An Important Announcement

See ya later space cowboy

Hey guys, John here. Now that the C1/QCinema month is over, I'm making this announcement. Present Confusion will be going on what I call 'low power' mode for the next four or so months. Basically it's going to be a semi-hiatus, so this place is going to be (relatively) silent for a while. There are many reasons behind this, including personal reasons, but one big reason is that I'm not getting any younger, and writing is getting to be more and more difficult for me as things get more hectic, in terms of actually getting the writing done and managing to set aside time to write in the first place. It sucks since I really do enjoy writing for the site, but I also need time to recharge after writing continuously for several years (my last real long break was way back in 2011).

So what does 'low power mode' mean exactly?

0. I'M NOT SHUTTING DOWN THE BLOG. Don't worry, seven (yes, all seven) dedicated readers. However, I won't be as prolific as normal.

1. I won't be actively seeing any film fests for the duration of the hiatus, which means I won't be catching one going down in QC this November, and of course the 2018 MMFF. I'd already planned to ditch 4/8 films from the MMFF like I did last year, but this time I probably won't be writing about any of them. I might see one or two films from the festival, but don't expect reviews from this blog, unless one of the films is really, really, really good.

2. Expect less posts in general. Whenever I do get time to write things I can publish, they will be shorter, capsule reviews, and compiled into weekly/bi-weekly/monthly digests. I'm still not sure how that's going to work out, but if a post comes up here, expect something like what I just described.

3. I'll continue to review stuff down at letterboxd, though I usually shitpost over there instead of giving legitimate reviews. So follow if you wish, but don't expect much. haha.

4. One thing I will still post for sure is the year-end feature with my favorite films (local, international, whatever) of 2018. So expect that near the end of December.

5. If a film comes along that deserves an experimental(non) review, I'll see what I can do. No promises.

6. If a really great movie comes along (like top 10 material, or at least something exciting) then I might write something longer. Again, no promises.

7. I will still be continuing work for side projects like Third World Cinema Club (in association with Film Police Reviews). We have a lot of exciting stuff (and guests!) planned, so watch out for that.

That's basically it, thank you all for following the blog over the past 13 years and I'll see you guys at the movies (albeit far less often).

Present Confusion will be back in full force Super Saiyan 2 energy levels March next year. 

QCinema 2018 | All Grown Up

We end this year's QCinema competition coverage with what is probably one of its bravest and boldest films, Wena Sanchez's documentary All Grown Up. I say this because Sanchez bares her life story to all of us, with all of the baggage and naked, raw emotion that comes with it. It's such a bold thing for a filmmaker to show her vulnerability in such a profoundly frank way that I  have to give Sanchez and her family props for doing so. It's deeply personal and also deeply affecting, because it draws on real hopes and fears.

And what are these hopes and fears? They are the kind that linger in many of us. The fear of a parent worried about the future of their child as they grow ever older. The fear of a child thrust into adulthood too fast, too soon. The fear of a daughter who feels she has disappointed her parents. The fear of a parent who thinks he or she hasn't done enough - or too much.

Sanchez tries to articulate these feelings, and you can hear the doubt and fear in her voice every time she makes an important decision for herself, her child or her family. There is the feeling of trying to save everyone, but failing, and there is the feeling of frustration that follows it.

But there is also the decision to persevere despite these problems. "Pain is inevitable," said Haruki Murakami, "Suffering is optional." There is love here in this family, and life goes on. There are regrets, sure - there's one scene in particular near the end that articulates these regrets and fears so well that it left me in tears - but all we can do is keep on walking.

QCinema 2018 | Billie & Emma

There's a lot being talked about in Billie and Emma, the latest film by Samantha Lee. It's a film that talks about the inherent rights of women over their own bodies. It's a film that talks about the dissonance of the words and actions of religious institutions.  Like Rubyfruit Jungle - the novel that figures prominently in the film - it is a coming-of-age tale. But most importantly, and above all that, it's a love story between two girls who are only beginning to carve out their place in the world.

It's a sweet and relatable tale. Anyone who has been in a catholic school (especially an all girls school) will identify with these two girls. Everyone who has had an awkward transition fitting into a completely new environment can relate. And there are also relatable things that warm the heart: the stirrings of a newborn love. Being emotionally moved by a piece of art. A first kiss. The comfort of someone who truly loves you.

The film eases into its groove gently and tenderly, using the tropes and form of teen romance to tell a story that has been relatively underrepresented in contemporary Philippine Cinema. Perhaps one could fault it for being too on the nose at times, but it ultimately manages to avoid cliche. It's quiet and understated, but brave in the points it tries to make, and if only for that, we are all the better for it.

QCinema 2018 | Cold War, Itoshi no Irene

When we start off Pawel Pawlikowski's film Cold War, we are treated to a barren wasteland: Poland during the postwar period. The country has gone through major upheavals: its population was ravaged by the war and the holocaust, its borders were changed by Churchill, either for his own political gain or to appease his wartime allies, and its people are scattered and recovering from this trauma. The film then posits: what kind of love can blossom from this ruin? The answer is, it seems, the tragic kind.

Zula (Joanna Kulig) and Wiktor (Tomasz Kot) are both rebellious and free, though they work as cultural performers in a Mazurka troupe. They quickly fall in love with each other, though it's clear that they're both profoundly broken in the inside. The rest of the film plays like tracks in a record, skipping forward in time and showing scenes and vignettes of their life together, as they try to reconcile their broken selves. It's a tumultuous, tragic tale, told beautifully through Pawlikowsky's mastery of the mise en scene. It's further accentuated by the film's boxy frame, as if to trap them together for life, unable to act against forces beyond their control. And in a way, their love story is the story of postwar Polish identity: a struggle to heal and reconcile conflicting ideologies in the postwar recovery period, struggling to gain their own sovereignty under Soviet influence. The greater political cold war that goes on around them reflects their own, internal cold war.

The film goes through its bleak yet fascinating motions, accompanied by a soundtrack of jazzy beats and folk music. Later in the film, these folk songs are reinterpreted through jazz, a reimagination of songs that define the Polish ego. The film eventually endsdecades before the end of the People's Party, but there is the promise of something greater. There is the promise of togetherness, but only through rebirth, revolution and further upheaval.

Cold War works on many levels, as a bleak love story, or as a greater examination of a country in healing.

One particular curiosity with the live action adaptation of Itoshi no Irene is its English title: Come on Irene. It's a play on words, coming from the title of Dexys Midnight Runners' 1982 single Come on Eileen (the two are pronounced virtually the same in Japanese.) In that song, a man continually asks a woman named Eileen: 'You in that dress/My thoughts I confess/Verge on dirty.' In the context of this film, it takes a different, and slightly disturbing, turn.

