGCRCKq94mkBh5iIWSJ_5fnxKo4xLmB0lowp0UFoes5WzuJNGzjhxyDKOsVsdGbMKJOb1H9TZyu_Dp_IkEkAGyzjeju8xTA8Stc7v1qs860EaxXHxHt92JBv5pIqgUHBfwS/s320/killers%20of%20the%20flower%20moon.jpeg" width="259" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>16. Killers of the Flower Moon (dir. Martin Scorsese)</b> - not the best Scorsese, but still a cutting exploration of race, guilt, of perspective, heck, of storytelling itself. Dismantles its source novel's mystery setup and transforms it into an indictment of shameless white American greed.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUmqTpFnIaaezqm4AeOs7cdN5tkA-w9xAd5L7AZsda6UrzCJRKrMkR1jc8W0IQAnXofA2QtWf7V1cNkmPsjqP8tR72G6upceg0rVDYXXHaUwlcuQKVINMQGOmNn5RCAgTGY_MDQHeHvv68DVPBxIys5s5QtV-4nn1AwbkvxBbWTDMDPXdQ7KrI/s1356/the%20taste%20of%20things.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1356" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUmqTpFnIaaezqm4AeOs7cdN5tkA-w9xAd5L7AZsda6UrzCJRKrMkR1jc8W0IQAnXofA2QtWf7V1cNkmPsjqP8tR72G6upceg0rVDYXXHaUwlcuQKVINMQGOmNn5RCAgTGY_MDQHeHvv68DVPBxIys5s5QtV-4nn1AwbkvxBbWTDMDPXdQ7KrI/s320/the%20taste%20of%20things.jpg" width="236" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>15. The Taste of Things (dir. Tran Anh Hung)</b> - I never expected to cry to food (in a non hangry context, mind you) this year, but I did, and for good reason. It made me happy, it made me sad, it made me hungry, and it's such a lovely depiction of the many ways we express our love.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJGzS9J4J-m0c4_p6DpKo2qWJHRZPO10CMtY-B2vFHzYUS0EkKFlPSTZtM79StHIZzpWf5Gz6An7lxA-VR7ve8oFwFRLwvmlon4aZ2RWA4nYticjT78iRXnBeKVxcUASipixFLPTVIeI_NOuVOvQIeSy6Dmb8BmJefBZVFPnHlSZKCNlpQc85_/s4096/blue%20giant.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="2895" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJGzS9J4J-m0c4_p6DpKo2qWJHRZPO10CMtY-B2vFHzYUS0EkKFlPSTZtM79StHIZzpWf5Gz6An7lxA-VR7ve8oFwFRLwvmlon4aZ2RWA4nYticjT78iRXnBeKVxcUASipixFLPTVIeI_NOuVOvQIeSy6Dmb8BmJefBZVFPnHlSZKCNlpQc85_/s320/blue%20giant.jpg" width="226" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>14. Blue Giant (dir. Yuzuru Tachikawa) </b>- I've been disappointed by many "jazz" films that only use the medium as a platform in the service of another story, but I've never seen a film that embodies Jazz itself: a chaotic yet somehow synergistic mishmash of creative energy and technical skill. In its musical sections and through a mix of 2d and 3d animation, Blue Giant captures in cinema form the essence of what Jazz is and what it means to fans of that musical genre. Remarkably, it gives up on the fight of proper adaptation - aware of the medium's shortcomings to cover everything, it depicts its source manga in an appropriately jazz-like fashion by riffing on the text. It shouldn't work, but it does, and the result is amazing.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs8ksQVpfjKNK8YG_bMlvY1m135DaJr57H6x1uP79lIlwwPPr81i0wCiAqsS4eqP3MxFjCcKun8hOxQufcYZ5bG3EQSNZRBhySkcAqVRGAsC3u4ueYxWm0maO5n_kxE6KJqhCZwCP_bDP-d82vj2nyraGM1Kr5DazNXf_LEpVsHsXAekdOC3h_/s3000/abang%20adik.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs8ksQVpfjKNK8YG_bMlvY1m135DaJr57H6x1uP79lIlwwPPr81i0wCiAqsS4eqP3MxFjCcKun8hOxQufcYZ5bG3EQSNZRBhySkcAqVRGAsC3u4ueYxWm0maO5n_kxE6KJqhCZwCP_bDP-d82vj2nyraGM1Kr5DazNXf_LEpVsHsXAekdOC3h_/s320/abang%20adik.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>13. Abang Adik (dir. Lay Jin Ong)</b> - an astonishing, gripping film about what it means to be an unseen son of Malaysia whose loudest, most powerful scene is drenched in silence.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj62vHNDvQMBg7Tb2b1fGKc6CCgO_If7uKSJWNkJwOgQ07M7e-7xu03FsysoLFArcWOpjh0NE9YDOPjWJ753uWxHpJnYlH2J40hW5FYlltiAt3TxM2AUzstlnEndXRG2RkyDeAyaivIpNq3DEY0DFPk6afQhlo6kGi91W6fAJEnbhupYwcpVqby/s1000/shin%20kamen%20rider.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="718" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj62vHNDvQMBg7Tb2b1fGKc6CCgO_If7uKSJWNkJwOgQ07M7e-7xu03FsysoLFArcWOpjh0NE9YDOPjWJ753uWxHpJnYlH2J40hW5FYlltiAt3TxM2AUzstlnEndXRG2RkyDeAyaivIpNq3DEY0DFPk6afQhlo6kGi91W6fAJEnbhupYwcpVqby/s320/shin%20kamen%20rider.jpg" width="230" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>12. Shin Kamen Rider (dir. Hideaki Anno) - </b>introspective Hideaki Anno is best Hideaki Anno. Anno frames this legendary tokusatsu hero's story as a meditation on loneliness, our desire to form relationships with an 'other', and how people are both heaven and hell in turn.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjthA3BwECzgys279C53AK0J_NnRC7_JOijcyGupQY_341T0hnQIX2XPaO8LIRKfCBsSeWZaQoQRre_lED3L4hbbgaGAyRPvVif1dlBVy0niTgMt-nsUjO56IHa81whZ1lm4HRmn3_9Bwp3aF7GK0W16zP0uCmEkuM8X3_Y31dp3xNFsWvAaVCn/s1428/io%20capitano.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1428" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjthA3BwECzgys279C53AK0J_NnRC7_JOijcyGupQY_341T0hnQIX2XPaO8LIRKfCBsSeWZaQoQRre_lED3L4hbbgaGAyRPvVif1dlBVy0niTgMt-nsUjO56IHa81whZ1lm4HRmn3_9Bwp3aF7GK0W16zP0uCmEkuM8X3_Y31dp3xNFsWvAaVCn/s320/io%20capitano.jpg" width="224" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>11. Io Capitano (dir. Matteo Garrone) - </b>I expected this film to be bleak, and in a way, it is: in this oddysey, many people are left by the wayside. But what blew me away in this film by Matteo Garrone are the small glimpses of humanity, kindness and hope despite it all.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyVMEKeVpEELutVT1Vs8Zw-5bm_eCfYB20OdOfX_d6qwjfBy-xNWhKaD8IrvWwWBON6xdZJIh2Tygx67iT6xyj9iBO6XWOgX5RSRf0vxwvVv6YznPbPqgzK_1GvBZCN5Hof9SN3i4oUa7pKMYGg2YnMPZcd9BO8IYRcREFDcwr6uav5kbOEu5L/s1491/jigarthanda%20doublex.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1491" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyVMEKeVpEELutVT1Vs8Zw-5bm_eCfYB20OdOfX_d6qwjfBy-xNWhKaD8IrvWwWBON6xdZJIh2Tygx67iT6xyj9iBO6XWOgX5RSRf0vxwvVv6YznPbPqgzK_1GvBZCN5Hof9SN3i4oUa7pKMYGg2YnMPZcd9BO8IYRcREFDcwr6uav5kbOEu5L/s320/jigarthanda%20doublex.jpg" width="232" /></a></div><b><p style="text-align: justify;"><b><br /></b></p>10. Jigarthanda Double X (dir. Karthik Subbaraj)</b> - I admit, even for a slight romantic such as myself, Karthik Subbaraj's manifesto for the power of cinema to change society is a tad too idealistic, but it's presented with such enthusiasm and love for Tamil Cinema (and cinema in general) that I couldn't help but get swept away in it all.<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDr5zpyE109HacQAlWVrSruFoY9gtQLr19i-dC3Q6-9tf-XK5pX27yJksq8nWsHN4umPJlAiIlFqJ0-Dcaw9oPyuhTAWgK4anC6QFgXEq-KT_2gdHpv3GV81m0S4sOFnokmtGlLBULC8HSyeaGkzOjBT3nBe2La4f7KpBrqHbdAkF24PtOMrAz/s2187/river.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2187" data-original-width="1548" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDr5zpyE109HacQAlWVrSruFoY9gtQLr19i-dC3Q6-9tf-XK5pX27yJksq8nWsHN4umPJlAiIlFqJ0-Dcaw9oPyuhTAWgK4anC6QFgXEq-KT_2gdHpv3GV81m0S4sOFnokmtGlLBULC8HSyeaGkzOjBT3nBe2La4f7KpBrqHbdAkF24PtOMrAz/s320/river.jpg" width="227" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>9. River (dir. Junta Yamaguchi)</b> - Junta Yamaguchi has shown with his two feature films how much he enjoys playing around with the medium, telling fantastically structured stories that transcend their gimmick and are legitimately a fun time at the cinema. It's way more fun than many movies with ten times the budget, which is proof that a good movie just needs a good idea executed wonderfully.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmmg4oR_2FBPXtcj-GRIXaOPODEWGtRoQP-21ps8sGGkXBhfIiqSy8CtWYeUu4tJ2GnrjZkh5ys93tXX43z2_V0Nh3Dywc091iMEnclGdtfpAyFtC7Tq8SUsTVu0d1ZGwZSOZR-pDyoBB6vdAfwa6b0GLv4KGyzTbteNaeqsqVkSnu9_G3b-O_/s1500/do%20not%20expect%20too%20much%20eme%20eme.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmmg4oR_2FBPXtcj-GRIXaOPODEWGtRoQP-21ps8sGGkXBhfIiqSy8CtWYeUu4tJ2GnrjZkh5ys93tXX43z2_V0Nh3Dywc091iMEnclGdtfpAyFtC7Tq8SUsTVu0d1ZGwZSOZR-pDyoBB6vdAfwa6b0GLv4KGyzTbteNaeqsqVkSnu9_G3b-O_/s320/do%20not%20expect%20too%20much%20eme%20eme.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>8. Do Not Expect Too Much From The End of The World (dir. Radu Jude)</b> - this uncompromising, biting satire of the state of Romania (in both senses of the word) and how its lessons stay unlearned in the course of generations made this one of the most surprising films I've seen this year.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH5vhWn6FGBkBCfMUeALhrEq1cTj78U5HDCV1DCvXTG7kYT5wggyuS5kJJSJv1-INNzlEcKZ459ZJnNdbglcxZ76shVHUnFTWxp2o3WH8IbMt3jiuazSjxgeb2Qm67wvPHdk97KC3A-vvwRo758oRG0oaRbcpL_qq2tDWyzXkRfVWln5pTuUI4/s267/a%20man.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="189" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH5vhWn6FGBkBCfMUeALhrEq1cTj78U5HDCV1DCvXTG7kYT5wggyuS5kJJSJv1-INNzlEcKZ459ZJnNdbglcxZ76shVHUnFTWxp2o3WH8IbMt3jiuazSjxgeb2Qm67wvPHdk97KC3A-vvwRo758oRG0oaRbcpL_qq2tDWyzXkRfVWln5pTuUI4/w208-h294/a%20man.jpg" width="208" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>7. A Man (dir. Kei Ishikawa)</b> - one of my early favorite films of 2023, Kei Ishikawa's A Man interrogates the notion of identity through Japan's 'disappeared people,' or <i>Jouhatsu</i>. At times strange and obtuse yet very compelling, it is in a way a spiritual brother to Shohei Imamura's <i>A Man Vanishes (1967)</i>.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUI9EDMb3PBsnjxqvwl5ttByTEn61wEh_T4KeP86NZHilvkGGLeSU1_esCqwZfz8rvA_MHtXJeFzFacLg4xvwwWYPAeaIzSbibTUUY8BnciwuaKicc5xsCX0DGBWVWJXgcxGm6MMXJulsIDAeOjM4bSgfazgDroIfgAxKAlT59a0Sz-78JAJ62/s1061/abnormal%20desire.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1061" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUI9EDMb3PBsnjxqvwl5ttByTEn61wEh_T4KeP86NZHilvkGGLeSU1_esCqwZfz8rvA_MHtXJeFzFacLg4xvwwWYPAeaIzSbibTUUY8BnciwuaKicc5xsCX0DGBWVWJXgcxGm6MMXJulsIDAeOjM4bSgfazgDroIfgAxKAlT59a0Sz-78JAJ62/s320/abnormal%20desire.jpeg" width="226" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>6. Abnormal Desire (dir. Yoshiyuki Kishi)</b> - Another film that unexpectedly blew me out of the water (was that a pun? lol) This film deals with a sensitive subject in such a tender, human way that I found it quite remarkable, showing its human characters in all their dimensions, good or bad. Also, such an unexpected turn from Yui Aragaki.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKTK-1KltRCSQxN6aOglNnchohwJ1RWCf7q62qYdMFS9bA1k4NWisuTeMK67IZ_ntuoO5nBO3HaDq4eZtDdrbVzg-kSkM02bwLB6BMJa_k_MNIgEKEZeXU1-NVJH0uewj8Ui1CuRQXFOOkOSeg3psuBAC2dN1z9sDuIJdHnaiJ46_OwWSoIL-Z/s1519/perfect%20days.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1519" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKTK-1KltRCSQxN6aOglNnchohwJ1RWCf7q62qYdMFS9bA1k4NWisuTeMK67IZ_ntuoO5nBO3HaDq4eZtDdrbVzg-kSkM02bwLB6BMJa_k_MNIgEKEZeXU1-NVJH0uewj8Ui1CuRQXFOOkOSeg3psuBAC2dN1z9sDuIJdHnaiJ46_OwWSoIL-Z/s320/perfect%20days.jpg" width="211" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>5. Perfect Days (dir. Wim Wenders)</b> - no film has wanted me to clean toilets in Japan like this one (I <i>may</i> have visited one of those fantastic toilets a few days ago and left a game of tic tac toe). Wender's latest is a solemn look into the life of an ordinary man who chooses to stop as the world moves around him; a rock quietly sitting in a raging stream.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYBwNIERSbqF_633F33VO4i1iYd7uWcfkQlV60Rcqlk1I5NdIYpvEccX2jVh7Im6g715cQtIbpKury7-jfTrli-qlZViYu5qKKFT5_DwfCuH61PnlUnQCXM2m-yI2sj6BNA4e_AfSiF_cHHA4oWRPxZlLPlN4yrN-c5uaFkUzLX113rpTD7zEH/s2048/godzilla%20minus%20one.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYBwNIERSbqF_633F33VO4i1iYd7uWcfkQlV60Rcqlk1I5NdIYpvEccX2jVh7Im6g715cQtIbpKury7-jfTrli-qlZViYu5qKKFT5_DwfCuH61PnlUnQCXM2m-yI2sj6BNA4e_AfSiF_cHHA4oWRPxZlLPlN4yrN-c5uaFkUzLX113rpTD7zEH/s320/godzilla%20minus%20one.jpg" width="226" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>4. Godzilla Minus One (dir. Takashi Yamazaki)</b> - my favorite franchise film of the year that is frankly light years beyond anything Hollywood has produced in 2023, if only because it recognizes spectacle unto itself does not make a good movie, that metatextuality has ruined the notion of American blockbuster filmmaking, that good characters always elevate a decent movie into an excellent one, and that people aren't exactly tired of franchise films - they're tired of bad ones. RRR showed Hollywood that lesson last year, hopefully they'll get the message this time.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS-lIaBWyBvcHFz2ibxOEq8rYqOl_sDrOh-JMWZZOosY0l6dAG1hqCewuVOT_9UvoqsL3MMxBfTwbanZm0XWmkY6-LdbG6Rd2Xzc3k5lhlTcOAuOm49LWGF1mG1XmFqbTdhQUXl6bssRlRwGhB_m5ZnT6Pbvby3kxPTxyD4MpMQFebcdpnEd4Q/s662/not%20friends.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="662" data-original-width="463" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS-lIaBWyBvcHFz2ibxOEq8rYqOl_sDrOh-JMWZZOosY0l6dAG1hqCewuVOT_9UvoqsL3MMxBfTwbanZm0XWmkY6-LdbG6Rd2Xzc3k5lhlTcOAuOm49LWGF1mG1XmFqbTdhQUXl6bssRlRwGhB_m5ZnT6Pbvby3kxPTxyD4MpMQFebcdpnEd4Q/s320/not%20friends.jpg" width="224" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>3. Not Friends (dir. Atta Hemwadee) - </b>In the past few years Thailand always had a place in this list, usually for a film that reaches beyond its mainstream bounds and achieves something quite lovely. What starts off as a fun love letter to filmmaking shifts in its second act into an examination of friendship itself, and how we move and inspire each other in small yet profound, invisible yet deeply felt ways. I can only speak for myself, but I found it all deeply moving.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnyirJFOAN48Em-IH0nOtFexcJ0j-Q62Zjwqe1CXC4iglQjMhcuXV_vuMO1g4Tynt6bko5FkljCSAYaFPYpp0VXfjy-feFintcndMlpGGSbVy5bG71PB6kgaWQwy6W7tX5I4pi_q6CNS4SVBuZutb1jO7K5Mb0g7ITXJuV6bgk0cBA3S9Iwv72/s1386/evil%20does%20not%20exist.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1386" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnyirJFOAN48Em-IH0nOtFexcJ0j-Q62Zjwqe1CXC4iglQjMhcuXV_vuMO1g4Tynt6bko5FkljCSAYaFPYpp0VXfjy-feFintcndMlpGGSbVy5bG71PB6kgaWQwy6W7tX5I4pi_q6CNS4SVBuZutb1jO7K5Mb0g7ITXJuV6bgk0cBA3S9Iwv72/s320/evil%20does%20not%20exist.jpg" width="231" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>2. Evil Does Not Exist (dir. Ryusuke Hamaguchi)</b> - Hamaguchi's examination of human nature, on the nature and perception of 'evil', and the violence imposed by capitalist interest on indigenous and rural spaces is riveting cinema that lives in my mind rent free ever since I watched it a few months ago.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiINJvoizIFX46HA-pYaFu4Rak1Xrh9OAFZ1gn0rNM_Adyn2BmnWst02QSxfn84WU2QzGBBwIQCka-HrYCUAynWlMI_SiQbtG5x5bl3kdHLdtyjMoEOUV6ZPGl21EMxNPbvzHJc6kIbK21LCfNRigPnkBxZIP7zp_T-UQ7C0nslqP_EM6yAKTIx/s1466/monster.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1466" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiINJvoizIFX46HA-pYaFu4Rak1Xrh9OAFZ1gn0rNM_Adyn2BmnWst02QSxfn84WU2QzGBBwIQCka-HrYCUAynWlMI_SiQbtG5x5bl3kdHLdtyjMoEOUV6ZPGl21EMxNPbvzHJc6kIbK21LCfNRigPnkBxZIP7zp_T-UQ7C0nslqP_EM6yAKTIx/s320/monster.jpg" width="218" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><b>1. Monster (dir. Hirokazu Kore-eda)</b> - what is a monster? A parent who acts out only in loving service to their child? An education system that devours well-meaning educators and strips them of the ability to express their empathy? Misunderstood people who only want the opportunity to love? Or a society that shuns anyone who strays from the norm? In gentle yet devastating strokes, Kore-eda paints a picture where everyone is seen as a monster in their own ways, but are only human beings trying to live out their lives the way they want.</p><p style="text-align: center;">***</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Next up is a list of 10 of my favorite Filipino Films so stay tuned for that.</p>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-64507260077585058492024-01-02T02:25:00.006+08:002024-01-02T02:25:54.423+08:00MMFF 2023 | Becky and Badette<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhygBsQaQBw7XU9driW_IZx84kM9de_wASwaCNrbSrrkxyDcj2dA6wKkpwrwBZPDmUzB2i4XiRylvGkbpBz1m1EKWmFSlj9mKsKXSBMWlHGksWZ9ORKHUrI0lqe6YbXlOgyyYVNSuEPQwbme1Ajqx0ff2o-fS5NZmvqRmiTbMOBKWdWEPNfmiP7/s1140/BECKY_BADETTE.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1140" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhygBsQaQBw7XU9driW_IZx84kM9de_wASwaCNrbSrrkxyDcj2dA6wKkpwrwBZPDmUzB2i4XiRylvGkbpBz1m1EKWmFSlj9mKsKXSBMWlHGksWZ9ORKHUrI0lqe6YbXlOgyyYVNSuEPQwbme1Ajqx0ff2o-fS5NZmvqRmiTbMOBKWdWEPNfmiP7/s320/BECKY_BADETTE.jpg" width="216" /> </a></p><div style="text-align: justify;">Becky (Eugene Domingo) and Badette (Pokwang) live relatively humdrum lives as janitresses for a corporation. On the side, they try to pursue their dreams: Becky makes music and Badette goes to various auditions. But success is elusive for the duo, and they are mostly left either unrecognized or looked down upon by their peers.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">That changes, however, when during a class reunion, Becky makes a drunken statement saying that she and Badette are in a relationsihp. Their story inspires many and the two gain the stardom they've always wished for - but success based on a lie eternally teeters on a precipice, and some people begin to plot their downfall.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">First and foremost, Jun Lana's <i>Becky and Badette</i> is a comedy, and in my opinion, a good one - ever since I saw Pokwang and Eugene Domingo together earlier this year in Lana's <i>Ten Little Mistresses</i>, I wanted a film with these two. It works, though perhaps the comedy would be better served if Lana let go of his restraint a lot more (Wenn Deramas' absence is deeply felt here.) Nevertheless, there are references to many films both old and new, especially Danny Zialcita's T-Bird at Ako, from which this story draws inspiration.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">There is a little quirk as the film reaches its climax, where Becky realizes something about herself, though sadly the thought isn't explored as much as I would have wanted.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But the film also asks a question of us: who should tell the stories of queer people? The obvious answer is that queer or LGBTQ+ people should be able to tell their own stories. In faking their relationship, not only are they profiting from this lie, but they contribute indirectly to the erasure of queer stories. Aside from that, Lana emphasizes the importance of accountability for such actions - otherwise, without it, people may be emboldened to do it again.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The ownership of stories is important. When one owns a story and when the work of art that emerges accurately portrays one's lived experiences, <i>that</i> is representation, and nothing is more important. My thoughts stray back towards T-Bird at Ako. It's writer, Portia Ilagan, is a member of the LGBTQ community. Even in the eighties, despite the limitations of a conservative and creatively limiting society, we gave spaces for queer and LGBTQ creatives to tell their stories. In a candy coated, 'mainstream' comedic wrapper, Becky and Badette reminds us that that idea will always be important.</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p></p>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-10620603268923636882023-12-27T13:11:00.005+08:002023-12-27T13:19:43.682+08:00MMFF 2023 | Penduko, Kampon, When I Met You In Tokyo, Mallari <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2VkjSCDAReyTh7F0JCVdGgX_rae1DgzMbuTCt5LPFcwctGCdUr4KbG3fAvSBIEMo-AEqpncv87GS1O_j1fsKAcvcTCzCXHR-sIG0Fq6vgLaQkgSvzBisKfJpGaM2_cWxFuvEU2oJeA_y6vsX1HaCcnRAAEpfAq4Dqm5dz_Gs6BdeQQ5oHeVQs/s273/download%20(2).jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="273" data-original-width="184" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2VkjSCDAReyTh7F0JCVdGgX_rae1DgzMbuTCt5LPFcwctGCdUr4KbG3fAvSBIEMo-AEqpncv87GS1O_j1fsKAcvcTCzCXHR-sIG0Fq6vgLaQkgSvzBisKfJpGaM2_cWxFuvEU2oJeA_y6vsX1HaCcnRAAEpfAq4Dqm5dz_Gs6BdeQQ5oHeVQs/s1600/download%20(2).jpg" width="184" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Created by national artist Francisco Conching, the character of Pedro Penduko draws from a rich tapestry of Filipino folklore. Using his skills, insight and magical tools, Pedro Penduko uses his abilities to fight evil and protect the land. Perhaps Filipinos will be familiar with earlier versions of the character, such as a two movie series where Janno Gibbs played the titular hero, or the long running TV series starring Matt Evans. Either way, this film seems like an interesting way to reintroduce the character to a whole new generation of fans. But what ultimately happens to many superhero films - a long production process and script changes - seems to have happened here in some capacity, leading to a pastiche of superhero and franchise tropes that work in some parts, while faltering in others.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Penduko (Matteo Guidicelli) lives an otherwise unremarkable life in the city, using his powers to get high and scam <i>perya</i> employees (not necessarily in that order). Helping fellow bettors is 'collateral damage', as he usually does this for his own gain. One day, he is recruited into a secret organization of local sorcerers whose task is to ostensibly fight evil and protect the good guys.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">This part of the film looks like it draws from many different sources: Harry Potter, My Hero Academia, similar school-themed anime and other media. Penduko is a bright student and he learns to excel in healing and warding off curses, which is done as fights in a separate virtual/mental space. At least in this regard, the worldbuilding works well to create an interesting milieu for our friends to play in.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But then one notices that the uniforms are military coded, and sorcerers are referred to as agents. The subtext isn't very subtle here. Penduko then finds itself under the umbrella of a different organization, one that operates 'outside' the fantasy world's 'law,' but one that, in essence, isn't as different as the organization he originally came from. The movie comments on the notion of systems and groups (meant for the common good of all) that are ultimately co-opted in the service of a few. The film also asks the moral question of how exactly do we go about extinguishing a clear and present evil: that is, if we become tainted by that evil in the process, is it worth it? Does the end truly justify the means?