One constant variable in Star Cinema's romantic moviemaking formula is the idea of the romance in an exotic location. It serves as a sort of escapist fantasy; while our two lovers play out their romance, the movie's less than bourgeoisie audience lives vicariously through them. Cathy Garcia-Molina's Hello, Love, Goodbye turns that variable on his head and deconstructs it. Hong Kong is not (just) a wonderful fantasy land where people fall in love, it is a place where dreams are broken, it is a place people want to leave behind, and it is a place where people are stuck, and not entirely by chance.
The film follows a spate of other films depicting the Filipino diaspora, most notably Rory Quintos' 2000 film Anak (which gets a little cameo) but also the 2016 documentary Sunday Beauty Queen, 2015's Imbisibol and last year's Signal Rock. Although it is hardly seen in this film, the Philippines itself is deeply felt in all of its OFW characters. To them, the Philippines is a lost cause, its dwindling/nonexistent economic prospects wholly inadequate to fulfill the needs of their respective families. Note that only one of the characters, the most naive and inexperienced one at that, considers returning to the Philippines.
The Philippines' failure to provide for its own citizens becomes the impetus for the diaspora itself, tearing families apart, destroying individual dreams and creating much of the conflict in this film. And this isn't entirely the fault of these characters, either: Joy (Kathryn Bernardo) in particular is a qualified college graduate, but she struggles to find a job that fits her credentials. Only the rich get to choose what their work will be, Joy says. She observes a (presumably well off) classmate, sees them treating Hong Kong as merely a tourist destination, and she leaves them to their business.
And despite the promise of a better life that Hong Kong offers, the freedoms it gives its foreign workers are limited. Like its predecessors, Hello, Love, Goodbye shines a spotlight on the awkward relationship between domestic helpers in Hong Kong and their masters, as well as workers in general. Tied to only one job, workers often take sideline jobs that are technically illegal. They are free, but not really free - an idea that, in the light of recent events, inadvertently gains resonance with the plight of a territory operating under "one country, two systems."
The job is often thankless, exhausting, all-consuming. But, like in last year's Sid and Aya, there's a growing resentment at the idea that putting one's own welfare above others is selfish. In my opinion, these films tell us that it doesn't have to be selfish, and that familial (or love-borne) obligation has its limits. Under traditional Filipino values this is a radical idea, but times are changing.
While the romance is the most heavily promoted part of the film, it proves to be the film's lighter, more conventional part. It still follows a lot of the romantic tropes these kinds of movies are made for, and it even plays the exotic location part straight in its last minutes, just to give its two lovers time to breathe. It's cute and all, and Bernardo and Richards are both decent in their performances, but their love affair merely serves as a small part of the bigger picture.
The film shows us the inherent tragedy of many of our brothers and sisters abroad, but it's not all doom and gloom. While the film is firmly tied to a place, it shows us that home is where you make it, and happiness and love can be attained wherever genuine human connections are made, even if it is in a strange land far from one's place of birth. Joy is Here, indeed.
The film follows a spate of other films depicting the Filipino diaspora, most notably Rory Quintos' 2000 film Anak (which gets a little cameo) but also the 2016 documentary Sunday Beauty Queen, 2015's Imbisibol and last year's Signal Rock. Although it is hardly seen in this film, the Philippines itself is deeply felt in all of its OFW characters. To them, the Philippines is a lost cause, its dwindling/nonexistent economic prospects wholly inadequate to fulfill the needs of their respective families. Note that only one of the characters, the most naive and inexperienced one at that, considers returning to the Philippines.
The Philippines' failure to provide for its own citizens becomes the impetus for the diaspora itself, tearing families apart, destroying individual dreams and creating much of the conflict in this film. And this isn't entirely the fault of these characters, either: Joy (Kathryn Bernardo) in particular is a qualified college graduate, but she struggles to find a job that fits her credentials. Only the rich get to choose what their work will be, Joy says. She observes a (presumably well off) classmate, sees them treating Hong Kong as merely a tourist destination, and she leaves them to their business.
And despite the promise of a better life that Hong Kong offers, the freedoms it gives its foreign workers are limited. Like its predecessors, Hello, Love, Goodbye shines a spotlight on the awkward relationship between domestic helpers in Hong Kong and their masters, as well as workers in general. Tied to only one job, workers often take sideline jobs that are technically illegal. They are free, but not really free - an idea that, in the light of recent events, inadvertently gains resonance with the plight of a territory operating under "one country, two systems."
The job is often thankless, exhausting, all-consuming. But, like in last year's Sid and Aya, there's a growing resentment at the idea that putting one's own welfare above others is selfish. In my opinion, these films tell us that it doesn't have to be selfish, and that familial (or love-borne) obligation has its limits. Under traditional Filipino values this is a radical idea, but times are changing.
While the romance is the most heavily promoted part of the film, it proves to be the film's lighter, more conventional part. It still follows a lot of the romantic tropes these kinds of movies are made for, and it even plays the exotic location part straight in its last minutes, just to give its two lovers time to breathe. It's cute and all, and Bernardo and Richards are both decent in their performances, but their love affair merely serves as a small part of the bigger picture.
The film shows us the inherent tragedy of many of our brothers and sisters abroad, but it's not all doom and gloom. While the film is firmly tied to a place, it shows us that home is where you make it, and happiness and love can be attained wherever genuine human connections are made, even if it is in a strange land far from one's place of birth. Joy is Here, indeed.
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