Cinefilipino 2018: The Eternity Between Seconds, Shorts C

The airport (in this case, Incheon Airport in Seoul) is the perfect setting for Alec Figuracion's The Eternity Between Seconds - while it serves as the nexus for people and planes coming and going, it stays where it is, forever in place. It is never a home, only a temporary shelter for people in transit from one part of their lives to the next. And here is where we find our two protagonists, Sam (Yeng Constantino), a wandering young adult, and Andres (TJ Trinidad), a self-help author. Both their lives are at the cusp of undergoing major changes, and both are understandably nervous at the prospect.

Their interaction is sparked by the theft of Andres' watch - time is literally taken from him. Andres and Sam are strangers in a strange land, displaced from the things they deem familiar and comfortable. In this liminal state, they try to grapple with what has come before and what will come after. It's well tread ground, the most well known cinematic example being Sofia Coppola's Lost in Translation (2003). Nevertheless, there's something endlessly appealing about watching two strangers meeting each other and creating a special bond that is itself a nebulous state between love and friendship.

It's a relatively light movie that thrives on the virtue of standing still. In a world that seems to be endlessly in motion, there is merit in just stopping a while to take a breather, putting a chaotic world into some sort of order or context. But as the film goes on, we see ever more frequent shots of clocks, time slowly returning to the personal realities of Andres and Sam. The loss of temporality is thus precious and itself fleeting. Their time together may have been finite, but you are what you take with you, and in the end they do take something from the experience. As important as it is to stop and hold our breaths once in a while, to exhale is inevitable, because what exists after that state between breaths is the rest of our lives.

***

Cinefilipino 2018 Shorts C Short Shorts Reviews

Palabas (A Country in Moving Pictures) is shot entirely through a video chat between a young woman and an old foreigner. The woman is obviously baiting the foreigner for cash, a scam. The rest of the film tries to show what the Philippines really looks like behind the colorful vistas that foreigners usually see. This is normal to us, but foreign to the foreigner. There's some extra added commentary about certain current events at the end of the short that works in some ways but feels a little too burdened by the gimmick.

If I told you I completely understood Happy Birthday, Mylene! 2023 Ka Na. I would be a dirty liar. I'd want to find out what it really says about crime, the plight of soldiers, indifference towards others, and the fact that it's set in 2023, one year after the end of the current administration. But since the author is dead and all (gee thanks, Barthes) it's all up in the air.

I'm a fan of films that epitomize kagaguhan in all its forms, and that's why I liked Santa Nena! a film about a living saint (not the way you think, probably) and a guy with lightsaber genitals. It's not the most highbrow of humor, but it's totally my thing.

And finally, there's Mark and Lenny, about a man dissecting the emotional landscapes of his  two relationships, both with student activists, both lured by the revolution in the mountains. It can get a bit didactic at times, but it finds its stride later on, when things get more personal.

That ends this year's coverage of Cinefilipino. All in all it was a great festival, a huge improvement over the previous edition in terms of logistics, coverage and film selection. So kudos to the organizers, and I look forward to future iterations of Cinefilipino. See you guys at the movies.

Squad Goals #FBOIS

Squad Goals is Viva's attempt to promote its boy group, the Fbois. Kudos to whoever thought of that boy group name, as it brings me much happiness. They even have individual names: Justin Trono is Flyboi, Vitto Marquez is Fitboi, Andrew Muhlach is Funnyboi, Jack Reid is Fastboi (what does this mean!? faster than the Flash?)  and Dan Hushcka, the Funkyboi, which is now my most favorite moniker ever. One is immediately reminded of the 1984 film Bagets, which promoted its own boy group. (Or maybe I'm the only one reminded of that, I won't judge or anything.) 

In this film, however, I'd like to call them something else: Dancing Phantom of the Opera, Basketboi, Filipino Pauly Shore, Allied Powers Boi and Axis Powers Boi, because I had to amuse myself. Squad Goals the movie isn't really that bad, it's just meh. It's the ultimate example of a meh film, where the stakes are so low and the conflict so inconsequential that you have to amuse yourself (or be big fans or these bois) to endure it.