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">That's all and good, but unfortunately, like director Jason Paul Laxamana's other forays into genre (<i>Pwera Usog, Instalado</i>) they serve as setup for an idea that's not completely fleshed out by the end. What happens to the organizations Penduko leaves? What about his friends? What are the repercussions of the events of the film in this world that I honestly want to explore more? This film feels like the first part of a series and is barely a self contained story. If Viva has plans to expand the series that would be fine, but if the series stops here, then that would be very unfortunate. This isn't necessarily Penduko's problem, but a problem of franchise filmmaking in general.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Matteo Guidicelli does his best in the role, but I feel he is miscast (if anything, he'd be a good fit for the character of Saki, I think). His being a half foreign actor playing a half foreign character seems to be a holdover from a past version of the script, when James Reid was still attached to the role and the character was depicted having a mixed heritage. I don't think Reid would've been an improvement over Guidicelli, though given that the premise of the film (and Penduko's heritage?) is now different, maybe someone else would be suited for the role. Heck, Alamat did a great ending song for this film, get one of them to play the part.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Penduko feels like a film from MMFF's past. It has a ton of very interesting ideas, but the ideas don't always work out.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi65Gt_YW9kc9i_2LI-vF62ayxZpwHeaedCEnSpZRrDK0osG3rf93MYnNY5jk-zRPqict3oeK6rM3pk8koQqkkIjijU-GC27QIgBDnFJeVovC1211tpsvIxzXi5PrQifQThC6XhpkKSdnr2pFM5p-cTb6JMnoJRlTU9KtM_bQcqhC8_QmBZmwWs/s273/download%20(3).jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="273" data-original-width="184" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi65Gt_YW9kc9i_2LI-vF62ayxZpwHeaedCEnSpZRrDK0osG3rf93MYnNY5jk-zRPqict3oeK6rM3pk8koQqkkIjijU-GC27QIgBDnFJeVovC1211tpsvIxzXi5PrQifQThC6XhpkKSdnr2pFM5p-cTb6JMnoJRlTU9KtM_bQcqhC8_QmBZmwWs/s1600/download%20(3).jpg" width="184" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">When I was a child I always imagined having at least three children - maybe a boy and two girls. Decades later, I no longer want children - in this economy? With my pittance of an income? But relatives and friends often ask me and my wife when we're going to have children. We mostly avoid the question now as we don't want to waste time on arguments.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">For Clark (Derek Ramsay) and Eileen (Beauty Gonzalez), it's the opposite - they want to have a family but they can't. Clark's impotence weighs down on him, and after many attempts at IVF, he's all but given up and the couple is considering adoption. The first half of the film builds on this tension, wrapped in mundane domesticity, as the two of them grapple with that and various other family matters.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">That all changes when Jade (Erin Espiritu) comes to the home. Jade's appearance upends the family dynamic, and while Eileen dotes on the child, Clark is disturbed as he discovers that he has a connection with the child.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Kampon</i> bears many of the hallmarks of its writer Dodo Dayao (<i>Midnight in a Perfect World, Violator</i>). The film finds its terror in strangeness, in weird, unsettling things lurking in the background, in things from which we derive safety ("footage horror" - that is, scary images on recorded media, on CCTV screens and elsewhere - has a steady presence in the film). The film also alludes to the terrors of parenthood, showing us the fears and anxieties of raising a child. There's one scene at a birthday party where a belligerent, spoiled child makes unreasonable demands - a scene that honestly scares me as much as any decapitated corpse (owing to my job occasionally autopsying people, I honestly prefer the corpse).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It's quite unlike anything we've ever seen in the MMFF, and it makes for a legitimately entertaining experience. There are some parts where the film's ambition outpaces its resources. For example, an animated picture of a fetus might have been better rendered in live action, and while the CGI works most of the time, sometimes it doesn't. But that's not necessarily a bad thing; if anything we need more ambition in this festival, and <i>Kampon</i> is brimming with it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBlkn-X8iRpkqGcjQ0oF0AKLFxA-e87gzIq2j-chW6F9QW4dq1n_dgZuUq17VFJtnHqfep-joy1w8MaAVfOsbsbMqG-8oc6XHnTZ6KHpsC5fpRldIa_0g0FUhYnYp39WlChQouqMHvIXddsMWPT5-vPATKvgL33vIoXrDKuiue51tz2uVfbut6/s2048/MV5BZDY1OTIzOTMtMDIyNi00NTY2LWFhZmUtMzUyYjRmN2U5NTg5XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNTI5NjIyMw@@._V1_.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1382" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBlkn-X8iRpkqGcjQ0oF0AKLFxA-e87gzIq2j-chW6F9QW4dq1n_dgZuUq17VFJtnHqfep-joy1w8MaAVfOsbsbMqG-8oc6XHnTZ6KHpsC5fpRldIa_0g0FUhYnYp39WlChQouqMHvIXddsMWPT5-vPATKvgL33vIoXrDKuiue51tz2uVfbut6/s320/MV5BZDY1OTIzOTMtMDIyNi00NTY2LWFhZmUtMzUyYjRmN2U5NTg5XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNTI5NjIyMw@@._V1_.jpg" width="216" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In a strictly formalist sense, there isn't much to say about <i>When I Met You in Tokyo</i>. There isn't much conflict in this movie for its two characters, played by the venerable on screen couple of Christopher De Leon and Vilma Santos. Their issues (mostly with their family members back home) are neatly resolved by the first hour mark. In addition, the film doesn't touch too much upon their lives as overseas workers - the Japanese people who work with and employ them accept them wholeheartedly (one even repeatedly gives Christopher De Leon gifts for some reason or another.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But the film serves its intended purpose. I watched this film at the Premier Cinemas at the Shangri-la Mall. For those not in the know, cinema prices at the Premier Cinemas are pricier than this upscale mall's normal cinemas. Nevertheless, the theater was mostly full, and mostly consisted of middle aged and elderly women - including myself, I counted three men, and the other two came with what I assume are their wives. I'd even bet that I was the youngest person in the theater aside from the ushers. These are people who have probably spent most of their lives with these two actors, from <i>Tag-ulan sa Tag-Araw</i> (1975) to <i>Dekada '70</i> (2002). </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">At one point in the movie, when Azon (Santos) and Joey (De Leon) were frolicking in the snow, the woman in front of me exclaimed, "<i>ang ganda!</i>" She was probably referring to the snow, but probably also to the couple, who at this point had spent 90 minutes being cute together. The crowd laughed every time the two of them called each other "<i>bru</i>" (short for <i>bruha/brujo</i>), an insult that eventually became a term of endearment. They laughed at the jokes and the light ribbing, they felt <i>kilig</i> at the various jabs, and the thing is, it's hard <i>not</i> to get swept in that emotion - by the time the film ended, I was 100% with that crowd, vicariously living this screen couple's romance. Even if, as a person who reviews films, I find the film flawed or lacking, it nevertheless fills up all the places that it should.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijY5VWHxNr_b9xGYCqELpBHzu906x8WM4bX9FRlHwpe9c6pqpq0urCiGKuIN_I5htXlgaDbHn_VoRzwIsrcVbqPoMO1aEPNrmVSTORX-0Hefk9veE2HoS4ELnZ3g3PBYF_aYf-udOzHmFtW_YHygEBr04fVfZ1JZQqOtiSe9K1ZDZ_W5KX1CKR/s900/MALLARI-POSTER-600X900_20231221180239.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijY5VWHxNr_b9xGYCqELpBHzu906x8WM4bX9FRlHwpe9c6pqpq0urCiGKuIN_I5htXlgaDbHn_VoRzwIsrcVbqPoMO1aEPNrmVSTORX-0Hefk9veE2HoS4ELnZ3g3PBYF_aYf-udOzHmFtW_YHygEBr04fVfZ1JZQqOtiSe9K1ZDZ_W5KX1CKR/s320/MALLARI-POSTER-600X900_20231221180239.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The first half of Derick Cabrido's <i>Mallari</i> is a whirlwind of various scenes that at times feels too convoluted: there's the serial killer priest (Piolo Pascual) who killed 57 people in the 1800s, there's his descendant John Rey (also Piolo Pascual) who is obsessed with finding out the truth behind his infamous ancestor, and there's Jonathan (also Piolo Pascual), who is haunted by future visions where his fiancee Agnes (Janella Salvador) lies dying. The three are connected by a dark secret, but what is it? Why are people still dying in this small town in Laguna even though the killer priest has long passed on?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">This first half is the weakest part of the film as it tries to set everything up. As it plods along its three central plotlines, it occasionally veers into filler that only serves to pad the runtime and does little to advance the plot. It is also plagued by frequent and honestly unnecessary jump scares as Jonathan and John Rey are haunted by various apparitions - the ghosts of their ancestor's victims.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But once everything falls into place, something wonderful emerges. <i>Mallari</i> is one of my favorite films in this year's festival, if only for its sprawling ambition and how it manages to meet that ambition in many parts. A mix of alternate history fiction, fantasy and horror, Mallari brings us a singular MMFF experience that has probably never been seen in any previous edition of the festival, and will be unmatched for years to come.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Aside from the various liberties to historical events, I appreciated the fact that the three main characters are not one-sidedly good or evil - in fact, even the characters that are overtly antagonistic do what they do not out of malice, but out of <i>justice</i>: they want to cleanse the world of evil, and this is the means that they will take to achieve that goal. Interestingly, in terms of theme, <i>Mallari</i> sets out to make the same point as <i>Penduko</i>, (the ends justifying the means, getting tainted by evil by extinguishing evil) but this time the film succeeds in doing so. Righteousness is not always good - it only means a dogged belief that one is <i>right, </i>regardless of whether that belief is warranted or not, or whether or not that belief springs from a good place.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p></p>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-70422937816320872682023-12-26T07:24:00.007+08:002023-12-26T15:45:24.003+08:00MMFF 2023 | Broken Hearts Trip, Rewind, Firefly, Family of Two<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggJcHfbklzyB5JPfw4dYmcr2-zHHocnLkjRpRmYpqA3HsYqS7AMCZcVks990xPmw2r47Uy_dcrXdvcywii_MQW7HT0Fmhs4V_x_YA3K9Y594jLSLf-KwN7QmB5GhQlxI7uyoPX4M4l5fZMr4x3F-g8lSX6Y7MnsWuAIj_qt4a6IxLHzRySaOhX/s1241/broken-hearts-trip03-1697775020.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1241" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggJcHfbklzyB5JPfw4dYmcr2-zHHocnLkjRpRmYpqA3HsYqS7AMCZcVks990xPmw2r47Uy_dcrXdvcywii_MQW7HT0Fmhs4V_x_YA3K9Y594jLSLf-KwN7QmB5GhQlxI7uyoPX4M4l5fZMr4x3F-g8lSX6Y7MnsWuAIj_qt4a6IxLHzRySaOhX/s320/broken-hearts-trip03-1697775020.jpg" width="232" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Broken Hearts Trip</i> opens with auditions for the titular reality show, where three "judgers" (Tart Carlos, Jacklyn Jose and Christian Bables) try to weed out contestants based on their sad stories. Many contestants are just there for the clout and are quickly dismissed, but the panel quickly zeroes in on four contestants: Ali (Marvin Yap), who loses his business and his lover over a series of unfortunate events; Alex (Andoy Ranay), a businessman who repeatedly goes back to a partner who cheats on him; Bernie (Iyah Mina), a clothing designer who falls in love with a younger man who uses her for her money; and Mark (Petite); who loses custody of his child with his partner (Arnold Reyes) due to their separation.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The introductions to these characters made me empathize with their individual stories, and there's a lot here to appreciate. For one, the world of Broken Hearts trip is one where same sex partnerships are at least recognized to some extent (in Mark's case, where there is talk of custody and a lawyer is present) and how, in the absence of partnership, some LGBTQ+ people become breadwinners and caretakers for their families (in Bernie's story).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The movie, then, has an opportunity to explore the lives of these people through their individual heartbreaks. But here is where the movie disappointingly falls apart: because it is a reality show competition, the whole enterprise feels exploitative (the characters even lampshade that fact in one particular scene and a running gag has Bables repeatedly naming sponsors.) Not everyone gets adequate time (a fifth contestant, Jason (Teejay Marquez) barely gets any scenes, and he lasts pretty far) and while some contestants get at least some measure of closure, others, frustratingly, get nothing. It's made even worse by the twist reveal of a sixth broken heart, which makes all these stories moot, as if they, sob stories and all, were just used for an ulterior end.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">That's not all: there's a shocker in the middle of this film where a television production admits to covering up literal crimes happening on the set, though thankfully it backtracks later on, perhaps aware of the problematic nature of that idea. It still comes across as pretty weird, considering the details of what happened.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It's a shame, because there are so many things in this movie that could've made for a good film: part of the credits is a musical sequence that isn't half bad; why not lean on that? Why not just remove the reality show elements and make it a roadtrip (sponsored by LCL travel and tours) instead? Or maybe even trim down the number of 'participants' to the most interesting stories? My heart was broken watching <i>Broken Hearts Trip</i> because it holds the promise of so much more, but falls short of achieving that.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6zRY4-HKdZ_-ELp_gzAnXiGFlLVnAFcv7q0Kf7IJvV_c2zae_D8OhKAL0Jg-qlFgXRIvHOxR_49NjS9z6piV3O3wNDH-uffNX0sVl3UVWRHkjjYKsose9uSF2I7-otoAF0e73Cz2CGAMWkqDE4CwWWqqpwt8d81fwRuYoJiHYC3incZpT7csJ/s1350/'Rewind'%20Poster.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6zRY4-HKdZ_-ELp_gzAnXiGFlLVnAFcv7q0Kf7IJvV_c2zae_D8OhKAL0Jg-qlFgXRIvHOxR_49NjS9z6piV3O3wNDH-uffNX0sVl3UVWRHkjjYKsose9uSF2I7-otoAF0e73Cz2CGAMWkqDE4CwWWqqpwt8d81fwRuYoJiHYC3incZpT7csJ/s320/'Rewind'%20Poster.JPG" width="256" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><u>Note: Spoilers.</u></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">John (Dingdong Dantes) is a businessman who is always on the go, to the detriment of his relationships with his loving wife Mary (Marian Rivera) and his son Austin (Jordan Lim.) It all comes to a head when several unfortunate events befall John, leading to a car accident that takes the life of his wife. It is there where he meets a certain quirky carpenter with time travel powers (Pepe Herrera) who allows him to live the day before the accident - but at a substantial personal cost...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Many people have made comparisons between Mae Cruz-Alviar's <i>Rewind </i>and Gil Junger's 2004 film <i>If Only</i>, and I totally agree - this is just <i>If Only</i> but with Jesus Christ as a supporting character. The religious aspects affect the story as now there is a reason for the time travel and there is supposed to be a moral lesson behind it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">While this series of events will probably be okay for some, to me it feels a little weird. John's arc throughout the film is a redemptive one, and even though the film makes it clear that no one can truly change in one day, his death (and not necessarily his actions) is the catalyst for his family to thrive - Jesus just up and makes poor John a martyr for a greater purpose. In <i>GomBurZa</i>, it works but here it feels a little off, since John isn't necessarily standing for some greater ideology or belief, he's just a dude who neglected his family and wants to set things right, and he can only achieve that by dying? In the hands of an omnipotent deity that can do everything, wouldn't it be more productive to, you know, let John be an even better person? Here it seems like he's a blood sacrifice, blood for the blood god. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Various other storylines suffer because of the limited time John has during his second change. A meaningful exchange with his estranged father (Lito Pimentel) hints at a deeper history between the two - and parallels between John and his mother who died early - but it goes by a little too fast. Mary's own desire to return to being a chef is also hinted at, but is mostly reduced to dialogue. Maybe <i>Rewind</i> could have been better served if it modified the structure of <i>If Only</i> a little more to let its characters breathe.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But hey, I'm not going to go all doom and gloom in here. The melodramatic aspects of the film worked for me, mostly thanks to the chemistry between real life husband and wife Dingdong Dantes and Marian Rivera, and there were moments in this film where I felt legitimately emotional. Heck, I even called my wife after watching the film, and remembering certain moments and emotions from <i>Rewind</i>, hours after having watched it, still made me feel the feels. It's okay but overall has some flaws.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPvmFgAo2Q9xsr8O6-iVuhbyjmn5JvFdJCNJJTa9G0Fht7u_jmJZAyml-x6kR52MzKEh_ZdEwYaA_44qZmG3x7Q_WNXLzRKHfKPdmZFHT9FYGOleooAgl2lTKnUNXMlVtRKPDn6I8_dYOEs2pMefiKuTyVWRO9PYmYtpgajMoTzmV1FEIKMLHp/s251/download.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="251" data-original-width="201" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPvmFgAo2Q9xsr8O6-iVuhbyjmn5JvFdJCNJJTa9G0Fht7u_jmJZAyml-x6kR52MzKEh_ZdEwYaA_44qZmG3x7Q_WNXLzRKHfKPdmZFHT9FYGOleooAgl2lTKnUNXMlVtRKPDn6I8_dYOEs2pMefiKuTyVWRO9PYmYtpgajMoTzmV1FEIKMLHp/s1600/download.jpg" width="201" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Tonton (Euwenn Mikaell) is a bright young boy who loves drawing and listening to stories from his mother (Alessandra de Rossi.) But one day, his mother suffers from a short illness and dies, promising to meet him again in an island of fireflies. Spurred by the notion of possibly seeing his mother again, he escapes and takes a road trip to that location, meeting various people along the way.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Zig Dulay's <i>Firefly </i>is bookended and interspersed with scenes featuring an adult Tonton (Dingdong Dantes), who recalls his experience to an editorial assistant (Max Collins) whose boss believes that Tonton's stories don't belong to him or were otherwise lifted from somewhere else. There's no indication why that person would think that way and it eventually becomes a non issue, so I am not sure why it needs to be here. It's not necessarily detrimental, merely unnecessary.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We all love a good story, and we all love listening to good storytellers. Good stories help the heart heal, help us confront our traumas, and help soothe painful pasts. Tonton's companions, who help him in his journey, all have their own individual tales to tell - they are people reeling from betrayal, holding dark secrets, wanderlust brought about by a hesitation to return home. Perhaps most importantly, stories help uplift others, and through a mother's love as expressed through one particular story, Tonton and his companions all find something - not necessarily the thing they want, but definitely the thing they need.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The idea of a quality family friendly film in a post-Vice, post-Enteng MMFF has been floated for many years now, and in my opinion this movie embodies that. If this film represents the future of the MMFF, then it looks pretty good from here on in.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_JD-PIkPrMF0Af3UtLpZC6bkNy-2Jhyphenhyphenf1vnBq6OdcKoQFKOniAVY0Zx4sF8STKn-v8pvtx-FJ7UnBcLgsmWwWGJBzy-VHq_Jd9feN0AFWgV93ZjFg9LmWUycXorG9FFYqu8NwceGlHLeU7B4_CHrxqPGVQ2F6uN-fTRqlxdfju8-B9IKo-sxi/s274/download%20(1).jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="274" data-original-width="184" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_JD-PIkPrMF0Af3UtLpZC6bkNy-2Jhyphenhyphenf1vnBq6OdcKoQFKOniAVY0Zx4sF8STKn-v8pvtx-FJ7UnBcLgsmWwWGJBzy-VHq_Jd9feN0AFWgV93ZjFg9LmWUycXorG9FFYqu8NwceGlHLeU7B4_CHrxqPGVQ2F6uN-fTRqlxdfju8-B9IKo-sxi/s1600/download%20(1).jpg" width="184" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Maricar (Sharon Cuneta) and Mateo (Alden Richards) are as close a mother and son duo as they come. They tackle problems together, support each other and have a certain level of attachment (or possessiveness?) to each other, though not to unhealthy levels.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">This character dynamic and this slice of life tale of an emptying nest reminds me a lot of the emptying nest-est of emptying nest films, Yasujiro Ozu's <i>Last Spring</i>, where an old widower looks to marry his daughter off in order to live her own life, while she'd rather stay and take care of her father. In Nuel Naval's <i>Family of Two</i>, the outcome of a similar situation goes in the opposite direction to Late Spring, which I attribute to cultural differences.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A potential romantic partner for both Maricar and Mateo (played by Tonton Gutierrez and Miles Ocampo, respectively) seems like it would eventually become a source of conflict, but no meaningful conflict arises between mother and son, as any problems are quashed almost immediately. Whatever happens in the film feels very slight as a result. This isn't necessarily a bad thing for me, and to people who want to enjoy the character dynamic without any fuss, I think this slice of life approach will do just fine for them. