In one particularly iconic scene in Myanmar's The Monk, our titular monk Zawana is struggling in vain to retrieve his robe, while passengers in a passing boat try to persuade him to join them. This scene encapsulates Zawana's struggle in this film: a choice between an austere and spartan life as a Buddhist monk, or the carefree life of a normal teenager.
Throughout the film, his temptations are many: he has an eye for a local girl; his fellow novices are leaving the monastery, and the abbot is strict and stern with the young man. He comes at a crossroads in his life, and through his actions he ultimately tries to gain enlightenment and acceptance of the thing he really wants to be.
The Monk offers us a glimpse of Burmese culture that has rarely been seen in contemporary Southeast Asian cinema, thanks to a lengthy dictatorship and a cinematic culture that was shackled thanks to the regime and the subsequent 8888 Uprising. It's interesting to see how villagers interacted with each other, how Buddhism figured into the community, and how different the city is from the rural areas.
The film is beautifully shot, showing the serenity of the monastery and the relative quiet of the village, contrasted with the chaos of the city. And yet, there is also a feeling of familiarity - some of the city scenes look like they could be shot here in Manila.
Myanmar itself, a country only beginning to realize its future after the end of its dark dictatorial days, may be likened to Zawana and his own struggle. Will the country empty itself of all its past attachments and reach enlightenment, the ultimate goal of Buddhism? Only time will tell.
C
Clodualdo Del Mundo Jr.'s Pepot Artista is a film from the early years of Cinemalaya; where digital video was not as sophisticated as it is today. Despite the technical limitations, it still makes an interesting point at the end.
Set during the seventies, Pepot is a boy who wants to be a movie star. His daydreams of making it big often overflow into parodies of Philippine Cinema's second Golden Age. But his life is far from perfect - the family struggles to make money, and he isn't very good at school either. He then embarks on a series of adventures to try to gain stardom.
The film is chock-full of references to Philippine movies and celebrity culture from the era. At times scenes segue into clips from films by Guy and Pip, FPJ, and others. There are even some appropriate cameos from mainstream actors (given that this was released in 2006, this was a novelty for a Cinemalaya film.) Seeing this in 2015 makes me a bit sad for some of the performers who have since passed away, notably Yoyoy Villame, who plays a blind guitarist, and Tado, who makes a memorably funny turn as an obstinate female teacher.
The film delves into the Filipino fascination with stardom and showbiz. Many of our countrymen want their entertainment as escapist, thus most of our media is escapist as a result. It's understandable; with a life as hard as it already is, it's hard to keep up morale. But there's also a certain fascination with the prospect of somehow making it big and entering a world many think is financially lucrative. Thus, the flood of talent shows and the popularity of shows like Star Circle Quest and Starstruck. Unfortunately, not everyone is so lucky.
The visuals may be dated, but Pepot Artista still has a message that is relevant to today's showbiz culture.
Shot through the heart and you're to blame / Darlin' you give love a bad name
Lorna is a movie about love. That is, looking for love, perhaps in all the wrong places. Our titular character (played by Shamaine Buencamino) is already sixty years old, but age doesn't stop a person from wanting to love.
Her journey to find love is stopped at every turn, each setback punctuated by a metaphorical shot to the heart. She seems to finally find someone in the form of Rocky, her old highschool classmate, played surprisingly by famed director Lav Diaz. Will true love last?
The movie is brimming with charm thanks to great performances from the cast. From the supporting cast, Lorna's friends (Raquel Villavicencio and Maria Isabel Lopez) bring out a ton of laughs. Shamaine Buencamino carries the bulk of the film on her shoulders and does a marvelous job at it.
The film does get a bit long, bloating the running time a bit, but in this particular case, I'd excuse it for the sake of proper character development and indulge the film's indulgences. It paces the comedic events just right and doesn't drag.
In the end, Lorna is a film that tells us of the universality of wanting to fall in love; it tells us that sometimes it's okay to be just the way you are right now. And it tells this to us as honestly as it can, a fact that enhances its enduring charm.
The opening shot of Kyrgyz film The Move is a shot of two rocks standing still in a river. The water's current buffets the rocks gently, almost as if it were trying to drag it along, giving me the impression that slowly, over time, these rocks may be swept away.
An old man and his young granddaughter live beside a pumping station river, peacefully living every day. It's not an easy life, but they have each other. The sudden appearance of the man's daughter puts their lives into flux: she invites the old man to live with her in the city and sell the old family house where they, as a family, spent most of their lives. Things are not as simple as they seem.
The Kyrgyzstan we see in The Move is a country slowly moving out of its Soviet past; many characters have friends or loved ones who were lost in Soviet conflicts in Afghanistan. It is mired in poverty with few economic opportunities for its citizens. And while its younger citizens flock to neighboring countries or the city centers to seek economic benefit, the villages and the old folk are left behind. The family's many problems could have been solved by living back in the village, or in the house of a long neglected aunt (whose spacious house could shelter all three family members), but this stubborn city-centric mentality prevails. (or perhaps things are done differently in Kyrgyzstan.)
The Move uses many of the conventions of slow cinema - it takes a minimalist approach and its scenes are mostly long, sweeping shots of the Kyrgyz countryside and its surrounding mountains. Mahat Sarulu and his DOP Boris Troshev create frames of desolation and deceptive tranquility - a minimalist meditation on life's impermanence, a South Asian mono no aware. Contrasted with scenes from the countryside and Kyrgyzstan's alpine terrain are scenes of giant industrial facilities, monolithic and looming, yet empty.
Hidden behind its ominous spaces and silences is an interesting family drama that, despite its long running time and slow-paced approach, is simple in concept yet still emotionally devastating.
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