Cinephilia On The Go: Hong Kong Edition Part 2: The Films

Lee Sang Il's Rage (Ikari) begins with a grisly double murder. The film then splits into three narratives, all involving people with mysterious pasts. One of these three people may have committed the murder. But who?

Much like his film Akunin (2010), Rage is based on a novel, and contains copious amounts of emotional violence. At the same time, it ruminates on the concepts of guilt, shame, and anger in Japanese society. It can be read as a reflection of this anger in its lynchpin story, paralleling Japan's strained relationship with US bases in Okinawa.

The anger in this film is not the kind of anger that displays itself openly, through a person's tatemae or facade, instead, it focuses on the rage building up on the inside, fomenting in the honne of the Japanese psyche. This rage is tempered by shame and regret, but it tears up its victims, burning them alive from the inside out. Whether it be the shame of an act that never be avenged, or the shame of hiding one's true self or a dark past, this shame haunts the characters of the film up to its inevitable conclusion.

On the other side of the coin, the film talks about trust - in each of the three stories, our drifters are met with differing reactions from the characters around them - they are either trusted too much, distrusted too easily, or some combination of the two. The film can also be read as a treatise on how the Japanese treat people on the fringes of society - themes that are not uncommon in Lee's other works such as Scrap Heaven or the aforementioned Akunin. Lee himself is a Zainichi Korean, a group which was itself marginalized for a long time after WWII, so it can be easy to see why this film may be personal as well.

The ensemble cast is excellent as always, but props have to go out to young newcomer Suzu Hirose, whose performance in this film proves she isn't only suited to teenybopper or cutesy roles. The film's heavy emotional weight is underscored by Ryuichi Sakamoto's score.

The film's final act may seem a bit too melodramatic to some, but it underlines the film's main thesis - that healing begins when rage is released via catharsis. It might not sit well with foreign audiences, but it's an ending that feels Japanese, if that makes any sense.

Once in a while a movie comes along that reminds me why I love watching movies so much. This year, it's Makoto Shinkai's Kimi no na wa (otherwise known as Your name.) Although objectively his earlier Garden of Words is better conceptually, this movie simply hits all the right notes, creating an unforgettable experience, anime or not.

The movie is best seen blind, but if you want to know the basics of the plot: it involves a strange phenomenon where Tokyoite Taki and country girl Mitsuha start switching bodies. It's an anime trope that's been used before, but not this well in my opinion. Through their interactions in each other's bodies, they learn even more about each other, and strike up a weird friendship (though they never meet each other during this time).

Soon the plot drives forward in unexpected ways, and the movie takes us through every twisty step. It also has a lot of the romantic tones of Shinkai's earlier 5cm per second and Garden of Words, as well as a tinge of magical realism.

It's also a very relevant film that seems to follow the cinematic themes of Japanese film post 3/11: Kimi no na wa's themes of remembering a loved one probably rings true with many Japanese audiences, especially after the great loss the country incurred during the recent earthquake and tsunami. It establishes remembrance as a way to keep people in one's heart forever. At the same time, it's a movie that greatly respects the unity of traditional and modern Japan, Taki and Mitsuha embodying both aspects of Japanese culture that are distinct, yet symbiotic. Its emphasis on understanding is made literal as the two characters wear each others' shoes, and learn something about themselves in the process.

As with all Makoto Shinkai movies, the visuals are gorgeous, and it was an absolute treat watching this in a proper 4K cinema (watching a Makoto Shinkai movie in less than 720p resolution is an absolute travesty in my opinion). The Japanese band RADWIMPS takes care of the soundtrack, and their post-rock inspired tunes suit the movie very well.

With that all said, Kimi no na wa is one of Makoto Shinkai's most realized films (if not his most realized film). And it's simply one of my favorite films of the year. It's visually gorgeous, and its story is heartwarming and tender. That's as good a recommendation as I can give you.

Mozu The Movie is the sequel to a two season police procedural/mystery drama series, and relies heavily on said drama for background information. Since I haven't seen the series yet, I basically had little idea what was going on at any one time. Nevertheless, the movie does have a few interesting moments that keep it from being totally incomprehensible.

The film's plot, based on what I can piece together, involves a shadowy organization controlling Japanese politics, a league of mysterious children with barcodes on their napes, and a group of cartoonishly hammy assassins. The movie seems to be pulling out all the stops, even though it doesn't seem to be necessary. It might have been the same tone as the original drama, so I don't know either way.

Most of the film is shot in Manila, with extended scenes of our characters eating at a karinderia, fistfighting and blowing up stuff at the Pier area, going on extended car chases near Market Market, running through slums, or waxing poetic near the PNR tracks. The characters even speak Tagalog in parts. But wait, it isn't the Philippines, it's a fictional Southeast Asian country called Penam, no doubt because it shows the grimiest most unflattering areas of the city. The weirdness of it is actually quite entertaining, though most of the mirth may have been lost on Japanese and (in this case, Hong Kong) audiences.

If you take it only for the action, Mozu isn't so bad, but those looking for a story without the proper context should probably take their movie money elsewhere.

At the age of 85, veteran filmmaker Yoji Yamada still churns out a movie every few years. this 2015 film, Nagasaki: Memories of My Son, was selected as Japan's entry to the best Foreign Film Oscar race. While it's a straight out melodrama, it really doesn't reach cheesy levels and remains poignant, touching and even funny in some parts.

The film revolves around Nobuko (legendary actress Sayuri Yoshinaga), who has lost her entire family thanks to the war, last of all her son Koji, who was a victim of the atomic bomb dropped on Nagasaki. However, he comes back as a ghost, helping Nobuko with her acceptance, and reminiscing about happier times as a family.

The setting of the movie is postwar Japan - a country reeling from its humiliating defeat in World War II. The war took its toll on the people as well, as many people lost their families during the war. War always takes away, the film admonishes, it never gives. Nagasaki deals with the aftermath of the war and the devastation, as well as the economic hardships suffered by the Japanese during this time, and the futility of war itself. Despite this, Nobuko keeps steadfast, dutifully preparing a meal for a son that will never come home (at least, not as a ghost.) It's a reflection of her job as a midwife, someone that brings new life into this world, as opposed to taking it.

Nobuko's story is filled with quiet flashbacks of her life with her son as she watches him grow up. Even though the setting of the film is incredibly depressing, the film manages to find a modicum of hope and optimism in Nobuko's situation. Even though she has lost her entire family, others still care for her in their place. Its themes of family resonate throughout Yamada's works, even his earlier films. Even his later films operate on this premise - one of his later works is a remake of Ozu's Tokyo Story.

