"Let them eat cake," Marie Antoinette is reported to have said. She likely didn't say it, but the idea behind that statement does reflect the disconnection the rich experience when they deal with the peasant classes. They do not see themselves as tyrants or overlords, but as benevolent gods, deserving of praise and adoration.
Lauren Greenfield's recent documentaries have explored the relationship with man and wealth. In the Queen of Versailles, we see how the accumulation of wealth has changed people who have come from otherwise humble backgrounds. Materialism is a peculiar drug. Perhaps that's how she initially approached the subject of her latest documentary, The Kingmaker - Imelda Marcos is most known in the western world for her shoe collection, itself a staggering display of wealth at the people's expense. But in the middle of the documentary, the narrative evolves, stumbling upon something greater in scope. The Kingmaker is a film about wealth in the context of power, where one begets the other and vice versa. Thus it is in the best interest of powerful and wealthy people to hold on to that power as much as they can, even if it is to the detriment of the truth, or human rights, or democracy itself. This lends the film a resonance that is not just specific to our own country, but to authoritarian regimes and oligarchies all over the world. (It makes one wonder how the film will be perceived in the west, and how their preconceptions of the Marcoses will change after watching.)
To any Filipino who has at least the tiniest shred of sociopolitical consciousness, the documentary will not offer any new information. It is, however, a reminder that vigilance is the price of a free society. The documentary understandably only scratches the surface of the rabbit hole that is Philippine politics; it only lightly touches on the nature of patronage politics, the cultural vulnerabilities of the Filipino people that make families like the Marcoses happen, and the failure of our government to learn the lessons of the first EDSA Revolution. Perhaps most damning are the supporters and the sycophants who, despite being taken for a ride, willingly partake in the Queen's cake, frosting and all.
It's very hard to botch a zombie movie in terms of the fun one receives from watching it; there's always something fun one can latch on to despite the badness, whether it be schadenfreude for unsympathetic characters or just overall cheesiness. Mikhail Red's Block Z isn't terrible, but it feels superficial, a xerox of a xerox of several other, better zombie movies.
The film starts out like a highschool/teen movie. Stereotypes abound, with jocks, nerds, activists and student council members occupying the narrative space. Stereotypes by themselves are not bad, as they could be used as a microcosmic reflection of society. Indeed, the zombie genre itself, through the direction of masters such as the late George Romero, has been used to lampshade certain truths about our society, and Red himself has used genre-defying filmmaking to do similar things with films like Birdshot or Neomanila.
Unfortunately, Block Z feels too safe and surface-level to be of any lasting impact in terms of discourse. And even if judged by the basic merits of a zombie movie, a lot of things don't hold up that well to scrutiny. In well-paced movies like Train to Busan, there's a linearity to the group's objectives that gives the goings-on a sense of urgency. On the other hand, in Block Z, the script awkwardly tries - and fails - to give our characters a sense of time or space - the map of the campus is confusing and unclear, and at times hours pass before the group makes any sort of progress. In effect, neither time nor tension is felt. When our protagonists start dying off, few deaths register as sympathetic, and any melodramatic moments after such deaths feel shoehorned in. Other than that, the script is full of redundant or conflicting information, with random moments that feel out of place.
To its credit, the film manages to elicit an excellent performance from Joshua Garcia, but his talents feel wasted on this film. Block Z may be an entertaining midnight screening, but it falls apart even with the slightest bit of scrutiny.
Our wounds make us who we are, but being damaged doesn't always make us stronger - in the case of Irene Villamor's On Vodka, Beers and Regrets, the damage we incur over our lives may even threaten to destroy us completely, and not even love can save it.
The film continues what Villamor started with last year's Ulan - a story of self-realization blanketed in a love story. Jane (Bela Padilla) is an actress who has gone through a lot - aside from a number of scandals and a tumultuous childhood, she's developed an addiction to alcohol. She constantly seeks affection from others, perhaps best seen in her tendency to "acquire" cats as pets, since society as a whole isn't helping her situation. When she meets Francis (JC Santos), she finds a source of comfort for the first time, but bad habits are hard to break.
The film immediately reminded me of the recently concluded Bojack Horseman, where it's not enough to stop blaming one's circumstance and admit fault for all the times people have fucked up their lives, to heal, to truly heal requires a process that takes constant, determined effort. It also lays waste to the notion that love is an all powerful panacea for any kind of personal pain. If there's anything in the film that constitutes a shortcoming for me, it's that I wish the film would have concentrated on this healing process a bit more, because as it is, the conclusion wraps things up a little too quickly and cleanly.