Based on Hideki Arai's 1990's manga series, Itoshi no Irene is about Iwao Shishido (Ken Yasuda), an unkempt, socially inept man whose life mainly consists of working in a pachinko parlor and jacking off to porn at night. It's understandable why he hasn't gotten far with any of his attempts at a relationship. In his frustration (mainly for sex), he heads to the Philippines where he scores a bride, Irene (Natileigh Sitoy), much to the consternation of Iwao's overbearing, elderly mother.

Most of the first half consists of this comedy of cultural incompatibilities. It's funny, and a little sweet at the same time. One could almost gain a little sympathy or goodwill for Iwao's character at this point. But an event near the middle, and the subsequent events that follow, takes all that goodwill away. Because of that event, Iwao acts out with infidelity and deviant behavior, making him truly one of the most unlikeable characters in contemporary cinema.

I was ready to dismiss the film until I realized that the true focus of the film is on Irene, and the film stands as a stark indictment of Japanese society, criticizing its rigid adherence to old ways, or its deeply ingrained sexism and racism, or the societal pressures on sex or marriage, or the international class divide that allows arranged marriages and mail order brides to happen. Irene is the sole sympathetic character in the film, who only wants to earn money for her family. She genuinely wants to fall in love with Iwao and make their relationship work. She is a far more complex individual than her husband or in-laws make her out to be. Though portrayed as an airhead, she's playing the long game, and is genuinely the kindest person in the film, forgiving horrible people for horrible actions. It's seen in the cultural differences between the Japanese and Filipino views on infidelity, or parenthood, with one culture putting filial piety above all else, while the other takes that piety to such pragmatic extremes that leaving parents to die on the mountain for the sake of the larger family is a reasonable option.

This film will likely not please everyone thanks to the direction it decides to take during its latter half, but there's a message behind the chaos of the film, and it's quite a ballsy thing to say, considering the Japanese are putting themselves on a stage, and the picture they paint isn't flattering at all.

QCinema 2018 | Dog Days

The first act of Timmy Harn's Dog Days is exciting stuff. There's a blood sacrifice that gives a half African-american child supernatural powers. There's sex and basketball and a crazy aunt. There's a magical, mysterious Mitsubishi Galant. It's all crazy, but not too crazy. The first act of Dog Days is worth the price of admission.

Then things get weirder. Once the second act kicks in, the plot goes in weirder and weirder directions. Or rather, you can say that the film decides to stay still and chill for a while. It's as if the movie itself took drugs and the high only kicked in during the second act. But this high is more weed than speed, and the film ends up meandering and bloated by the third act, becoming even harder and harder to engage with it.

There are some interesting ideas at play here, like how the Galant represents the main character's mother, or how it eventually ties into a sort of Oedipal dynamic, as there's a lot of sex in or near cars in this film. There are also thoughts about corruption in the drug trade, our inherent racism towards foreigners, the effect of a broken family, and the perils of nepotism. The ending even has an interesting turn where the mother-son dynamic (or rather the car-son dynamic) is pushed to extremes, with the son yearning to return to the mother's womb when all is said and done. But that's all kind of lost by the ending, where the high seems to have worn off and we are returned to some semblance of reality.

QCinema 2018 | Oda sa Wala

The silence of the opening minutes of Dwein Baltazar's Oda sa Wala is telling. It helps us settle down into our protagonist Sonya's routine, and it establishes her utter lack of social interaction. Her loneliness becomes palpable, mirrored in the drab grays and browns of the frame. She is positioned at the center of the frame, but at the same time she almost blends into the picture, as if she wasn't there, like a walking ghost. The title, then, becomes accurate: an ode to nothing, to the invisible, to the unseen. In that case, it shares themes with another film I saw this year, James Mayo's Kuya Wes. But while that film dealt with its themes through romance and comedy, Oda sa Wala takes a wholly different route.

The film takes Sonya's plight and makes it more and more absurd by the minute. As the proprietor of a funeral parlor, she deals with dead bodies on a daily basis. When an unclaimed dead body lands on her doorstep, she starts talking to it, feeding it, giving it clothes. As it goes on, she gains more confidence to interact with other people. She begins to interact with the taho vendor that she has a crush on. She interacts more with her customers. Her father (Joonee Gamboa) even joins in with Sonya's plan. But what is happening here? Is it folie a deux, is something ghostly truly going on, or are we concerned with nothing at all? What is real, and what is not? Indeed, when someone remains unseen, are they even real at all? The film's ambiguity becomes its strongest aspect, knowing that for many viewers, genuine enjoyment stems from trying to put the pieces together long after the movie has ended.

Marietta Subong, 'debuting' here under her real name, emerges as a force to be reckoned with. She captures the pain of isolation and loneliness perfectly, and her performance here (along with her performance in Sol Searching) belongs among the year's best. A clever script also complements the story with humor, and Subong manages to make the most of it as well.

For all the film's absurdity, at its core we have a story of a woman whose only desire is to be seen and heard, an invisible shooting star in a dark sky, a moth drawn to a flame, ephemeral and short lived, bound by invisible forces wrought from culture and society at large that conspire to leave her behind. Though the film thrives in mundane affairs, there is magic between these frames, and that is why it is one of the year's standouts.

QCinema 2018 | Masla A Papanok

Watching Gutierrez Mangansakan II's latest film, Masla A Papanok, reminded me of his earlier film, Qiyamah, in that both films involve an apocalypse. While the earlier film's apocalypse is much more literal, this one involves the ending of something quite different: the destruction of cultures, kingdoms, and memory.

The film takes place in the 1890's, during a period of transition from Spanish to American hegemony. Bai Intan, a princess, is taken in by a convent and converted into Christianity. She has difficulty acclimating to the new environment and culture, but eventually settles in. There is an attack at the convent, then a retaliation for that attack. A mythical bird, a harbinger of doom, signals the start of bad things to come.

The film shifts between the perspectives of the tribe and the Spaniards, switching from monochrome to desaturated color, like in a colorized photograph. The filmmaking style also seems to shift: from something from the early days of cinema to something that feels a little more modern. But the color soon fades into night, as entire cultures are wiped away by colonial ambitions. They remain in fragments and fever-dreams in the mind of Bai Intan, years later, the last vestiges of her cultural memory. And like her country and her people, she has been irrevocably changed by the experience. The papanok ("bird" in Maguindanaon vernacular) fortells this tragedy, yet it reappears in modern times, perhaps signifying a continual destruction of cultures, or something even darker.

The film takes it slow, even at a leisurely 85 minutes, and it's dense with meaning. Though I'm not totally convinced with some of the aspects of its presentation, Masla A Papanok is a film worth poring over.

QCinema 2018 | Hintayan ng Langit

Based off of Juan Miguel Severo's Virgin Labfest play, Hintayan ng Langit takes place in "the Middle," a purgatory-like space where the souls of the recently deceased wait for their eventual entrance into heaven. Manolo (Eddie Garcia), who has recently arrived, is roomed in with Lisang (Gina Pareno). It turns out that the two were ex lovers, and old feelings begin to surface once more.