The ending might strike some as a bit hokey, but it signifies a peace of mind that can only come with acceptance, or the will to move on despite the odds.

(this is a poster for the first film)

And finally, I treated myself to a special advance screening of Midnight Diner 2 (otherwise known as Zoku Shinya Shokudou; the movie doesn't formally premiere in Hong Kong until December), the second movie adaptation of the wildly successful TV drama that has proven popular in a lot of Asian countries, especially Korea, who has made their own version of the show. If you haven't seen the show yet, I wholeheartedly recommend it - you can find the first season on Netflix.

On the other hand, Midnight Diner 2 is pretty self contained, as it adapts the same episodic formula as the original series and the first movie. It's basically three standalone episodes merged together to form a feature length feature. This is in no way a bad thing, as the individual stories are just as interesting as any episode of the series.

The film's stories deal with moving on, letting go of the past, and death (funerals figure in a major way during the first of the three stories). They range from simple, to heartwarming to emotionally devastating (the third story, about an amnesiac granny that everyone helps out, is particularly affecting.) It's all served with the distinct flavor of bittersweetness that exemplifies the show as a whole.

While it stands alone just fine, the movie does throw in a few treats to people  who have seen the series. Various characters from the first three seasons of the show appear in supporting roles at one point or another. The acting is generally excellent across the board (and it's fun to see Mikako Tabe again after a long time not seeing her in anything.) All in all, it's really enjoyable stuff, and if this is your introduction to the Midnight Diner series, I recommend checking the rest of their stuff out.

Cinephilia On The Go: Hong Kong Edition Part 1

Before I get to covering the Cinema One Film Festival this week, let's talk about something else for a moment. This last week I've been to Hong Kong on business, but while I was there, instead of going to the usual tourist haunts, I decided to take in a bit of cinema.

Foreign movies in Hong Kong almost always have Chinese and English subtitles, depending on the language of the feature. They take in a lot more foreign films from the mainland, Korea and Japan compared to here in the Philippines, which is a boon to anyone wanting to discover a few new cinematic gems. Sadly, domestic Hong Kong cinema itself hasn't been as prominent as it used to be, and I only noticed a handful of Chinese movies on screen.

Ticket prices range from around 75-100HKD (400-600 php) depending on the type of the movie, and what time of the day you came to watch.

Unlike here in the Philippines, where the vast majority of cinemas operate attached to a mall, Hong Kong has a mix of both mall cineplexes and independent moviehouses. During my visit, I went to one of each.

First, I went to the Broadway Cinematheque in Kowloon. This place is a decent sized cineplex that focuses on showing indie films, film festivals and other arty productions. Unfortunately for me, I just missed several film festivals that had been going on earlier in the month, and my departure was just weeks away from another upcoming film fest with Spanish films. It's a spacious, comfortable cinema with lots of legroom (always a plus - looking at you, Robinson's Galleria) and decent, if not good sound and projection. Inside the cinema house is a book store and several DVD shops, whose selections range the entire gamut of World Cinema, everything from Eisenstein's Battleship Potemkin to Shunji Iwai's Fried Dragon Fish, not to mention several Criterion Collection discs and hard to find items.

(le drool)

The second theater place I went to was The Grand Cinemas, which is part of the Elements Mall in Kowloon. The Elements is a pretty classy mall, and I expected a classy theater. I was right. Even more comfortable seats (the leg room is insane), crisp and bright Sony 4K Digital Cinema (super appropriate for one of the movies I saw on the list,) and Shaw Active Sound, which is this surround sound system where you can hear the deep bass pounding you from every direction. Tickets can be purchased or reserved via kiosks that let you pay via Octopus card.

So what did I watch? Stay tuned for that.

QCinema 2016: Baboy Halas, Purgatoryo, Best Partee Ever, Shorts B

Baboy Halas has a few fantastic scenes, with one particular scene indelible in my mind: the frame completely dark with occasional sparks. Within it, our hunter character negotiates with fire itself; and as the flame illuminates the rest of the frame, we see the hunter, dimly lit, subservient to the fire both visually and scene-wise.

Baboy Halas has a lot of these moments, but they are buried deep in ponderous, languid scenes. The movie seems to be aiming to transport you into its milieu, but at times the scenes stretch into tedium. It's a convention that may prove trying for some viewers (myself included.) But for those that choose to brave the storm, these moments are magic,  given to use through a very unique cinematic experience.

I've also noticed that while I am immersed into this culture, I don't remember hearing the name of any tribe, or where the tribe comes from (somewhere in Mindanao? Lumad?) - I wish I could remember these facts, so that I can learn more about their cultural identity. Maybe I just wasn't paying attention. 

Baboy Halas is quite a challenge to watch. Within its depths, the film bears mesmerizing fruits. But such fruits come only to those that walk the journey to the end, and viewers' mileages may vary.

Purgatoryo is one of the most polished films in this year's fest. Derick Cabrido and his team manages to craft an interesting world steeped in amorality and nihilism for the sake of the bottom line: money.

That said, most of the film feels like an exercise in how outrageous and edgy some scenes can get. Many characters have no qualms in doing the dirty in morgues or engaging in random necrophilia (the necrophilia scene, by the way, is among the film's most technically accomplished.) By the end, things were getting so out of hand I was waiting for the eventual dead underage baby brother incest sex scene. Thankfully, the film knows its limits.

As for the plot, reading the film's synopsis (if you can find it) is basically 90% of the movie. Given the film's world, this development is quite disappointing. The basic plot reminds me a bit of Paul Sta. Ana's Oros (2012) which operated on a very similar premise. The film's main source of entertainment stems from your immersion into its world, more than its plot.

It's a shame, since the film boasts some really interesting characters. Of note is On-On (Kristoffer King) who acts as the moral center of the entire movie, despite his outward appearance. I think it's one of his best performances to date. Bernardo Bernardo also delivers as one of the film's slimiest characters, Violet, whose only value for human life depends on what money the body (living or dead) can make her.

Purgatoryo oozes with technical skill and style. Its world is an interesting one, and one worth watching at least out of curiosity. But it leaves little else to the palate.

We end this year's full length coverage with HF Yambao's Best. Partee. Ever., which chronicles the journey of millennial Mikey (JC De Vera in an unforgettable role) as he goes through the prison system for selling party drugs.

