This was supposed to be released a week earlier, but I got COVID lol. Enjoy
Compared to his earlier Anino sa Likod ng Buwan (2015) there's something almost uncomfortably autobiographical in Jun Lana's latest feature, About Us But Not About Us - in fact, the title also evokes the many ways art reflects real life and vice versa. Presented as a taut, tense two-hander, the film follows a conversation between Lance (Elijah Canlas) and Eric (Romnick Sarmenta) as they discuss their respective circumstances. Soon the conversation drifts toward the subject of Marcus (played both by Canlas and Sarmenta in turns), an accomplished writer (and Eric's long term partner) who recently committed suicide. As the film goes on, both reveal things regarding themselves and the suspicious circumstances behind Marcus' death, even casting doubt as to whether the conversation is real or it merely exists entirely in one's mind. The film is elevated by top notch performances from both, especially during their transition into Marcus. It's interesting to see how each actor portrays (whether differently or not) their own interpretation of the character.
Segueing into discussions of the local literary community and how insular and hubristic some of its sub-communities can be, the film veers into an interrogation of the responsibility of LGBTQ artists in portraying their own community. Does the film ask if there is a discrepancy between what is perceived as representation of the community in larger vs. personal scales? This is a relevant topic for Lana, who, along with a few other collaborators, have made a bunch of films that have portrayed LGBTQ characters in both positive and negative ways. The question of representation is not one I am equipped to answer, nor do I think I have the right to do so, but the film could have been; unfortunately the film is indecisive in this regard.
It's clear that the construction of the film is very personal to Lana, and aside from the topics discussed in the previous paragraph, the film also centers on the relationship of art and pain, how one molds and shapes the other, transforming that pain into something remarkable. At what cost?
***
Pain is shaped into art, yes, though it also provides an escape for that same pain, or perhaps an anchor to root one in spite of pain. In Bela Padilla's sophomore directorial effort, Yung Libro sa Napanuod Ko, a young K-drama fan (Padilla) is inspired by a book from one of the dramas she watched, and decides to write her own. During a book signing, she is approached by Gun-hoo (Yoo Min-gon) who she takes a curious liking to. Without rhyme or reason, she agrees to let him join her to South Korea to see all the places she's seen in her favorite dramas.
A clever little twist underlines Yung Libro sa Napanuod Ko, one that genre savvy viewers will no doubt figure out quickly. Padilla, who has extensive experience in romantic cinema, eases into her role quite nicely here, while Yoo Min-gon, who has had only minor roles prior to this, is just as capable. That said, I personally had a little trouble latching on to the couple as their initial meeting is a bit weird, as if the story was written in reverse and the film was working back to an ending that already exists.
It's also curious how the film exists in such close proximity to Ultimate Oppa (2022), another Philippine-South Korean co production with similar main characters, both partially obsessed with the popular culture of another country, and Shuming He's Ajoomma (2022), whose titular protagonist is transformed from her road trip-like interactions in South Korea on her way towards a post-midlife crisis existence. South Korea (or in particular, South Korean culture) becomes both a catalyst towards personal transformation and a sanctuary for those who seek to avoid it - which in terms of tourist films kinda hits the target. Overall the film is decent, though it feels formless to me as a romantic film.
***
Before we proceed: the next film in this report features minor roles from two people with a history of sexual misconduct. It's reasonable to assume that the production of this film took place before these allegations came to light and it was too late to change things. If that's still a dealbreaker to you, it's perfectly okay to skip this part.
As it starts, JP Habac's Love You Long Time exists in a sort of thematic irony: its first half has a young creative struggling to get her creative say, in a film that (at first) closely clings to the aesthetic hugotcore template that's been a staple of contemporary local cinema for the past decade. But as the film progresses, it plays with the form in such refreshing ways that it ended up being one of the most interesting films of the festival.