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The last act of the film veers into something quite different, when Maricar decides to continue the things she had to sacrifice in order to raise a family, but it comes out of nowhere (it would've helped if it was alluded to earlier) and it all feels a little underdeveloped.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Those looking for any dramatic stakes will no doubt find the film lacking and the premise thin, but as it is, while flawed, it isn't a bad time at the movies.</div><p></p>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-64568700377021140362023-12-24T16:18:00.000+08:002023-12-24T16:18:03.889+08:00MMFF 2023 | GomBurZa<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjWr_iPDN-d8MTb2I47DhFBeOx7FVvGdBUQXKYARvBupW4geCZEhU_MmN8nDBm-AoEl5JbmEsHurcf9I8asqzmHcv6dqBDOB2Snn6xSGxXNtq132pUC_n4wdVPSvr1VUeUGOMjrhLdg2yjfLASDjZq8kJAm1e2D-U54a9h4d2oyOtO3Z1W_Ao8/s3000/Gomburza%20Poster%20KV.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="2032" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjWr_iPDN-d8MTb2I47DhFBeOx7FVvGdBUQXKYARvBupW4geCZEhU_MmN8nDBm-AoEl5JbmEsHurcf9I8asqzmHcv6dqBDOB2Snn6xSGxXNtq132pUC_n4wdVPSvr1VUeUGOMjrhLdg2yjfLASDjZq8kJAm1e2D-U54a9h4d2oyOtO3Z1W_Ao8/s320/Gomburza%20Poster%20KV.jpg" width="217" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">What makes a martyr? Is it what they did in life that turns them into one? Is it what they stand for? Or is it something in between that makes them what they are? </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">This story needs no spoiler warning because even if we don't know the specific details, we all know how this ends: three priests were executed in 1872 for allegedly fomenting rebellion against the Spanish colonial government. It's captured here in Pepe Diokno's GomBurZa in very precise detail: the film is very much concerned with adherence to historical events and accounts. Much of the first half is just talking; consisting of committees and meetings that don't exactly have the same momentum and drive of other historical films. That isn't exactly a bad thing. It exists in contrast to Jerrold Tarog's approach in his cinematic universe of local heroes, where emotions and themes drive the story forward.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Diokno's approach serves a threefold purpose: first, its emphasis on historicity places value on the nature of truth and truth-telling, in a world where 'alternative' historical accounts meant to serve a purpose fester in the internet and even this year, in cinema; second, in humanizing the three martyrs, they are not glorified in the same way many hagiographies do - they are not necessarily supermen or beings blessed with divine gifts - they are just people like you and me caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The third, and perhaps most important purpose to me stems from something that grew out of a number of conversations I had after watching the film. One point raised in those post-screening conversations is to ask: what exactly did these three men do to deserve such reverence, and how was it portrayed in this film? Gomez, Zamora and Burgos are passive characters in their own movie; things mostly happen to them instead of the other way around. Compared to other Filipino heroes from throughout history, GomBurZa did not lead battalions of soldiers or assassinate key historical figures at the expense of their own life. Instead, they taught their students the value of equality. They preached the word of their God in its purest form - he, after all, welcomed the sick, the poor, the free and the enslaved, the Samaritan and Jew in equal measure, that no man is above another. To the colonizer, nothing is more radical, because in true equality under God there are no hierarchies of race or status, and without hierarchies, how can the colonizer justify his subjugation?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Perhaps more important than the question of "what makes a martyr?" is "what does a martyr represent?" and in the last act, we are shown why these three sparked a revolution. The execution scene is wonderfully shot; possessing a somber tone, mostly absent the histrionics and drama, in a sky with no sun but still with light in the horizon (here, the 'blue hour' represents both twilight and dawn, the beginning and end of ages.) We are made to sit and watch with that audience in 1872 as three innocent men are killed for the ideas in their heads, and the experience is simply intense - the last act of the film is one of the best scenes in Philippine cinema for the year. In their final conversations before their execution, these martyrs-to-be converse about fate, answering the rhetoric of what action did they do to deserve such reverence - that is, their deaths are that action. Their deaths give their lives meaning and fulfillment, enabling them to achieve their dream of equality, of an identity as "Filipinos" - not by their own hand, but by the collective actions of the people they inspired. That's the essence of martyrdom. There's nothing more Christ-like than that, don't you think? Merry Christmas.</div><p></p>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-29492077911771744742023-11-29T15:02:00.000+08:002023-11-29T15:02:20.153+08:00QCinema 2023 | Do Not Expect Too Much From the End of the World, Fallen Leaves, Evil Does Not Exist<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUy9gflXgiImyr_e6-rYlEKswYkG3MuaA0LvWrL58j9ymuP7WsMy5gC_vz-cmHLRsEEqcxkv9zJ3IrS2MYpuT48a7EO6YfXu9xSG43R2DW0OGAIsP21w0AvevqRSqcu-I6dLa6dxU7aQPgEX6FtHIRRGFdHXU0jn9PeNhrj8GLcSPBXbae6Jgz/s259/download%20(1).jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="259" data-original-width="194" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUy9gflXgiImyr_e6-rYlEKswYkG3MuaA0LvWrL58j9ymuP7WsMy5gC_vz-cmHLRsEEqcxkv9zJ3IrS2MYpuT48a7EO6YfXu9xSG43R2DW0OGAIsP21w0AvevqRSqcu-I6dLa6dxU7aQPgEX6FtHIRRGFdHXU0jn9PeNhrj8GLcSPBXbae6Jgz/s1600/download%20(1).jpg" width="194" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Angela (Ilinca Manolache) is a production assistant for a company that makes corporate videos. She's been tasked to get interviews from former employees of a multinational company in an attempt to find a suitable subject for a planned work safety video. She's underpaid and overworked and the drivers in the streets all but want to run her off the road. Still, in her own brash way, she rides, curses and fucks her way through the streets of Bucharest and beyond to get by what seems like an endless day.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A scathing satire of modern-day Romania, <i>Do Not Expect Too Much From the End of the World</i> is a lot to unpack, but a good place to start is its obvious inspiration: the film is at once a spiritual sequel, reimagining and reevaluation of Lucian Bratu's 1981 film <i>Angela Moves On</i>, from which various clips and scenes are interspersed throughout this film. In that older film, the titular Angela (Dorina Lazar) is a taxi driver who also roams around the city of Bucharest in search of people to ferry, preceding films such as Abbas Kiarostami's <i>Taste of Cherry</i> (1997). <i>Do Not Expect Too Much From the End of the World </i>feels like a mirror to that film; in the first act, scenes from both films run in parallel, as if Bratu's and Jude's films existed as parallel retellings of the same scene. At the same time, Dorina Lazar and László Miske reprise their roles from <i>Angela Moves On</i> in this film, as the parents of one of the paralyzed workers Angela interviews.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jude also becomes self-reflective, interrogating his use of satire and probing its limits. Angela often makes Tiktok videos taking on the persona of Bobita, a trash talking dude whose offensiveness is made to such an extreme it crosses back into parody. There's also a sequence where Angela (as Bobita) meets famed director of shlock Uwe Boll (playing himself), who famously boxed - and defeated - five film critics in the early 2000s. Angela says that portraying Bobita as such, transgressing boundaries of good taste is what enables her to make her point. But at the end, where Bobita goes on an unhinged Putinist rant, is there a point where the ironic edge of satire is lost?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It all culminates in the last third of the film where the work safety video is actually made. The parallels between the films of both Angelas - one made under Ceaușescu's regime and one made after it - only enforces the point that deep down, they are fundamentally the same. At one point Angela tells her passenger about a very dangerous road that has been a source of many casualties, followed by a minutes-long montage of memorial crosses along that same road, deaths spanning decades. Instead of moving towards change, Romanians find themselves repeating old mistakes. "We're idiots," Angela tells her Austrian boss at one point. Then and now, working-class folk still endure the same exploitation - where one Angela (or her son) has their voice gradually taken away, until all that is left is a template for capitalists to exploit, while the other Angela is complicit in that degradation. The title is, thus, a sort of exhortation: even as decades pass and dictators fall, as we hurtle towards an apocalypse that feels all but inevitable, do not expect too much from that end, as there will be no dramatic conclusion - it will all probably be as it is like now, with all of us trapped in our own circles.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvKRexMN3Ti59mLHWfi6VB45hBYiF2-iTWemHo1oqES49qxhoUpVAjZVNk4aiwJDy-bqxjXXSL92fV1b35iFhAajQ3ip3hyphenhyphen6FQXQXf9hVUQy68Wyl8M6NUdKXEbEv7xkbvRAB2BRLuBofaV4PFCBOBhdpnsMkT2wv3M6S7Cs7upAxiXRaK2KFP/s1350/391060356_1117792099384505_7350399054507649779_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvKRexMN3Ti59mLHWfi6VB45hBYiF2-iTWemHo1oqES49qxhoUpVAjZVNk4aiwJDy-bqxjXXSL92fV1b35iFhAajQ3ip3hyphenhyphen6FQXQXf9hVUQy68Wyl8M6NUdKXEbEv7xkbvRAB2BRLuBofaV4PFCBOBhdpnsMkT2wv3M6S7Cs7upAxiXRaK2KFP/s320/391060356_1117792099384505_7350399054507649779_n.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">At one point in Aki Kaurismaki's Fallen Leaves, Ansa (Alma Pöysti) turns on the radio to set the mood for a date she is having with Holappa (Jussi Vatanen). But all she's getting are grim reports from a distant war, where dozens or even hundreds of people are reported dead, reports that we've been hearing since the beginning of the film. She turns off the radio in frustration.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">For people like Ansa and Holappa, two working class people who live a meager existence in Helsinki, love is probably the farthest thing from their minds. Flitting from job to job, taking on any job that would take them, to be honest, having a roof over their heads is far more important. Ansa is fired from a supermarket job after keeping expired food; Holappa is trapped in a cycle of drinking and depression and regularly gets fired for drinking on the job. But after a chance encounter in a karaoke bar, Ansa and Holappa find love, and they begin to set aside parts of their lives for each other. Ansa buys extra cutlery and plates for a prospective date. Holappa starts to kick the habit after Ansa tells him of her bad experiences with drunks.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It's a story that Kaurismaki has been telling since his earliest films - indeed, his 1986 film <i>Shadows in Paradise</i> has a very similar premise (and also involves a supermarket clerk), and the other films of his Proletariat series sees the working class man fighting against their loneliness, sometimes successfully (as in <i>Ariel</i> (1988)) or in vain (as in Kaurismaki's masterpiece <i>The Match Factory Girl</i> (1990)).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Fallen Leaves is a prayer of sorts, for hope in an increasingly bleak world, where the remedy (though not necessarily the cure) for such a life is to live it with someone you love.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXzlneu23sw83rVX5mr3OKQW08mdZ48Xeiw-eEkeXeJIaasxaQIMRflYxvCzYTMGCubVs5V0Azpe4L6EAXpnyotAga6S11dsQeEual6ih26x2kG1gSQ1Lu9tCYNj9E3KUSZcY9zYkAQfL1qMT0maPPa3onAAmuqm7xx0CBKZucMA5srPAYohuu/s1386/MV5BNWUyOGEwZmYtODM3Zi00MDU0LWI4N2QtNmJmYzM4Njg3ZDg2XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNTY4ODAxODI@._V1_FMjpg_UX1000_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1386" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXzlneu23sw83rVX5mr3OKQW08mdZ48Xeiw-eEkeXeJIaasxaQIMRflYxvCzYTMGCubVs5V0Azpe4L6EAXpnyotAga6S11dsQeEual6ih26x2kG1gSQ1Lu9tCYNj9E3KUSZcY9zYkAQfL1qMT0maPPa3onAAmuqm7xx0CBKZucMA5srPAYohuu/s320/MV5BNWUyOGEwZmYtODM3Zi00MDU0LWI4N2QtNmJmYzM4Njg3ZDg2XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNTY4ODAxODI@._V1_FMjpg_UX1000_.jpg" width="231" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Note: mild spoilers.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I find it fascinating that the title for Ryusuke Hamaguchi's latest film, <i>Evil Does Not Exist</i>, is a declarative sentence that also feels like a question that gets asked throughout the film. It is a question that is not definitively answered, but we can at least try to do so.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The film begins with a shot of treetops and a man, Takumi (Hitoshi Omika) walking through the forest. The treetops exhibit <a href="https://www.arbutustree.ca/crown-shyness/">crown shyness</a>, which is to say that the forest follows their own order; they have their own set of rules. Takumi knows the land intimately - he knows all of the trees and is able to discern movements of animals through their tracks - so much so that he is sort of a steward of the forest, or to put it to extremes, he <i>is</i> the forest. He's been living an uneventful life with his daughter Hana (Ryo Nishikawa), and the town relies on him for many odd jobs as an everyman.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">His quiet life is perturbed at the news that a company in Tokyo plans to build a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glamping">glamping</a> site higher up in the mountain overlooking his town. Its obvious that the company has no experience with this sort of thing, they're only doing it for the money, and their initial plan would negatively impact the lives of the people living downstream. A simple consultative meeting is made compellingly tense, and although well-meaning employees Takahashi (Ryuji Kosaka) and Mayuzumi (Ayaka Shibutani) try to answer their questions and sympathize with their concerns, it's unlikely any of their bosses would stop the project because the potential monetary gains are too big, townsfolk be damned.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Many have read the film as a commentary on the quiet but ever-present violence of urbanizing rural spaces. Evil in this context is banal, seemingly unfelt but guiding every decision based on greed. The CEO of the glamping company couldn't care less about the concerns of the townsfolk: he proposes a compromise that might superficially placate them, but would still cause harm. <i>The waste of five people shouldn't be much of a problem, wouldn't it?</i> He asks, expecting the answer to be yes when it would almost always be no. Ordinary evil does exist, evil that is tolerated and left to fester, and that interpretation serves as one answer to the film's title.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">There is, of course, another way of answering the film's title: in an interview, Hamaguchi said that he conceptualized the title from Hana's point of view, in that - and I paraphrase here - upon seeing the forest and its tranquil beauty, she remarks that "(in such a beautiful place, surely) evil does not exist here." The last part of the film is marked by a sudden turn that at first feels out of left field, but has roots in past conversations - Takumi tells his two guests that the deer in his area, unaccustomed to humans, will never attack them, unless they are protecting their injured offspring. Nature is what it is, amoral and untethered to human notions of morality, neither good nor evil. When its own rules are broken, it has its ways of fighting back. Evil does not exist in this context, but 'evil' actions are done when action demands an equal reaction. That is not evil per se, only nature taking its course.</div><p></p>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-83193876333988434802023-11-27T14:51:00.000+08:002023-11-27T14:51:05.358+08:00QCinema 2023 | QCShorts Short Reviews<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyI2-ijjWuLY3P4roN09RQe5dTBVSzytC6nz7QvZjALGHTFwt6xC0H41OAuAaawz0sLICINqQyXBSxo80w9b6BL9xr58G83LI_GoIrt1yvojuEef8-qYUWKuzbGQo4tvUxrtzKpYd_Y0E07lOMjnw5ZBwHag5_Bcl3U6YniZ4cZJKi_JJbZna0/s640/400436291-894660098888451-163446350157035933-n-1-1699419502.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="320" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyI2-ijjWuLY3P4roN09RQe5dTBVSzytC6nz7QvZjALGHTFwt6xC0H41OAuAaawz0sLICINqQyXBSxo80w9b6BL9xr58G83LI_GoIrt1yvojuEef8-qYUWKuzbGQo4tvUxrtzKpYd_Y0E07lOMjnw5ZBwHag5_Bcl3U6YniZ4cZJKi_JJbZna0/w215-h400/400436291-894660098888451-163446350157035933-n-1-1699419502.jpg" width="215" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It's surprising that <i>A Catholic Schoolgirl</i> is Myra Angeline Soriaso's debut film, because the filmmaking at play feels so precise. It helps that the ground it treads is well trodden, about intersections of identity and faith in a coming-of-age. There is a confession at the end of this film - usually accepted without judgement by a priest as a representative of a loving God - and it is met with exactly what we expect. In the many iterations of this tale, trauma sadly seems to be a defining trait of these comings-of-age.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The defining frames for me in Apa Agbayani's Abutan Man <i>Tayo ng House Lights</i> is that of Jon Santos dancing to exhaustion, as if his effort could chase the light away from the comforting dark of the dance floor. The inertia of a relationship that has run its course is the hardest to overcome because it means one has to face the end of something, or everything. Without Santos or Bart Guingona this probably would not have worked, but they're here, and it does.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Animal Lovers</i> leans on absurdity, on humans that have abandoned love and even their own humanity. But there's a real danger here in the process of dehumanization, especially for those in the most unfortunate circumstances, and regarding exactly where the film gazes. The absurdity alleviates that for the most part, but it has left me with a few reservations with how everything turned out.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'll be honest and say I initially struggled with the ideas of <i>Microplastics</i>, so much so that before I even dared to write this (this entire piece was meant to come out earlier) I watched it another time to give it a fair shot. The second time around I gleaned more from the film. It's said that <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2020/dec/22/microplastics-revealed-in-placentas-unborn-babies">microplastics can be found in all of us, even before we're born</a>; imperceptible damage that accumulates over time, borne from careless actions. In that same way, that is how trauma destroys us, in small actions of love denied, rejected, in casual acts of violence. Some have read a particular part of the film as representing sexual violence, but it didn't read that way to me, it felt more like a manifestation of self hatred, being denied love leading to one denying love in the first place. I'm not sure if it all held together in the end, but it's better than I initially thought it was.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Tamgohoy</i> is Roxlee directing his own <i>RRR</i>, a fictional reimagining of two historical figures who have never met, joining forces to fight against colonial masters. With his trademark animation, Zaldy Munda level editing and out of focus shots, the film is steeped in native traditions and rituals. Meanwhile, Roxlee himself, made up like a Catholic Heath Ledger Joker, taunts the natives and calls them savages. How exactly can one evaluate the form of a film whose creator has disposed of it entirely, when that seems to be the point? It's as if the film's own form rejects the western conventions of cinema, decolonizing through filmmaking. Does it work? Not fully. But the least I can say is I kinda like it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We end this slew of reviews with Che Tagyamon's <i>Tumatawa, Umiiyak</i> - an animated film that sees how class disparities bleed into urban topographies, where even the dead have more space than the living, as long as they're rich enough. It's challenging, thought provoking stuff and a film that quite a few people have overlooked on account of its animated form.</div><p></p>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-42546138131261526462023-11-26T11:36:00.002+08:002023-11-26T15:07:23.346+08:00QCinema 2023 | Solids by the Seashore, Tiger Stripes<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnNqDpUDLe4PpjAMsfE2eokadmZALl4jjERUZrveCJjMSHCODH3bK5UNx4YIIMU5heyo73CEpENZRkv8X1EPjMuQokbRx3DcZIz6bKetMnCF6XHjfwAcRvppHuO3hu959rnuJg4XtU0d8YAtOljfDqY3yXPJZ8tM9RqF-jI6i9rxDKNZ5W9rhK/s1568/MV5BNjM1Yjg3NTEtZDMzMC00MjhlLWEwMDMtNDMzZmVlYjE0MjYyXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTcxNTQwNTE0._V1_FMjpg_UX1000_.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1568" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnNqDpUDLe4PpjAMsfE2eokadmZALl4jjERUZrveCJjMSHCODH3bK5UNx4YIIMU5heyo73CEpENZRkv8X1EPjMuQokbRx3DcZIz6bKetMnCF6XHjfwAcRvppHuO3hu959rnuJg4XtU0d8YAtOljfDqY3yXPJZ8tM9RqF-jI6i9rxDKNZ5W9rhK/s320/MV5BNjM1Yjg3NTEtZDMzMC00MjhlLWEwMDMtNDMzZmVlYjE0MjYyXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTcxNTQwNTE0._V1_FMjpg_UX1000_.jpg" width="204" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Shati (Ilada Pitsuwan) works in an art gallery in a quiet seaside town. We first see her putting on a hijab as part of her daily routine. Her parents ask her when she's getting married, eventually taking matters into their own hands and setting her up with the son of a family friend. Faisal (Khalid Midam). Her life seems set, though throughout the film there are pictures of restraint, of barriers in the sea, of birds in cages.