His prison journey, backed by rich relatives and some influence over the courts, sits in stark contrast to some of the other prisoners, who have none of these advantages. The film does do its part to chronicle the state of prisons here in the Philippines, whose isolated social system is tiered and separated into classes, a microcosm reflecting society on the outside.

And much of the film is timely as well, as it deals with drug related crimes. Mikey might not have survived had he been arrested during this administration. For all we know, he might not have been arrested in the first place.

Relatively privileged or not, his journey through prison, a coming-of-age if you will, still changes him profoundly. He learns both love and loss during his prison time; he picks up a bit of responsibility as he heads his local group of gay inmates, ultimately fighting for their rights, and he tries to navigate through prison life in his own unique way. Unfortunately, many of these plot threads are abandoned as Mikey nears the end of his journey, but the movie's more about the journey than the destination, a storytelling decision that may not fare well with everybody.

The film ends conclusively, though it can be interpreted in different ways - either as a shift towards good, an abandonment of childish ways, or a reminiscence of violent scars that will never heal.

---------------------------------------

QCinema Shorts B Short Shorts Reviews

Padating is about a young woman and her father waiting for someone at the airport. Then it just ends. Although there are some hints from the dialogue and Ellora Espano's subtle facial expressions (my favorite theory is that the father is waiting for a favorite(r) child, or his wife/new wife) we don't really know who they're waiting for, or why. The end product is a bit under-cooked for my taste.

Papa's Shadow is a small, charming film about a young girl coming to terms with the death of her father, who dabbled in shadow play. It has a lot of cute moments that work in this regard. Anyone who has lost a loved one at an early age can probably identify.

and finally, Hondo ranges from silly to extremely dark (yet somehow still silly) near the end. I'm still trying to figure out what it wanted to say, but the fun's in the details, I guess. I'm also not convinced with the urticaria - I've experienced it to be more itchy than painful.

that ends my QCinema coverage for this year. The festival has really improved by leaps and bounds over the past few years. Here's to more great films next year. Next up, the second to the last major festival of the year, Cinema One Originals. See you all at the movies.

QCinema 2016: Hinulid, Women of the Weeping River

There's a certain kind of lyricality in the interconnected scenes of Kristian Cordero's Hinulid; with its non-linear, almost abstract narrative, the work feels more like a poem than a film. Collectively, its themes limn a cinematic pieta, a mother searching her memories for the meaning behind her son's seemingly meaningless death. These memories are interspersed with religious iconography, treatises on law, justice, and flashbacks. The film ends up loosely constructed as a result.

Nora Aunor's star shines among her fellow actors, giving us a spectrum of emotions, at times impenetrable, at times vulnerable. It's always a treat to see her in action, although without an equally formidable foil her co-actors pale in comparison.

While the film's poetry holds for most of the running time, the work starts to crumble under its own weight during the last half hour, as it tries to tackle too many things. During this period we see several scenes where the film could have ended perfectly, but didn't. The end result proves exhausting as the film tries to include as much as it can into an already full package.

Despite that, the film's poetry cannot be denied, and certain scenes prove mesmerizing. Parts of Hinulid can be quite challenging, but the rewards may be worth it in the end.

On the other hand, Sheron Dayoc's Women of the Weeping River seems to approach its subject matter in a relatively low-key manner. But even then, the richness of how it frames its images reveals the depths of its tragedy.

I was surprised to find out that like Dayoc's Halaw (2010) this film was also about the Tausug, though the problems that afflict the Tausug are also problems faced by many of the peoples of Mindanao. Women of the Weeping River takes place during an intergenerational family conflict that has recently claimed the husband of our protagonist, Satra. This clan or tribal warfare regularly claims the men of both families involved, with each death leading towards a desire for further retribution, sealing the circle of violence. Soon, much like in Teng Mangansakan's recent Daughters of the Three Tailed Banner (2016), this vortex of death creates a family of widows and children without fathers. And as Satra's wounds grow even deeper, she comes to realize that further violence helps absolutely no one.

Breaking this circle. on the other hand, proves harder than expected, as the notion of ubusan ng lahi has become normalized in a sense, as many of Satra's relatives believe that justice can only be achieved purely through retribution. They trade parts of themselves (figuratively, at least) for weapons, forging alliances with people who depend on the culture of violence to prosper. Women of the Weeping River's milieu is filled with death, funerals and processions (both Christian and Muslim), and rivers that weep blood.

 

And looking at the larger picture, the conflict in this region of Mindanao is only the end branch of a much larger, complex entity, whose roots are these deeply entrenched systems of violence. It frames the role of women - wives, mothers, daughters - and their role in this conflict and in conflicts to come. It's encapsulated in one of the last scenes, when two of these women - widows both - meet each other in the forest, taken perhaps with the same notion of peace.

While incredibly melancholic at times, during this scene Women of the Weeping River gives us a tinge of hope, that perhaps within the right context, we can begin to understand why this violence exists rather than merely acknowledging that it exists. And there can be no peace without understanding.

QCinema2016: Patay na si Hesus, Shorts A

This QCinema entry takes the road movie format, which pops up from time to time in local cinema (ToFarm's Pauwi Na being a recent example) and gives it its own unique comedic flavor.

The titular Hesus isn't the religious icon, he's actually a normal guy. Upon learning of his death, his ex-wife Iyay (Jacklyn Jose) decides to take her three children from Cebu to Dumaguete to pay their respects to him. Iyay's family is anything but run of the mill, and the movie takes its time going through each of the characters and delving into their respective hopes and dreams. The road movie is made for this sort of thing, and the excellent ensemble cast helps in this regard, giving life to their respective quirky characters.

The film is pretty funny from start to finish. The jokes range from silly and inconsequential to screwball to outrageous. The family meets a number of weird situations and characters that challenge their status quo, including a criminal on the run, a borderline insane nun and so on. When the film does become somber, its near the end of the film, and it's just for one scene. Sure, the film can be faulted for being too comedic, but I think that's just the personality of the film shining through. It didn't lessen my overall enjoyment of the film.

The film makes that one somber scene count, though, and it encapsulates the thesis of the film, that life is generally a crapshoot, and sometimes all we can really do is laugh it off. Iyay's life hasn't been easy, raising three kids on her own. But in that scene, she's still okay with it. In the end, when life seems set to kick your ass, things generally work themselves out in the end. Given recent troubled times, I think this is something we need right now.