The film expands the play and tries to establish the world it is set in, showing the various things souls-in-waiting do in the afterlife. The film also tackles issues of death and dying, of moving on from the perspective of both the bereaved and the departed. It leads into several poignant moments, including a rumination on one's second death: that moment where one is forgotten by the living.

Yet all that is secondary to the central love story, a story of two people who missed their chance to be together in life, now reunited, exploring that single, nagging question: "what if?" It's an opportunity that I don't think either character would have seriously considered in their lives, but now, in the afterlife, all bets are off. The film is carried by the excellent performances of Eddie Garcia and Gina Pareno, full of humor and charm. The film posits a choice between heaven and something far less perfect, and the outcome of that choice may not resonate with everybody. In fact, it is during the denouement where the film stumbles a bit: it hurries towards its conclusion, leading to implications that end up poorly explained and are prone to be misunderstood. Thanks to the strong performances, it ended up having an emotional impact on me anyway, even though I'm not completely on board with how the film sorted itself out.

Hintayan ng Langit is charming, well acted, and awfully sweet, but one's mileage may vary.

QCinema 2018 | Pag-ukit sa Paniniwala

 "So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them." - Genesis 1:27

There is a scene in Hiyas Bagabaldo's Pag-ukit sa Paniniwala that deconstructs and inverts the bible passage above: there is a shot of a master wood sculptor working on his latest creation. a statue of the crucified Christ. Yet there is a drawing on a nearby table, perhaps a reference drawing, showing the face of Christ not as an Aramaic Jew, or as a Caucasian man as seen in many contemporary western art pieces, but as a man with vaguely Filipino features. The finished product is even more telling. God creates man, man beholds God, and man (re)creates God in his own image.

The film documents religious celebrations in Paete, Laguna, following two threads relating to the intersections of faith and art. In the first, we see the creation of religious iconography from tree-stump to finished product, and in the second, we see stage presentations of bible stories presented during the town's fiesta. There is no narration, the film deciding to show us these things as is. It's a riveting experience, similar to last year's Bundok Banahaw. In his quest to glorify his god, man creates art, making God's image, recreating God's suffering, reliving his life and telling his stories. It's a mix of traditions that are either native or brought over by our Spanish colonizers.

The visuals can seem surreal at times; with workshops strewn with body parts and finished works. The process seems unending, cyclical, one iteration giving rise to another. It's a remarkable cinematic work, one of the best local documentaries of the year.

QCinema 2018 | Shoplifters, Burning

One of the most powerful moments of Hirokazu Kore-eda's film Shoplifters occurs near the end. It is a statement made by Nobuyo Shibata (Sakura Ando) that is an affirmation of her family's dignity as people, as flawed as they may be. The Shibatas may have been thrown away by society at large, but they have picked each other up, finding love and acceptance with each other. And it is this notion of kazoku - 'family' - that is at the very heart of this film.

Shoplifters documents the life of this unlikely family as they go through the motions, supporting their household through the Shibata matriarch's pension and through petty crime. It's warm and fuzzy, light and humorous, a slice of life approach similar to Kore-eda's Umimachi Diary (2015). Both films also deal with a new addition to the family: this time, it's little Yuri, who the Shibatas find alone in the cold. She's obviously gone through some level of abuse, and instead of returning her to her parents, the Shibatas decide to keep her. Nobuyo instantly takes to the little girl, and in one scene they find that they have similar scars on their arms - bonding them through shared trauma.

And trauma and disconnection defines the Shibatas in a way - Hatsue (Kirin Kiki) is a lonely pensioner, her only wish not to die alone. Aki (Mayu Matsuoka) works in an establishment that skirts the limits of fuzoku, yearning to find connections with her customers. Osamu (Lily Franky) and Nobuyo have a deep history together, and Osamu tries to connect with his son Shota. The film doesn't fully spell these things out, and there is a certain joy in fitting the pieces together.

But there are cracks in the Shibata household that astute viewers will note from the start. And when a a sudden shift in family dynamics occurs, the film changes into something completely different. While together the Shibatas are framed in cramped spaces, but comfortable and warm, Kore-eda frames them with tons of dead space when they are not. Here comes the challenge to Japanese (and even universal) notions of family, in that the ties that bind don't need to be made out of blood. Yet the outside world doesn't see it that way, and the latter half of the film is utterly devastating, similar to one of Kore-eda's best known films, 2004's Nobody Knows.

There is a lingering melancholia in the film's final moments, a waiting to exhale, in a sense. Kore-eda masterfully crafts this moment for us, making us love a family whose existence is most unconventional.

In a way, there are thematic similarities between Shoplifters and Burning, Lee Chang-dong's first film since 2014's masterful Poetry, in that they both depict people in the invisible fringes of society, people who could disappear right at this moment with nary a ripple from the world at large.

It is an adaptation of Haruki Murakami's short story Barn Burning, a tale about desire and the vast between classes. Though perhaps it is more appropriate to call it an expansion of Murakami's work. Lee expands the story even further, turning it into an examination of class divides in Korean society, contrasting protagonist Jongsu (Yoo Ah-in) and his aimless, blue collar life and the wealthy Ben (Steven Yeun), whose Gangnam lifestyle is enviable. It is perhaps best exemplified in a concept introduced in the middle of the film: the Little Hunger of the working class, and the Great Hunger of those no longer burdened by basic needs. In that regard, the powerlessness of the lower classes is evident; a scene where Hae-mi (Jeon Jong-seo) performs in front of Ben's wealthy friends becomes more disturbing - like watching a dog perform tricks in front of a curious audience rather than a friendly gathering. Keeping this in mind, the ending may either be cathartic or completely empty and devastating.

The film also uses Murakami's penchant for mystery and turns the central puzzle into its own thing.  Lee leaves it to us to figure it out (or not) and the inevitable dissection of whether certain things really happened or not is part of the film's charm. Lee has been known for a certain level of ambiguity in his previous films, and in this sense, Murakami and Lee are kindred spirits. Curiously, there is a speech by Donald Trump during one of the film's scenes, strengthening its statements on class and perhaps tying the film's search for truth to today's post truth world.

The film is both tribute to and deconstruction of Murakami's body of work. There are elements in the story that can be found in some of his other works: there is a person trapped in a well, referencing The Wind Up Bird Chronicle, and an invisible cat figures prominently in the film, as cats are one of Murakami's favorite motifs. The film also takes Murakami's penchant for vivid, male-centric descriptions of the female body and criticizes them, putting them into the context of Korean society, known for plastic surgery and double standards in the way women are perceived.

This is a relatively slow burn, but it smolders with tension, riveting to the last frame. Burning is a masterful piece of work by a director at the top of his game.

