Local films often depict the mountain as a place of transformation, healing and self discovery. In Pepe Diokno's Above the Clouds (2014), it's a way to grieve; in Ariel Barbarona's The Highest Peak, the film's grieving protagonist also considers what his actions as a mining company employee have done to the Lumad population living there and tries to make amends.
Makoy (Ron Matthews Espinosa) has just lost his beloved grandfather. He has lived with him for many years, often traversing the mountain ranges near their home. He is estranged from his mother, who has remarried. In the process of grieving, the spirit of his grandfather calls out to him and Makoy sets out and climbs the mountain to find the mythical golden deer, and more importantly, himself.
Bulawan nga Usa (Golden Deer) is the kind of film you only really see in a film fest like Cinemalaya - with a modest budget, but brimming with imagination. Animated sequences tell the story of the titular golden deer, among other myths and stories Makoy tells the children on the mountain. He finds a kindred spirit in the form of a young boy (John Niel Paguntalan), who has his own form of grieving to work through. The kid's sister has gone to the city to study, a rare and celebrated occurrence in the mountain community, but it has left the kid feeling as lonely as Makoy.
Bulawan nga Usa is hampered by its own limitations. The most noticeable of the film's problems is its sound, as most scenes (especially those not taken on the mountain) sound fuzzy and distant. Still, maybe the true golden deer is the golden deer we find along the way, and despite the uncertainty in its conclusion, there is a sense of passing the torch, in that while Makoy's grandfather was once the source of inspiration for a young boy, Makoy himself is one, too.
I don't think I would ever predict how VHS would grow obsolete; not right away and all at once, but slowly, gradually being replaced over time, until you look around and see that everything has changed. That's how the end of an age moves; one small step at a time, till you look back and you see that you've gone a long, long way.
For Andoy (Shun Mark Gomez), his own transformation goes the same way. He spends most of his teenage days renting and watching VHS tapes with his best friend (Bon Andrew Lentejas). The townsfolk think that Andoy is the son of a supernatural creature, maybe a Sigbin; but he is merely a studious boy whose absent mother provides for him (and by extension, his adoptive family.)
Andoy's life shifts when he meets two people - Ariel (played by Serena Juan... and named after the mermaid?) a hairdresser who 'fishes' for local boys, and a mysterious man named Isidro (Cedrick Juan), who also shows films to the local audience on his TV - albeit using a newfangled technology called a "VCD player."
Huling Palabas is a film about the end of ages: of youth, of stereotyped sexual identity, of innocence. It frames the transformation and self realization of a young queer man in the backdrop of a bigger, historical change, while also weaving in elements of myth and folklore. One could only imagine how many people like Andoy were treated as supernatural creatures, and how they are shunned in that community. But in this film, that idea is undergoing its own transition - as (at least for some), fear becomes acceptance.
The final scenes, then, are a way of taking that last step from one age to another, accepting the change that has occurred in its wake, and setting fire to a past 'self' that no longer exists. Huling Palabas captures a sort of magic that Cinemalaya films rarely do. It's one of my favorite films in the fest.
Cinemalaya Shorts B Short Shorts Reviews
Over the better part of two decades, my parents operated a business on their own, in a small, decrepit building in San Marcelino street. I remember many days during my childhood when I ran around its (relatively) spacious offices or helped edit or print business letters and dispatches to employers in the middle east. I felt the same way during the first half of Kurt Soberano's Golden Bells, a film about his family's business in Bacolod. Its first half manages to establish a rich milieu, though as it transitions towards a present-day epilogue, I feel like it skips over a lot of things - this is a rare case of me wanting the proceedings to be expanded further into something longer-form. Nevertheless, it's a deeply personal film about the importance of family and how a single person can shape it for better or worse.
A young man and his younger brother deal with grief in Mayoko sa Baybay, yet even though its lush images suggest at something deeper, for the most part it feels frustratingly surface level. It's not necessarily bad, however, though I'm conflicted if either a longer film or a film of the same length but with more elaboration would have made more sense.
Ang Kining Binalaybay Kag Ambahanon Ko Para sa Imo (These Rhymes and Rhythms Meant for You), on the other hand, has no trouble establishing its story: an old man and his granddaughter travel the land to give said granddaughter a new home. Something bad happened to the granddaughter's parents and there's still bad blood on the other side of the family for this. But then as the film reaches its emotional climax, it just ends abruptly, which is a shame, as the chemistry and rapport built by the two excellent actors for the past 16 or so minutes needed something more to bring it to a proper conclusion.
On the other hand, Tong Adlaw Nga Nag-Snow sa Pinas uses every second of its five minute runtime surgically and systematically, depicting the lives of two children living through violence and finding ways to escape, "changing" the setting with their own snow and finding refuge in films. It's a fully realized short and an excellent example of what the medium can do.