The movie is about these five bois going to college and getting into the line of sight of college professor Mandy Daluyong (get it? haha). His course has a notoriously high fail rate, which may not be because the students are bad, given the fact that the college had to schedule remedial classes to keep everyone on schedule. That's basically the equivalent of having the college admit it had a booboo. Anyway, the #fbois go through a number of shenanigans involving drugs, puking, girls (oooooh) and other things college kids have to deal with. In any case, the main driving point of the film is to have these five fbois pass Social Sciences 1, which is the most important goal to achieve ever since Thanos collected the Infinity Stones. There are also some family issues in this movie, but they have the emotional weight of a tardigrade.

Of course, Viva won't skip the opportunity to cram even more artists into this movie, and the five #fbois have to have on screen partners. Some are naturally suited to their partner, like Ella Cruz, while others are contextualized by weird story arcs. Like who would fall in love with annoying bureaucratic lady? Her character's the kind of person you would find on shows like Isumbong mo Kay Tulfo.

The storytelling in this movie is also weird, as if the story decides to fast forward through character arcs to save some time. Remember annoying bureaucratic lady from the previous paragraph? Surprise, she's now kinda a thing with Jack Reid, and our resident boi now knows a bit of Tagalog. (Personal opinion: I prefer paring him with the ex) The film also prides itself on some lo fi filmmaking, which I'm not even aware is a thing. The Biggest EDM Festival in the Philippines? A backyard party with like fifty people. A big deal talent show? A small event in a closed room with only three contestants.

Ultimately, I really can't hate on this movie, because it's not really geared for me, it's for fans. It's not very good or anything, it's just... there. Squad Goals gets a pink star cut out of cartolina saying "you tried."

Cinefilipino 2018; Excuse Me Po. Gusto Kita With All My Hypothalamus

Hilda is a con artist who uses her acting skills to scam people out of money. She does this to pay for her husband, who is suffering from Parkinson's disease. Even though she gains an unpopular reputation from her activities, she perseveres anyway. When she scams one too many people, a documentary crew discovers her and delves into her life story.

Conceptually, Excuse Me Po examines the very notion of what acting is. In a way, all actors are conmen - they are trying to make you believe they are someone else. The relationship of actors and audience is a transaction, as actors give their performance to gain accolades, respect and money, while the audience receives a good show for payment sent. But in framing this transaction as a scam, the balance between performer and audience skews. If used in a negative way, this relationship ultimately breaks down.

The film also operates on a broader sense. Ruel, the filmmaker, is obviously an avatar for Excuse Me Po's director, Ronald Batallones. There's a sense that parts of the film are hewn from the director's own life story, with the film within a film mirroring the film in which it is contained. The way with which it depicts the blurring of lines between filmmaker and subject reminds me of the films of the late Francis Pasion, whose dramas often slid into the documentary form. Like acting, film too is deception, with the filmmaker trying to convince you artifice is reality. In this film, the relationship between documentarian and subject is also depicted as a transaction, and in this case, a positive one, given the film's heartwarming, even schmaltzy ending.

But this conceptual richness is dragged down a bit by a number of shortcomings. The film is awkwardly structured, taking too much time for setup, leaving little time for the story to rush through its multiple threads. It's a little too neat, a little too clean. The 'con' is exposed, revealing the artifice underneath. 

(It's probably better to watch the movie first before reading this review.)

Gusto Kita With All My Hypothalamus deals with the lives of four men as they go through their lives in search of something. Their lives are wildly divergent: one is an assistant at an ukay ukay, the other, a petty thief, then, the proprietor of a used electronics shop, and finally, a college student. But they all have something in common: they are all enamored by a mysterious woman, Aileen (Iana Bernardez), whose very presence changes their lives.