This mixing of laughter and tears - basically, life - can also be seen during one of the other comedic scenes near the end. It's a moment that should be tragic (and the characters are bawling their hearts out) but the audience was laughing. It's a strange juxtaposition that really hooked me. Though a bit rough around the edges in some parts, Patay na si Hesus is a funny, charming film that entertained me from beginning to end.

QCINEMA SHORT SHORTS REVIEWS

Time for some shorts. Overall I thought this slate was decent, with the individual shorts ranging from ok to great.

Sayaw sa Butal had a few cute moments, but I felt it really didn't go anywhere. Those drone shots though.

I really liked Contestant #4, because I've met people like our main character, who sacrificed their own needs for the needs of the family. Though the start was a bit slow, it really paid off with some lovely, poignant moments near the end.

Viva Viva Escolta is a love letter to Escolta, once the jewel of the city, now teeming with abandoned buildings and ghosts of the past. The story revolving the film's two main characters feels secondary to the location itself, lovingly lensed by Albert Banzon. In the end, however, that seems to be the point; their story serving as metaphor to old, fading memories.

There's a scene during If You Leave where one of the characters muses about horror tropes descending into cliche. It's a bit self reflective, as the film uses a lot of the same conventions as its sister film Violator: creepy places shot on old video formats, strange other dimensions, a mix of the mundane and the supernatural, even a few jump scares for extra measure. But the film is far from cliche, and I think it's actually the best film of this lot. The mere character of its strangeness makes for an unbelievably creepy experience.

QCinema 2016: Ang Manananggal sa Unit 23B

Writer/Director duo Prime Cruz and Jen Chuaunsu return to QCinema with a new film, Ang Manananggal sa Unit 23B, which puts the millennial romantic movie through a horror-filled twist. The result is a clever spin on the romantic genre, one of this year's most gorgeous looking movies, and a pretty decent film in and of itself.

Jewel is our titular manananggal (for you non-Filipinos reading, its a vampire-like flesh eating monster that splits into two), and the film starts out showing us her rather mundane life. It sets the mood perfectly for everything that happens next. She comes across a young tenant who moves in nearby with his grandmother. Soon the two build up an uncertain relationship.

Most of the film revolves around the question of whether this unlikely couple will hook up in the end or not, and how Jewel's secret will be revealed, if at all. The buildup of the relationship stems from a number of candid conversations similar in tone to last year's Sleepless (made by the same crew). These conversations will not work if the leads don't have chemistry, and Ryza Cenon and Martin Del Rosario thankfully deliver. Ryza Cenon in particular is a delight to watch - she manages to create a complex character who is not an evil monster as previous depictions of the manananggal show; instead, she's an entity who is forced to do heinous acts by her very nature, and she knows she cannot stop it. Nevertheless, Jewel comes off as someone still capable of love, yet suffering from loneliness because of that very nature - a supernatural hedgehog's dilemma, so to say.

The movie is gorgeously shot, and props have to be given to the production design team and the cinematography team - this is simply one of the most beautifully shot movies (local or otherwise) of the year. Each shot is framed just right, and meticulously so, but not so much as to call attention to itself. I remember the shot of the two characters in the laundromat as a particular example - the frame looks gorgeous, and in two separate instances, the shot reflects the leads' relationship to one another.

The film does make a side statement about the spate of extrajudicial killings that have been happening recently - in that it's so easy for a murder completely unrelated to drugs (in this case, caused by a flesh eating creature) to occur and have it automatically attributed to drugs anyway because the cardboard sign said so. In fact (and perhaps ironically) the only drug related activity seemingly goes unpunished.

The film is not perfect - I felt that the ending was a bit rushed and didn't let us linger in specific moments. I felt that the romance could have been developed further. But the best scene in the entire movie (for me, anyway) happens during this ending scene, excellently acted by Cenon and Del Rosario: a long, lingering look, just a few seconds longer than usual, that communicates to me everything that needs to be said without speaking a single word. And that to me, my friends, is everything.

QCinema 2016: The Handmaiden (Opening Film)

It's time for QCinema, one of the country's rising independent film fests. Last year's lineup was quite remarkable and this year looks like it won't disappoint. But before we go into the meat of things, let's start with the festival's opening film, Park Chan-wook's The Handmaiden - the first Park movie that I saw in theaters. And for the record, that was one hell of a movie.

The Handmaiden loosely adapts Sarah Waters' novel Fingersmith and changes the location to Japanese-occupied Korea. A wily pickpocket is recruited to spy on a wealthy Japanese heiress, part of an elaborate scam. However, things aren't as simple as they seem at first.

The film is divided into three sections, each revealing another hidden layer of the story. The movie and the novel diverge at the third act, but the overall product does not disappoint. The story is pretty straightforward, however, and is probably one of Park's simpler works storywise.

The film fills up to the brim with sexual tension. Park has explored sex and desire before, notably in his previous Thirst (2009), which mixes lust with survival instinct, and Stoker (2013), juxtaposing lust with perverse violence. These previous films form a trilogy of sorts with this film, where the sex is tied into twisted love, a culmination of the themes explored in his previous works. This tension explodes into a number of sex scenes that may prove controversial for some.

And given these themes of desire and love, it's intriguing that Park chose this particular period of time as the setting for his film. Korea and Japan have had an acrimonious history, with one nation subjugating the other, inflicting serious wounds that have yet to fully heal. And yet here are a couple of characters, representing both countries, in a twisted, yet strangely loving, relationship. 

There's a bit of a nationalistic streak within the movie as well, themes embodied by Park's first big film JSA (2000). Within the confines of this movie, the culture and history of oppression that wartime Japan has established, represented by the collection of erotica and artwork that the character Kouzuki has collected, is rejected, destroyed by the female leads in a thrilling scene where the 'knowledge' of the world is revealed to them and they are shown the limitless possibilities of freedom.

I give credit to Park for trying to depict female sexual liberation, though it's still through the viewpoint of a man. The female characters are merely discovering themselves and their own potential sexual freedoms with each other, while the male characters are either impotent, depraved, or both. 

Frequent contributor Ryu Seong-hie gives the world of the Handmaiden richness and depth with her masterful production design, and Chung Chung-hoon, responsible for DP work on some of Park's most iconic films, takes up lensing duties. Jo Yeong-wook is responsible for the film's soundtrack, full of strings and rousing moments, elevating the film's emotional scenes.

