It's Cinemalaya time, and time for some short reviews. Apologies if these seem shorter than usual, I'm trying something new for a change.
Like his first feature film, Carlo Catu's Kung Paano Hinihintay ang Dapithapon is also about death, but in a much more literal sense. Or perhaps, it's better to say that it is about endings than it is about death. When Teresa (Perla Bautista) and Celso (Menggie Cobarrubias) get word that Teresa's estranged husband Bene (Dante Rivero) is dying, the old couple visit Bene to comfort him and help settle unfinished business before the inevitable happens.
While so many other films deal with the beginnings of love, Kung Paano Hinihintay ang Dapithapon deals with the end of love, where the fanfare has subsided, where passions cool down into something more meaningful, where wounds have healed over time and where "till death do us part" takes on a more tangible meaning. Teresa, Celso and Bene's interactions together are fascinating; there are no dramatic scenes, no histrionics - only a yearning for closure. And yet, that closure may not be as clean cut as our characters would have wanted, life being a path wrought with bad decisions and regrets that last a lifetime.
Catu's direction is solid and the main cast gives great performances. There is barely any fluff, and the film sticks to the target for most of its lean running time. Kung Paano Hinihintay ang Dapithapon is a lovely film about love's twilight, where the fiery flames of desire fade away gently into night.
Stories form the center of Kip Oebanda's third film, Liway, by far his most personal work. Taking place in a prison during the waning years of Martial Law, Liway follows young Dakip (Kenken Nuyad) as he lives with his parents, both rebels turned political prisoners.
In Liway, stories serve many purposes: they serve as means of escape, or rather, a means to make sense of a chaotic world. Dakip's mother Day (Glaiza de Castro, in her best performance yet) tells him magical tales, rendered in shadow, to explain things he may not fully understand at his age. One may find comparisons to this film and Roberto Benigni's Life is Beautiful (1997), which operates off a similar concept. Stories also build mythology and legend, where rumors grow into something more powerful and profound. Dakip meets people who share their own personal mythologies, using the medium to find comfort, solace and protection in a world that offers none of these things. And, the film also shows the darker side of what stories can do. Deprived of truth, stories twisted and bent can be made to propagate lies and propaganda, relevant in this post truth world where massacres become tactical victories, where innocent men become criminals, and where freedom fighters become traitors.
And in the third act, when Dakip finds out the truth behind the tales, the film shows us the most powerful aspect of the stories we tell: their ability to convey the truth. The film then attains symmetry, the first half's myths and the second half's reminiscences forming a coherent whole. It gains an extra level of resonance during the end, when we fund out the real life basis of Liway's story, and how this story retains its relevance in any time period.
Denise O'Hara's Mamang is a strange creature. While it is very funny, it carries with it a subtle sense of melancholy that lasts all the way to the end. And when the darkness reaches the surface in the end, the result is heartbreaking but also strangely comforting.
Mamang (Celeste Legaspi) lives in her house along with her recently laid off son (Ketchup Eusebio). She's been experiencing bouts of dementia and her memory is failing. But instead of going to the doctor, she decides not to (at least not yet), because her fractured memory allows certain guests from her past to enter her life.
Mamang takes a while to get off the ground, but when it does, the results are interesting. Mamang examines her life through these 'home visits,' whether it be from her estranged husband, a lost love, or a mysterious soldier. Her interactions with them range from humorous to tragic. These visits reflect a life that is full of sorrow and heartbreak, one teeming with regret and wrong choices.
At first one can question the value of Mamang diving deep into her memories for comfort, but the last act makes everything click into place. It doesn't come out of left field, given the film's thoughtful production design and lighting. Beneath the laughter is a profound and deep sense of loneliness, so much so that a fractured mind seems like a gift, a safe place from the rest of the world.
On the surface, James Mayo's second film Kuya Wes looks like a feel good hugot movie, full of laughs. But beneath it is something much more darker: a character study that isn't, an ode to the middleman, to the thankless, to invisible people.
Ogie Alcasid plays the titular character, a timid clerk at a remittance service, a dependable, if a little too eager middleman whose work entails processing and facilitating the requests of clients, receiving and giving monetary gifts from people working abroad. He has a crush on Erika (Ina Raymundo), who he sees, reliably, once a month. But the situation of their relationship changes, and the lonely clerk finds himself a chance at happiness.
Mayo's manipulation of the frame, seen in the final few minutes of The Chanters, reaches another level in this film. For most of the film, Mayo pushes our protagonist to the peripheries of the frame or to the background. He is invisible, ignored, an annoyance at best, a burden at worst. There is a deeply profound sense of loneliness that pervades this film from start to finish. When our protagonist finally gains the center of the frame, as if to signify that he is in the center of the world now, the results are heartbreaking.
With this in mind, to call this film a love story is to do a disservice to the deeper questions it asks. Ogie's character doesn't exactly want love, he wants to be seen, he wants to matter, he wants to be someone who gives and receives instead of just being someone in the middle. Infatuation, in this regard, is secondary. But receiving reciprocity is far more difficult than it seems, and our protagonist's social naivete becomes his Achilles heel. Soon he finds out that things aren't so simple, and understanding people at a deeper level is something that is becoming exceedingly rare in a world that is increasingly becoming impersonal. The film could also be interpreted as an ode to OFWs, silent and tireless providers for families that may be either unaware or unappreciative of the sacrifices made for their welfare.
This year's Cinemalaya films so far hinge on loneliness, and Kuya Wes is surprisingly one of its loneliest films. It comes highly recommended.
***
Cinemalaya Shorts A Short Shorts Reviews
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TL;DR - this was a good set. I've seen some of the films already. All the films were good.
Si Astri Maka Si Tambulah was part of QCinema 2017, and back then it was one of my favorite shorts of that festival. I'm happy to say that, on second viewing, it's one of my favorite shorts of this festival,, and it holds up with the best of them.
The titular character of Jodilerks Dela Cruz, Employee of the Month, witnesses lawlessness in front of her eyes. As a character presumably bent on being a good individual, this pushes her one notch closer to breaking. And when another incident pushes her over the edge, she gives into the call of anarchy, perhaps thinking that if people don't follow the law, why would she?
Logro's story of a dwarf who joins an underground fighting ring to achieve his dreams, shows us the difficulties of being differently abled in Philippine society. Often little people are seen as sideshows, something to be laughed at or feared instead of respected like the human beings they are. And when the ending hits, we are shown how some dreams can still be out of reach.
Sa Saiyang Isla was part of last year's Viddsee Juree awards. It is a thoroughly impressive and cute film, one that still tugs at my heartstrings because of how earnest it is.
Nangungupahan takes us into the lives of several households, told through the prism of a single apartment. Their lives come and go through the frame, in small jigsaw-sized holes, perspectives where we can see snippets of their hopes and dreams. It's thoughtful and sometimes even sad, considering the transitory and fickle nature of life.
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