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Her life is upturned when she meets Fon (Rawipa Srisanguan), an artist who comes to the gallery to present an exhibition based and set on the sea. It turns out that the barriers aren't as beneficial as what the authorities that put them up may think. "What constrains us, erodes us," she tells Shati. Feelings deep inside Shati begin to grow, feelings that run counter to her set life.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Solids on the Seashore is occasionally punctuated by Malick-esque scenes of sea life and other abstract things, as if the feelings burgeoning within Shati is being pulled from some supernatural force. When her feelings finally blossom, it culminates in a scene that feels so tactile, so intimate, yet so restrained at the same time. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Unlike other similar films, the film makes Shati's choice not so clear cut; for all intents and purposes Faisal seems like a decent man, and it looks like if they did get married, their marriage would not be a troubled one. After laying bare Shati's feelings, director Patiparn Boontarig leans on magical realism, trying to reflect the dual yearnings for a life where one floats along the waves and one where one simply lets the waves crash into them.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7U9b7cJZ0mAYne0cNKEs8urYwVVnA9zl7AtSajrDje28vg0lhqrBrLGGEYNXMxwsTlJpTO-3CqF31ZwjXUzmmomHoehjdlRNgZEAzeIGh5Mf_4z27bWY215XEN4P0cHxKX4RioNS5LNKNQvf7psEfffR667mlm2GPWUbJtFgkouRGtYkjzQFF/s267/download.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="189" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7U9b7cJZ0mAYne0cNKEs8urYwVVnA9zl7AtSajrDje28vg0lhqrBrLGGEYNXMxwsTlJpTO-3CqF31ZwjXUzmmomHoehjdlRNgZEAzeIGh5Mf_4z27bWY215XEN4P0cHxKX4RioNS5LNKNQvf7psEfffR667mlm2GPWUbJtFgkouRGtYkjzQFF/s1600/download.jpg" width="189" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We first see Zaffan (Zafreen Zairizal) recording a Tiktok dance in a bathroom with her friends. She's a bit of a free spirit, flouting the school rules and jumping into rivers, much like any child. One day, however, Zaffan has her first period and her body starts to change. She sees someone in the trees that no one else can see, and she begins to act out ferally. She is turning into a <i>harimau jadian</i>, or weretiger.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In her seminal book <i>The Monstrous-Feminine</i>, Barbara Creed writes about how the prototype of the monstrous in all forms of media is the female reproductive body. In her discourse regarding Brian De Palma's <i>Carrie</i> (1976), blood - specifically, the blood related to menstruation - is linked to her supernatural powers. As a 'witch', she "... sets out to unsettle boundaries between the rational and irrational, symbolic and imaginary."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Folklore has long used a fear of the feminine to imagine its monsters. There's the <i>pontianak</i> who lives in trees and eats passersby, especially men. There's the <i>manananggal</i> who splits her body at night to hunt for food. Then there are the many spirits and demons in Japanese folklore, women wronged in some fashion and made to seek revenge against those who wronged them.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yet in modern society, there seems to be no boogeyman so terrifying to men (and even women, as manifestations of internalized misogyny) as that of femininity itself. The <i>harimau jadian</i> is no less feared as that of the teenage girl, femininity as a monster that needs to be controlled and suppressed. Director Amanda Nell Eu ties the bodily transformations of puberty with the supernatural transformation of man to animal, and this brings out fear in those who do not understand. In <i>Tiger Stripes</i>, Zaffan is subjected to all sorts of humiliation and trials simply because she has her period. By custom, she is unable to pray because her menstrual flow is unclean. She is bullied and ostracized by her peers because of it; Farah (Deena Ezral), her former friend, is the ringleader, though this disgust is learned - she picked it up from her father, who reacted negatively when Farah's sister inadvertently bled on the family sofa.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In real life, the film struck a nerve among conservatives, who censored the film to <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/world/2023/nov/25/tiger-stripes-malaysias-censors-have-removed-the-essence-of-my-film-says-director">remove images of blood and unabashed femininity</a>. Even in the real world, there is an undercurrent of fear regarding women and women's bodies, no 'monster' so feared. Yet these are just young women just coming of age, living their lives. To me the end scene communicates that: as they pass from children to young adults, they are treated as monsters, but they are no different in essence to who they were before - human beings capable of happiness, friendship and even love.</div><p></p>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-32982052182293337692023-11-25T11:33:00.003+08:002023-11-25T11:33:52.463+08:00QCinema 2023 | Mimang, Love is a Gun<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkUPuRijQIWnnbPDv27q61Fbyy2-eUsrs-o6nQKzd-32OdQGgDbVGO9XQPrKyAkuFizQGQE6hbBADZsy3ceh-zpSaFZHPczTQImpqx2j3NpKDkhQ1-QO5GjUfIHXQF0-cvycG8vvcmUzecqZdKp02wbfYeKIy508iIfrPKGzkOaJNgyQWpt2EN/s1489/MV5BZTViNDBhODctMjJmNC00NTFmLWE3MGUtNzhkMTUxMzY4OTNmXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTQ4NDY5OTc@._V1_FMjpg_UX1000_.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1489" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkUPuRijQIWnnbPDv27q61Fbyy2-eUsrs-o6nQKzd-32OdQGgDbVGO9XQPrKyAkuFizQGQE6hbBADZsy3ceh-zpSaFZHPczTQImpqx2j3NpKDkhQ1-QO5GjUfIHXQF0-cvycG8vvcmUzecqZdKp02wbfYeKIy508iIfrPKGzkOaJNgyQWpt2EN/s320/MV5BZTViNDBhODctMjJmNC00NTFmLWE3MGUtNzhkMTUxMzY4OTNmXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTQ4NDY5OTc@._V1_FMjpg_UX1000_.jpg" width="215" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">"<i>Mukhang ganito na tayo, every few months,</i>" my friend told me once. We were seeing less of each other over the following years, each time sharing a small snippet of our lives in that intervening space. Maybe 5, 10 years ago this would have seemed impossible to imagine, given that we'd been in touch on a more regular basis for years prior, but this seemed to be the new normal. It made me a bit sad, but this is the way things are now.</div><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;">These were the thoughts in my head as I watched Kim Taeyang's <i>Mimang</i>, a simple tale about two people who meet each other in much the same way as me and my friend. They talk about how the city has changed, how others have changed, and how they've changed too, and sometimes their appearance would be so drastically different that I'd sometimes wonder: <i>is this the same person</i>? At the time I'd meant the actor, but the same question could mean the actual character, and the answer to that would be no - just as urban topologies shift, as murals are painted over graffiti painted over murals, we gain layers of ourselves as time passes, so much so that we look completely different on the outside.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Every time we see these two again, there's much that is said and unsaid, and the latter proves to be the aspect that's more fascinating to me. There's a history in the space between these conversations that lingers in each meeting, and we are left to fill in the details by ourselves. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Such is life: an endless journey of searching - what exactly? - meaning? companionship? who knows. But it is a journey that may stop every once in a while, but never ceases. One person talks about an old movie whose ending has been lost, but they believe that the movie as it is is completely fine, because life does not have definite start and end points. Through cinema, we are meant to glimpse points of it, though never everything.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4sRQRVgXrUGYY26ZU762ClqdqTxbxbDy162EWkf5kOEZ7ugLbSTnMp15LcvZB0HlwSPRZJGs1ZTpTnyEmGRTTf5jQTlClYh27nQTCLvExBsnrkPZuViwDAStye0qveNgwhqZzblLaJqjxF-sJWWy50s2a5arq7O4xcm0Ry1kewzVEN2yr7Uka/s900/ANW_love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4sRQRVgXrUGYY26ZU762ClqdqTxbxbDy162EWkf5kOEZ7ugLbSTnMp15LcvZB0HlwSPRZJGs1ZTpTnyEmGRTTf5jQTlClYh27nQTCLvExBsnrkPZuViwDAStye0qveNgwhqZzblLaJqjxF-sJWWy50s2a5arq7O4xcm0Ry1kewzVEN2yr7Uka/s320/ANW_love.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Personal and national histories intermingle in actor Lee Hong-chi's directorial debut <i>Love is a Gun</i>. Sweet Potato (Lee) used to be part of a crime syndicate. He was arrested and jailed for shooting someone with a gun. Now newly released from prison, he wants nothing to do with his past life and attempts to live clean, living a simple life renting out umbrellas on the beach. But his criminal past and a lack of social systems to support him prevents Sweet Potato from getting a (better) honest job in Taipei. He finds friends from his youth who have all changed and moved on without him, and when his mother contacts him to help settle her gambling debts, his old life unceasingly beckons for his return.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Love is a Gun</i> evokes the gangster dramas from films like Takeshi Kitano's earlier work in the nineties: quiet and deceptively serene, only erupting occasionally into violence. An undercurrent of anxiety fills the movie, anxieties that embody a generation of sociopolitical malaise.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">This malaise partly stems from the powerlessness brought on by Sweet Potato's (and by extension, the youth's) position in these social structures - he needs to get a good citizen permit to get a job, but he cannot. His old boss, ever invisible except for one distant shot, tries to exert control over him. A local official, while seemingly friendly, is all facade: he is, for some reason, obsessed with Sweet Potato's childhood friend Seven (Patricia Lin), and resorts to threats to get people to vote for him. He is bound to an old home whose value inexorably goes down, so he can't sell it, and he is bound out of filial duty to his mother, addicted to gambling, who he blames for his problems.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It's understandable, then, that all that Sweet Potato desires is a simple life free from anyone's control. The reaction for many of the characters in the film is to try to break free, even through death - Seven, for example, rebelled against her parents' plan for her (allegedly) in a violent manner, but even then she was unable to completely live freely. Sweet Potato tries his best, but for a person with such a storied past, living in a country with an equally storied past, he is swimming against the waves.</div>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-91025915890991370652023-11-24T00:23:00.003+08:002023-11-24T00:23:43.236+08:00QCinema 2023 | Raging Grace, The Taste of Things<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgau_EfT7Xet9o2Ozbzgd0zGhsnHgtOtT5nGaIumuZFZqSpu6AKww0gjgnVrpm7eVQymBR2HS0Hq2sRs9wqTYHeDfMz21x3rkKGuT8RXX595SzJ8fYBLBlyrQnf_FjQQ_Gjtmf3Fz1QF7uUvjo9-KJ8cnYBX035XQKbrLhrMY2UFhcuvEXdsyDL/s1481/MV5BZDE3Zjc1OGQtMTZiZi00MjMxLWIyYTUtMWFlYTYyMWFhMjJiXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTM1NjM2ODg1._V1_FMjpg_UX1000_.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1481" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgau_EfT7Xet9o2Ozbzgd0zGhsnHgtOtT5nGaIumuZFZqSpu6AKww0gjgnVrpm7eVQymBR2HS0Hq2sRs9wqTYHeDfMz21x3rkKGuT8RXX595SzJ8fYBLBlyrQnf_FjQQ_Gjtmf3Fz1QF7uUvjo9-KJ8cnYBX035XQKbrLhrMY2UFhcuvEXdsyDL/s320/MV5BZDE3Zjc1OGQtMTZiZi00MjMxLWIyYTUtMWFlYTYyMWFhMjJiXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTM1NjM2ODg1._V1_FMjpg_UX1000_.jpg" width="216" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Joy (Max Eigenmann) is an overseas worker in the UK. She's a trained healthcare worker, but she has difficulty getting jobs and might not be able to stay in the country for long. Joining her is Grace (Jaeden Paige Boadilla), her daughter. Grace longs for a proper bed and some time to play, but their current living situation makes that difficult. Joy then comes across an opportunity to work as a housekeeper for a barrister (Leanne Best) and her comatose uncle (David Hayman). She takes the job, but surreptitiously smuggles Grace into the house as well.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Raging Grace</i> is structured like a Hitchcockian thriller, with tension creeping along every corner of the film. I'd say it's best to see the film without reading anything about it, so I will refrain from detailing anything major. Instead, I will focus on something that was said during the Q and A portion that I kept coming back to during the writing process of this review.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Max Eigenmann mentioned something about Grace's character; in many parts of the film, the child sometimes appears out of nowhere. Director Paris Zarcilla and cinematographer Joel Honeywell lean into this, treating her appearances as jump scares or sudden camera movements, as if she were a ghost. And Eigenmann notes that that's Grace's talent: she learned how to become a ghost because she needed to be - it's part of her experience as an illegal immigrant. There's a little of that nature in Joy as well - she didn't announce Grace's existence to her employer out of fear.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And that leads me to how workers abroad and immigrants in general are often 'made' to be invisible - in one sense, via assimilation, seen in the many small things Joy's employers impose on her, such as cooking something more to their tastes. A certain character in the film starts to forget their own language after living so long in another country. The other sense is invisibility via the suppression of personhood and autonomy, as Joy is treated as a servant more than a person, who only exists to follow orders and nothing more. 'Masters' do not need to know the opinion of their 'pets,' and there's a whole history behind that sentiment (considering this does take place in the UK, it's quite appropriate.) While Joy is a trained healthcare professional, her knowledge and expertise is suppressed at first, but when she manages to use her talents (combined with knowledge that is distinctly of her homeland), the results are quite astonishing.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The most harrowing aspect of immigrant life is isolation, and while finding a place to belong may lead us to dark paths, there's a scene in the film that shows the warmth of community and how it gives life to us in equal measure.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj742ZfRZqW7YMwC2nod8tcZ2JwT94OM6jAT0O4Dlm3O-cJBBbP9gJUZCGNDwxVG2Zu2laFhMLrHmQgTr1RGBCn8O1Dp-oQvzfM9Q_hkiJqU5poT5XrfFYomldqKMgusNgRenQddriH_ww5DfFvx5TaWElqJpcFMFKN-dZiFqAQAlgW7E0mJysC/s1356/MV5BNGI0NGEyYzEtMjFmNC00ZTVhLWE4MjEtOTAxNTRjOTkxMTIzXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyODc0OTEyNDU@._V1_FMjpg_UX1000_.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1356" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj742ZfRZqW7YMwC2nod8tcZ2JwT94OM6jAT0O4Dlm3O-cJBBbP9gJUZCGNDwxVG2Zu2laFhMLrHmQgTr1RGBCn8O1Dp-oQvzfM9Q_hkiJqU5poT5XrfFYomldqKMgusNgRenQddriH_ww5DfFvx5TaWElqJpcFMFKN-dZiFqAQAlgW7E0mJysC/s320/MV5BNGI0NGEyYzEtMjFmNC00ZTVhLWE4MjEtOTAxNTRjOTkxMTIzXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyODc0OTEyNDU@._V1_FMjpg_UX1000_.jpg" width="236" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Dodin (Benoit Magimel) is a talented restaurant owner and gourmet, lauded by his peers as the Napoleon of cuisine or some such title. In his 20 years in the business, he has worked closely with Eugenie (Juliette Binoche), an accomplished and equally talented cook. Together they're a force to be reckoned with in the French culinary world, though they've never stopped to think about what they mean to each other.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Tran Anh Hung's <i>The Taste of Things </i>is 70% scenes of preparing and eating food: I personally wouldn't be surprised if these scenes outnumbered scenes where people talked. In one early scene one of Dodin's friends notes that as men established civilization, there was a shift from merely eating food for the sake of survival to eating food purely for pleasure. And with that paradigm shift, our relationship with food changed, evolving into social activity. There's something profoundly intimate in actions around food: in eating it (together), in preparing it (for someone), in teaching a particular taste to someone else. People whose love language is acts of service will have a field day watching.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Cooking in this film is a sort of language as well: merely observing the various dishes prepared gives context to what's going on. A light soup or a rich melding of flavors communicates an identity, care (or carelessness), concern for a loved one, or even the fond memory of someone whose time has long passed.</div><p></p>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-24874369062876745642023-11-22T10:55:00.002+08:002023-11-22T10:55:38.064+08:00QCinema 2023 | Abang Adik, All of Us Strangers, Last Shadow at First Light<p>Today's set of reviews are films that are, in their own ways, ghost stories.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyomA3-5-4e-6OZlIazdoH3IKm7J4n85gc8wBmiAfxY9YPFS1psPymfQuFMx__mO1jX8DIGaF48tozthptH53fPt5X7xKjrSVlIps2JY-uNzFeQwOyOdeyRJApWjj4sB_8gTj7u0EOENVOWAGFMhyYnLp9onc1Ony-s1j7rky1mhaM0r7xoKYO/s3000/MV5BZGFlMDA2ODEtYmFmZi00NTc4LWFiY2UtNjY4NmQyNTNiNmIyXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTUzMDA3Mjc2._V1_.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyomA3-5-4e-6OZlIazdoH3IKm7J4n85gc8wBmiAfxY9YPFS1psPymfQuFMx__mO1jX8DIGaF48tozthptH53fPt5X7xKjrSVlIps2JY-uNzFeQwOyOdeyRJApWjj4sB_8gTj7u0EOENVOWAGFMhyYnLp9onc1Ony-s1j7rky1mhaM0r7xoKYO/s320/MV5BZGFlMDA2ODEtYmFmZi00NTc4LWFiY2UtNjY4NmQyNTNiNmIyXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTUzMDA3Mjc2._V1_.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The first film, Jin Ong's <i>Abang Adik</i>, features ghosts of the metaphorical kind: people who live out their lives invisibly, unable to be seen by society at large. Abang (Kang Ren Wu) and Adik (Jack Tan) are undocumented orphans living in Pasar Pudu, Kuala Lumpur. The place is known for its large wet market, but it is also where communities of the urban poor, marginalized peoples and immigrants of all sorts live. While the deaf Abang tries to get by working various jobs in the wet market, Adik frequently skirts the law, faking identification cards and selling his body to make ends meet. The two brothers are helped by social worker Jie En (Serene Lim), though they have different opinions on the matter: while Abang wants to continue the application process in order to be able to get more jobs, Adik has lost all faith in the system and wants nothing to do with it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The film takes us through the everyday struggles of the two brothers as they try to live in a community that is regularly raided by the authorities - a home that is more an oppressive open air prison than it is a home. Not unlike the urban landscapes here in the Philippines, the inhabitants of this place, all coming from different parts of Asia, live together through hardship in a sort of solidarity, but also in a shared existence that has its own hierarchy. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yet even though it looks bleak, there are certain glimpses of humanity: Jie En sacrifices her family in order to care for people who may or may not want to be helped. Abang befriends a refugee from Myanmar but knows their time together is limited - in one sequence, the doomed couple look at a mirror, perhaps catching sight of a life that will never be. Abang and Adik's benefactor, Money (Tan Kim Wang) supports the two brothers out of a sort of parental bond. The bond between the two brothers is strong, each gesture pregnant with meaning, communicating a long, shared history. I'll never look at breaking eggs the same way again.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The second half of the film is marked by a sudden turn that upends all of these characters' relationships, culminating in a sequence with Abang where no words are literally "heard", that (figuratively) ends up being the loudest scene in the entire film. When people end up being all but unable to be heard or seen by the land of their birth, the path to becoming a ghost is a tragic inevitability.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3e0uLe2HWBSonwNUQunf-SBkYTr3zRYs719CgJ8k9P-2Hpdyd5dxVCG3hC6QcEvIHj391uixIQ6xHd_L4kGMQmYL3MGm56zCEy-xKSRbE3u6AJhmWlDZ0YWTbMwILNTLsdRxXf9tp-ha5mC3l0VzNiKleAQKptvz8M4gFM8bMF8_no-4sRp6B/s1499/MV5BZmYzMjMzN2EtMGYwNi00ODc3LWI3YTctMjA5YjI1MGFkYTlhXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMDM2NDM2MQ@@._V1_FMjpg_UX1000_.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1499" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3e0uLe2HWBSonwNUQunf-SBkYTr3zRYs719CgJ8k9P-2Hpdyd5dxVCG3hC6QcEvIHj391uixIQ6xHd_L4kGMQmYL3MGm56zCEy-xKSRbE3u6AJhmWlDZ0YWTbMwILNTLsdRxXf9tp-ha5mC3l0VzNiKleAQKptvz8M4gFM8bMF8_no-4sRp6B/s320/MV5BZmYzMjMzN2EtMGYwNi00ODc3LWI3YTctMjA5YjI1MGFkYTlhXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMDM2NDM2MQ@@._V1_FMjpg_UX1000_.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">For this next film, I'm reminded of a quote from, of all things, <i>The Haunting of Hill House</i>:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>"Ghosts are guilt, ghosts are secrets, ghosts are regrets and failings. But most times a ghost is a wish."</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Adam (Andrew Scott) is a writer living alone in London. One day, he comes across his father (Jamie Bell) buying cigarettes in a store. But there's a problem: his parents have been gone for years, lost in a tragic accident. And yet here are his parents, apparently alive and as old as they were the year they were lost. At the same time, he meets his neighbor Harry (Paul Mescal), and starts a relationship with him.