But the film isn't exactly a love story, rather, it is an exploration of desire and loneliness, alluding to the title. It is not the heart that operates in this case, but something more primal: dopamine and serotonin and the powerful lure of oxytocin. Aileen is not a real woman; she is an idea, a catalyst, matter to fill the void in their hearts. She is the externalization of a masculine ideal, giving life to the whims of these poor, pathetic men. Alternatives are offered to some, but are swiftly rejected. And with credit to Bernardez, she exudes charm and sensuality as her character, fitting her personality to the needs of each man.

It's all set in the backdrop of Quiapo, lit by saturated neon lights and dusty alleyways. The filmmakers truly capture the locale's unique allure, creating an aesthetic that fits as the habitat for these men, mirroring their run down, chaotic selves.

But life goes on, and fantasies cannot last. As the last part of the movie seems to tell us, after the hormonal euphoria subsides, reality sets in, with the promise that the melancholy will return, with no assurance that it will be alleviated once more.

Cinefilipino 2018: Hitboy, Matatapang, Mga Asawa ni Rosario, Poon, Shorts B

Bor Ocampo's Hitboy is a strange creature. It follows off the heels of his first feature, Dayang Asu, a pitch-black exploration of oppression and impunity. But Hitboy is a far different creature - it tries to emulate the balance of grimness and comedy that was a feature of one of his short films, EJK. This time, however, the balance tips, and the film ends up too wacky for its own good.

The film is about Alex, a young assassin. After a job that goes terribly awry, he has one last chance to redeem himself. At the same time, however, he has to deal with his sick father and the fact that his girlfriend is now pregnant.

The film uses pigeons as a metaphor of sorts: set free, yet destined to return home to its cage through instinct. Alex's life as a killer may not be one made by conscious choice, but that is his nature, and life (death?) finds a way to keep him in the loop. While he loathes the emotional toll the job takes on him, there's a sense that he is (albeit unconsciously) grateful to his handlers for helping him support his family.

That said, the film's tonal dissonance works to its detriment. Most of the criminals and hooligans in the film are bumbling idiots, and their silliness detracts from the otherwise serious issues the film is trying to grapple with. The film can be funny and it is, to its credit, well acted (in particular, Mon Confiado's performance as an exaggerated version of himself is almost worth the price of admission). In losing the balancing act between blackness and comedy, it thus lacks the very thing it desperately needs to work. 

After losing his fellow comrades in an ambush, Hardrock (Edgar Allan Guzman) begins to see the ghosts of his fallen friends. They each have one final request for him before they move on to their next lives.

The premise of Rod Marmol's Matatapang reminds me of Ron Underwood's Heart and Souls (1993), which operates off a similar premise. In that film, Robert Downey Jr. helps four souls gain closure over their lives. It was a heartwarming, at times corny film, but it works. Matatapang works at the heartstrings in a similar way, but it then takes the emotional thread in a different direction during its last act. While Matatapang doesn't always hit its emotional notes, when it does, it hits really hard. 

The film has a bunch of funny moments, and all throughout there's a nice balance between all the emotional peaks and troughs that these characters go through. Hardrock may be a badass soldier with a cool name, thirsty for death and battle, but his friends teach him that humanity and empathy makes a good soldier into a great one.

The first request is pretty straightforward, and it helps set the emotional tone of the rest of the requests. The second request doesn't hit the target; though I feel it attempts to communicate the fact that in a war, everyone's just fighting for their own causes, there's a reason why some causes (terrorism) aren't worth fighting for. The third request is not unexpected, given how heavily the film hints at it, but its resolution really encapsulates all the good that a soldier can be: selfless and loyal to a fault, taking service towards others over personal interest.

Matatapang isn't a perfect film by any means, but it's a worthwhile watch.

