The title credits of Iar Arondaing's Musmos na Sumibol sa Gubat ng Digma are set to a breathtaking single shot of a burning house and field. Two figures, draped in shadow, watch the destruction unfold, while the Muslim call to prayer, the Azan, calls for salvation from the darkness. It's a clear sign that Arondaing's visuals, his main strength, still remains, even with a different cinematographer. But it is perhaps ironic given the film's lush visual style that it tends to become didactic when visuals would have sufficed, and tends to become silent when exposition is wanting. The film also tends to linger too long with its sequences, its edits dictated by awkward cadences and rhythms, the cinematic frame intoxicated by its own beauty.
And that is where Musmos falls short compared to Arondaing's first film, Sa Gabing Nananahimik ang Mga Kuliglig. The story of Musmos may be simpler than his previous film, but the path it takes is too circuitous, obsessed with meaningless detours, too concerned with profundity and gravitas to be truly meaningful. Instead, the film feels overstuffed with esoterica, its layers of meaning collapsing in upon itself.
Despite its flaws, there is something lovely beneath all the layers of meaning, a simple prayer of peace for the Bangsamoro, a prayer for reconciliation and mutual understanding.
A capable exercise in genre filmmaking, Benedict Mique's ML is a horror movie in the style of Eli Roth's Hostel, but with biting political commentary. Its boogeyman, the Colonel (Eddie Garcia) is a former soldier, responsible for torturing untold numbers of people during Martial Law. When a skeptical college student (Tony Labrusca) interviews him for an assignment, the Colonel's mind races back to that time, and thus begins a gruesome theatre of pain.
Thanks to Garcia's excellent performance, the Colonel transforms into an all pervading presence, a perfect summation of all the horrible things that happened during Martial Law. But, to his daughter and grandchildren, he is the perfect grandfather, affable and loving, perhaps reflecting the side of Martial Law that some people cherish. However, if society is not good and fair to everyone, it is good and fair to no one. Though the Colonel's actions may be, to paraphrase his words, for the greater good, no ends can justify such evil means.
There is a good amount of physical, emotional and sexual violence in the film, to both men and women, to those guilty of forgetting, to those willfully ignorant, and even to those who are innocent. Par for the course for this particular subgenre. Though there are more violent, extreme movies out there, there is one thing that makes it more chilling: the fact that all of the violence inflicted during the film has a basis in reality. The filmmakers consulted actual victims of torture during the Martial Law era and incorporated those techniques during the film. In director Mique's own words, it is "exposition, not exploitation;" or to put it another way, torture porn with a purpose.
And yet, for all the violence we see, it is the aftermath of that violence that ends up being the most haunting, the most resonant with current events, where people forget and deny, and where villains become heroes.
Louie Ignacio's School Service follows the mold of social realist dramas from the likes of Joel Lamangan and Ralston Jover, specifically social realist movies about street children, much like the late Francis Pasion's Sampaguita, National Flower (2010) and Jover's recent film Hamog (2015). Though it has occasional bright spots, the film ends up being inferior to its cinematic brothers and sisters, and ultimately offers nothing new.
When Maya (newcomer Celine Juan) is kidnapped by a ragtag gang of roving beggars, she finds herself struggling to adapt to her new life as a streetchild. Along the way she meets a bunch of quirky, eccentric characters and fellow street children.
Though Maya serves as our eyes and ears to the plight of our intrepid gang, it is Rita (Ai-Ai Delas Alas) who ends up being the shining star of the film. Her character is fascinating; a wheelchairbound conwoman with a heart of gold and a fiery temper. It's clear that she genuinely cares for most of her charges, but that doesn't take away the fact that she was complicit in kidnapping them, and is actively complicit in exploiting them for monetary gain. One wishes the film would have focused more on Rita instead.
The film goes through the requisite motions, exploring how children are exploited, their bodies turned into moneymaking commodities, stealing from them any chance of a normal childhood. Those accustomed to such depictions of misery will find much to digest here. And yet, after a minor climactic moment, the film ends abruptly, leaving several plot threads hanging. The incompleteness will either stick out, or it will serve as a pragmatic, even cynical notion that any chance for salvation is remote; and any dream of a peaceful life will remain just that: a dream.
***
Cinemalaya Shorts B Short Shorts Reviews
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In a single, continuous, overhead shot, You, Me and Mr. Wiggles shows the trials and tribulations of a couple who have difficulties getting the little soldier to stand at attention (and no, the penis is not named Mr. Wiggles.) In a short span of time, it manages to show us how gender factors into sexual roles and expectations, and that's a plus.
Babylon was one of my favorite shorts during QCinema 2017, and on second viewing, things feel even crazier than before. It's sheer weirdness elevates it above most of the other offerings of Shorts B.
Kiko, a tale about a hairdresser wanting (and losing) connection, gets topical at the end and has an interesting message to tell. The problem is it takes a while to get to that point, and parts of it are a bit of a slog, though my opinion might improve with a second viewing.
Siudad sa Bulawan was featured in this year's Cinefilipino, and its depiction of young boys taking up mining (minor miners?) for the sake of money is still relevant and heartbreaking.
And finally, Yakap, the shortest film of Shorts B, takes an experimental approach to the final seconds of one's life. There's interpretative dance, yes, but in my interpretation, individual scenes cut away before things get interesting visually.
***
Actually, I watched one more film today, and the writeup for that will follow shortly. One thing, however. That film doesn't need a review. It needs a (non) review. An [experimental] film review.
Stay Tuned.
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