Cinema One Originals 2018 | Ash is Purest White

There's a scene in Ash is Purest White that lingers in the imagination. At the film's midpoint, the protagonist (Zhao Tao) is lured by the prospect of a different, quieter life, a life much more humdrum compared to the life of a jiang hu or gangster - the only life she has ever known. Ultimately, she declines this choice, unable to change. She sees UFOs in the clouds, and the connection makes a bit of sense: to the modern China she feels like an alien, watching over but unable to connect with the country metamorphosing in front of her.

Taking place over the course of seventeen years, Ash is Purest White is part crime drama, part semi-romance, part chronicle of a China undergoing rapid transformation. In the midst of all this are our protagonists, members of a small time gang operating in Shangxi. Soon it becomes clear as the world moves on that they are being left behind, and they are quickly becoming obsolete in a world that has no need for them.

This isn't the first time Jia Zhangke has tried to capture this feeling of change. His 2015 film Mountains May Depart also depicts a China in flux and the slow creep of Western civilization into Chinese culture. Jia is able to paint vivid pictures of contemporary China in the midst of one of its most profound transformations, acknowledging the transience of the moments in the film. In one scene we are treated to scenes of a riverside, while being made aware that these vistas will disappear after the completion of the Three Gorges Dam. This sense of impermanence lasts all the way until the end of the film, where even in a place where the old ways stubbornly cling to relevance, things seemingly eternal, like love, fade into nothing.

Cinema One Originals 2018 | Restored Classics [Omeng Satanasia, Minsa'y Isang Gamu-gamo]

A Faustian bargain drives the story of Dolphy's 1977 film Omeng Satanasia. When an old scientist (Dolphy) fails to create an elixir of youth for himself, a gay demon (also Dolphy) offers him youth in exchange for his soul, that is unless he can find true love before a one year time limit expires. The rest of the film (clocking in at more than two and a half hours) consists of the youthful Gregory Casanova (also Dolphy) doing just that.

The film is mostly remarkable for garnering Dolphy his first (and in my recollection, only) FAMAS award for acting for playing four roles in this film. Granted, we don't really see much of the fourth character, an angel, but it counts. The movie itself hasn't aged quite as well, but there are a number of things that still stand out even today. For its time, its use of special effects and split screen techniques is impressive.

Dolphy's stories seem to always have a moral lesson to tell. In this case, it's the fact that money and youth don't always buy happiness. During the pre-screening program, Bibeth Orteza mentioned the fact that Dolphy was being considered for a National Artist nod, but the latest effort was rejected because he "romanticized poverty." This in my view is a ludicrous statement, considering the time in which these movies were made. His works were subversive in their own quiet, often comedic way. In particular, this film can be interpreted as a rejection of ill-gotten wealth, and that there are some things more precious than youth or money. That makes the final frames of the movie, a shot of Omeng with the only thing that he truly values, even more poignant.

The legendary Nora Aunor has numerous films under her belt, but this film in particular stands out from most of her other films, if only for its place in pop culture as the movie that had her saying "my brother is not a pig!" Without context, it sounds bizarre, but in the proper context the implication of that line is haunting and relevant even today. Minsa'y Isang Gamu-gamo is an essential postcolonial work, as it shows the lasting effects of the United States on our country.

The film mostly follows regular melodramatic conventions of the era, managing to use these conventions to bring about its intended patriotic message. The Philippines of Minsa'y Isang Gamu-gamo is a country with a significant foreign military presence still within its bounds, decades away from the eventual removal of a permanent US military presence in the country. Even though the Filipinos of this era are virtually treated like second class citizens in their own country, they defer to the colonizers and accept this perceived inferiority due to economic or pragmatic reasons.

But the film's characters soon assert themselves against the Americans and their sympathizers; in this context, "my brother is not a pig" is a declaration of humanity, of sovereignty, a statement of peers, not inferiors. The film goes on to show two examples of what can happen if we fight back, and the outcomes come off as a bit pessimistic: the first shows our propensity to compromise in the face of increasing pressure, the second shows how futile it can be, because of how lopsided the system is made to be. The reasons for these outcomes are varied and complex, but the ending scene can be interpreted as one example of a root cause for our irrational deference to former colonizers: we're hardwired to serve and be helpful.

The film also sears indelible images in its frames: a shot of F4s flying overhead, a kite, colored in the red,white and blue of both our flags, stained with blood, and Nora Aunor's enigmatic expression in the final frames of the film, searching for a sense of justice that proves elusive. 

Cinema One Originals 2018 | Double Twisting Double Back

Spoilers for those who haven't watched the film.

Though it's probably not intentional, Double Twisting Double Back begins with a shot of hands and limbs, preparing to do gymnastics. And in a way, it kinda reflects this movie as a whole: our hands are mirrors of each other, complementary yet opposites, the left hand clashing against the right. Yet one's grip is stronger, our balance, better, when both are working in tandem.

Badger (Tony Labrusca) is tapped to train in order to rejoin the Philippine National Gymnastics Team. We do not know why he was kicked out of the team, but we get hints here and there. Soon we learn that Badger's personality is fractured; his other self (Joem Bascon) is a satyromaniac. Badger tries to repress this other personality, but he only manages to make his other self more and more dangerous.

It's easy to dismiss Bascon's character as evil, but in some ways, he has a point: he wants Badger to lead a normal life with a normal job instead of risking his health and finances by engaging in gymnastics - a profession that, especially in the Philippine setting, is thankless. It's only in not accepting the balance between his two personas that Badger's other self becomes more and more unhinged. One can even argue that both Badgers are right and wrong, and both (and not just one of them) are living life on the edge - Labrusca's version engages in competition for little to no reward, while Bascon's version engages in risky sexual behavior, getting a number of STDs in the process.

The parallels between gymnastics and sex click on a conceptual level as well; in its infancy, gymnastics was performed in the nude, functioning as a sport and a tribute to the physical body. In comparison, casual sex is all about the body and the desire for it. The adrenaline rush of sports and the orgasmic rush of sex also intertwine in this film, and it's an interesting conceptual framework to base the movie on.

Parallels will also be drawn between this film and Black Swan (2010), and it does apply for most of the film. In most of professional sports, gymnastics is probably the closest to the performing arts, though this comparison reaches only so deep. Because once the film reaches its last third, things begin to get more abstract. Badger becomes even more unstable until he loses his grip on reality, fracturing his personality even more. Thanks to its increasing abstraction, there are a number of things and plot threads that were left poorly explained (but make sense if you pay attention and read the credits).