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As Adam navigates this new relationship, he can't help but tell his parents all about him and what has happened in all these intervening years. Though their mindset is still stuck in a time where gay men like Adam are discriminated against, they tentatively accept his identity with the love only a parent can give. And as Adam is drawn deeper back into the life he could have lived, he withdraws from everything else.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A lonely, 'ghostly' existence permeates the frames of Andrew Haigh's <i>All of Us Are Strangers</i>, its protagonists solitary stars in the sky, their existences bounded by light years, space and time. DP Jamie Ramsay frames Adam with a shallow depth of field, blurring everything (and every<i>one</i>) around him. Even in the apartment building where he lives, it's like no one's around besides Adam: "there aren't even security guards around," Harry quips. He is too caught up with his own past regrets that he barely sees the beauty in things anymore, in what's in front of him.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And this is the central tragedy of the film: in shutting himself off from the rest of the world, in denying who he is, so much is lost to what ifs, to failed timelines. Sometimes the things that haunt us are what turn us into ghosts.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDYvjowlKF1maLUWVcK71T8oN24DkIPf5KzElDO6-_NMjIy_ORDlo-Dvk-FRdKuGEACEdn6Arn0nFKtSVUG2TTtOHuIiPssBlopcK0RaTXeqkqifq0zp5W5ChyphenhyphenrbtMaAihbEc-28ZdpBm36l5UH9v9FtL0cBvsHFYbGvNfX7x7hhX31sBpZ7g0/s1414/MV5BOGQ4ZjllNWMtNzU3MS00MzE4LTk5Y2ItYmI4YTg5MjdiMjk1XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNjAwMzExNDY@._V1_FMjpg_UX1000_.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1414" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDYvjowlKF1maLUWVcK71T8oN24DkIPf5KzElDO6-_NMjIy_ORDlo-Dvk-FRdKuGEACEdn6Arn0nFKtSVUG2TTtOHuIiPssBlopcK0RaTXeqkqifq0zp5W5ChyphenhyphenrbtMaAihbEc-28ZdpBm36l5UH9v9FtL0cBvsHFYbGvNfX7x7hhX31sBpZ7g0/s320/MV5BOGQ4ZjllNWMtNzU3MS00MzE4LTk5Y2ItYmI4YTg5MjdiMjk1XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNjAwMzExNDY@._V1_FMjpg_UX1000_.jpg" width="226" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In this last film, 'ghosts' take on many forms: that of enduring, unresolved regret, of spirits tethered eternally to place and memory.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ami (Mihaya Shirata) has been haunted by apparitions. Her Japanese mother (Mariko Tsutsui) left Singapore to help in the relief efforts after the 3/11 Tsunami, but never returned. Ami's father (Peter Yu) refuses to elaborate, saying that Ami's mother killed herself out of despair. Ami then discovers a set of tape recordings that say her mother might be alive, and she sets out to Japan to find her.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Quiet, contemplative and haunting, <i>Last Shadow at First Light</i> deals with things that linger, long after what caused them has faded away. Regret fuels this lingering: Ami's mother has regrets over being unable to save her own parents from the tsunami; Ami's uncle Isamu (Masatoshi Nagase) yearns for his dead wife whose body was never found and experiences survivor's guilt.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Isamu and Ami travel through the landscapes of Northern Japan, where at least at first, many traces of the tsunami's devastation no longer exist. While Isamu is at first reluctant to join his niece in her journey, he relents and faces his own regrets perhaps for the first time since his loss. Eventually they come across their family's old hometown, with abandoned buildings strewn all over, and with a seawall blocking sight of the waters. Even though they can hear the waves, they cannot see them - a metaphorical specter of that tragedy, if you will. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The two eventually reach their respective destinations. The climactic scene - magical, elusive, ambiguous - sees both confronting their respective 'ghosts' head on, not necessarily to say goodbye, but to allay the waves of their regret. Such is grieving: those waves will never leave - we only live to swim with the current as time goes by.</div>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-90117070898082921452023-11-20T14:58:00.002+08:002023-11-20T14:58:33.476+08:00QCinema 2023 | QCSea Shorts Short Reviews<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKRPtd8xCmhq83xSRjk5zHNuADBqHwKlSK8HXxxlpp5IeFbbuxUOyibp9iI1vnLTd81P3fRfW3YBo2bKs5-4A00KA4ZJasWuRoXs4gq8fxrr4atGctpq_wisR6NYXGX57F7neBNxkIrRSNvrXX0yJHUCdUMlhyZopjJj4DS6WZQ608HOHA8x10/s800/rnFGg8DyQF664-qcinema.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKRPtd8xCmhq83xSRjk5zHNuADBqHwKlSK8HXxxlpp5IeFbbuxUOyibp9iI1vnLTd81P3fRfW3YBo2bKs5-4A00KA4ZJasWuRoXs4gq8fxrr4atGctpq_wisR6NYXGX57F7neBNxkIrRSNvrXX0yJHUCdUMlhyZopjJj4DS6WZQ608HOHA8x10/s320/rnFGg8DyQF664-qcinema.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">The dystopian near-future of Stephen Lopez's <b><i>Hito</i></b> feels bizarre and unfamiliar at certain points, yet feels familiar in all the right ways: a raucously funny satire full of references from various forms of media (such as a Cowboy Bebop nod at the very end), the film shows us the dangers of forced mono-ideological thought, where unity for its own sake is meaningless, where the gold in the "golden age" is the golden color of shit.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I've been to a couple of parties in North America with immigrant family members, and with only small variations they've felt a lot like the party in Kayla Abuda Galang's <b><i>When You Left Me on That Boulevard</i></b>. The film radiates anxious energy - stemming from awkward social situations with drunk aunties to the awkwardness of navigating between two disparate, sometimes at-odds cultures.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Despite a slew of technical problems that turned the film into a slideshow, Khozy Rizal's <b><i>Basri and Salma in a Never-Ending Comedy</i></b> is one of my favorite shorts of the program. It adroitly portrays the struggles of a childless couple in very conservative Indonesia, where the social expectations and pressures to bear children affect not only the woman, but also the man - where having (many) children is considered a mark of virility and manhood.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><b><i>The Thing About Aliens and Their Skincare</i></b> makes its metaphors quite clear, complete with cute explainer about how our LGBTQ+ brothers, sisters and nonbinary siblings are just normal people trying to get by, even as segments of society treat them differently. It's a very simple, sweet film. However, though the understanding that we gain in the film isn't extended to the characters in the film who do not understand, and things remain more or less at status quo near the end.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">In learning certain kinds of relationship dynamics, important things to know would be who is in control, who is using who, and what the rules of the relationship are. In <b><i>The Mop</i></b>, that knowledge is made ambiguous; learning these dynamics becomes a game that takes its audience in many different and unexpected directions.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Sometimes we learn how small and unimportant we actually are in the grand scheme of things - <b><i>The Altar</i></b> meditates on that thought, on how we are often buffeted from all sides by forces beyond our control and understanding. It is also a confession as much as it is a meditation, with its invisible narrator whispering to us the details of their 'sin.'</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><b><i>Buoyant</i></b> starts with the discovery of a mermaid at a sea market - and through dance, tells the tale of freedom of various sorts, borne through empathy and acceptance. It's quirky and ends in a very cute fashion.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The title of <b><i>Cross My Heart and Hope to Die</i></b> implies a promise - but in an overly exploitative capitalist society where everyone uses everyone else in an endless chain of exploitation, such promises hold no water, such relationships find their foundation built on lies. Jorrybell Agoto's working class protagonist finds herself exploited in more ways than one - caught up in the machinations of men who employ her, or men who seek to use her for their own means.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Families can sometimes be complicated, their histories built on unspoken pain and unshared feelings. Director Giselle Lin explores the complicated relationships between herself, her four sisters and their estranged parents in <b><i>I Look Into the Mirror and Repeat to Myself</i></b>, where she unearths shared traumas and experiences that solidified - and broke apart - their bonds as siblings. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">And finally, while I get the sentiment behind <b><i>Dominion</i></b> - an exploration of colonialist legacies in settled lands through old pictures, I am not fully sold on the execution. While providing context through (subtitled) narration is okay, why not show the pictures themselves? The visuals and narration doesn't always line up, and much of what is narrated could be better off shown instead, allowing us to take in their power first hand instead of a second hand description through text. Like the Tenacious D song, it's not the greatest (short) in the world - it's just a tribute.</p>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-74396548467261979652023-11-20T13:19:00.004+08:002023-11-28T21:36:22.159+08:00QCinema 2023 | Poor Things, Perfect Days<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTRtzCCFK1jdrHStMiBrt5pJ9Jx7Zm3LmBYZ2eXWRKQQSO5G6BSRTNuqp2wNBgRPjDS1k10T4AY_FOpMSs4pv_qYNsFiCPL0k6sBSc2SY4o9YDZwaV54s2ctZIoLbUOH_pqoh_tGSz1u22nT2gYAC5WRcPFqWwquQUrU_d4xWlf4KW3KUhIGHo/s1000/814zNKBe16L._AC_UF894,1000_QL80_.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="675" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTRtzCCFK1jdrHStMiBrt5pJ9Jx7Zm3LmBYZ2eXWRKQQSO5G6BSRTNuqp2wNBgRPjDS1k10T4AY_FOpMSs4pv_qYNsFiCPL0k6sBSc2SY4o9YDZwaV54s2ctZIoLbUOH_pqoh_tGSz1u22nT2gYAC5WRcPFqWwquQUrU_d4xWlf4KW3KUhIGHo/s320/814zNKBe16L._AC_UF894,1000_QL80_.jpg" width="216" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yorgos Lanthimos is a pretty funny guy.</div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Or at least, he's a guy that makes funny films, whose humor stems from either leaning into the absurdity that results from breaking a state of 'normalcy', or from the inherent weirdness of the way things are. In this case, a loose adaptation of Alasdair Gray's 1992 novel, it's a little bit of both.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Bella Baxter (Emma Stone) starts the film as quite the peculiar character. Talking mostly in single words and animal sounds, the new "daughter" of the scientist and anatomist Godwin Baxter (Willem Dafoe) is a bit of an enigma. It turns out that she's the product of the older Baxter's mad scientist experiments: he fished her dead, pregnant corpse near the bridge where she committed suicide, transplanted her still-alive fetus' brain in her head and reanimated her.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The newly reanimated Bella has no conception of "polite society", and navigates it with a naivete not unlike the titular character of Greta Gerwig's <i>Barbie</i> (2023), though this journey takes a much more R-18 (and arguably better) turn. As Bella seeks to whet her ferocious sexual appetites, she meets a number of individuals who seek either to help her or to take advantage of her. Indeed, the film can be seen as how the men (and sometimes women) of that polite society react to such a disruption, and the hilarity that ensues when that woman would go her own way regardless.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">As the film goes on, Bella grows (and Emma Stone, in what is perhaps the performance of her career, brings this across beautifully) and she learns, much as you or I would learn, about how the world is not all sunshine and rainbows and even in such a society, there are structures and hierarchies to be followed. Yet, even with that knowledge, is perhaps what's most important: is that Bella makes all of these decisions by her own free will and carves out a space for herself regardless. And if she gets to do whatever she wants and goes wherever she needs to be, whether it be in Greece, France, or back in her home, what's wrong with that? What's funny about that?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0I4JZB4kiHqpi7CuXsdWNHTMrUL-zuzAEEtfgDYTGQWANzQ4YNP-gQsdkXOD1Lgy0i_UvYRY-eRJ1Dn42qbzFZyO36ZRIiepbkrX0_ChOHXxVVAq0SN8HfSZt2KW6BvjmnrROKWY_VPs_fubhX8Z4_ApkgwDpIYBeUsGOdwijsTTfjZyZkVs7/s2048/MV5BMjZmMWNlZjMtZDFhZC00ZmU5LWIzYTgtOTZjY2E0MzFhOWFiXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyODA0MjgyNzM@._V1_.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1447" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0I4JZB4kiHqpi7CuXsdWNHTMrUL-zuzAEEtfgDYTGQWANzQ4YNP-gQsdkXOD1Lgy0i_UvYRY-eRJ1Dn42qbzFZyO36ZRIiepbkrX0_ChOHXxVVAq0SN8HfSZt2KW6BvjmnrROKWY_VPs_fubhX8Z4_ApkgwDpIYBeUsGOdwijsTTfjZyZkVs7/s320/MV5BMjZmMWNlZjMtZDFhZC00ZmU5LWIzYTgtOTZjY2E0MzFhOWFiXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyODA0MjgyNzM@._V1_.jpg" width="226" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Hirayama (Koji Yakusho) cleans toilets for a living. It's not exactly one of the most glamorous jobs out there, as an early interaction with a woman and her child makes it clear. But without fail, he gets up to the sound of a streetsweeper in the morning, goes through the motions of his work, and reads a few pages from a collection of books in the evening. It's a simple life and honest work, and Hirayama likes it that way.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">There's <a href="https://devasishanti.blogspot.com/2023/01/japanese-film-festival-philippines-2023.html">something I wrote earlier this year</a> for another (similarly themed) film that I wish to replicate here, because it captures my feelings about Wim Wenders' Perfect Days... perfectly:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>There is something incredibly comforting about routine: something safe in ordinariness, in the idea that no matter how drastically our lives may change, we return to familiar motions. It is also through routine and ritual that we observe the ephemera of living (in Japanese - mono no aware), of the impermanence of all things. Routine, thus, is a quiet act of rebellion then, a way of fighting back the chaos of life.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Through (comforting) repetition Wenders shows us the life of a man who has learned not to wander through the chaos of life, but to stand still and behold it - to see wonder in mundane things we'd usually otherwise ignore. With his rickety camera he takes a picture of the same tree almost every day, with the sun filtering through the clouds, with no other purpose than to admire its beauty. Instead of reacting to life, he merely observes and lets things pass him by.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">At many points, however, Hirayama comes across several challenges to his chosen way of life. He gets a glimpse of sharing his life with a companion, or a loved one - or at least someone who shares his own desires or tends to his wants and needs. Later on, someone from his past visits him, showing him glimpses of the life he once lived, and the life he could have lived. At certain parts of the film, he catches sight of the same vagrant - someone who perhaps represents the purest form of his way of life, or an inevitable conclusion to a man who has lived invisibly, alone. And finally, he confronts his own mortality, and the notion that at the end of this journey, he will have lived his life with many things undone, with many things unknown.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But Hirayama's response to that succinctly encapsulates his life view: <i>next time is next time. Now is now. </i>If there's something that needs to be known, find out. If there's something that needs to be done, do it. Though it is a film about a man who stands still, it's definitely not about a man who has stopped dreaming. There's something beautiful in that, I think.</div>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-49810236960602877492023-11-18T09:50:00.004+08:002023-11-18T09:50:50.692+08:00Dispatches from Tokyo International Film Festival 2023: Godzilla Minus One (Closing Film)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmjLZIqMX6Yk6G5-rb05dr4OBeClHErkAk03-929TRNLdI83JeI_0avW1q5OFz5tAzycEnqHflX-6RHTBzK11V441vyV0D8LA3gJDmFQdax6d6POJ7QhcyzgftIGbmh6PTB7HAkBr_nXVj_Rqg19mcbhuKZG4Glx1WcaRFbX0HxVVErC47qYNd/s267/images%20(1).jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="189" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmjLZIqMX6Yk6G5-rb05dr4OBeClHErkAk03-929TRNLdI83JeI_0avW1q5OFz5tAzycEnqHflX-6RHTBzK11V441vyV0D8LA3gJDmFQdax6d6POJ7QhcyzgftIGbmh6PTB7HAkBr_nXVj_Rqg19mcbhuKZG4Glx1WcaRFbX0HxVVErC47qYNd/s1600/images%20(1).jpg" width="189" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In the final days of the Second World War, Koichi Shikishima (Ryunosuke Kamiki) lands on a remote island in Japan. As the crew tends to his plane, the lead mechanic (Munetaka Aoki) figures out that he's a failed Kamikaze pilot. Before they manage to resolve that, however, the resident god of the island attacks - and he's a god that many of us are familiar with, because this is <a href="https://wikizilla.org/wiki/Odo_Island">Odo Island</a>, and the god visiting the island is none other than Godzilla...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Intended as a remake of the 1954 original film, Godzilla Minus One recontextualizes its titular monster and shifts the story to an even earlier period in postwar Japan. Most of the first half of the film centers on Shikishima (having barely escaped Odo Island with his life) discovering the effects of the war on his country and on his family - or rather what's left of it, as most of them are killed during the war's last days. Shikishima tries to live a new life with his trauma and discovers something of a found family - fellow survivor Noriko Oishi (Minami Hamabe) and another survivor, a young orphan whose parents were killed in an allied bombing. After years of PTSD and survivor's guilt, he begins to feel a sense of normalcy, that is, until Godzilla returns.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In the original 1954 film, there were very obvious parallels to the titular monster and the beginning of the atomic age - Godzilla was as much a victim as the people he terrorized, a <i>hibakusha</i> in every sense of the word. The device used to defeat him was also a weapon of mass destruction, perhaps an even more fearsome one than the bombs that mutated and deformed the original monster, and much of the original film is about the scientist who created that weapon grappling with the monstrosity of his creation.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">However, in this reimagining, Godzilla becomes more a metaphor for the specter of war itself, of the deep psychological and emotional wounds suffered by everyone involved in war. Noriko repeatedly asks Shikishima if he's finished fighting his war, and she refers not to his battle against Godzilla, but his own internal battle, the battle to prove to himself that he deserves to live. In this film, many of the survivors of the war dealt with their own pain in different ways - perhaps because they fought in something they didn't believe in, or because they felt that the government didn't care for them enough, or simply because that they lost. (Not necessarily reckoning the things that they did in that war, that process is still going on today.) The (very different) plan to defeat Godzilla serves not as a metaphor for weapons of mass destruction; it now becomes a metaphor for the wasted talents and expertise of people who were co-opted in the service of an imperialist war machine.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Indeed, the Japanese government is all but absent in the film, having exhausted their limited resources in the initial defense of Tokyo. The Americans are all but absent as well, though their atomic tests still catalyze Godzilla's transformation, their carelessness the source of most of the film's problems. What emerges is something contrary to the themes of this film's direct predecessor, Hideaki Anno's <i>Shin Godzilla</i> (2016): in that film a functioning bureaucracy, and not necessarily the absence of one, is the key to a nation's success. In this one, sans bureaucracy of any kind (mostly), it is a nation's people that will ultimately uplift it. Cognizant of the wastefulness and meaninglessness of war, the group that eventually faces off against Godzilla do so in order to use their talents for something positive for a change, something truly worth fighting for.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Even when things slide into melodrama, the film manages to create some amazing setpieces that I will not spoil here. Yamazaki has toyed with the idea of Godzilla before, creating a dream sequence featuring the titular monster, a prototype perhaps, in the second part of his <i>Always: Sunset on Third Street</i> series. In recent years there's been a sort of emotional distance in the destruction Godzilla wreaks upon Tokyo - but here that destruction is personal and deeply felt.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It's quite a refreshing take on the venerable monster and his 70 year legacy, and it's one that I highly recommend.</div><p></p>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-51700668310740785862023-11-01T12:13:00.001+08:002023-11-01T12:13:20.281+08:00Dispatches from Tokyo International Film Festival 2023: (Ab)normal Desire, Gospel of the Beast<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtvNyXHKJdH5u710swaA7GvsGDdT7U0QHdw9xq2Lh-2QiukoF7SxPf-oFJd0r0cuoLOtNNYxMLyVUQ5J8-hu_LvvgMbNMJrefQC60o1maZqN8fJM54nOYs5HIMqu1wg5mEEASE1YL92pFC5cezznZSXID7GYheSpd9gMtbhuvDE_1COo0JDU9d/s267/images.