Its initial conceit follows two young people - Uly (Carlo Aquino) and Ikay (Eisel Serrano) as they come to know each other via a pair of two way radios. There is a catch, however, and it takes them a bit to figure it out: they both exist in different time periods, a cute little riff on movies such as Il Mare (1998) and the inferior The Lake House (2006). During this first part, the two converse using the radios, often occupying nearby spaces but never overlapping each other. Habac and DP Kara Moreno (Lucid, Edward, among others) films the two in such a way that they are made to "exist" in a single frame, a technique that's been explored before in Habac's earlier Dito at Doon (2021) and, of all things, in the dual intersecting frames of films like Gaspar Noe's Vortex (2021). The spaces in which Uly and Ikay exist form a complete picture, albeit one that is imperfectly stitched together, not quite lining up exactly. In a way, visually this follows from the concepts of Dito at Doon, these images evoking nostalgia for a time that either no longer exists or hasn't existed yet. At one point Uly is alarmed at Ikay's warning of an upcoming pandemic, and expresses dismay at the lack of change that has happened since then.
That's all and good, but then the third act of the film throws us a curveball that upends everything that has happened before, and this is where the film leans into its self reflexivity: the proceedings thus far only exist in Ikay's art (whether it did happen as shown in the film or not is left to our imagination), created to provide a sort of cathartic release, a sense of nostalgia not for something that no longer exists, but for the possibility of something that may never come. It's a bit of a downer but it's done well, and Aquino and Serrano have the acting chops to pull it off.
***
It's been said that one of the most potent ways to understand someone else is to live in their shoes. In the 2010 film Here Comes the Bride, Chris Martinez uses that conceit to swap the bodies of several people, enabling them to see how others experience the world around them in terms of class, sexuality and personal beliefs. It is also extremely funny. Thirteen years later, Martinez would reuse the same conceit to explore issues of gender identity and societal reactions to that with Here Comes the Groom, a spiritual sequel that operates on the same formula. If it ain't broke, don't fix it.
This time, two "families" get switched during a trip to Magnetic Hill in Los Banos, Laguna. One family is traditionally conservative, with a homophobic dad (Keempee De Leon), his wife (Gladys Reyes,) an extremely devout daughter (Maris Racal) and a straight-laced (pardon the pun lol) son (Enchong Dee). On the other is a mama-san (Iyah Mina) and her stable of drag queens (Xilhouete, Awra Briguela, Kaladkaren and Nico Manalo).
Aside from the humor, half of the enjoyment factor of watching the film is from seeing these talented actors act as their switched counterparts, often against type. The switching serves as a storytelling device that works both ways: the conservative family sees how their counterparts are treated in society, while the drag queens either finally get what they've been dreaming of, or in one case, revert into something they've been distancing themselves from. These perceived differences span not only that of gender identity but also intersect with class - while the traditional family is well to do and has ample opportunities to be able to stage an expensive-looking wedding in the first place, the Queens have to go from place to place just to earn a living, denied of the same economic opportunities.
The film's shortcomings arise from the way it develops its characters in order to make the ending succeed, development that is mostly swept aside to fit a short montage sequence. The sequence, had it been stretched out, would have extended the film by a good deal (and such a time skip was also present in the original film), but it would have constituted the narrative legwork to make some of this character development work. For example, Keempee's character changes very little from the start of the switch, and the film acknowledges that one or two short interactions may sometimes be inadequate to create true empathy and understanding. But by the end of the sequence, it seems that very little has changed regardless of that montage sequence (though that can be chalked up to the film's insistence on comedy).
While entertaining in itself, there are a few missed opportunities in Here Comes the Groom, opportunities that could have made a decent film great.
***
Speaking of missed opportunities, no film embodies this unfortunate spirit like Joven Tan's Kahit Maputi na Ang Buhok Ko, a musical autobiographical film about the life of celebrated singer-songwriter Rey Valera. Just reading the man's Wikipedia page is fascinating in itself: it's a rich life full of interesting stories to tell. Tan himself is perhaps better known in some circles as a songwriter (having written songs for Ogie Alcasid and Ai Ai delas Alas, among others), so he knows the ins and outs of the music industry; on paper he should be a great pick for such an autobiographical film.
The problems make themselves apparent from the very start: Tan uses the same documentary structure as his earlier Yorme: The Isko Domagoso Story (2022), where the subject of the documentary relates a short anecdote, followed by a loosely connected vignette (and sometimes, a song.) While relatively standard, rote even, the story choices behind these vignettes are often baffling - they feel so disconnected that watching the film feels like going to a cheap karaoke place, queueing a bunch of Rey Valera songs and watching that. The film has a noticeable lack of craft: in one sequence, there is a shot of the child Valera and his stepdad leaving their house. Without any preamble, the movie cuts to his mother's wake. This is a movie that's forgotten what movies look like.