Though it spins out of control during the last part, Double Twisting, Double Back has a fascinating premise and is worth watching if only for decent performances from both leads.


edit 10/17: correction regarding terminology

Cinema One Originals 2018 | A Short History of a Few Bad Things

Keith Deligero's newest film is perhaps his most straightforward; while Iskalawags and Lily were both fractured recollections of memories past, this film, this film is, for all intents and purposes, a crime procedural, a Bisaya cop film about dealing with the ghosts of the past. When detective Tarongoy (Victor Neri) investigates a spate of mysterious deaths in Cebu City, he's roped into deeper (and more personal) shit than he expects.

Like Deligero's previous films, it's remarkable in the way it reframes genre in its own flavor, a flavor Manilenos may not be accustomed to: instead of the gritty streets of Makati or the squatter communities of Metro Manila, we get fantastic shots of Mactan Bridge, or a tense car ride through Colon, or sweeping panoramic shots of the Cebu metro.

It goes through the usual motions of cop procedural mystery dramas: the requisite red herrings are there, there's a hardass for a boss,  a seemingly naive sidekick, a mysterious female, and there are many fun false leads. Yet Deligero's punk sensibilities are also here: in terms of tone, it's quite similar to his earlier short film, Babylon. There's just enough humor and weirdness that it doesn't come off as too staid or serious.

There's also commentary here about the effects of trauma, and how emotional scars are just as substantial as their physical counterparts, and how guilt and the actions of the past contribute to our collective brokenness. It ends with a film within a film - perhaps the film we were really meant to watch - a film about wrongs righted and oppression avenged.

The film's technical aspects are decent, though some scenes come off as a bit too oversoundtracked - not every scene needs to have an accompanying song. It's an interesting addition to an already impressive body of work.

Cinema One Originals 2018 | Pang-MMK

Fresh out of his stint at the Cinemalaya Institute, John Lapus' Pang-MMK is something like an application of all the things he's learned about filmmaking, and in that regard, it's actually decently made. 

The film serves as the sequel to one of the most popular episodes of MMK, otherwise known as Maalaala Mo Kaya, one of the Philippines' premiere drama shows. In that episode, Origami, a young boy has to deal with his dad having (and eventually choosing) a second family. The film continues that story decades later with the death of the father; the son (Neil Coleta) is tasked with organizing the wake and funeral arrangements.

The film reunites the original cast of the MMK episode: even Alwyn Uytingco, who played the original boy, appears in a cameo. The film explores the fascination and appeal behind true to life stories and how some stories are stranger than fiction, though the treatment is well-meaning parody at best, surface level banality at worst. There are some elements of family drama in the mix, though it's mostly played for laughs.

To be fair, there is character development and self realization with the central character, though that's sometimes drowned out by the comedy (and again to its credit the film can be quite funny in parts.) Pang-MMK is a film I've highly underestimated; but it's actually just OK, and that's the problem. It's a little too OK to stand out compared to the rest of this year's entries.

Cinema One Originals 2018 | Paglisan

Cris (Ian Veneracion), a former theater actor and playwright, lives with Alzheimer's disease. His wife Oreng (Eula Valdez) has sacrificed everything to take care of him, but it's understandably taking its toll. When their son and his partner come to visit, and when Cris is tapped to perform in a musical theater presentation, the stress becomes too much to bear.

I've seen my share of love stories on screen this year, and the animated musical Paglisan ranks among the best of them, because it talks about the kind of love that sticks and endures, the kind of love that is selfless and ever-giving, the kind of love that starts like any other love, but matures into something greater. It's also one of two films this year that talks about the end of that love, or perhaps, an indication that while our bodies and minds may waste away and decay, love remains.

And when one thinks about it, Carl Papa's films have always juxtaposed the physical degradation  of the body and the robustness of the soul, contrasting that which is fragile to that which is resilient - in his earlier film Manang Biring for example, a woman dying of breast cancer still retains her love for her daughter. In this film, we have two lovers who want to love each other, who still love each other, but are constrained by the limits of their own minds and bodies. These constraints seep into their individual insecurities, especially during one heartbreaking song where Cris hopes that his tired wife will still love him when she wakes up.

The simplistic animation reflects this degradation: while it starts off properly colored and designed, the colors begin to get blurred, and these colors struggle to keep up with the outlines of the characters. Even the backgrounds get more and more abstract as Cris' mental faculties begin to fail. But this is capped off with a poignant moment, an affirmation of love delivered in one single line, and I think it's one of the best moments in Philippine Cinema this year.

Paglisan is a treat to watch, and it's my favorite Cinema One film so far in this year's edition. In the face of all these mumblecore neon-lighted love stories, it stands out above them as something unique, emotional, and heartfelt.

Cinema One Originals 2018 | Fisting (a.k.a. Never Tear Us Apart)

It's quite telling that in Fisting (a.k.a. Never Tear Us Apart), there is an obvious aversion to showing faces. In fact, for all the characters except one, we do not see their faces until the very end. Through a smartphone-like aspect ratio, for the next 84 minutes we will get to know them through their bodies: the avatar-like image, defined by carnal and materialistic expectations, that they decide to project out into the world. The sole exception is the dominatrix (Jasmine Curtis), because we do not desire her for just her body - anyone who has tried out BDSM knows that the experience is as cerebral as it is carnal.

In that sense, Fisting tells the story of us through our bodies, in every nook and cranny, every tattoo commemorating a lost lover, every scar. Even though the framing and pictures look formal and staid, it manages to be a surprisingly intimate film.

That said, Fisting is a family drama that defines a family by its dysfunctions and kinks. Its final scene is a counterpoint to all the perversions that followed before: the picture-perfect image of a nuclear family, much like in the old American commercials of the 1950's. But beneath that surface, one might say that the only abnormal sexual profile is a completely normal one, and this family is anything but normal. The father, perhaps emasculated in his role as the head of the family, engages in roleplay and power fantasies, of dominating and being dominated. The mother's desires are dampened by boredom and ennui. And the son deals with his own sexual repression (there's a scene where he literally goes back into the closet, as if the metaphor wasn't obvious enough.) There seems to be a desire to tie in the son's sexual revolution to social revolution, and sexual repression to social oppression, but the overall effect of that is not as effective.

For all its seeming obtuseness, Fisting is actually Whammy Alcazaren's most realized and clear film, his family drama to Islands' hugot movie. It is definitely challenging material, but everything in this movie was made with a purpose in mind, and it's a fascinating movie to dissect.

Cinema One Originals 2018 | Bagyong Bheverlynn

I read somewhere that the trashiness of Bagyong Bheverlynn was deliberate, that it's reliance on pop culture reference jokes and colloquial humor was intended. In that regard, Bagyong Bheverlynn succeeds: it's the kind of lowbrow movie that wouldn't feel out of place in the trashiest of trashy film festivals, the MMFF.