Alpha Habon's Mga Mister ni Rosario operates on an interesting premise: Rosario, a.k.a. Sari (Kate Alejandrino) is the ultimate ascended fangirl, having married the man of her dreams, popular actor Yogi Juan (Joross Gamboa). However, following a horrific accident, Yogi decides to take method acting to extremes by literally becoming the characters he plays, whether it be a priest, a homeless vagrant or a gay man. This premise runs into problems once Sari learns that Yogi's next role is as a serial killer...

Once the cuteness overstays its welcome, it's evident that Mga Mister ni Rosario just doesn't work. The movie is too silly to take seriously, and the premise is crushed under its own weight. Perhaps the film serves as meta-commentary about the boundaries of art and artists, or how the most interesting  and complex of relationships can be borne from folie a deux. Perhaps, Sari and Yogi's relationship mirrors how artists externalize their own neuroses and personal shit into the art that they make, even to the detriment of their own being.

However, the narrative pieces don't really fit well together; the film decides instead to meander into one jokey sequence after another, and the ludicrousness of the situations our characters find themselves in don't help either. I'm not sure if the absurdist tone is deliberate or the unfortunate result of a kitchen sink approach to see what sticks, with the fake doll children or the cosplay or the bizarre nature of Yogi and Sari's relationship. It looks good on paper, but the execution leaves much to be desired. It's the cinematic equivalent of watching a pretty sports car drive off a cliff.

Roni Benaid's Poon shows its flaws from the start: devoted Catholic Claudia (Glydel Mercado) buys a statue from a creepy old woman. Moral lesson: DON'T buy weird statues from old ladies who look at you creepily mere moments after you try to buy them. Claudia then takes this statue to her home where she takes care of it. At the same time, however, people at her parish start dying.

The film operates like a slow burn horror-thriller, if a bit forgettable. It comments on relevant issues: it questions the Catholic practice of having statues in the first place, as it veers very closely to idolatry, while at the same time it also teaches the lesson to reject false gods, religious or otherwise.

The moment where Poon really loses me is during its last act, where a "shocking" twist changes everything. It's probably one of the most incomprehensible endings to any film I've seen this year. I had mental images of El Kabong, the guitar bonging horse after watching that last act. It creates a paradox between the supernatural elements and a real world explanation of all the events, and it makes several character actions inconsistent and baffling.

God doesn't always answer prayers, sure. This was once instance of that. I prayed for a good movie and I got 2/3 of a forgettable movie and 1/3 hilarity.

***

Cinefilipino Shorts B Short Shorts Reviews

.raw is pretty straightforward in its message, though I'm not completely sure it communicates the rawness (pardon the pun) of real relationships as well as I'd hoped, as we see more of the glossy edited version in this film instead.

Gabi ng Kababalaghan's aesthetic clearly apes the legendary Magandang Gabi Bayan Halloween specials of ages past, and it does so extremely well. The story itself is pretty light, and things can get really silly, but this one's all about the retro/nostalgic feel.

I was on board with Lasingtunado until the actual fight started and things got a little too silly and corny for my taste. It mostly works.

Amusin Pa's depiction of a childhood crush is really, really sweet, if a bit too light. Elora Espano is lovely and charming as always.

Duyan ng Alon ends with a little twist that made me want to watch the film again, and that's something. It's interesting stuff.

Ate, Kuya, Gusto Kong Kape takes a clever premise into a claustrophobic space and makes it work really well. On the technical side, there were some times when the framerate would dip but I'm not sure if it was a technical problem or something deliberate.

and finally, Siyudad sa Bulawan shines a light on the plight of gold miners in Mt. Diwalwal in Compostela valley. In its short running time, the film explores the complex situation between the miners who only want to feed their families despite the very real danger of death, and the environmental repercussions that such activities can wreak on the environment. And that is something worth noting.