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="189" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtvNyXHKJdH5u710swaA7GvsGDdT7U0QHdw9xq2Lh-2QiukoF7SxPf-oFJd0r0cuoLOtNNYxMLyVUQ5J8-hu_LvvgMbNMJrefQC60o1maZqN8fJM54nOYs5HIMqu1wg5mEEASE1YL92pFC5cezznZSXID7GYheSpd9gMtbhuvDE_1COo0JDU9d/s1600/images.jpg" width="189" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">There's a clever bit of wordplay in the original title of Yoshiyuki Kishi's <i>(Ab)normal Desire</i>: Seiyoku (性欲) means sexual desire, but the first kanji, Sei (性), is replaced by the kanji for "correct," (正), also read as Sei. And in a culturally rigid society like Japan, anything that strays from that "correct" desire is met with contempt, derision and fear.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Natsuki (Yui Aragaki) has a strange relationship with water. Once in the past, she shared that relationship with an old classmate, Sasaki (Hayato Isomura,) but they haven't seen each other in years. A class reunion brought out by a wedding draws the two together again, leading to a rediscovery of sorts. Meanwhile, a policeman (Goro Inagaki) grapples with his son's decision to stop school and become a content creator, wary of living anything other than what he sees is the "correct" way of doing things.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Natsuki and Sasaki's desires serve as a metaphor for sexual and social minorities, their paraphilias alienating them in a place they cannot call home. "I feel like I'm an alien living a short stay on Earth," one character muses. It's done with much nuance, with tittilation all but absent in the entire film. There's also the visual metaphor of the fish trapped alone inside an aquarium. To find a person who understands these desires and even shares them provides so much relief to our protagonists, because the existence of like-minded people means that they aren't alone. That loneliness is articulated so well in scenes where either Natsuki or Sasaki engage socially with other people but don't feel "normal", or feel like they fit in. Subtle pressures from coworkers and family members to live a set existence is suffocating to them, leading them to withdraw and lash out in different ways.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Water in itself holds a special metaphorical meaning in <i>(Ab)normal Desire</i>: in that while it signifies life and it flows and does not hold one state, it also signifies a raging force that can cause harm. Paraphilias are benign as long as they do not harm others, but when they do, society tends to conflate the harmful and harmless, and that leads to inevitable tragedy.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">An engaging watch from start to finish, <i>(Ab)normal Desire</i> is perhaps Kishi's most layered, complex work.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA0jR22zNEJxIden3M14MWPAbYShYnLDYEFHlG33GyjrRxetK2j7uO6oI8nAJSQ8VrSpJLBL7dKJsMAoWzzX6U4Kb7N4h8rJdBb42Sf87bmNL2fv58pPlBdzoh3kEp7l8Zwms6tpa5YDyvORCmJi7stE7beL8PhZMfgunvARwYokkCVH9LQtpw/s1024/The-Gospel-of-the-Beast-POSTER.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="690" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA0jR22zNEJxIden3M14MWPAbYShYnLDYEFHlG33GyjrRxetK2j7uO6oI8nAJSQ8VrSpJLBL7dKJsMAoWzzX6U4Kb7N4h8rJdBb42Sf87bmNL2fv58pPlBdzoh3kEp7l8Zwms6tpa5YDyvORCmJi7stE7beL8PhZMfgunvARwYokkCVH9LQtpw/s320/The-Gospel-of-the-Beast-POSTER.jpg" width="216" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Mateo (Jansen Magpusao) is an ordinary schoolboy who messes around in class. During one particular instance, he accidentally kills a classmate in a fit of anger. Desperate to hide his crime, he turns to his godfather (Ronnie Lazaro), who works as a hitman for an influential person. As he lives out his days under his employ and works his way up the ranks, his faith begins to shake.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">People usually do not leave the womb as killers - we may instinctively act out in violent ways, but systematic, purposeful violence is taught, or it permeates so deeply in a society so as to make people accept that this is the way things are. Sheron Dayoc's <i>The Gospel of the Beast </i>shows a Philippines where violence is so entrenched in our consciousness that when we commit it, the instinct is not to become accountable, but to rationalize it, to find ways to make it more efficient, to escape from its consequences. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">While Mateo is himself partly religious - near the start of the film, he prays as his colleagues bury a corpse - his beliefs change gradually as time goes on. His empathy begins to waver, and as he dehumanizes the people he helps kill, he himself loses his humanity. The beast's religion is violence, the act of killing becomes his prayer. He becomes a tool for others to use for the means of other, equally violent but far more powerful men. Jansen Magpusao's second feature role after Cinemalaya's <i>John Denver Trending</i> (2019) cements him as one of the country's foremost young talents, perfectly embodying Mateo's descent into beasthood.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">There is, however, hope at the ambiguous end of the film, that there is a chance for humanity to be regained, for violence to be unlearned. But it will take a lot of time, effort and a cultural shift that we as a country might not yet be ready to undertake.</div><p></p>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-62002556773971281102023-10-31T08:10:00.005+08:002023-10-31T08:10:53.897+08:00Dispatches from Tokyo International Film Festival 2023: Tatsumi, Kubi, Ryuichi Sakamoto: Opus<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0LHMBZDTzuzA1s8C0KN8whNp7879qqvDuhazWX98POWKX3XAZ9UdYOZSx7EnHepfQmZjIde0F3TkaQGg65cRuicNm6wsUiCKfq28YrGKUFt8geyUX91YmLTJp2fNyjF_wtXSXZbkn_R3tKHE8O3f2RI544vYabUNZhU5IPR1T8-QtPyh-tVlh/s518/3602ASF10_4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="518" data-original-width="364" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0LHMBZDTzuzA1s8C0KN8whNp7879qqvDuhazWX98POWKX3XAZ9UdYOZSx7EnHepfQmZjIde0F3TkaQGg65cRuicNm6wsUiCKfq28YrGKUFt8geyUX91YmLTJp2fNyjF_wtXSXZbkn_R3tKHE8O3f2RI544vYabUNZhU5IPR1T8-QtPyh-tVlh/s320/3602ASF10_4.jpg" width="225" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Tatsumi (Yuya Endo) works for an organized crime group as a cleaner - responsible for disposing dead bodies whenever one inevitably turns up in the course of their dirty work. One day, he is tasked to look for stolen drug money and the trail seems to lead him to his old friend Kyoko (Nanami Kameda) and her husband. It is there where he meets Kyoko's younger sister Aoi (Kokoro Morita), an irascible, brash woman who recognizes exactly zero authority. When tragedy befalls Kyoko and her husband, Tatsumi and Aoi find themselves on the run together, where they begin to form a strange relationship.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A relatively straightforward crime revenge drama, Shoji Hiroshi's <i>Tatsumi</i> is nevertheless well made, buoyed by excellent performances from an ensemble cast. Yuya Endo's Tatsumi is haunted by a tragic past, a good man driven to apathy by his circumstances. He finds himself drawn to Aoi, seeing something in his deceased brother in her. Kokoro Morita matches him beat for beat in that sense, her character evolving from a seemingly incorrigible punk to someone genuinely vulnerable and understood by only a few people. Among the rest of the ensemble, of particular note is Tomoyuki Kuramoto, who plays the film's primary antagonist Ryuji - a chaotic, menacing presence whenever he turns up.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The last act of the film ruminates on the nature of revenge itself - with a closing sequence not unlike films like Rae Red's <i>Babae at Baril</i> (2019) yet in a different context, its ambiguity something I particularly liked.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF-sIANPrm6oMCs5HR9s4mVIDmOBSbszWCUzOvFkU3RCMJDtLxiJ2Vlg5lrdIcL2G-0W6493exS26uY3Tzpp7o7P4gy-sCgnaG3sdfEDoPRENBZpNJhD_gTjWf4ygA9xmKzEfwZOjr6z0pdw-9yGR7ctHBcNm7GVQgiTWyXnoWhkLPxjmIZ42u/s1600/s-l1600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1129" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF-sIANPrm6oMCs5HR9s4mVIDmOBSbszWCUzOvFkU3RCMJDtLxiJ2Vlg5lrdIcL2G-0W6493exS26uY3Tzpp7o7P4gy-sCgnaG3sdfEDoPRENBZpNJhD_gTjWf4ygA9xmKzEfwZOjr6z0pdw-9yGR7ctHBcNm7GVQgiTWyXnoWhkLPxjmIZ42u/s320/s-l1600.jpg" width="226" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A headless corpse floating down a river and a small hill of severed heads bookend <i>Kubi</i>, Takeshi Kitano's retelling of the events surrounding the Honnoji incident - a series of events where Mitsuhide Akechi, retainer to the warlord Nobunaga Oda, betrays his lord and ends the demon king's rule. It is perhaps the film's tamest image, the entire film filled with severed heads. Yet at the same time, it is not nearly as serious as Kitano's other contemporary films - in many ways the film, perhaps Kitano's last, is a satirical deadpan comedy with tongue firmly in cheek, in this case, comedy that is pitch black. Indeed, in the credits Kitano uses his comedy stage name Beat Takeshi instead of his real name.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It is perfect that Kitano chose Hideyoshi Toyotomi as his character: as a retainer with a peasant background, Hideyoshi's perspective is unique - a commoner scoffing at the absurdities of samurai nobility - and by extension, perhaps Kitano himself looking at how <i>jidaigeki</i> of this era is portrayed. And absurd it is, often to insane degrees - this film's version of Nobunaga Oda, played by Ryo Kase, is chaos embodied, devious, perverse, often obsessed more with various hedonistic pursuits than actually ruling the land, treating his retainers like playthings - the head severed from the body in a figurative way, the head unaware of the body's machinations. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yet it could be argued that Kitano's avatar in this film is not merely Hideyoshi but Shinzaemon Sorori, a rakugoka associated with Hideyoshi. Here Shinzaemon is a former ninja, quitting that job and deciding to tell stories instead. In fact, near the end, he leaves the relevant battles entirely, reaching a rather unceremonious end. In fact, many of the characters of the film seem to reach their goals, only to have that attainment be pyrrhic in nature - Mitsuhide triumphs, but is later betrayed by Hideyoshi; Hideyoshi himself is triumphant, but his rule is soon ended by the next generation. Another peasant character, Mosuke, gains the status he so desperately wanted, only to reap the "benefits" of that new status as soon as it is achieved. All this can be seen as Kitano meditating on his own legacy (if he has one, at least in Kitano's view). In this case, the severed head gains a whole new meaning - in the context of the film, the severed head is a symbol of a duty completed, a success achieved. Hideyoshi (and by extension, Kitano) does not conclusively attain this. But perhaps in a moment of self reflection, Hideyoshi states that as long as he knows that his target is dead, it doesn't matter if he has a head or not. Kitano's decades-long career in the entertainment business may not end cleanly and not with whatever "ending" Kitano subconsciously thinks he needs, but he has done the work, and if <i>Kubi</i> does end up being his curtain call, his body of work, strange and funny and idiosyncratic, stands for itself.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhltT0FkHu7XG0uP6Qg2LzMLaVSzszsz1Al8wEF9QUnY6OBaX24L7ZcOX-vkp83_RKt3BbhtpqFMx_FFIi9OP3x92bei0sN68V1Q8k41GLIvdP_4CWRMH-cs0zd2UuP7tz_CUGt0JtE-zG042YNXRa7lYlNXzUZZ5Q4F7zR0T3cN78-JyqLPwpI/s300/download%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="168" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhltT0FkHu7XG0uP6Qg2LzMLaVSzszsz1Al8wEF9QUnY6OBaX24L7ZcOX-vkp83_RKt3BbhtpqFMx_FFIi9OP3x92bei0sN68V1Q8k41GLIvdP_4CWRMH-cs0zd2UuP7tz_CUGt0JtE-zG042YNXRa7lYlNXzUZZ5Q4F7zR0T3cN78-JyqLPwpI/s1600/download%20(1).jpg" width="168" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My relationship as a fan of Ryuichi Sakamoto began when I was around 12 or 13, watching the WOWOW satellite channel in my grandmother's house. In a dull moment between other dull moments, I began to hear a musical piece that moved me like few other musical pieces did. It turned out to be a commercial for Sakamoto's Playing the Orchestra, and the musical piece was Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence, the iconic theme from the 1983 film of the same name. I watched Playing the Orchestra, recorded it on VCR and watched it religiously over the years until the tape broke.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">\</div><div style="text-align: justify;">In March of this year, Ryuichi Sakamoto died after a long fight with cancer. In his final months, he recorded a concert film along with his son Neo Sora, which would prove to be his last. <i>Ryuichi Sakamoto | Opus</i> to someone like me is more than a concert film - it is a final and tender goodbye to a man whose music has influenced me for the better part of 30 years.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The production is bare, stripped down, filmed in black and white - consisting only of Sakamoto, his piano, and a number of microphones. Sakamoto himself chose 20 songs to feature in this final performance, spanning all of his years from electronica, film soundtracks, and his later experimental and minimalist works.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The first third of the film consists of piano renditions from his later works: a couple of tracks from his 2017 album <i>async</i> and one from his iconic 1999 album <i>BTTB</i>, punctuated by the haunting main theme to the 2004 film Tony Takitani. For a moment I close my eyes and find myself at a Tower Records in Canada with my aunt and grandmother, buying a copy of <i>BTTB</i> and Sakamoto's concert album <i>Discord</i>. I ask the clerk if they have a copy of <i>1996</i> in stock; she tells me that the album is sold out. I spend nights listening to those two albums repeatedly.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The middle third of the film breaks my composure immediately, beginning with Bibo no Aozora, a track from his 1995 album Smoochy, whose orchestral version was famously used in Alejandro González Iñárritu's <i>Babel</i> (2006). Tears began to fall from my eyes - Bibo no Aozora is perhaps my favorite of all of Sakamoto's songs. But something in this particular performance breaks me even more. Fans of Sakamoto know that in many instrumental renditions of Bibo no Aozora, there is a dissonant, improvisational segment. In this particular performance, Sakamoto struggles to find a chord he likes. He stops for a moment and tries again, He tries to squeeze out the chords he wants, but they aren't coming out. "Let's do it again," he says, but we move to another song. In many concert films there is an image of an artist at the peak of their powers, their performance perfect, iconic. But this is a concert film of an artist in his last days, exhausting his life force to will art into existence.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Bibo no Aozora is followed by another <i>BTTB</i> track: Aqua, the song to the iconic ending of Hirokazu Kore-eda's <i>Monster</i>. It's a melancholy yet hopeful piece. I gain my composure for the moment, though it cracks after reminiscing the devastating ending to that film.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After Aqua is the oldest of all the Sakamoto songs in this film: Tong Poo, a track he composed in his Yellow Magic Orchestra days. While the original track is fast and propulsive, this piano rendition is slow and elegiac. Sakamoto takes a few moments to play the opening part of this song, stops, then tries again. With the death of Sakamoto, of the three members of YMO, only Haruomi Hosono remains.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Sakamoto then goes into his greatest cinematic themes: his collaborations with controversial director Bernardo Bertolucci, themes from <i>The Sheltering Sky</i> (1990) and <i>The Last Emperor</i> (1987) and Peter Kosminsky's adaptation of <i>Wuthering Heights</i> (1992). These are interspersed with tracks from his later years. Of note is his piano rendition of Trioon, one of the songs he made along with German musician Alva Noto. In this rendition of Trioon, the electronica and glitches are absent: Sakamoto's piano feels so alone.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">As his finale Sakamoto chooses the theme to Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence, and I am 12 or 13 again, watching Sakamoto for the first time, entranced by his music. And I am in my 40s, crying in a Japanese theater, saying goodbye to a friend of sorts for the last time.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Opus</i>' encore is the song of the same name from <i>BTTB</i>, a lilting, melancholic tune that is my favorite track from that album. And Neo Sora decides with his last frames to show that even without the man, the music will inevitably live on.</div><p></p>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-41835067068824747892023-10-30T11:05:00.003+08:002023-10-30T11:05:46.352+08:00Dispatches from Tokyo International Film Festival 2023: On the Edge of Their Seats, Who Were We?<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIoArruf7GFhnex4MAvS-_sosD2HgGykR2H2xrXgmbhdZY8rRm1CyaghvOI2mdzUQB4oSokHOZCHj8LEJaD1huW8DJD3I8v2QBxFjFC8GheAUcLwE4cNQ5RoYZjdGKrnBE3R1XxbC4czn6YSE5cT0i6FlyhoIZvrddIBhS3tdDJ89GEchgPmvb/s800/on-the-edge-of-their-seats-film-poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="566" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIoArruf7GFhnex4MAvS-_sosD2HgGykR2H2xrXgmbhdZY8rRm1CyaghvOI2mdzUQB4oSokHOZCHj8LEJaD1huW8DJD3I8v2QBxFjFC8GheAUcLwE4cNQ5RoYZjdGKrnBE3R1XxbC4czn6YSE5cT0i6FlyhoIZvrddIBhS3tdDJ89GEchgPmvb/s320/on-the-edge-of-their-seats-film-poster.jpg" width="226" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">From a career making direct to video <i>Pinku Eiga</i>, Hideo Jojo has branched out to carve out a diverse filmography of everything from dramas to romantic films. Filmed and released on the cusp of the pandemic, Jojo's 2020 film On the Edge of their Seats is based on the play of the same name, and its theatrical elements are clearly evident in the final work. Taking place over the course of a baseball game we never see, the film follows four characters as they grapple with personal setbacks: Asuha (Rina Ono) is a member of the drama club, and her greatest dream to be able to participate in a national drama tournament has been derailed thanks to a classmate getting the flu right before the performance. Hikaru (Marin Nishimoto) is that classmate, and she's been thinking how to make it up to Asuha and the club. Fujio (Amon Hirai) left the baseball club realizing he'll never be selected to play for the team, even as classmates worse than him strive to do so and remain, and nerdy Miyashita (Shuri Nakamura) gets second place at the only thing she's good at - studying - as she is distracted by the team's star player.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In contrast to the usually hopeful and optimistic characters of these youth dramas, the characters of On the Edge of Their Seats are trapped by their own personal demons cynically declaring that the effort is simply not worth it. Ironically, it's the adults who engage in this unabashed optimism - or rather, dogged determination - embodied by the tea ceremony coach with dreams of baseball stardom, who screams himself hoarse trying to cheer on the school's baseball team.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In the end, these characters realize that a setback doesn't have to mean the end of the road, and an epilogue puts this in context, showing how insignificant these problems really are. Much like the ending of 1969's <i>A Boy Named Charlie Brown, </i>the titular character may not have gotten what he wanted, but the world keeps on spinning regardless.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgawIoOTiecol5j1TV6AyXHq64UFTvn_GKF3ZkEeXBi4KVG7vkJiIpRx2cDDpdmrDNPXpJeEUWgyaplZqhOxn22doD6vQXPDEBbJP5UV3JpPv13mdY8TUcAo4G4CqX8vt1hT5_nJkEYGXpFWOJqyi9aL24ZF89z95o3eQacSK_m3YPDJvjHZE9h/s268/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="268" data-original-width="188" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgawIoOTiecol5j1TV6AyXHq64UFTvn_GKF3ZkEeXBi4KVG7vkJiIpRx2cDDpdmrDNPXpJeEUWgyaplZqhOxn22doD6vQXPDEBbJP5UV3JpPv13mdY8TUcAo4G4CqX8vt1hT5_nJkEYGXpFWOJqyi9aL24ZF89z95o3eQacSK_m3YPDJvjHZE9h/s1600/download.jpg" width="188" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A woman (Nana Komatsu) wakes up in the abandoned gold mines in the island of Sado, in Niigata. She does not know her name or even how she got there. She meets others like herself and chooses a new name: Midori (Green). Some time passes and she meets a man (Ryuhei Matsuda) who has arrived under the same circumstances. He calles himself Ao (Blue.) The two feel a strange connection, but are unsure what that connection is. As the two go about their motions around the island, they meet more people like them. One in particular, Murasaki (Shizuka Ishibashi,) feels a strange connection to Ao...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">At one point in Tetsuya Tomina's <i>Who Were We? </i>the camera pans to what looks like a Noh performer wearing a mask denoting his status as a spirit. And that's basically what the film is: a modern-day, arthouse Noh play about two spirits who find themselves finding each other again in a limbo, denoted by the boxy 4:3 frame that imprisons them. It's rather appropriate that Tomina chose these mines as the place of their meeting and incarceration; the Sado mines were historically a place where criminals and other undesirables were made to work, until their death a prison that was physical as much as it was spiritual.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">That said, in this tale of love divorced from memory, that disconnection in itself is the film's greatest weakness. We never do find out the answer to the question <i>Who Were We? </i>- indeed, the ending of the film posits that an answer is unnecessary. Unfortunately, that makes it difficult to attach to the two central characters, despite the enormous talents of both Komatsu and Matsuda. At least for the two of them, the proceedings feel sterile and cold. Instead of concerning itself with the circumstances behind Midori and Ao's past, most of the film's languid running time concerns itself with the question <i>Are We Even Alive? </i>even though that question has already been answered half an hour in. Instead, the film's strengths lie in its side stories, where memory is far more evident: an elderly woman (Shinobu Otake) serves as Midori's mentor and works as a cleaning lady, perhaps living and reliving the last thing she ever did; and a young boy, Toru (Kabuki actor Sennosuke Kataoka) was driven to death for being effeminate, wishes to be reborn as a woman but is unable to die a second time to be reincarnated.