And to its credit, the film does have commentary about the hugot wave (or should I say typhoon?) that is ravaging the nation. Depicting the folly of toxic relationships where a woman is simply unable  to get over an obviously lousy, problematic love interest is also something I'm very passionate about, considering how many of these kinds of films we've been seeing recently *cough*thehowsofus*cough*. For once, there's a movie that's saying that we don't have to define ourselves by our relationships with other people; the most important thing is our own personal happiness and self worth.

But this film also falls into the trap that other films in this festival are also guilty of falling into: it tries a unique way of presenting its message and it fails. Comedy is like playing a finely tuned instrument; this film is the cinematic comedy equivalent of banging on a keyboard. The movie is basically a series of loosely connected gags that aren't really that funny. The audience reaction to this film when I saw it is quite telling - while there were a few chuckles during the first five minutes of the film, it was deathly silent in the theater for the next hour and a half. That is the sign of a joke quickly getting stale and tedious. Bagyong Bheverlynn feels like a joke that never ends, a bombing stand-up comedian that can't be shooed off a stage, a handjob that keeps on going even if you've already come.

Cinema One Originals 2018 | Hospicio

Hospicio is the sequel to 2006's Numbalikdiwa, a film about a man who tries to resurrect the woman he loves with disastrous results. You don't need to see Numbalikdiwa to appreciate Hospicio, as it explains itself near the middle of the film, though it helps.

When Leslie (Loisa Andalio) is taken to a strange care facility, things can't get any more confusing: the rehailitation sessions are more chaotic than helpful, and her fellow patients are varied in their brokenness. There also seems to be divisions along generational lines: the older patients treat the facility like a home for the aged, while the younger crowd has a more varied range of dysfunctions, where criminal histories and mental disabilities mix and mingle: nymphomaniacs, kleptomaniacs and catatonic patients with depression. 

The film also seems to be trying to depict the generational divide we have in our own society. The older generation are self assured and self righteous, forcing what they think is the best for the younger generation, even though they serve their own self interests. Meanwhile the younger generation only want to live their lives in freedom in terms of sexual identity, moral standards and so on. It addresses whether the systems we have to rehabilitate serve only to incarcerate and trap people within the system instead.

The film's major failing, unfortunately, stems from its adherence to genre. It ultimately overwhelms the messages it is trying to impart. As a horror film, Hospicio falls apart. It relies too much on jump scares, neglecting to create an atmosphere for its horror. While jump scares are fine in controlled doses, after experiencing ten jump scares in a row, it's more annoying than terrifying. The film is also guilty of unintentional comedy, especially near the end when people start dying. That's kind of disappointing, considering that the film does have some promise.

Hospicio is a film with an identity crisis. If it's a metaphor or allegory for something, whatever it was trying to say has been drowned in the noise of its ill-timed jump scares and ineffective horror.

Cinema One Originals 2018 | Asuang

First off, it's worth knowing that "Asuang" does not refer to the vampiric creature most of us are familiar with (though those kinds of Aswang are present in the film.) Instead, Asuang refers to the God of Sins in the Bicolano pantheon of gods, an evil god who wanted to steal the sacred fire of Mount Mayon from his brother Gugurang. Asuang the movie deconstructs this narrative, while keeping true to its characters. In the myth, Gugurang rules the people through fear and intimidation; in the film, he is a bully, unconcerned with the lives of men. In the myth, Asuang wanted to steal the sacred fire to gain favor with the people by giving fire to them; in the film, Asuang is a misunderstood figure, all too eager to please people in order to improve his self image.

The rehabilitation of Asuang's social image forms the impetus for the film: the entire enterprise is presented as a mockumentary, much in the style of Taika Waititi's 2014 film What We Do in the Shadows. It takes place in a world where gods live among men, guesting in TV shows, holding parties and social gatherings, and making cooking videos on Youtube. It also serves as a commentary on contemporary social media, in that social currency in the form of likes and followers becomes the raison d' etre for many people. Over the course of the film, Asuang comes to terms with the fact that this reason for living isn't all that it's cut out to be, and he eventually makes a decision to finish what he started in the old myths - not for personal glory or popularity, but because of a genuine concern for humanity.

There is also a contrast between the authoritarian Gugurang and the much more pro-people Asuang, perhaps drawing parallels to historical truths and contemporary events and serving as a take-down of authoritarianism in general. There's the contrast between the unfeeling god whose callous attitude indicates a summary judgement of people who have done bad things, and the misunderstood god whose capacity to empathize and understand people's capacity to change makes him superior.

The film is carried on the capable shoulders of Alwyn Uytingco, who plays the titular Asuang. He nails the comedy aspect of the film, and he shows Asuang's conflict quite well. He makes Asuang feel like a nice dark lord to hang out with. The supporting cast is also relatively capable, with many comedians having supporting or cameo roles. Perhaps the one thing that the film could have done better is explain the mythology behind the film - I only started to truly appreciate the picture the film paints after reading a bit on Bicolano myth.

Asuang is a fun film, and I learned something new today thanks to it. Give it a try, and stay for the end credits.

Cinema One Originals 2018 | Mamu (and a Mother, Too)

Upon seeing the central conceit of Mamu (and a Mother, Too,) that of Mamu, a transgender prostitute who becomes a mother  figure to her recently orphaned niece, Bona, herself a transgender person. I expected a social realist tale, gritty and full of histrionics. I expected Bona and Mamu to spar verbally and clash as they tried to adjust to each other. But the film is nothing like that, and it's all the better for it; Mamu is a funny, gentle slice of life drama about a number of good people who just want to live in a world that continually tries to marginalize them.

The film feels rather aimless and meandering, but I mean that in a good way. Weirdly enough I found comparisons in tone to films like Hirokazu Kore-eda's fantastic Umimachi Diary (2015). The biggest character struggle that moves the story forward is Mamu's desire to get breast implants and attract more Johns. There is no real conflict between Mamu and Bona for most of the film, they actually get along quite well from the getgo, perhaps due to them identifying with each other. There really isn't a villain either; even Vincent (Arron Villaflor), Mamu's boyfriend who seemingly leeches from her, is ultimately a misunderstood character with issues of self worth.

This leads to the third and final act where conflict does happen, and thanks to the way Mamu and Bona's relationship is portrayed (or not portrayed,) it feels a little unearned. Despite the nature of the scenes that follow (scenes that will no doubt shock some viewers), it's a tender and powerful statement on the lengths parents (even surrogate parents) will go to for the sake of their children.

This treatment is also the movie's greatest strength, in that it subverts the usual audience expectations for conflict and oppression. Within the communities of this film, there's a sense of acceptance that other films struggle to portray. There's a sense of sisterhood, of camaraderie, a sense of bayanihan and community that exists because the characters of Mamu have no one else to lean on but each other. There are hints of of the larger, harsher world beyond, such as when Mamu attends the funeral of a friend killed by an American soldier - but there is a feeling of safety here in this place Mamu and her friends have created for themselves. 