The most disappointing story choices lie in how Tan chooses what scenes go with what songs. In one sequence set to Valera's Maging Sino Ka Man, the accompanying vignette is about a man falling in love with a woman with a shady past (Rosanna Roces), a vignette that while technically appropriate, has absolutely no relation to Valera's story. Not five minutes later, the film cuts to a part where Valera tells the story of how his wife married him even if he didn't have a high opinion of himself - exactly the kind of segment that would've been perfect with Maging Sino Ka Man!
Valera's greatest collaborative works were made with or for Sharon Cuneta, and in the film she gets only a handful of songs with him (which if I remember correctly was either Mr. DJ or Kahit Wala Ka Na). Where are the anecdotes here? Why was there no attention given to their professional relationship? Where are the stories about the intersection of the movie and music industries in the eighties and nineties? Why are we instead getting unrelated vignettes about a couple of random people the fictional Valera runs across in a cemetery!? Am I the only one who is pissed off about this? The film also kinda skirts the time when someone impersonated Valera and damaged his personal reputation; we only get one scene where he's berating the impostor, now in jail. This is the perfect place to insert a little drama and the film doesn't dwell on that too much at all.
All in all the film seems to have been done haphazardly, with little to no thought in its construction. Perhaps a number of budgeting or production issues came into play here. Even the size of Valera's nose mole varies from scene to scene, often looking like a giant booger that RK Bagatsing consistently neglects to pick.
I write about my disappointment in this film not from a place of malice, but from frustration, as a fan of Valera and his work. I'm rarely harsh on local films these days, but I can say this film is an utter and total failure. Of all the films in this fest, this is the one with the most promise, and this is also the one where all that promise is squandered by utterly stupid decisions.
***
If there's anything in the Summer MMFF 2023 bingo card that I didn't expect, it's "Brillante Mendoza Food Porn." Apag is lush with shots of local Pampanga delicacies, and shots of people making these delicacies - cooking them, preparing them, all with the loving attention of a Studio Ghibli film. And it's an appropriate thing to do as thematically, food is at the center of this film: most of the sequences of note occur in or around a dinner table - where people negotiate and barter for their lives, where they forgive and forget. It ties back to the transactional nature of Filipino social interactions as seen in his earlier Ma' Rosa (2016).
The film follows Rafael (Coco Martin, their first collab since 2012's Captive), the scion of a wealthy Pampanga family. One day, he gets into an accident that takes the life of a man. Wracked with guilt, he tries to use his influence and money to make amends, but short of confessing the crime, it's not enough. His father takes the fall for the crime and over the years, Rafael's family bonds with the family of the victim. This is not an implausible situation, as I myself have seen families with similar grievances dine together in real life, and it's a situation that feels particularly Filipino.
What sets Apag back is its choice to omit large swaths of its story, so much so that some audiences were left scratching their heads in confusion when they saw the film in theaters. At times the film feels less than a structured narrative and more like a fugue of vaguely interconnected character moments. If this was intentional, then this is one of the more uniquely abstract entries in the festival. This not an appeal to spoonfeed, but the film skips over things that feel important: suddenly the two families are bonding together when previously we last saw them in opposite sides of a courtroom. One character (Mercedes Cabral) is a complete enigma, and even as the end credits roll her motivations are unclear.
It's not necessarily a bad thing. Ultimately the film functions more as a loosely constructed mood piece than what I was expecting. And still, it's better than some of Mendoza's contemporary output.
***
One subgenre of romantic film that's been popping up again recently is the tourist film, where two people meet in a exotic place and sparks fly. Contemporary filmmakers have made the tourist film their own, for better or worse, at times neglecting the romance part in favor of the tourist part. RC Delos Reyes hasn't made a tourist film until Unravel: A Swiss Side Love Story, and at least for this year their rather prolific output has been hit or miss. In this case, Unravel focuses more on the romance (or rather, the compulsion to romanticize) rather than the tourist stuff, and this time around, it's to the film's detriment.