This Handmaiden is in my opinion Park's best film post vengeance trilogy. It is masterfully realized and takes the themes explored in his oeuvre to greater, more twisted heights.

Ang Babaeng Humayo

In an earlier post, I wrote how the female-driven revenge flick has been around for a while. While there's been an abundance of variations on this theme, Lav Diaz brings to the table his own interpretation of the tale with Ang Babaeng Humayo (The Woman Who Left,) which recently won the top prize at this year's Venice Film Festival.

Horacia (Charo Santos-Concio) is the titular woman, who has been released from prison after serving a thirty year sentence for a crime that she did not commit. She then plots her eventual revenge, meeting several people along the way, including a trans woman (John Lloyd Cruz) with self destructive tendencies. At the same time she grapples with the consequences of her incarceration, and the things she has lost in the intervening time.

While the plot is built on a Tolstoyan foundation (this time, it's God Sees the Truth, But Waits) the film sets itself apart from the story, and most other films of this revenge genre, by putting a very unique spin to the tale. It ruminates on the very idea of revenge and forgiveness, on how a dogged fixation on the past destroys people, and how revenge is reflexively self destructive. Diaz's Horacia-as-Aksionov walks a similar journey of accepting fate, while at the same time, unlike Aksionov, trapping herself in what ifs and lost possibilities. Multiple times she tries to be a mother to the people she meets, and to a taong grasa who sees demons. More often than not, she falters. Her connection with Cruz's character, Hollandia, is physical and spiritual at the same time. As Horacia takes on multiple identities as kindly Renata, who dons a more masculine appearance at night, Hollandia takes an identity along her feminine self identification. She sees in Hollandia a pattern of self destruction mirroring her own. But deep inside Horacia is the true Horacia, who has been undeniably changed after thirty years of imprisonment. She longs for a life she was denied.

While the plot is relatively streamlined (at a little more than 3 and a half hours, this is one of Diaz's shorter films) the film is rich with symbolism. The film lends itself to multiple layers of meaning. The casting of Charo Santos as the titular character searching for her identity is an inspired one, with her narration in some scenes evoking the public conscience of her stint as the host of the long running drama show Maalaala mo Kaya, of which this very movie could serve as an example of the show's many dramatic stories. As the former head of Star Cinema, which pretty much shaped the mainstream Filipino film through most of the 90's and 2000's, this film could be about the identity of Philippine cinema itself, and how it searches for that identity after the cultural upheaval of recent decades - with independent and mainstream melding into an indistinguishable shape, film being film with no labels.

And, as much as Ang Babaeng Humayo is a revenge film - it is also a film about postcolonialism. Its setting in 1997 marked one of the final transitions from a colonial, imperialist world into a postcolonial one - that of Hong Kong's turnover to mainland China. The movie alludes to kidnapping and incarceration, and it's hard not to see countries liberated from their colonial masters as prisoners who have served long sentences. Coming out of our own 300 year imprisonment from the Spaniards, we fought for our own independence, only to be occupied once again by the Americans, the Japanese, and in the case of Martial Law, our own selves. We emerge from this fugue state having lost so much of ourselves, mirroring Horacia's own plight, fixated on the past tense, but uncertain on how to form the future tense. And, in depicting the inequalities of life post-incarceration, we see its reflection in the film's depiction of the divide between first and third world.

The film makes a case for freedom, true liberation from our collective pasts, by focusing on what's ahead, by opening the door into an uncertain future. But as the film's final frames tell us, that may be harder than we think; we may still be trapped into an endless cycle looking for things past, for things lost, and in one character's words: what's lost may be gone forever.

Manuel Conde at 100: Genghis Khan (original 1950's version)

Manuel Conde is, in a manner of speaking, one of the pioneers of Filipino independent filmmaking. His films, made outside the influence of the studios of the day (Sampaguita, LVN, et. al.,) were imaginative, ahead of their time, and also socially conscious. Unfortunately, a lot of these films (and many films from the era) were lost to time due to inadequate systems for film presentation. The films that made it to the present day are mostly hailed as classics. To celebrate his body of work and legacy, the CCP, the Society of Filipino Archivists for Film (SOFIA) and the NCCA put together a short series of screenings of some of these films.

One of Conde's most well known films is Genghis Khan, released in 1950. It has the distinction of being the first Filipino film to be released in a foreign film festival. In this case, it was in Venice. The international cut of the film was  restored in recent years, but that version has English dialogue dubbed over it, and over 20 minutes was cut from the film. This screening was for the original Filipino version, and this is more or less how Filipino audiences would have viewed it in the fifties. It's recorded from an old VHS copy, and the sound is a bit spotty. Long story short, it's still a great film, and I can see why it's considered a classic.

Genghis Khan is a dramatization of the historical figure's life as he rises to power. Historical accuracy was not the aim of the film; at several times in the movie our titular hero, a Mongol, wears a Samurai kabuto as his headpiece. The movie frames him as a shrewd leader, possessing Filipino traits like utang na loob. Conde's Khan is vengeful but listens to reason, and in the end is probably not as rapey and pillagey as the real thing.

This is a film where I can't simply say that it's a product of its time. On the contrary, - its structure and themes are unique for its time period. It's a mix of comedy, drama and swashbuckling action that is uniquely Filipino. Superficially, one is tempted to compare the film to sprawling epics produced by the Hollywood studio system at the same time. One might make the mistaken judgement that this film is inferior compared to those behemoths, as the film was shot on the smallest of budgets. That judgement could not be farther from the truth. Instead, the end product is wildly entertaining, partly thanks to Conde's team of collaborators, many of them National Artists themselves. This original cut is far superior to the cut with the English voiceover - it's almost like watching a different film.

There was also a small discussion at the end of the screening, which included a short presentation on the impact of the film and comparisons to other adaptations of Genghis Khan's life, and a session with actor/director/comedian Jun Urbano, who is actually Manuel Conde's eldest son. The post screening programs were almost as entertaining as the film itself. The various clips of the other Genghis Khan adaptations includes a 40's Japanese film that could double as propaganda, a Bollywood song and dance interpretation of the material, and clips from a horrible Hollywood adaptation starring John Wayne, channeling his inner hammy Mongolian cowboy with every frame.

Today's screening was a whole lot of fun. Next week we go from Mongolia to Vietnam as the CCP screens Conde's 1956 film Krus na Kawayan.

The CCP Dream Theater will screen more films by Conde on October 1 and October 8. Admission is free.