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ironically, even as the film declares that love is enough, memories of a relationship, of a place now abandoned, of things left unsaid, give that love meaning. While I appreciate the intent of <i>Who Were We?</i> it tends to be too elusive for its own good.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p></p>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-71608944339309932612023-10-29T08:29:00.001+08:002023-10-29T08:29:06.150+08:00Japan Musings 2023<p style="text-align: justify;">I've come back to Japan for the first time since the pandemic started. This was not an unplanned on the whim moment; circa 2019, my then-fiancée and I wanted to get married and go here for our honeymoon. We'd saved up the money after a few years of frugal living. The planned dates would have been March 2020 for the wedding (no lavish ceremonies, just a small gathering) and October for the honeymoon. Guess how that went.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Here are a few things I did before going to this year's Tokyo International Film Festival:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxFbOJMoqYxc1YvpbqaVBuLNHb6ecAsSbNEjgvKwQgQ5aoaUgC5k0wccLNN9a9IBneZH4-LTX5qG9giPrLt0YWCWs-s8Z-7im2P9e9GCONGOumfZc99bLelPgNyRrU6ei3NaicFWZ9k_Q1rSwFqiN0n1arG3RM5OnCXTnrvGRsu6M2_I58zwV-/s1408/MV5BMjExODQ3NTMtNDI3Zi00OTAxLTlmOTQtYmUwMmQwNWU0YjQ1XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTMyODQzNTEz._V1_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1408" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxFbOJMoqYxc1YvpbqaVBuLNHb6ecAsSbNEjgvKwQgQ5aoaUgC5k0wccLNN9a9IBneZH4-LTX5qG9giPrLt0YWCWs-s8Z-7im2P9e9GCONGOumfZc99bLelPgNyRrU6ei3NaicFWZ9k_Q1rSwFqiN0n1arG3RM5OnCXTnrvGRsu6M2_I58zwV-/s320/MV5BMjExODQ3NTMtNDI3Zi00OTAxLTlmOTQtYmUwMmQwNWU0YjQ1XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTMyODQzNTEz._V1_.jpg" width="227" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My relationship with the movies of Shunji Iwai began with me watching his 1996 film Swallowtail on the Japanese satellite channel WOWOW with no subtitles. Chunks of the film were in English and the story was relatively easy to understand, so even for Japanese illiterate me in the early 2000s it was not a problem. More than two decades later, with a slightly higher level of Japanese and still with no subtitles, I watched his latest film, <i>Kyrie no Uta</i> (or simply <i>Kyrie</i>) in a Osaka cinema.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Spanning more than a decade, the film intercuts between at least four separate timelines: in the present day, Kyrie (Aina the End) is a homeless busker living life hand to mouth. She meets Ikko (Suzu Hirose), an old friend who decides to become her manager and give her a break in showbiz. Many years ago, Kyrie and Ikko were friends, but with different names; Kyrie was Luca and Ikko was Maori. Both are connected with Natsuhiko (Hokuto Matsumura), who himself is connected with another Kyrie - Luca's sister, who was his girlfriend prior to an unspeakable tragedy that would upend all of their lives.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Each character deals with that tragedy, whose shockwaves reverberate across the years. While soft-spoken Kyrie expresses her grief through song, Natsuhiko can't even express it much at all, and Ikko withdraws in another way, living a relatively carefree life without abandon. It's all told in the sort of dark fairytale Iwai's been known for, with quirky characters in the vein of <i>Swallowtail</i>, fractured temporally in the vein of his 2001 opus <i>All About Lily Chou Chou,</i> yet done as a musical chronicle of struggling artists, much in the vein of his 2010 screenwriting effort <i>Bandage </i>and examination of personal and national traumas as in his documentary <i>Friends After 3.11</i> (2011). Indeed, this is perhaps Iwai's first true musical, with former idol group member Aina the End at times sounding like a huskier, vulnerable Chara with songs composed and produced by frequent Iwai collaborator Takeshi Kobayashi.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">That said, this is perhaps one of Iwai's weaker contemporary offerings. The three hour cut of the film feels slight despite its length; some segues feel more like bloat rather than worldbuilding, and based on the impressions of the two hour cut of the film, it seems like the editing of the film was a persistent problem. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Still, the last few sequences are magic, filled with the energy and emotion that I love so much from Iwai. Kyrie and Ikko travel to the beach where the tragedy began. "Are you afraid of the tsunami?" Ikko asks her friend. Kyrie says no. The grief is still there in some form, but the fear and anger has all but washed away.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8kKDF-5HRZLQsevcHev0fH_wF78MS6zqo8eFSEuTjzBvodsD3ZONkRoHfE8hSko5lAjOpl9er3sdJTwWH2Wtu2REpbNabKC2j_ERwBq5MKhV4lx_9eAZIzYu-2BGWjLPb5GRYS1oOliRdpY8DTKClcQMbbls5F-w0cxa0RgWuZfpYHTDN6rV1/s1024/about-1024x397-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="397" data-original-width="1024" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8kKDF-5HRZLQsevcHev0fH_wF78MS6zqo8eFSEuTjzBvodsD3ZONkRoHfE8hSko5lAjOpl9er3sdJTwWH2Wtu2REpbNabKC2j_ERwBq5MKhV4lx_9eAZIzYu-2BGWjLPb5GRYS1oOliRdpY8DTKClcQMbbls5F-w0cxa0RgWuZfpYHTDN6rV1/w551-h213/about-1024x397-1.jpg" width="551" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Ever since I heard about Toei Kyoto Studio Park, I've always wanted to go. The theme park is also a large film set, used in many Jidai-geki (period dramas) and even music videos. Parts of the park were even used to film scenes from the live action <i>Rurouni Kenshin</i> movies. For a fee, visitors can dress up in colorful costumes and roam around the park and take pictures.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm not usually a fan of cosplay and dressing up, but I had to take this chance. There are also other attractions in the park, including a showcase of Kamen Rider costumes from the Heisei era onwards, a museum of Toei productions from the fifties onward, and an expansive movie library of Toei films. For movie lovers, it's worth a whole day trip.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5R0O8_lJce1agdDlxhp1lxjA6gned_vEV6NHP_Flu7YG4WU8MkT1HFEtT54E3D5OF6iK7joYUt2KxXo8G0LoVG7J8hHEGrdAOSIgqcThSDWR6csEuzfSXSN56VMiKtor9lMb9T4LtoNOKMWoWFMnKocxK34g3AzuBk0MabAEHAZXCD4TkNjcL/s6192/DSC00483.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3480" data-original-width="6192" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5R0O8_lJce1agdDlxhp1lxjA6gned_vEV6NHP_Flu7YG4WU8MkT1HFEtT54E3D5OF6iK7joYUt2KxXo8G0LoVG7J8hHEGrdAOSIgqcThSDWR6csEuzfSXSN56VMiKtor9lMb9T4LtoNOKMWoWFMnKocxK34g3AzuBk0MabAEHAZXCD4TkNjcL/s320/DSC00483.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's a costume worn by legendary actress Misora Hibari:</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq5ooI_PQMlpzn_C2M9zFphf8f5PkiCP2L5_Uols7n2HzPRpnW4ZgxnnRTlj2zl7Narml-elUSQc0BoxYt4v3bp4GzB5WOineVG5tS8_HwQTc6sfqwdNGBKVesPE5EZLRy4hCwv6f5P203_SfsXE8miUowFQGO9uupVCTa5HO1RATSwjNhiBGK/s6192/DSC00484.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3480" data-original-width="6192" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq5ooI_PQMlpzn_C2M9zFphf8f5PkiCP2L5_Uols7n2HzPRpnW4ZgxnnRTlj2zl7Narml-elUSQc0BoxYt4v3bp4GzB5WOineVG5tS8_HwQTc6sfqwdNGBKVesPE5EZLRy4hCwv6f5P203_SfsXE8miUowFQGO9uupVCTa5HO1RATSwjNhiBGK/s320/DSC00484.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's a wall of posters</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqztlTPeCWWUyVX_ywJUqNplSontIetc19YSz87CkV8DRY-6p9Bka-_x9NGOzyqSCOvfv8vrTFP5VIY-3jX85xYmKiQfak98YoONrDWjqHnr8NMzT1-oA6S1kpTSlQ4ZEZDROIto63hcyN4EySqP0XFa7DAypDQqny_OfieDnKq8vrBp9DC-Xb/s1800/397259325_10160941671274378_1108462357384835855_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqztlTPeCWWUyVX_ywJUqNplSontIetc19YSz87CkV8DRY-6p9Bka-_x9NGOzyqSCOvfv8vrTFP5VIY-3jX85xYmKiQfak98YoONrDWjqHnr8NMzT1-oA6S1kpTSlQ4ZEZDROIto63hcyN4EySqP0XFa7DAypDQqny_OfieDnKq8vrBp9DC-Xb/s320/397259325_10160941671274378_1108462357384835855_n.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And finally, in the old Japanese capital of Kamakura, my wife and I watched some Noh and Kyogen in a small theater. Many of the readers of this blog probably know what Noh is: one of the oldest forms of theater in the world still being practiced today, it is a play based on traditional Japanese literature, often depicting a spirit, ghost or otherwise supernatural being. Kyogen is a separate art form to Noh, mostly comedic vignettes meant as interludes in between Noh performances.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The performance we watched consisted of one Noh play and one Kyogen performance. The Kyogen performance, <i>Futari Daimyo, </i>is a short tale about two <i>Daimyo</i> or feudal lords who go out on a walk. They force what seems like a hapless man to carry their swords for them, even though the man has his own business to attend to. As a sort of revenge, the man takes matters into his own hands in rather comedic fashion.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The Noh play performed was called <i>Shunzei Tadanori. </i>Taira no Tadanori was a poet and general during the Heian period of Japan. If you've read this blog a certain amount, or have some knowledge of Japanese history, you'd know that the Taira were all but annihilated by the end of the Genpei War by the Minamoto clan. The play recounts his defeat at the hands of Okabe no Rokuyata and the discovery of his body, identified by a poem attached to his quiver. Okabe visits Tadanori's teacher, the poet Fujiwara Shunzei, to deliver the news, when Tadanori's spirit visits him.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Noh plays often depict tragic events, and in my view, here it seems to be the fear of one's second death via forgetting, and living on via one's art. Tadanori begs Shunzei to include his poems, this time without the mark of anonymity, so that he can live on. In a way, even if the body has passed on and decayed, Tadanori will be remembered, just like in his famous poem:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">In ruins now, the old capital Shiga by the waves,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">yet the wild cherries of Naga still bloom as before.</span></div></blockquote>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-1261145114244049192023-10-07T00:25:00.002+08:002023-10-07T00:29:41.856+08:00JFF+ Independent CInema Reviews: A Muse Never Drowns, Bachiranun, Follow the Light<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgketrwUOzB-05UaeaoTv-7YLuS9HTETvAMJXuObO1oPDtks8H_xzVu_yZwzDeF5uyt-WIButFqDC0YT-c0GW9Y0zobGkpREyGv6JHcDv2Zv1jgGxfy8anOza_pBRFuqZ0Vc6eMBLNCWKwcKbWjf3WxcW9_w8c9Gm7inOuNucOFPkheMFNKfFtw/s1200/facebook-image.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="1200" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgketrwUOzB-05UaeaoTv-7YLuS9HTETvAMJXuObO1oPDtks8H_xzVu_yZwzDeF5uyt-WIButFqDC0YT-c0GW9Y0zobGkpREyGv6JHcDv2Zv1jgGxfy8anOza_pBRFuqZ0Vc6eMBLNCWKwcKbWjf3WxcW9_w8c9Gm7inOuNucOFPkheMFNKfFtw/s320/facebook-image.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ-ZidXFp2Zr8yT-6oYvTaliqCEts4KpC02LSJURhJzF86lxNLB_mY0fL8Ng4evOI2P3IgRB45ogflPVencvSH49uswuUHzLk9Q0Hit-hFpo9-_M-_hsb1KnA7eQqSDoNvz2qDbz_jn6IOS17wxOVODlUyIirFZ_KcLOKF_3a8o6j4F15zUF4Z/s266/download%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="190" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ-ZidXFp2Zr8yT-6oYvTaliqCEts4KpC02LSJURhJzF86lxNLB_mY0fL8Ng4evOI2P3IgRB45ogflPVencvSH49uswuUHzLk9Q0Hit-hFpo9-_M-_hsb1KnA7eQqSDoNvz2qDbz_jn6IOS17wxOVODlUyIirFZ_KcLOKF_3a8o6j4F15zUF4Z/s1600/download%20(1).jpg" width="190" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Art binds us together in many different ways. It helps us experience times and places long gone, it helps us move on, it helps us communicate feelings that are deeply held. Nozomi Asao’s debut feature film is a love story, yes, but perhaps not in the way one expects.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: normal;">A Muse Never Drowns begins with a frustrated Sakuko (Miku Uehara), a student who aspires to go to an art college. The problem is, she isn’t finding much inspiration with her drawings. Sakuko is accidentally pushed by a classmate as she draws on a pier, and the image of a soaked Sakuko catches the eye of art prodigy Saibara (Kogarashi Wakasugi), who eternalizes the moment into an (in)famous painting. Of course, Saibara has her own reasons for drawing Sakuko in the first place.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: normal;">Many have drawn comparisons with this film and Celine Sciamma’s <i>Portrait of a Lady on Fire</i> (2018) in terms of its story similarities and its exploration of gaze. But this film diverges from those similarities in significant ways – it can be said that A Muse Never Drowns concerns itself with artists and art: that is, in how we draw upon our own lives in the creation of art. Sakuko may not be an experienced painter, but in response to the many impending changes in her life – a new sibling and an impending relocation that threatens to separate her from her friends – she begins to sculpt a boat out of junk lying at home. She appropriates various things, takes them apart and puts them together, and it brings her joy. And of course, boats are hardy, able to withstand even the strongest typhoons, able to move from place to place. “She’s always been a tinkerer,” her father tells his wife. Sakuko isn’t a bad artist, she’s just suited for a different medium. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: normal;">Saibara’s motivations, on the other hand, fall more into her own unexplored feelings for Sakuko and the insane pressure she has put upon herself after her first painting. Her own doubts and insecurities are preventing her from accepting her art, blemishing an otherwise perfect work. “I can’t make anyone happy,” she tells a mutual friend.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: normal;">It is when Sakuko and Saibara come to terms with their own reasons for taking up art – either to find one’s self or just to find something to do – that they overcome their insecurities on why they want to do what they want in the first place. Sakuko later asks her father if doing a hobby for a living, asking if artistic pursuits contribute to anything meaningful. He answers her that hey, “it’s got to be worth a try.”</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: normal;">A Muse Never Drowns is a wonderful love story where art itself is the object of affection – in creating it, in finding your own meaning in it, in sharing that meaning with the one you love.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2hPBZ04PxVjqx8kyxcY0o1lVUZCrk-d4yMLkCtTSM1jwLQJY3G3L74sLT57_65EbpV6dZ11Sukw4EjM75t_1gr99WE1_7kfCxCzzyJigqRQ7_QtMCprFWSm_kTFBi9CHtZhPneQVTlYCxse9ADMt91LfGKxF4pud4leduNH-8I-r3SxsPpU2a/s266/download%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="190" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2hPBZ04PxVjqx8kyxcY0o1lVUZCrk-d4yMLkCtTSM1jwLQJY3G3L74sLT57_65EbpV6dZ11Sukw4EjM75t_1gr99WE1_7kfCxCzzyJigqRQ7_QtMCprFWSm_kTFBi9CHtZhPneQVTlYCxse9ADMt91LfGKxF4pud4leduNH-8I-r3SxsPpU2a/s1600/download%20(2).jpg" width="190" /></a></div>Yonaguni is the westernmost inhabited island of Japan, only a short distance away from Taiwan. It has a language that is distinct from Japanese and is spoken by around a few hundred people. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In the Yonaguni language (Dunan Munui), "<i>bachiranun</i>" means "never forget." And in Yonaguni native Aika Higashimori's debut film of the same name, she takes that phrase to heart: devoid of plot and composed mainly of various scenes and vignettes of island life, <i>Bachiranun</i> exists as a memory of a place slowly fading. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Higashimori blends documentary footage of Yonaguni island residents going about their day with fictional elements and striking visuals: a post box in the middle of a river, delivering life-giving water. Bones in a hollow pit. Tattoos passing from one hand to another - the "torch" of memory lighting another. "I wonder if you will remember us," one woman tells the other. It's a question left up in the air, though this film itself, as an externalization of memory, may be the answer.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">There are also accounts by various Yonaguni islanders, including Higashimori's grandmother, of a history of oppression and how disparate cultures are marginalized and homogenized into the whole. "Our people are on the verge of death," she sings. They used to do rituals all the time, but the younger generation no longer does such things. The idea brings Higashimori to tears.<br /><span style="white-space: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: normal;">Near Yonaguni Island, under its bountiful waters, there is a stone monument or pyramid. Near that is one shaped like a turtle, perhaps a deity once worshipped and now long forgotten. Turtles feature prominently in <i>Bachiranun, </i>a symbol of the enduring presence of the divine even when no one remembers. Near the end, a woman tells the turtle, "remember that the road has holes and gravel; we have no choice but to walk." It's a hopeful statement, one that considers the act of remembering as an earnest, perseverant prayer; a dream of one's self, etched forever.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="white-space: normal;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ue2-nKcQGs_MSiSV5nWfH6sYJqt7sM29HtII3ZZx_JPm-QPY8qXZsMYVMbr0PUuSj2IHqwwPXK77Zn-lyEv4PbgYhSy20c0L7z6WPmfedRzcHvL1CPyDB7l_1Uq6Bz5fln2QCDRoiM_8MBgkm7x_dl6SUMhh19oDC6ILnV2exHPJHARDaFBc/s1409/MV5BY2I5Yjg0ODMtZjg4Zi00ZDU4LTg1MjAtMDY5ODk5YTZlYzU4XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyODgxMDAxMjY@._V1_FMjpg_UX1000_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1409" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ue2-nKcQGs_MSiSV5nWfH6sYJqt7sM29HtII3ZZx_JPm-QPY8qXZsMYVMbr0PUuSj2IHqwwPXK77Zn-lyEv4PbgYhSy20c0L7z6WPmfedRzcHvL1CPyDB7l_1Uq6Bz5fln2QCDRoiM_8MBgkm7x_dl6SUMhh19oDC6ILnV2exHPJHARDaFBc/s320/MV5BY2I5Yjg0ODMtZjg4Zi00ZDU4LTg1MjAtMDY5ODk5YTZlYzU4XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyODgxMDAxMjY@._V1_FMjpg_UX1000_.jpg" width="227" /></a></div>How do we face the inevitable death of a dying land? Do we escape from it and hide in our own fantasies? Do we give in and let the light fade out? Or do we keep the flame burning, no matter how faint?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Akira (Tsubasa Nakagawa) feels like an alien, a stranger in a strange land. Following the failure of his father's musical career in Tokyo and a messy divorce, father and son return to their hometown in Akita to start anew. Akira has trouble fitting in, and his classmates won't be there for long: because of rampant rural depopulation, the only middle school in the area closing in a month, give or take. During one aimless day, he comes across a mysterious girl (Itsuki Nagasawa) standing on a rooftop. He meets and forms a connection with the girl, Maki, and finds out more behind her strange circumstances.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The appearance of a UFO serves as the catalyst to the events of Yoichi Narita's <i>Follow the Light</i>. Its mysterious light reaches people all throughout the sleepy town in which it is set: Akira's teacher (Rina Ikoma) feels helpless towards her students as the town grows even more desolate - during a tense <i>nomikai</i>, her distraught coworkers cannot help but lament the end of their school. Maki's uncle and adoptive father is on the verge of selling his land and farming equipment because there simply isn't any profit to gain from it, and Akira's own father becomes a public servant to give a fighting chance to the people of the town, even though opportunities are growing scarce.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Follow the Light</i> is a tribute to the idea of <i>furusato</i> - a word that connotes one's hometown mixed with a warm feeling of nostalgia... Or rather than just a tribute, perhaps a tribute to the idea of <i>furusato</i> persevering - in the memories of those who leave, and through the actions of those who stay. Even in the bleakest of times, even when the end seems inevitable - as long as one "follows the light" and lives on, it's more than enough.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Thematically the film shares many facets with the earlier <i>Bachiranun</i> - in that while the film's ending has its characters facing an uncertain future, it's also full of hope. And while all things inevitably pass into memory, that "place" will always remain in the hearts of the people who lived there and shared that moment together.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">***</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>The JFF+ Independent Cinema Festival is available, for free at: <a href="https://jff.jpf.go.jp/watch/ic2023/films/">https://jff.jpf.go.jp/watch/ic2023/films/</a> until the end of October.</i></div><div><br /></div>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-55312857531966573622023-09-28T00:56:00.003+08:002023-09-28T01:07:43.517+08:00A Very Good Girl, a review<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvl734VEIH705XCzydZs4FHdR_iTl6N-eeaeLdEDXz2dXwS0s541GoZum-FE0aAsNStTENtgacHv5yM0zJWcms4L4BoF9SC3W3CKcEogrHmBfni6f26t_gRhBaDh6zSBdMNeGiBRj_HTtVUsYqk2-Zliv0T0P4xAzIvms1SOegej0T6VZDo2a7/s2048/MV5BMDI3ZWZjMmYtNDVhOS00NGY0LTk1MzktNTJmZGFhOWY2ZjlkXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNTI5NjIyMw@@._V1_.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvl734VEIH705XCzydZs4FHdR_iTl6N-eeaeLdEDXz2dXwS0s541GoZum-FE0aAsNStTENtgacHv5yM0zJWcms4L4BoF9SC3W3CKcEogrHmBfni6f26t_gRhBaDh6zSBdMNeGiBRj_HTtVUsYqk2-Zliv0T0P4xAzIvms1SOegej0T6VZDo2a7/s320/MV5BMDI3ZWZjMmYtNDVhOS00NGY0LTk1MzktNTJmZGFhOWY2ZjlkXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNTI5NjIyMw@@._V1_.