Lucy (Kylie Padilla) looks like the epitome of a successful businesswoman, but ongoing personal struggles have broken her. Her husband is abusive and is in the process of taking away her only child from her. Despondent, she heads for Switzerland in an act of suicide tourism, hoping to avail of several euthanasia options and end her life. While there, she meets Noah (Gerald Anderson), an expat who previously helped run a euthanasia clinic, and the two strike up an unlikely relationship.
The central "message" of Unravel is that depression takes many forms, and in ways that one might not expect. While it's a good message, it does so in the most clumsy, superficial way possible. While it portrays depression as something that can happen to seemingly happy or successful people, it doesn't explore the reasons or the struggle itself in depth. The death of one of the characters is treated more as a gotcha moment instead of an opportunity to examine the struggle itself. In fact, even Lucy's own depression and struggles feel like plot points that magically disappear after a certain death, as if that death, that separate personal struggle, was just a plot point for her to get better. Like I said before, the film tends to lean more on the romance even if it isn't appropriate in all situations.
The film equally does not fully explore the nuances of suicide in Switzerland: although technically young and healthy individuals can avail of the act, the screening process is very stringent and based on legal precedent it's unlikely someone like Lucy would have been allowed to proceed with the act.
Unravel is a strange beast, often juxtaposing scenes of emotional disarray with scenes of its two protagonists frolicking across Swiss landscapes like it's a cutesy romcom. While I assume it has the best of intentions, it comes off as insensitive at best and downright cruel at worst.
***
There's a scene in the middle of Fifth Solomon's Single Bells where Rose Ann (Alex Gonzaga) is in the front of a jeepney. Various passengers give her money to give to the driver in front, which is customary and even expected when riding a jeep. The various passengers give various, mostly innocuous or slightly joking remarks and Rose Ann is somehow extremely annoyed at this, as if she's doing everyone in the jeepney a favor. She lashes out at them, which strikes me as completely unwarranted. I'm sure the younger Gonzaga has her fans, but... I dunno, man. She just gives off this vibe that always struck me as weird, as if all the unpleasant and miserable characters she's played over the years is just her playing herself.
That's not to disparage the whole subgenre of unlikeable, miserable characters headlining films - the recent Academy Award nominee Tár is evidence that you can have a great movie with what is essentially a villain at the forefront. But there are fundamental differences between one and the other - in their tone, in the way that they are portrayed. But to be fair, Gonzaga's not all that the film is about, and I digress.
On paper, Single Bells' premise is quite wholesome - two people explore relationships and singlehood, the end conclusion being that one's relationship status isn't as relevant as how happy you are with your life right now. Rose Ann (and her friend Rose Mae, played by Angeline Quinto) have their own reasons for wanting or not wanting to be in a relationship, and they come to their own different conclusions depending on their life situations. For once, it's refreshing to see a movie whose central message is NOT how crucially important it is to have a boyfriend.
The problem lies in the film's habit of undermining that message throughout the film. For example, in the first meeting we see of the titular Single Bells (a group of like minded single people who say they don't need a relationship) the film keeps on making masturbation jokes with each member proudly showing off their sex toys. That in itself isn't a bad thing, but the way it's shown makes it look like the film is laughing at its concept rather than laughing with it. A lot of other jokes just come off as really crass - Rose Mae works hard to make a product presentation in a limited time but is hindered by her boyfriend constantly seeking attention from her. She ends up going for the lowest common denominator, which is to market her product via a series of increasingly raunchy innuendos.
The film made me think of what ifs. To be fair, these hypotheticals don't really impact the film but I'll leave it here to show how I thought about the film during and after I watched it. Rose Ann is her miserable self because she was left at the altar, but that's because of a gross lack of transparency, and there's no indication that it wouldn't happen again if they got back together. Rose Mae makes a decision between a toxic, clingy boyfriend and her job, but then again a supportive boyfriend would've supported her with her job. I guess that's not the point the film was trying to make.
Single Bells is not the worst film in the festival, not by a long shot. If one was to get over its unlikeable lead and its general tone, I don't see why audiences can't enjoy it.