Godzilla Resurgence

The Kaiju film genre was born with Ishiro Honda's 1954 film Godzilla; though earlier filmic examples existed in other countries, none helped plant the genre firmly into the ground more than this film. After a long hiatus, a Japanese-made Godzilla returns to the big screen - and the results are quite astonishing.

Shin Gojira, otherwise known as Godzilla: Resurgence, follows a rather simple premise on the surface: a large reptilian monster emerges from the sea and wreaks havoc as it walks through Japan. Meanwhile, the Japanese government tries to figure out a way to stop the monster before other governments decide to use drastic measures to stop it.

Godzilla Resurgence is a prime example of how a classic concept can be re-conceptualized for modern times. The original 1954 film was both monster movie and a cautionary tale warning us against excessive hubris: lessons learned by Japan after the war and the horror of the atomic bombs. Godzilla then was the personification of the dangers of nuclear energy and atomic weaponry; more a force of nature that humans can neither control nor understand completely. With the new film, we see images that strongly evoke memories of the recent Great Japan Earthquake and the Fukushima nuclear disaster, wounds still fresh in the minds of the Japanese. We see government officials covering up various things about the disaster and releasing statements to the press to save face or to try to reassure the public. We see the proliferation of videos and information on social media, something that would never have happened in the 1954 film.

And yet, even in this new context, many things still remain the same. Much of Godzilla Resurgence is framed in meetings and conferences, usually in government halls, as officials try to make sense of the entire situation. Godzilla now becomes a walking, fire spewing Fukushima nuclear disaster, and this time the film wisely places the spotlight on the Japanese government, who now becomes both Japan's greatest hero and enemy. The inefficient response of the government, and its unwillingness to break from common thinking, proves costly. The old government is shackled with traditional politics, paralyzed from decades of stagnation and shortsightedness.

One would think that a monster movie that elects to base its story on a bunch of meetings would be extremely boring, but this is hardly the case. One couldn't have picked a better pair of directors for the film. Shinji Higuchi's experiences with Kaiju and Tokusatsu productions (notably a number of Gamera movies, and the recent Attack on Titan live action adaptation) gives the film a realistic feel with a combination of miniatures and CGI.  Hideaki Anno's experience with Evangelion proves valuable here. In many ways the film's structure resembles Operation Yashima from episodes 5 and 6 of the anime, and remade in Evangelion 1.0, where the entirety of Japan collaborates to defeat an enemy. Resurgence is edited briskly, much like Anno's other live action forays, using interesting camera angles to help ratchet up the tension. This is complemented with a soundtrack by Shiro Sagisu that reminds one of both the 1954 original film and recycles certain tracks from the Evangelion soundtrack (which Sagisu also composed).

The film's themes also touch upon nationalism.  As Godzilla ravages Tokyo, it's only when a more proactive government takes over that things begin to change. The film challenges the current political system of Japan to challenge its own status quo and have a bit more political will in dealing with threats and disasters - and this includes asserting sovereignty, especially when dealing with foreign powers. It emphasizes the need for the people of Japan (and even the world) to come together in solidarity, because the filmmakers know that the Japanese are tenacious, and a world that works together can defeat even an immortal mutant dinosaur.

Godzilla Resurgence is pretty amazing, and there are many aspects to it that are uniquely Japanese. It's a worthy addition to the body of Godzilla films, a fantastic reimagining of the franchise, and a fun film overall.

Cinemalaya 2016 Winners and Overall Thoughts

This year's Cinemalaya, coming out of its one year hiatus,  was a year of testing the waters. Despite the extended time of production for all the films, there wasn't really much of a noticeable difference, quality-wise, compared to other editions of the festival. With a few interesting exceptions (Kusina and the animated sections of Tuos comes to mind), there wasn't a lot of experimentation going on with the form, even with the short film entries. Also, nothing amazing really stood out this year for me, a continuing trend for Philippine Cinema.

To its credit, however, all of the films in this fest have something going for them, and even the worst films of this year's slate are better than the worst films of other editions of the festival. The festival's selection of films from its previous catalog and from other film festivals such as Cinema One Originals, Eiga Sai and QCinema were solid. The NETPAC selection of Asian films was also quite good (I saw everything except River Road, Until I Lose My Breath and Under Heaven) although their selected entries tended to be quite depressing.

I'm also glad to see lots of familiar faces in the festival, and though we rarely spoke, cinema is our common tongue. The differences of reactions for multiple films is also nice to see. Homogenous opinions are boring to me; variety keeps the discourse going.

Here are my thoughts about this year's winners. Comments are in italics.

Audience choice short feature film: Cyrus Valdez, Forever Natin 

I predicted something like this would happen, since most of the crowds going into this fest seem to be young millennials, and this film's tailor made for them and not for curmudgeonly people like myself.

Audience choice feature film: Tuos 

Never underestimate the power of Noranians. Never. Also, it helps that Tuos is such a lovely film.

Best screenplay for short film feature: Isabel Quesada, Pektus 

Best short film: Isabel Quesda, Pektus

Pektus was a quirky, clever film. I was rooting for the other two shorts that won awards last night, but this is still in my top selection.

Special jury prize, short feature film: Fish Out of Water 

Best director, short feature film: Fish Out of Water, Mon A.L. Garilao 

Fish Out of Water was my favorite out of all the shorts this year. It's technically sound, wonderfully shot, and exhibits a solid directorial hand for someone who's just starting out.

NETPAC Jury Prize, short feature film: Ang Maangas, Ang Marikit at Ang Makata

This was my second pick for this year's shorts festival, and before the awards night, there was a consensus that this would take home the best picture prize. It's a wonderful meld of different genres, and its director has a unique (very hilarious) cinematic voice. I look forward to future films.

Best sound full length feature film: Roderick Cabrido, Tuos 

Best Original Music Score Full Length: Roderick Cabrido, Tuos 

Best production design, full length feature film: Steff Dereja,Tuos 

Best cinematography, full length feature film: Mycko David, Tuos 

This year Mycko David has some impressive visual output, even with films I didn't like so much such as Iadya Mo Kami, so I thought his win in the cinematography category was well deserved. Tuos is such a poetic film, visually and aurally, that it deserved all of these technical awards. Its presentation turns the film from something simply noteworthy to something unforgettable.

Best editing, full length feature film: Carlo Francisco Manatad, Pamilya Ordinaryo

 
This award was no surprise as Manatad keeps the flow smooth, keeping the film energetic and far from boring.