And there is kindness in this film. I have to repeat my description of the film earlier, for emphasis - for all its hilarity, Mamu is a very gentle film, full of characters that just want to live, even when job opportunities are scarce or limited. Aside from its central message of motherhood and sexual awakening, the film manages to tackle issues about the dangers of sex work, and the difficulty that transgender people face when finding employment in general.

Mamu is a fine addition to Cinema One Originals, and a film that I have grossly underestimated. It's a great start to the fest. True? True.

Cinema One Originals 2018 | Shorts A and B

It's time for Cinema One Originals! Nine feature length films and twelve short films, as well as a large selection of restored local films, international films, and other special releases are showing at select cinemas from October 12-21. For this entry, we'll be talking about both sets of short films. Some of the films in this list have been part of other festivals that have come out this year; links to reviews of those films will be given, if available.

Cinema One Originals 2018 Short Shorts Reviews

Set A

(I arrived late to the first screening of Shorts A, so unfortunately I was unable to see either Wall or Ketchup.)

Joji Alonso's Last Order is a film about endings: it chronicles the last few moments of a doomed restaurant. It's shot in one take, and viewed mostly through the eyes of a waiter (Nico Antonio) as he deals with regulars, annoying customers and the occasional weirdo as he faces the fact that he's out of a job. In showing us just the ending, one wonders what the restaurant used to be before its fate was sealed.

In Para Kay James we learn about the titular character posthumously, through flashbacks: a dutiful son, an affectionate lover, a lonely and broken individual. The film charts the course of James' life and explores the many factors that led to his demise in terms of sexual identity, interpersonal conflicts and issues with depression and mental health. Whatever the case may be, James is gone to the people who loved him and the people he loved, and he's not coming back.

3021's usage of Star Wars terminology may be a bit off putting, but this quirky and weird lo-fi science fiction film does manage to worldbuild a bit before making obvious parallels to current events and the post truth world. The ending is strange and psychedelic, a mix of the endings of 2001 and Eye of the Serpent.

And to round off Set A, we have Wala'y Humayan sa Tanglad from the Binisaya film festival. It starts off as a hybrid of documentary and found footage as we follow two journalists as they investigate the secret of "miracle rice" and the people who grow it. It's relatively light at first and a bit tongue in cheek, but then things escalate quickly and they turn into something that legitimately chilled me. It might be my favorite film of either set.

Set B

Nangungupahan was part of this year's Cinemalaya Film Festival. Glenn Barit's film is inventive stuff, worth watching again to catch extra details, and pretty heartwarming at the same time.

Unfortunately, the subtitles for Bagane Fiola's Pulangui cut off after a few minutes, leaving the movie basically untranslated. but the lush black and white visuals and context clues make up for the lost translation, at least a little bit. A river runs through the community at the center of the story, and there seem to be parallels with that river and the act of crossing over to the healing process brought about by peace in a wartorn land.

The sole animated entry to this year's shorts, Wag Mo Akong Kausapin tells the story of an old man wracked by the guilt of his past wrong decisions. Only this time, his insecurities take physical form: a dark entity that hounds and taunts him as he tries to reconcile with his son. His internal struggle comes to a head when his realization or catharsis comes with a price. While the animation is simple, it's expressive and fluid.

Sa Pag-agos ng Panahon was part of this year's Viddsee Juree Awards. Its conflict between personal belief and identity is emotionally loaded and well shot.

To Remain is to Have Been Left was part of this year's Cinemalaya Institute Short Films section. It's a bit loopy (ha, that was a pun) but it's wide open to interpretation and says a lot  about helping one's self and the importance of that notion in preserving mental health.

In Manila is Full of Men Named Boy, a man hires a teenager to act as his son in front of his very macho father. He is then 'boy' both in name and temperament, especially when the faux child threatens to usurp his place in the social ladder, as the boy can do things the man cannot. Issues of acceptance, identity and absurdity abound in this short film, one of the best of this year's edition.

And finally, we have another entry from this year's Viddsee Juree Awards, Ang Mga Turo ng Gabi (a.k.a. Lessons of the Night,) which won the silver prize in that competition. Having watched this film three times now, it's easy to see why. It's a compelling story that's packed nicely into a short time frame. It's well worth recommending.

That's it for this year's Cinema One Shorts. Up next, the feature length films.

This Week (and the Last) in Pinoy Cinema, October 2018: Para sa Broken Hearted, Wild and Free, Liway

Boy, Filipinos do like their love stories. We've had like, what, a dozen romantic movies this year? Two dozen? I guess the only thing better than one love story... is three of them in one movie! Well, not really, but the end product that Para sa Broken Hearted represents is actually quite a pleasant watch. Framed as a series of stories and conversations between two jilted woman waiting for a bus, the tales making up the narrative are quite run of the mill, if you're familiar with common romantic storytelling tropes. In fact, the third story in particular is textbook Manic Pixie Dream Girl material, featuring a 'bubbly, shallow cinematic creature' with little character development uplifting a sad loner out of his predicament and making him a better person.

But that's not a dig at the film itself, because the filmmakers seem to have recognized the basic nature of the story and went all out to make the presentation as creative as possible. What results is a film that's never boring or samey, full of little quirks and stylistic choices that enhance the overall experience. There's magical realism in this film, and montages, and musical numbers, even. For that, at least, the filmmakers get points for trying, and when the individual storylines begin to criss-cross and merge in unexpected ways, the result is satisfying and emotionally affecting as the film aims straight at the heartstrings.

For a market that's quickly getting oversaturated with romantic films, Para sa Broken Hearted isn't a bad choice. Thanks to its numerous creative touches, it manages to stand out among the rest of its unremarkable peers.

Spoilers, but I don't care. Don't watch this shit.

You know, whenever I watch local films, sometimes a feeling of dread crosses my mind, the kind of feeling that tells me this film is ultimately going to be a horrible experience. I experienced such a feeling during the first few minutes of Connie Macatuno's Wild and Free, when ex-lovers Jake (Derrick Monasterio) and Ellie (Sanya Lopez) meet again. I shrugged it off, but it quickly became clear that my initial fears were justified, for Wild and Free merely wears the guise of a romantic movie, hiding its true, disgusting self underneath. There is one scene in this movie that perfectly encapsulates its attitude towards women: Jake and Ellie are off to a motorcycle shop to meet someone named Jane. Ellie is a bit jealous of the fact. As it turns out, Jane is Jake's motorcycle, and not the sexy woman servicing the bike or any other potential romantic rival. And that motorcycle is an accurate way to see how the women in this movie (in particular, Ellie) are treated: as things, objects to be lusted over, used and owned.