Cinefilipino 2018: Delia and Sammy

At the start, Delia and Sammy feels like one of many similar films about the elderly, such as 1st Ko Si 3rd (2014), Lorna (2014) and last year's Paki. The storytelling at this point is imperfect and subtle, but it generally gets the point across. As the movie goes on, however, it becomes quite evident that Delia and Sammy are not the most likeable of characters. Sammy (Jaime Fabregas) in particular is more than a handful: he is a serial philanderer, he is strict and chauvinistic, he has a homophobic streak and his cantankerousness is only exacerbated by his dementia. Delia, on the other hand, is an actress whose star has faded, best known for her roles as a kontrabida (mirroring the career of her actress Rosemarie Gil.) At her worst, Delia can be haughty and self absorbed, using her acting talents to fool people and take advantage of neighbors and other strangers.

In any other film, Delia and Sammy would be the antagonists, creating misery and pain for the people around them. Indeed, as we learn more about Delia and Sammy's past, that's the role they have been playing for so long. But in this film, we are made to empathize (or at least sympathize) with them. And here is where the cleverness of the film emerges. We all know what happens to heroes and saints when they retire and grow old: they live happily ever after, they are treated gently till their last breath, and they are remembered fondly, with the support and love of friends and family. But what happens to the villains? Who loves and supports them when they grow old, are tired and worn out? Are they redeemable or worthy of love and redemption? Is there anyone capable of loving someone so heavily flawed? 

And in the end, though the execution is not as clean as it should be, this cleverness pays off. Delia and Sammy explores one particular side of growing old: that moment when one looks at the life they've lived and see all of the scars they've inflicted on everyone else. While she probably wasn't as active in causing physical and emotional pain as Sammy, their actions weigh more heavily on Delia, since she doesn't have the privilege of forgetting. In the critical junction at the end of their lives where they need the most support, they have none, the consequence of a life full of bad decisions. The emotions behind these moments are varied and palpable - one can't help but think that both Delia and Sammy are complicit in their previous deeds, but one looks at the here and now and sees Delia, disintegrating from the inside, and Sammy, a shell of the man he once was, and pity takes over.

The film turns into a road trip, and the fact that it's set during Christmas turns it into a twisted take on the nativity story, where the sojourners are more Judas than Joseph. They are accompanied by Roger (Nico Antonio), a security guard who finds in Delia and Sammy the parents he never knew, and perhaps the dynamic goes the other way around as well.

The film ends with a clip of Celso Ad Castillo's Burlesk Queen (1977), where Rosemarie Gil played a supporting role as Virgie Nite. In that film, Virgie was a misunderstood character, not exactly a kontrabida in the traditional sense of the word; she was the former star of a burlesque show whose recalcitrant ways and alcoholism led to her firing and replacement. Delia and Sammy are no saints, and the film knows that, allowing us to examine them fully as people. At the end I imagined Delia as an older Virgie, and while one may imagine a miserable ending for the villain, here she is not alone and unloved; love is here, even underneath the blackness and rot.

Reviews April-May 2018: DOTGA, Single/Single

I'm going to cut to the chase here: is Da One That Ghost Away a good movie? 

Nope.

It's corny, cheap fun at best, disposable dreck at worst. But there's something about the movie that still manages to entertain audiences - the screening I attended was accompanied by raucous laughter from the largely senior citizen crowd. 

The film's about Carmel (Kim Chiu) and Jeje (Ryan Bang), a duo of fake ghost hunters who scam people by performing fake exorcisms. When the handsome and mysterious JACK COLmenares (Enzo Pineda) recruits their gang to exorcise a bunch of spirits from a legit haunted house, shit begins to hit the proverbial fan. If only Carmel could awaken her legit spiritual powers...

If you noticed the strange capitalization of Jack Colmenares' name in the preceding paragraph, and you got the joke (ha ha), then you more or less know the kind of jokes you're in for when watching Da One That Ghost Away. This is the kind of humor I'd thought had become extinct, the kind of humor that solely exists in bad MMFF movies. But I'm apparently out of touch.

I'd go on about how some of the jokes don't really land, and how the romance between Carmel and Jeje doesn't really work. But I won't waste your time. Da One That Ghost Away is a film that knows its audience and delivers in spades. Perhaps in that regard, the film pays dividends to its core audience, and you can't say that about a lot of local films these days.