Best performance from a supporting actor: Lou Veloso, Jun Urbano, Leo Rialp, and Nanding Josef, of Hiblang Abo 

I was wondering how they would award best supporting actor, and this is how they did it. Indeed, Hiblang Abo depended not on any single performance, but on its ensemble cast (perhaps they should have retitled the award instead?) Matt Daclan, also from the same film, would have also made a good choice in my opinion.

Best performance from a supporting actress: Elizabeth Oropesa, I, America; Lollie Mara, Ang Bagong Pamilya ni Poching 

While not a perfect film, I saw I America as an exercise in restraining the loud directorial style of Ivan Payawal's first film. Elizabeth Oropesa's role in I America was short, but her actions are the core of the movie's problems. It's a terrifically nuanced performance that's not as evil as the citation said.

As soon as I heard the opening narration of Ponching, I knew it was molded in the kind of Cinemalaya film that not a lot of people would like. But, heck, I enjoyed it anyway. The most notable character arc in the film was the story of the lola, played by Lollie Mara. She serves as the moral fulcrum of the story, an in-between for Ponching and the rest of his new family.

Best Actor: Tommy Abuel, Dagsin 

On the other hand, as soon as I saw those books at the start of Dagsin, I was already rolling my eyes. Long story short, I didn't really like the film and felt it plodding and languid. But if there's one thing I can positively say about the film, it's that Tommy Abuel's performance in this movie was amazing. I've heard comparisons of the film to Ingmar Bergman, and those comparisons are not unwarranted.

Best Actress: Hasmine Killip, Pamilya Ordinaryo

This year's selection process for Best Actress was probably an extremely hard choice, because there were so many good performances this year. There was Judy Ann Santos-Agoncillo and Bela Padilla, who practically carried Kusina and I America on their respective shoulders, Pokwang, who gave a surprisingly restrained yet comedic performance in Mercury is Mine (I'd thought she'd be the dark horse to take the title) and the duo of Nora Aunor and Barbie Forteza, the best actresses in their respective generations. But Hasmine Killip was so natural in her role as Jane Ordinaryo that it's impossible not to consider her for this award.

Special Jury Prize, full-length: Mercury is Mine 

Best screenplay, full length feature: Jason Paul Laxamana, Mercury is Mine 

Immediately after seeing Mercury is Mine, the ending of the film didn't sit well with me. But it lingered. And lingered. And once I saw how the pieces fit together, I decided that I liked it. So much so, that I thought it was one of the best films in the festival. It owes this accolade because of its witty script, which is dark and funny and unpredictable at the same time.

NETPAC prize, full-length: Pamilya Ordinaryo 

Best full-length film: Pamilya Ordinaryo 

Best director, full-length film: Eduardo Roy Jr (Pamilya Ordinaryo)

I thought Pamilya Ordinaryo was the most realized of all the films in this fest. Its direction comes from a director whose previous work has been a steady increase in quality. Everything in this film just clicks together - acting, technical work, screenplay - that the output can match some of the most notable Cinemalaya films.

---

Now that the festival's over, here are some miscellaneous musings on the festival on its twelfth year.

The Navigator thingy was an interesting idea. The concept was to have a couple of celebrity navigators serve as facilitators on selected screenings (culminating with with a small informal chat with a few directors during the latter half of the festival. It's a nice concept, but not a lot of people knew what it really was about. Screening schedules where the two navigators would appear were posted on the information kiosk on the ground floor, but if you weren't looking, you could go through the entire festival and not come across them. The Starbucks event was actually quite nice, if only it were a bigger venue. I miss the old days when gala premieres or even minor screenings would turn into a Q and A if the director or some of the cast were present. I say keep on doing this navigator thing, but raise awareness a bit and have a lot more of them. The old Cinemalaya film forum was also a nice program that kind of disappeared in recent editions of the festival.

The Barkada Screening option this year was a really fun idea, and I hope they keep it in for future editions of the fest. I wanted to avail of the option, but I don't really have many moviegoing friends. I'm forever alone like that.

The expansion of the fest to different provinces was also very welcome, and I hope even more movie theaters show Cinemalaya films in the future. I've heard of some technical difficulties in Ayala Cebu leading to cancelled screenings, but other than that there seemed to be no problems.

The inclement weather was unavoidable; you haven't been properly initiated into Cinemalaya unless you've waded through a flood or two on the way to the CCP. (Year 8 was probably the worst weather wise, ironic given the poster and theme for that year.) 

The projectors at the CCP, especially at the main theater, were still a bit dark, which does no favors to movies that are darkly lit.

The food stalls in the CCP were quite nice. The stalls were mostly snacks and food you'd expect to eat at the movie theater (though you couldn't really bring food inside the theater unless you snuck it in.) There was a fried cheese stall that was there only for a few days, which I thought was a shame since I kind of liked the food. Best sellers (anecdotal evidence at best) included the Prince Fries stall, which was an ice tea and fries combo in one easy to bring package, the shawarma house and some of the rice in a box places. Personal favorites include the Pizzicle, which is basically a pizza on a popsicle. It surprisingly works.

But no other food stall had the massive balls to go to a film festival like Gardenia, maker of bread products. Among other snacky foods, they sold loaves of bread at the festival - the kind of bread that you can buy at a supermarket or convenience store. At first, it sounds quite baffling. At first, you'd wonder who the hell would be insane enough to buy a loaf of bread at a film festival.

A match made in heaven.

I did. And I made fucking sandwiches.

Disclaimer: this article has not been sponsored by Gardenia in any way.

---

That's the end of Cinemalaya 12. It's been an exhausting (but fun!) ten days. Next year is lucky number 13 for the festival. Until then, see you guys at the movies.

Cinemalaya Quickies: Ang Araw Bago ang Wakas, The Kids, Curiosity Adventure and Love, Rosita, Hermano Puli

Lav Diaz's Ang Araw Bago ang Wakas (The Day Before the End) is only sixteen minutes long, but contains the same imagery and themes inherent in the director's other works. 

To me (as with his previous film Hele Sa Hiwagang Hapis,) the film evokes images of art in a dying world;  where the fragility of memory and history threaten to wash away the poetry of the world around us. There are scenes of Hamlet and Julius Caesar on the streets, witnessed by bystanders who may not understand the words or the deeper meaning behind them. Its central catastrophe sees our characters wading helplessly in the rain, threatening to erase art forever. But there's something hopeful about its 'post-post apocalyptic' last frames, where the films images invoke a sense of rebirth; for the creative mind to spread its wings once more.