In Ilocano folklore, the Batibat is a demon that resides in trees. Sometimes, when their tree dwelling is used as building materials for a house, the Batibat stays in what remains of that tree, victimizing anyone who sleeps near them by invading their dreams. In Maudi Nga Arapaap, one of the most beautifully shot films of the year, the Batibat is used as a manifestation of trauma: something that does not leave even you literally try to throw it away, something that leaves you paralyzed even if decades have already passed.
I've been stuck for a long time making a particular video essay, one that ruminates on the ending of Rae Red's Babae at Baril (2019), where the titular character, played by Janine Gutierrez, throws away the gun she just gained in the river to try to end the cycle of violence in which she's been trapped for the past hour and a half or so. In that forever unfinished essay, I explore the two arguments for and against that character's decision. First, there is the argument of the political philosopher Frantz Fanon, who experienced colonial racism first hand in the Caribbean island of Martinique, who argues that violence, or rather, violent resistance, is a necessity imposed by the colonists upon the colonized - extended to those who oppress, and those who are oppressed, because violence is the only language they speak. Second, there is the reaction or extension (not necessarily a rebuttal, mind) of that concept by the educator Paulo Freire, who argues that education that is free from colonial roots be used to elevate critical consciousness and "fight back," in that way, enabling those oppressed to regain their humanity.
Dustin Celestino's Ang Duyan ng Magiting interrogates the necessity of violence in the process of resistance. In more than a dozen chapters, each essentially a one act play on film, Celestino maps out an all too familiar story: two young men (Miggy Jimenez and Dylan Ray Talon) are accused of bombing a church. A social worker (Dolly De Leon) is tasked to help them out, but she meets resistance from the police chief (Paolo O' Hara) who has his personal reasons for keeping the two where they are. Meanwhile, an activist teacher (Jojit Lorenzo) reels from the fallout of a now-viral rant that has left him facing the true implications of what he has done.
In post screening conversations, an idea came up about how Celestino, an accomplished playwright, has often depicted the (often masculine) nature of violence, and how (often repressed) anger leads to it. A mild spoiler, but this film's ending is literally two very angry, very indignant men in the midst of committing violence. In Ang Duyan ng Magiting, he crafts a situation where all the parties concerned are driven by their own beliefs, regardless of whether we agree with those beliefs or not, with all those actions mostly spurred on by the instinct to survive, or to 'other', or to hate. At the same time, it frames anger and violence in the context of nationalism - how the love for country (either as part of the state or as part of a revolution to transform it) sometimes lets those things in. It lays its thesis bare and I think this is the kind of film that merits serious discussion, definitely not something that can be covered in a short time or in a review like this.
The star studded ensemble is given great material to work with, and pretty much everyone shines in their respective roles. As the film moves from set piece to tense set piece, it doesn't let up that tension for a minute. As a cinematic experience, the end product is deeply engrossing and definitely worth watching.
I've always wondered what happened to Mary after Jesus' death; the consensus seems to be that she ascended into heaven after her son's death, as if giving birth to him was her only true raison d'etre. I prefer to believe the Byzantine scholar Hyppolitus of Thebes, who wrote that after her son died on the cross, Mary lived another 11 years. Maybe she lived in quiet solitude and mourning. Maybe she helped spread the teachings her son preached, or taught others teachings of her own. In the wake of unspeakable loss or tragedy, the responsibility of taking care of what's left is left to the widows. The weight they carry is a great burden, but one that many will carry with great effort and patience.
Sheryl Rose Andes' Maria tells the stories of three women who all possess that name as they deal with profound losses of their own. Two of them have lost nearly everything from the "War on Drugs" that has lasted since 2016 until today, and one of them who tried to do something about it.
The film also touches on several other issues happening in our country today: the poor state of our crime investigation system, the lack of accountability of the state and how disinformation, misuse of social media and a lack of education on critical thinking leads to people voting and choosing against their own interests. It's honestly heartbreaking seeing what has happened to our country in the past decade, and the way things are going it doesn't seem to be getting better any time soon.
But, as the film shows, the worst thing anyone could do is to give up. That's probably why I liked Hyppolitus' story about Mary: because she found the strength to live on for just a little longer. Justice or divine retribution (if it ever exists)a is something that is earned, and it is not something that is achieved overnight.
On the other hand, the story of the first Maria is overshadowed by the other two; after a certain point, she disappears from the narrative and doesn't show up again until the credits. It feels like her presence was just to make a (completely valid) point, but the structure feels just a little off.
Maria is one of the most important films to watch this year: albeit flawed, it is a potent reminder to ourselves that the struggle for what is right does not end with any single loss, nor does evil go away on its own.
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