That said, the film is genuinely entertaining and a counter to all the hugot stuff we've been getting recently. However one approaches it - as a romance, an indictment of showbusiness or as a treatise on addiction and brokenness - there's something in this film to love.
Lauren Greenfield's recent documentaries have explored the relationship with man and wealth. In the Queen of Versailles, we see how the accumulation of wealth has changed people who have come from otherwise humble backgrounds. Materialism is a peculiar drug. Perhaps that's how she initially approached the subject of her latest documentary, The Kingmaker - Imelda Marcos is most known in the western world for her shoe collection, itself a staggering display of wealth at the people's expense. But in the middle of the documentary, the narrative evolves, stumbling upon something greater in scope. The Kingmaker is a film about wealth in the context of power, where one begets the other and vice versa. Thus it is in the best interest of powerful and wealthy people to hold on to that power as much as they can, even if it is to the detriment of the truth, or human rights, or democracy itself. This lends the film a resonance that is not just specific to our own country, but to authoritarian regimes and oligarchies all over the world. (It makes one wonder how the film will be perceived in the west, and how their preconceptions of the Marcoses will change after watching.)
To any Filipino who has at least the tiniest shred of sociopolitical consciousness, the documentary will not offer any new information. It is, however, a reminder that vigilance is the price of a free society. The documentary understandably only scratches the surface of the rabbit hole that is Philippine politics; it only lightly touches on the nature of patronage politics, the cultural vulnerabilities of the Filipino people that make families like the Marcoses happen, and the failure of our government to learn the lessons of the first EDSA Revolution. Perhaps most damning are the supporters and the sycophants who, despite being taken for a ride, willingly partake in the Queen's cake, frosting and all.
The film starts out like a highschool/teen movie. Stereotypes abound, with jocks, nerds, activists and student council members occupying the narrative space. Stereotypes by themselves are not bad, as they could be used as a microcosmic reflection of society. Indeed, the zombie genre itself, through the direction of masters such as the late George Romero, has been used to lampshade certain truths about our society, and Red himself has used genre-defying filmmaking to do similar things with films like Birdshot or Neomanila.
Unfortunately, Block Z feels too safe and surface-level to be of any lasting impact in terms of discourse. And even if judged by the basic merits of a zombie movie, a lot of things don't hold up that well to scrutiny. In well-paced movies like Train to Busan, there's a linearity to the group's objectives that gives the goings-on a sense of urgency. On the other hand, in Block Z, the script awkwardly tries - and fails - to give our characters a sense of time or space - the map of the campus is confusing and unclear, and at times hours pass before the group makes any sort of progress. In effect, neither time nor tension is felt. When our protagonists start dying off, few deaths register as sympathetic, and any melodramatic moments after such deaths feel shoehorned in. Other than that, the script is full of redundant or conflicting information, with random moments that feel out of place.
To its credit, the film manages to elicit an excellent performance from Joshua Garcia, but his talents feel wasted on this film. Block Z may be an entertaining midnight screening, but it falls apart even with the slightest bit of scrutiny.
The film continues what Villamor started with last year's Ulan - a story of self-realization blanketed in a love story. Jane (Bela Padilla) is an actress who has gone through a lot - aside from a number of scandals and a tumultuous childhood, she's developed an addiction to alcohol. She constantly seeks affection from others, perhaps best seen in her tendency to "acquire" cats as pets, since society as a whole isn't helping her situation. When she meets Francis (JC Santos), she finds a source of comfort for the first time, but bad habits are hard to break.
The film immediately reminded me of the recently concluded Bojack Horseman, where it's not enough to stop blaming one's circumstance and admit fault for all the times people have fucked up their lives, to heal, to truly heal requires a process that takes constant, determined effort. It also lays waste to the notion that love is an all powerful panacea for any kind of personal pain. If there's anything in the film that constitutes a shortcoming for me, it's that I wish the film would have concentrated on this healing process a bit more, because as it is, the conclusion wraps things up a little too quickly and cleanly.
That said, the film is genuinely entertaining and a counter to all the hugot stuff we've been getting recently. However one approaches it - as a romance, an indictment of showbusiness or as a treatise on addiction and brokenness - there's something in this film to love.