My favorite entry in this year's Visions of Asia showcase is Sunny Yu's The Kids. It's a drama about two individuals who end up shouldering more responsibilities than they should.

The film juxtaposes the past and present lives of this young teenage couple: back to high school days and unbridled promise and optimism - and the present time, where the realities of adult life come crashing down on them. This clever non-linear presentation bears fruit when you see the innocence and optimism of their childhood and know that things aren't going to work out as well as things should.

The two main characters, Bao-Li and Jia Jia, are both surrounded by adults that either guide them through their adult responsibilities or take advantage of their predicament. Their vulnerabilities belie the fact that although they wear adult clothes and do adult things, they are still the same two children from the start of the film. They trudge through their emotions with (or without) the emotional support of parents and other adults, which makes their ultimate decision and the final sequences of the movie all the more bittersweet and heartbreaking.

The Kids is a lovely film, excellently structured and treated with a solid directorial hand. It's a promising addition to the emerging wave of new and original Taiwanese films.

From the outset, I knew Curiosity, Adventure and Love was a very personal film and a film I think I would like. It chronicles the life and philosophy of Jessie Lichauco, a philanthropist whose many deeds helped the lives of countless Filipinos - and it all started with an almost impulsive move to a completely alien country.

This is a woman who grew up with the Philippines, a woman who saw its growing pains as it gained independence from foreign powers for the first time in more than three centuries. It is as much a story of the country as it is the person.

And yet, it's very personal, as it relates to us Jessie's life and philosophy in her own words. Much of it is very charming and quite profound. It's the sort of advice that can only come from a person who has a century's worth of memories, a lifetime of valuable experiences. Its personal touch reminds me of the Canadian documentary Stories We Tell, whose family drama hit very close to home.

The movie does not extensively tell everything about the Philippines in the 20th century perhaps due to editing constraints, and due to the circumstances of Mrs. Lichauco's life at the time there wasn't much told about the Martial Law era and the subsequent revolution, which was just as tumultuous as the time of the Second World War. But what we do get are gems, perspectives that we seldom see, since they are often lost to memory and time.

Rosita's conceit sees its titular character as a mail order bride who falls in love with her future husband's son. But the film does not  romanticize the prospect of mail order brides; the movie concedes that the process amounts to a game where people use other people for monetary and emotional gain. Instead of letting herself get used by the system, Mercedes Cabral's Rosita embraces the game and plays it to her advantage.

Its drama is grounded and not bound by flights of whimsy. Its characters move towards a natural conclusion that I thought was quite refreshing in the context of Hollywood 'happily ever after' endings. It develops its central three characters well - we've already mentioned Rosita, whose determination drives her to make a life for her family back home, no matter the cost; the father, who only wants some sort of companionship after the death of his wife, and Johannes, whose conflicting emotions begin a struggle between idealism and pragmatism. It's this conflict and his subsequent coming-of-age, that drive the story.

The film is pretty straightforward and the moments between these three characters I think are handled nicely. Exposition is scarce, but visuals and decent storytelling make up for it. The characters' desires, hopes and dreams of freedom are tempered by the reality of their situation. It's engaging stuff, and it made for good drama in this case.

Cinemalaya 2016 ends with Ang Hapis at Himagsik ni Hermano Puli, a film 21 years in the making. It was supposed to be a finalist for last year's MMFF, but the lack of producers to produce the film led to it being pulled from the festival (Erik Matti's Honor Thy Father replaced it, which in hindsight was the best thing that could possibly happen.)

The movie is part historical biopic, perhaps with a few fictionalized elements. It tells the story of Hermano Puli, who led a major uprising against the Spanish occupation of the Philippines due to the inability of Filipinos to train for and join the clergy, and later due to a desire to practice their religion, a strange mix of pagan rituals and symbology and Christianity. It's an interesting concept of fighting for religious freedom. Unfortunately, I didn't really like the film. You can skip to the last paragraph if you want to hear something positive.

Most biopics fall into the trap of being a hagiography, and I'd expected something like that to happen to this film, but instead Hermano Puli goes in the other direction. Instead of depicting its subject as a saint, it doesn't manage to make us care for our protagonist at all. (Unless, of course, if I were a huge fan of Aljur Abrenica.) Although we do know that we should be rooting for Hermano Puli, by the end of the film I was rooting more for the Spaniards to win. There really wasn't any driving force to support the character in the script and nothing much for Aljur to work on.

The pace of the movie is absolutely languid; most of the first half consists of meetings and announcements between several groups of individuals we barely know or care about. And as anyone who has been in a meeting knows, meetings are deathly boring 90 percent of the time. Once the action kicks in, things get even more muddled; a group of Aetas come to help Puli's insurgency out of literally nowhere - they just show up with no buildup or development whatsoever and begin fighting alongside the rebels because they want to. I guess. Heck, even the elves that helped out in The Two Towers had some sort of backstory to them.

While the film thinks it's depicting Puli as a saintly, Christlike figure, the film made me see him as a misguided leader who got in way over his head. He may have some sort of religious pull over his people, but the film seems to say he was a horrible leader (he has no control over his military leaders) and tactician (his army's only tactic seems to be to charge at the enemy and scream.) While we want to root for the rebels, their actions grow even more heinous towards the end, culminating in the very Christian (this is sarcasm) practice of beheading their defeated Spanish enemies. At this point I thought of Puli and his gang to be more like the ISIS of colonial Spanish times than anything resembling heroic characters.

The script is another problem. Certain scenes between Puli and a potential love interest, Lina, are awkward and hilarious at the wrong times, full of strange innuendos. When Puli and Lina are literally being chased by the authorities, a serious moment where Puli is at risk of being PUT TO DEATH, a random double entendre pops up. FOR HUMOR. While Aljur tries his best with the material, you can only do so much; other performances range from quite decent to ridiculously hammy or silly to the point of cartoonishness.

The movie is partially salvaged by excellent camerawork by Albert Banzon and a decent musical score. Aljur is pretty decent here so if you're an Aljur fan, just disregard everything I've said before this paragraph and watch the movie to support your favorite actor. But if you want to see a proper Filipino biopic about the rise of a group of people united by faith, even (and I can't believe I am saying this) Joel Lamangan's Felix Manalo is a better watch.

And that ends Cinemalaya 2016. For the last installment of this series of reviews we'll be talking about this year's festival as a whole and the awards night.