Single/Single: Love is Not Enough begins with Joee (Shaina Magdayao) and Joey (Matteo Guidicelli) separately professing their love to each other during a camping trip. It takes a while to get used to the complicated setup, as the film begins in medias res, but the gist of it is: Joee and Joey are currently a couple, but  this is complicated by the fact that Joee got pregnant by another guy, Steve, before said couple materialized. 

At first this was confusing to me until I found out that this movie is actually the continuation of a popular two-season comedy-drama on cable TV, called Single Single (for those curious, both seasons are available via streaming through the Philstar website.) The original series had a very fresh concept, at least for local television: it chronicles the various problems that millennials face as they begin their adult lives.

The movie extends that concept and shows us the various trials and tribulations newly minted adults face when they try to raise a baby. It looks like the writers did a good job on this end, as they delve into issues such as financial security, difficulties in conception, parental support systems, and the extra complication of being a (technically) single mom raising a kid. As I've said before in my review of Ang Pambansang Third Wheel, single parents often don't get the exposure they deserve in popular media. It's all refreshing, relevant, and decently acted.

On the other hand, Single/Single's main problem is evident from the very start of the movie: the film was obviously patched together from what I can only assume was an aborted third season of the show. Although one can muddle through the movie with little or no knowledge of the show, doing so makes the movie feel incomplete; this film barely survives in a vacuum. Various transitions give the impression that the movie was stitched together from the corpses of 2-3 TV episodes. And the translation from a serial TV series to a feature length film doesn't work out very well - the movie decides to plateau once the conflicts are established, the storyline composed of a seemingly endless array of problems for Joee and Joey with little to no resolution at the end. It feels like a slice of real life, but it doesn't quite fit into the structure of a movie. Although a few lines of dialogue makes the cliffhanger ending a little bit hopeful, it leans toward the possibility of a follow-up episode that may never come.

I do hope that Single/Single continues in some form or another - there's still a lot more to explore in Joee and Joey's lives. It's a concept that bears a lot of promise; I can only hope someone picks this up and does a continuation someday.

Netflix and Chill

Time for some Netflix and Chill.

Far removed from the days of cute characters for cuteness' sake, Sanrio has tried to create cute characters that hit home with consumers in more ways than one. For example, one of their latest creations, Gudetama, is basically a lazy walking egg yolk with a butt, the poster child of contemporary social attitudes (and believe me with this one, I procrastinated several times trying to write this).

In this case, one of their latest characters is Aggressive Retsuko, or Aggretsuko, a red panda that embodies the modern working woman. Retsuko is a red panda who works as an Office Lady or OL. Her job entails mostly thankless, low level clerical work, and the position offers little chance for promotion; the workers are expected to leave and become housewives once someone decides to marry them, a sort of limbo with sexist overtones. Retsuko has to deal with all this, along with asshole colleagues, a (literal) sexist pig for a boss, and other work and social pressures. Retsuko lets off steam by singing death metal at karaoke every night after work. (Her name is even a play on words; the Retsu, or 烈  kanji in her name means "violent" or "extreme".)

It's the kind of social rage that is immediately relateable for anyone who has ever held a shitty job, especially millennial women in today's society. Far from being a show that merely exists to promote cute things,  there's actually a level of social commentary going on in here, and it's amazing. The show acts as a criticism of social work attitudes and unreasonable expectations towards women and it highlights various other issues like office politics, everyday microaggressions between coworkers, workplace relationships and workplace ennui.

At 10 episodes of 15 minutes each, it's a breeze to binge in one go. It won me over easily, and it's a show I'd wholeheartedly recommend. Now excuse me while I sing some Cannibal Corpse.

Out of curiosity I watched Brillante Mendoza's Amo. There's a level of technical accomplishment behind it, and the film is generally better produced than any other local TV production out there.

But that's where the praise ends. There's much in Amo that doesn't pan out, and it has nothing to do with its skewed worldview.