As the movie progresses, we find out that Jake is a pretty horrible, irredeemable person. We find out that his deceased older brother was Ellie's ex-lover, and he develops a complex of insecurity over that fact, because it was his brother, and not him, who was Ellie's first love - a complete non-issue taken to extremes because his fragile male ego can't take the strain. For most of this film, Jake thinks with his penis - he gets insanely jealous and possessive of Ellie as the film goes on. He gets jealous over imaginary situations that he himself makes up, berating his poor girlfriend over his own delusions. Jake embodies one of the most toxic male characters I've ever seen in contemporary local film, and it's disgusting to see it in action on screen.

What's even more disgusting is how Ellie's character (and the film itself, apparently) either dismisses or forgives Jake's shitty behavior, with no indication that he has the capacity to change. The final straw happens near the end of the film, when thanks to his overly possessive behavior, Jake rapes his girlfriend. The film conveniently dismisses this criminal behavior, treating it as a non-event, since Ellie doesn't seem to mind getting raped too much and the two of them eventually end up together again. I've said my piece again and again with similar garbage like The Hows of Us or The Maid in London whose plots forgive or dismiss problematic and plain evil behavior, but this really takes the cake. Why the hell do we keep writing screenplays and making films like this?

The only way I can even stomach this film is if it's actually an ironic take on masculinity and how men need to stop thinking with their dicks, but I doubt the people making it were aware of how stupid it is. The ending of the film is a nice metaphor to how I felt about Wild and Free. The ending has rapist Jake and lovestruck Ellie making out in the middle of a road, and their action - annoying, uncaring and without the least bit of self awareness or any understanding of the consequences - reflects how I think this film was made.

And finally, out this week is Liway, with a new musical score and cut compared to the Cinemalaya version. This film was that festival's audience choice, and it's easy to see why. Although the film is not perfect, it manages to tap into a certain feeling of love, whether it be for one's mother or motherland. I've said my piece about this film in my Cinemalaya coverage, and my feelings about the film have remained the same. 

Since then, as part of the Third World Cinema Club podcast (and in conjunction with Film Police Reviews), I talked with the actors and producer of the film about Liway, which you can listen to by clicking this link.

I think Liway is an important film, especially in times like these, and I hope you take the time to watch it while it's in cinemas. I also hope people get to watch another Cinemalaya film, ML, coming out next month, for similar reasons.

By the way, stay for the credits, arguably one of the best parts of the film.

Tres is a thing that happened

Many Filipinos will be familiar with the Revilla clan of actors. They are, in a sense, acting royalty: Ramon Revilla Sr., former action star, will probably be fondly remembered for having a shit ton of children. Ramon Revilla Jr., also former action star, is currently known for being in prison for corruption, and making a cheesy ass music video about it. Now, the third generation of Revillas are out to make a mark in the local movie scene with the anthology movie, Tres. The film is composed of three separate unrelated stories which all have a character trying to hide a secret. The ultimate result: to be honest, kinda meh.

The first story is Virgo, featuring eldest Revilla brother Bryan Revilla. In this movie, Revilla is a cop out to avenge the death of his family. He decides to do this by going Death Wish on his targets, but like if Charles Bronson looked like Mikey Bustos with facial hair. It plays out like a generic 90's action film, but in fast forward, the running time unable to bear the weight of the narrative. It even has Carla Humphries as the love interest, though she is relegated to the sidelines in hysterics as her bald yet handsome leading man mows down scores of people with a rifle that doesn't seem to run out of ammo. Fantastic. Republicans everywhere would be proud. To be fair, near the end there's a clever visual callback to Amorsolo's version of Michael Vanquishing Satan (you know, the painting that's in every bottle of Ginebra), but that's the only praise I can heap upon this short.

The second story, Amats, actually has an interesting story arc to it. It stars Luigi Revilla as a kid who gets roped into the illegal drug trade by a mysterious woman (Assunta De Rossi.) But the film doesn't really have a point, thanks to a very rushed ending. It's a movie that seems to support the narrative that drug addicted people who want to change are doomed to fail, or maybe not. It's hard to tell. Also, apparently drugs enable people to do sick martial arts and kick ass. So maybe the point of the movie is to do drugs because it'll turn you into a cool badass? This is probably the most watchable of all the three shorts, though that's not saying much.

The third and final story, 72 hours, takes place in an alternate Earth where one time it's pitch black, then two hours later the sun is high up in the sky like it's noon. It's an alternate earth where a trained and experienced drug enforcement agent shoots a shotgun at a car that is quite far away from the gun's effective range. Also, seconds seem to count down faster in this version of Earth. The main antagonist in this film is a Chinese drug lord (Albert Martinez)  who knows kung fu, probably thanks to drugs. He's being tracked down by the combined efforts of the PDEA and the PNP - in this case, a wily PDEA agent (Jolo Revilla) paired up with a spunky police girl (Rhian Ramos). I was excited to see Ramos in an action role, but she really doesn't do too much in this film in terms of action, and her character seems to be just another accessory character for the macho male protagonist to be sad about. Shame. Other than that, the action is a little too silly for my taste, with a bunch of flipping cars and exploding helicopters. I guess this is the kind of movie my father would like. 

Would I watch Tres again? Nope. I guess the people involved had fun doing it, and I'm fine with that, as long as it doesn't interfere with, say vice-governing Cavite. Best movie ever, two punches to the dick over four. -IGN

Exes Baggage

One of the most interesting concepts in Dan Villegas' Exes Baggage is the idea of space: as in, the spaces we live in. Because it is in these spaces that relationships are formed, nurtured, and lost. It also helps that the two protagonists of the film are involved intimately with these spaces: Pia (Angelica Panganiban) works in real estate, while Nix (Carlo Aquino) makes furniture for a living. They are complementary in a sense, Pia providing the space, and Nix filling it with life. Yet their opposite personalities are also reflected in the spaces they live in: Pia's condo is clean and spartan, while Nix's workshop embodies chaos. Their relationship is revealed to us slowly and deliberately, as we come to understand the reasons why they broke up.

The actual breakup may seem abrupt, but the seeds of this breakup were sowed even from the very beginning. It manifests itself in small, subtle things, character quirks or offhand remarks that build up over time. The breakup is not one big failure, it is a cascade of failures, one borne out of neglect, or a lack of communication, or of simple incompatibility. It is made even more real thanks to the quirk of casting real ex-lovers Panganiban and Aquino in the lead roles.

This movie exists as a stark contrast to Star Cinema's The Hows of Us, which also portrayed a breakup. Exes Baggage is clearly the superior film, opting to let the threads of this relationship  fray, break and intertwine organically. Nothing is forced, and there are no sidekicks urging the two to get back together. Like I said in my review of the Hows of Us, there's a reason why people split up, and it's not always a good reason. Breakups are also rarely clean; they're usually messy and full of awkward shit that both parties would probably rather forget.

There is no subservience to a loveteam here; we are offered the possibility of something greater, but it is up to us, the audience, to decide whether that space where a relationship once stood deserves to be filled again.