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Note: I am going to spoil most of A Very Good Girl in this review, so if you haven't seen it yet, don't read this. Or just don't read this in the first place, that's also okay lol.</div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">I've often thought of the idea of the revenge film, in that they manage to reveal something about ourselves in the way in which we react to how the revenge is played out. We often expect catharsis from the outcome, where justice is served and everyone gets their just desserts. On the other hand, some filmmakers seek to subvert this paradigm and deny us our catharsis, and it is in this subversion where a film is made or unmade. Petersen Vargas' A Very Good Girl straddles the line between these two outcomes and gives us a conclusion that is frankly more than a bit frustrating - a shame given that the film features career-best performances by many of its actors.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">We first see Mercy (Kathryn Bernardo) having outbid mall mogul Molly (Dolly De Leon) for a totem during a fundraiser auction. Its outline is clearly phallic but another view shows that the other side has a distinctly feminine shape. It's a symbol of power and control, and from the get go it seems that Mercy has the upper hand. She quickly tries to insinuate herself into Molly's day by going on a shopping spree.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">It quickly becomes clear that Mercy is playing Molly, or at least toying with her in order to exact her revenge. She has struggled for many days to try to earn the money to don the illusion of riches in order to get closer to Molly. And then, slowly but surely, Mercy will dismantle everything that makes Molly what she is.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The energy of this first act strays more towards comedy, leaning into wacky, even campy moments as Mercy enacts her plan. Vargas may be trying to break the mold a little due to his choice of genre and story, but there are some elements that feel very much in the Star Cinema mold, at least in this part.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Mercy achieves a level of success with her plan, but her schemes to endear herself to Molly work a little too well, and the two of them form a twisted mother-daughter dynamic. While multi-award winning actress Dolly De Leon does an outstanding job as the irredeemably evil Molly, Kathryn Bernardo manages to keep up with the veteran actress with a career-best performance. Some of the juiciest bits of the film are of the two confronting each other, with the audience trying to parse if they know that the other party knows, and vice versa. In addition, the other cast members are equally impressive - shout out to Kaori Oinuma for a small but substantial supporting role.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">In the course of her success, Mercy leaves a trail of human wreckage in her wake. It's inevitable that in her quest to destroy Molly, people will get hurt, but it seems that Mercy is unprepared for some of the consequences this vengeance entails. It is here where the film enters its last and most frustrating act.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Mercy lives up to her name and ultimately does not enact her revenge. That's one point that bothered me long after the film ended; when the ruling classes are using every dirty tactic in their arsenal to oppress us, should our concern still be that we still have the moral high ground? Mercy doesn't even have <i>that</i>, given that she's already ruined a dozen lives prior to their final confrontation! Also, if we are to dismiss even that, the film doesn't stand by that idea either! It's not that everyone gets their just deserts (everyone does,) but it is done via <i>deus ex machina</i>. Mercy doesn't have to live with the guilt of killing the person who wronged her; Jesus does her a solid and makes it <i>someone else's problem</i>. Poor driver just had a <i>very</i> bad day. Heck, I half expected for our lord and savior to high five Mercy as she ascended just before the end credits.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">When we are oppressed, the last thing we should do to seek justice is to leave it to karma. Justice ultimately lies in our own hands, because God can't help those who can't help themselves. It's like if at the end of Lino Brocka's <i>Bona </i>(1980), instead of pouring boiling water on Philip Salvador, Nora Aunor instead leaves the house and prays to God to have him struck by lightning, hopefully in the next fifty years. Committing to the act of vengeance (or to the act of <i>not</i> committing vengeance) is paramount to the construction of a revenge film. For a revenge film to step back from revenge in such a way kinda defeats the purpose of the whole thing.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">What really is a "good girl?" Is it someone who shies away from fighting back because it isn't the "good" thing to do? Is it someone who doesn't hold people accountable for their deeds? Is it someone who walks away from punishing a truly evil person because legally and practically there's no way to hurt them? A Very Good Girl seems to lean into a Nietzschean notion of a man who stares into the abyss too long, but in my opinion, becoming the monster is what we sometimes have to be.</p>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-36937248889517151322023-09-20T00:00:00.002+08:002023-09-20T00:00:18.836+08:00Reviews (?) of Blind Soldiers and Huling Sayaw<p>I'm currently in the process of writing a critical part my book so I'm not as active recently, but despite that I saw a bunch of films over the weekend. Here are a bunch of thoughts on three films in particular:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKPqAKykDxAR-v_ohTw9byYPRraLlCodQ4qviDAON1zFT-lUHwzKTM0NUIQ17Fs7c918QVCPB2Il0Z--Dop6xvgPlS9trtHfmxfU0kGz3MYbnRr7WtloKsWg31DKLxFRzydtnhVwy2IguqytlYtkO66FCzyNRhVjsubDPdoyU6eOgSzyXbkiUo/s900/19506_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKPqAKykDxAR-v_ohTw9byYPRraLlCodQ4qviDAON1zFT-lUHwzKTM0NUIQ17Fs7c918QVCPB2Il0Z--Dop6xvgPlS9trtHfmxfU0kGz3MYbnRr7WtloKsWg31DKLxFRzydtnhVwy2IguqytlYtkO66FCzyNRhVjsubDPdoyU6eOgSzyXbkiUo/s320/19506_1.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">When I saw posters for this movie and read the synopsis, I expected something very serious. It reads like a great concept: during WWII, five Teduray men decide to join the USAFFE and help out in the war effort. What we actually get is a film that zigzags between abject silliness, outright slapstick comedy and somewhat semi-serious drama.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">If you find the director's name familiar, that's probably because Ronald Adamat is a former congressman and current CHED commissioner. It also has to be said that last year, Adamat and a few other people were <a href="https://newsinfo.inquirer.net/1616187/palace-fires-ched-official-3-others">ordered dismissed from service</a> by the Ombudsman for alleged corrupt practices. It looks like he's still a commissioner, so it's unclear what happened to those allegations.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Ronald Adamat also plays one of the "blind soldiers" - the real life basis of this film, his own grandfather, Tuy. Perhaps you'd expect scenes of these five men doing meaningful things against the Japanese invaders, but there are only one or two major firefights in the film, and most of the "blind soldiers" either get killed or do not do much of anything in battle. The sole exception is Tuy, who uses his sharpshooter skills to down a Japanese fighter plane... and that's it. They give up after the US surrender and go home and wait until the Americans return. Perhaps you'd expect very serious scenes of these men thinking about the war, but instead we have a scene where Adamat and Long Mejia get into a farting competition over a roasted chicken. (Spoiler, Mejia wins, but only because Adamat farts <i>too much</i>.)</p><p style="text-align: justify;">According to interviews, the film's message or theme is that "education is important", given that the five soldiers are mostly illiterate and had difficulty training as soldiers due to this aspect. It also tracks given that the director is from CHED. On the other hand, based on the "what happened to the five soldiers" epilogue, the film inadvertently gives the additional lesson of "don't die in war, or your children will die in poverty." lol</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdX1HPE7xDgWG3c3w3KBX77XsNN-qzCb_YccAbVISPVcfVX8R8gEp9nLBOIM15gLSq8rWNPSGuU8iYeUU2f9nylwce31yzB6I3jv8AolhiN15NnN73akUElTbu3s_PZfAo3-w3y9WMqLsNANH73_xlk_askHI9W1SDUVZTHz2cW_N2-aQnP4j/s2048/MV5BMmQzZWFiYzQtNGFiNC00OWNhLTljYzktMDcxZDQzZmEwMzYzXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNTI5NjIyMw@@._V1_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1382" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdX1HPE7xDgWG3c3w3KBX77XsNN-qzCb_YccAbVISPVcfVX8R8gEp9nLBOIM15gLSq8rWNPSGuU8iYeUU2f9nylwce31yzB6I3jv8AolhiN15NnN73akUElTbu3s_PZfAo3-w3y9WMqLsNANH73_xlk_askHI9W1SDUVZTHz2cW_N2-aQnP4j/s320/MV5BMmQzZWFiYzQtNGFiNC00OWNhLTljYzktMDcxZDQzZmEwMzYzXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNTI5NjIyMw@@._V1_.jpg" width="216" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Dan (Bugoy Cariño) is leaving his quiet little hometown in Genguet and is going to Manila to study. We know this because he tells it to everyone he comes across. He goes to Manila with the help of his uncle and proceeds to figuratively shit his pants: he gets into the wrong crowd, they do underage drinking, and he leeches off his former friend to get her to do academic work for him in order to not get kicked out because he's an idiot. Oh, and I guess he dances or something.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">If you're watching this film (filmed pre-pandemic) for Belle Mariano, don't bother: she has like 10-15 minutes of screentime in this, tops, and even though she's the best part of the film, your time is best spent elsewhere.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">This is supposed to be a dancing film, but there isn't a lot of dancing to be seen - most of the dancing scenes are filmed in two locations and the editing doesn't help the dances pop out. Instead, the film dwells on melodrama and sudden dramatic reveals that, while interesting in the moment, are largely forgettable and would not change a thing had they been omitted from the final product.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Let's also not forget<a href="https://palawan-news.com/director-and-star-of-short-film-tgif-arrested-for-child-abuse/"> this little tidbit</a>. What the <i>hell</i> is up with movies premiering this week!?</div><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p></p>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-37933813625772116992023-08-22T17:57:00.001+08:002023-08-22T17:57:39.711+08:00Third World Romance, a review<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZR2mhuDYw2OLXYCS29S83ZuGidBCmnWCUoBiT7iFF89maNlR4GaKXnbweKsReI3a8m5BLUraD9CqW0Ziv8fh8HY0DK0KMhFR7C5R8NIden3QFAMBKR66x7Yi4Eenu17igWboLfL2yld1MqwzMTSH3rNgFE7USr7YrbQsr0cfZP9suZ38fP2Ex/s2048/MV5BMTc4MWZiZmMtNjA3ZC00NTgzLWFiNDEtNmY5NjllNTQ3NjVkXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTE5OTM1MjU3._V1_.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1418" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZR2mhuDYw2OLXYCS29S83ZuGidBCmnWCUoBiT7iFF89maNlR4GaKXnbweKsReI3a8m5BLUraD9CqW0Ziv8fh8HY0DK0KMhFR7C5R8NIden3QFAMBKR66x7Yi4Eenu17igWboLfL2yld1MqwzMTSH3rNgFE7USr7YrbQsr0cfZP9suZ38fP2Ex/s320/MV5BMTc4MWZiZmMtNjA3ZC00NTgzLWFiNDEtNmY5NjllNTQ3NjVkXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTE5OTM1MjU3._V1_.jpg" width="222" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">For Alvin (Carlo Aquino) and Bree (Charlie Dizon), every day is a struggle. In the opening sequence of Dwein Baltazar's Third World Romance, this anxiety manifests itself in a restless camera and a single take. There are no cuts, no breaks; you have to be hustling or you risk losing money. There's no time for anything else.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But of course something does happen, and Alvin and Bree make the time for it. They slowly but surely form a relationship together, one that's filled with the well worn but welcome tropes that we've been privy to for as long as cinema has been a thing. But there are no trips to exotic, faraway lands, only familiar, humdrum places. There are no rich future-in laws opposed to the union, just normal people living their own lives. There are no fancy meals, not even at a Samgyupsal place - only the illusion of one, albeit one that is no less 'real' to our couple.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And as they try to navigate through their situation together, even as society is unfair to them, all they want is each other's happiness. But in these times, even falling in love feels like a radical act. Those at the top would prefer it if those at the bottom would stay divided, fixated on their own survival. At first it would seem that way, and many local films have ended pragmatically (should I say cynically?) But the working class man's strength is his solidarity. One cannot fight for their rights alone. In this film, it works both in terms of Alvin and Bree's relationship and their relationship with their fellow employees.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And as such, for Alvin and Bree, to love despite the odds, to wish for another's happiness, to speak truth to power, takes more than a little bravery. Sure, the world may be unfair, or it may be falling apart, but when you're fighting back against it one little step at a time, it's better if you have someone to hold your hand while you do it.</div><p></p>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11919865.post-75745865453365189212023-08-08T12:32:00.005+08:002023-10-01T23:00:34.472+08:00Cinemalaya 2023 Reviews Day 3: Gitling, Tether<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRXXkuDiNBIjz2OJroA6Ygq0WKj-fwxGNb9qkXJCOmYzEZqtwYIo2GFVAI_OkJdr1WsJYO4pRHHuju6G9y9hHp176URadF_qLiVL-gfrGX5xOCpowzf_udwTKsFONGIxux94bIKFeZOEKaMRk4vv-KHMdjw3L6v2kI8zcLQWuYjWeriUlQjQ8H/s889/POSTER_Gitling.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="889" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRXXkuDiNBIjz2OJroA6Ygq0WKj-fwxGNb9qkXJCOmYzEZqtwYIo2GFVAI_OkJdr1WsJYO4pRHHuju6G9y9hHp176URadF_qLiVL-gfrGX5xOCpowzf_udwTKsFONGIxux94bIKFeZOEKaMRk4vv-KHMdjw3L6v2kI8zcLQWuYjWeriUlQjQ8H/s320/POSTER_Gitling.jpg" width="216" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My favorite thing about her was that she listened: in the age of landline telephones, we once spent three hours talking about everything and nothing at all, but it was mostly me telling her stories I wrote, while she listened. In its own way, that was my secret language - a way to understand me more deeply as a person. I've never been the best at social cues so communicating through talk has never been my strength. Instead, I used stories. Back then I wasn't any good, and sometimes I think the same of myself even now, but she liked them. "John, keep writing," she told me. I told her the secret behind what would become the name of this blog. Without her, I would never have kept on writing, and this blog would have never existed. I was supposed to type "it ended", but how could something end if it didn't begin in the first place? We no longer talk, mostly thanks to my own stupidity, seeing something that wasn't there. In the end, what doomed our friendship was that while I shared my secret 'language', she didn't share hers.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">(Anyway, please make fewer romantic films like this. I only have so many pseudo romantic stories to use as a prelude. I'm running out. haha.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In Jopy Arnaldo's debut film <i>Gitling</i>, Jamie (Gabby Padilla) works as a translator and interpreter - a conduit between one language to another. She is given the job to interpret for a Japanese filmmaker, Makoto (Ken Yamamura, <i>The Wolverine</i>) as he presents his film in a film festival in Iloilo. The two connect over a shared interest in languages, but they know their time together is limited.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">In the process of understanding another person, language forms a crucial part of building that level of understanding. As something that is built by culture and shared experiences, language is a large part of who we are, and it helps us connect to each other in ways no other species on the planet can achieve. Jamie uses an invented language to connect even more with Makoto, as after all, in Makoto's own words, "it's better having someone you can talk to in your own language." It becomes their refuge, as they find comfort in each other. Imagine going to another place and being unable to talk with anyone there? It's like a prison. Makoto's initial discomfort at trying to speak and understand the people around him (including a well meaning but hilariously undecipherable attempt at Japanese) is due to his inability to speak another language. He is relieved when he meets Jamie, who is able to understand and communicate with him.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And yet, there are other ways to communicate a feeling without the need for words: Makoto goes around Bacolod trying every food he can get his hands on, as food and cuisine are an example of non-verbal language. As a filmmaker, Makoto expresses his emotions through his art, whether the films he makes are silent or have sound. Through a shared experience, feelings can be exchanged and an intimate space is created between speaker and listener. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Gitling</i> also finds ways in its form and in its themes to convey the importance of language. Its subtitles are color-coded, switching between translations of English, Tagalog, Hiligaynon, Nihongo and Jamie's made-up language, and it also adds uses captions to express feelings during certain scenes (though considering the excellent performance of the two leads, it does feel a bit redundant.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Gitling (a Hyphen) is a symbol that connects two separate words. In the context of Jamie's invented language, the word that results from this joining forms something new and distinct, possessing elements of both root words. The same, Jamie herself muses, can be said of all kinds of relationships: two people coming together, forming something with an entirely new meaning. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">When we speak a language, we often intuit what we intend to say at the end of our sentence, that is, even as we speak the first word of our sentence, we already have a sense of the completed sentence in our minds. Jamie and Makoto know how this is going to end. We know as well, based on our shared language of cinema and the film's tendency to crib from the films it loves to create a familiar (some would say cliched) structure. We know the outcome, but the way to reach that outcome is no less devastating. That leads to some of the most memorable moments in any film I've seen this year.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Gitling</i> is an exquisite film, a skillful exploration of the many ways we communicate with each other, with or without words.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQaWTZ8VU_IpNZh6gKHuE0Z1R9sv7osn826ZoAn_GaQALrnKcQ0XZmQgpaeZ5moIKMRFQUeyifwWIxp6lxMY8mKU8C8XQusp_53dy_InSMH4mS_a6R-1G8wl2otf4tuh4OPcqsybIGjdsXlj6mgPTZhJSMNnGIFX-tbTAAxCPKc1R5SYcDPLpv/s900/POSTER_Tether-1.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQaWTZ8VU_IpNZh6gKHuE0Z1R9sv7osn826ZoAn_GaQALrnKcQ0XZmQgpaeZ5moIKMRFQUeyifwWIxp6lxMY8mKU8C8XQusp_53dy_InSMH4mS_a6R-1G8wl2otf4tuh4OPcqsybIGjdsXlj6mgPTZhJSMNnGIFX-tbTAAxCPKc1R5SYcDPLpv/s320/POSTER_Tether-1.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Relationships entail a level of empathy - of sharing your feelings with another person to the point that sometimes you're in sync. In Gian Arre's <i>Tether</i>, that concept is put to its limit.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">After a particularly... energetic hookup, Kate (Jorybell Agoto) and Eric (Mikoy Morales) find that they share sensations and feelings between each other - if, say, Kate pinches her leg, Eric will feel his own leg being pinched. If Eric eats something delicious, Kate will feel the sensation of having eaten something delicious. Things take a dark turn when Eric, forever a playboy, makes the boneheaded decision to hookup with someone else, even though he should know that doing the horizontal tango will be felt by Kate as well. Men are stupid.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Tether</i> turns from a fun little premise to a depiction of an extremely toxic relationship: thanks to abandonment issues, Kate becomes extremely possessive and paranoid, while Eric's promiscuous past and insecurities aren't exactly helping either. Their connection becomes something that imprisons them rather than something that makes them closer.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The problem lies in the way this premise is executed: the film's form is, to put it bluntly, bland shot-reverse shot conversations. Most of the (honestly too dragged out for their own good) setpieces are just the characters sitting or standing around somewhere and talking to each other. Had the film's editing or cinematography matched the two actors' intensity it would make for a truly chilling experience instead of the slogfest it ended up being. (If Jorybell Agoto is to win an acting award in this Cinemalaya edition, I think it should be for this film.) Technically, the film also suffers from various other problems, from footage that doesn't look color corrected to sound that can barely be heard (especially during a very crucial scene at the end.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">To be fair to the filmmakers, <i>Tether </i>was a last minute addition to the festival, giving them a very short time to put out a finished film, or at least an approximation of it. A for effort, but <i>Tether</i> ultimately feels unfinished.</div><p></p>John Tawasilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13713373719613486609noreply@blogger.com0