The series is divided into two stories - the first deals with a high school kid who works as a drug runner, while the second is about a botched police operation involving a Japanese drug lord. Anyone with half a brain cell can see that the two stories are fictionalized versions of true events - the first story arc draws comparisons to Kian delos Santos, while the second is inspired by the kidnapping and killing of Jee Ick-joo. Let's not forget that the real people behind these stories have not been proven to have been connected with the drug trade at all - and here, their fictional counterparts are depicted as being fully entrenched in the drug trade. Artistic licence and all, perhaps, but it still feels quite off at best, insensitive at worst, an awful perversion of 'found story'.

The characters of Amo serve as little more than cardboard cutouts: their motivations don't go further than "drugs are everywhere, so I might as well do this." The dirty cops involved in the second arc are motivated by greed, so at least there's a little bit more nuance there, but it's a far cry from the depictions of gray morality in Mendoza's previous films. There's nothing in the series that is the least bit compelling, and halfway through the series, it was obvious to me that getting through it was becoming something of a chore. 

For someone who prides himself as a storyteller, Mendoza's storytelling in Amo can get horribly inconsistent at times. A character is seemingly killed by gunshot in one episode, only to miraculously show up in the season finale, with no indication as to how they survived. Another character is shown to be dismembered during one scene (an unintentional callback to Mendoza's Kinatay, perhaps?) and during the next scene said character's intact body is being placed inside a body bag.

Speaking of Kinatay, comparing that movie to Amo only highlights how much Mendoza's depiction of reality has transformed: in his previous films, the protagonists possess their share of good and bad traits, and some of these movies showed how evil can be brought out from the best of people if the wrong stars align. In Amo, this is hardly the case - there are good guys (no matter how bad some of their actions might seem) and there are bad guys, i.e. guys involved in drugs. Most deaths in the series are due to drug syndicates executing their own, or people who fight back during police operations. Depictions of activities that highlight the drug war - operation Tokhang, drug lists and other police operations - are mostly done in a positive light, because obviously there is no such thing as a wrongful arrest, or errors in a foolproof drug list, or something like that. In the world of Amo, those things cannot possibly exist.

But in a free society, artists can release whatever they want. They can release whatever depiction of subjective reality they so choose. And that's where the appeal of Amo will probably come from to many people, especially those in favor of the current drug war. In a way, through this series I've come to understand them, that they are fueled by a sense of idealism, foolish as some may think. It's an idealism that's admirable in its own way, because I've come to be too cynical with the world at large. Just when Amo premiered, Mendoza tweeted this image:

In my opinion, Amo may not be as "truthful to the issues that surround us" as Mendoza thinks, but it presents a comfortable illusion. Because if the world is clearly defined by black and white, if the world is clearly divided into good guys who can do no wrong and bad guys who are always 100% guilty, then it becomes easier to live with it - because the alternative is perhaps too hard to fathom.

Ang Panahon ng Halimaw (Season of the Devil)

There is a moment in Lav Diaz's latest film, Ang Panahon ng Halimaw, where one of the characters, frustrated and angry, laments through song: where are you, child of the motherland? Wake up, child of the motherland. He repeats this line a couple of times, but during the final repetition, he breaks the fourth wall and asks this question directly to the audience, and it becomes clear that any ambiguities are gone. This is a film that wears its heart on its sleeve.

These songs constitute only one aspect of the film's identity as political cinema; and even then, the film defies simple categorization. It is musical, yet anti-musical - aside from the end credits, everything is sung in acapella, and not always by accomplished singers. The songs give the film a strange character, both Brechtian in the sense that it creates a space of unrealism where the audience can reflect on the film's messages, but at the same time not Brechtian, since the emotional weight of its material cause an emotional investment nevertheless. 

Although the film takes place during the late seventies, it's obvious that Ang Panahon ng Halimaw uses the past to talk about the present. Like a good chunk of Diaz's oeuvre, the film is about the past threatening to repeat itself, but in this case, the worst case scenario has already happened: the town of Ginto is now under the spell of Chairman Narciso, a demagogue who has used his rule to spread lies and control the populace through violence and oppression. In many ways it's like his 2002 film Hesus Rebolusyonaryo, which used the future to talk about the present. Narciso's will is enforced by his own private militia, members of the Civil Home Defense Forces (the predecessor to the CAFGU, formed during the Cory Aquino administration,) historically known for their human rights abuses. Hugo (Piolo Pascual), a talented poet, goes to Ginto to search for his missing wife Lorena (Shaina Magdayao.) Something has happened to Lorena, who had come to Ginto to become a village doctor, but we do not know what exactly that is. In the course of his investigation, Hugo discovers the systematic abuses perpetrated by Narciso and his men on the local populace.

If the nature of the abusers sounds familiar to the typical Filipino viewer, it's not much of a surprise: one of the characters talks about the country being led by a boxer, a comedian and an actor. Narciso is a hideous man with two faces, and the face at the back of his head looks a little like a certain former dictator. His speeches are gibberish, loud and offensive to the ears, yet his underlings applaud him. One of the characters, a victim of oppression under Narciso's regime, is demonized and feared by the community thanks to fake news. When Diaz dedicates the film to the victims of Martial Law at the end of the film, there's a feeling that this might also include the victims of the current political situation, which is Martial Law in all but name.

This leads into one of the conundrums the film tries to reconcile: Ang Panahon ng Halimaw is definitely a film with a message, but it's still made with an arthouse sensibility that mainstream audiences may not readily embrace. Diaz's reflexiveness shines through: as Hugo descends deeper into the madness of Ginto, he looks more and more like an author-surrogate. Later on Hugo is chided by his torturers, telling him that no matter how thoughtful his art may become, his efforts will be futile in a nation of fools. Cognizant of the fact that in itself, it is not the answer, but the means to an answer, the film continually questions its own ability to effect change.

And in the grand scheme of things, Ang Panahon ng Halimaw is the latest in a series of experiments where Diaz tries to reach the masses. For one, it's shorter and far more briskly edited compared to Diaz's other films; the songs' repetitive nature almost reminds one of jingles - one song in particular has stayed with me days after having seen the film. And its plot, if one takes away all of the various sideplots garnishing the film, is exceedingly simple. It might not cater exactly to the tastes of fans or critics or cinephiles in airconditioned theaters, and that may be the point.

As a protest song and a piece of political cinema, Ang Panahon ng Halimaw does its job. But it needs to have a destiny outside the cinema, in town squares and barrios and among the poor and disenfranchised - otherwise it will serve as nothing more than preaching to the choir.

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Ang Panahon ng Halimaw will premiere in select Ayala Cinemas starting May 23.

Almost a Love Story lives up to its name

Baneng (Barbie Forteza) and Iggy (Derrick Monasterio) have a very unique friendship: they are childhood friends but they have spent most of their time apart: Baneng's mom works as Iggy's family's househelp-slash-yaya and she's spent most of her life overseas. When Iggy's family offers to bring Baneng to scenic Italy for some holiday downtime, the couple finally gets a chance to meet for the very first time.

The title "Almost a Love Story" is apt, because there isn't much of a love story in this film. Most of the first two thirds of the film consists of cute conversations between Baneng and Iggy through video chat. Everything we need to know about Baneng and Iggy's relationship is implied through dialogue. We don't really see the moment they fall in love, and there isn't a meet cute for these two to get together, because of the circumstances of the story.

To be fair, films about romances involving people who have barely met (if at all) do exist, and some are quite excellent. However, one of the most important things that those films have  in common is a moment or series of moments where the characters gain a deep understanding of each other regardless of the space between them. In this movie, that doesn't really happen. The conversations are mostly surface-level, and there isn't much of an opportunity to see the romance grow. What we get instead is the promise of a romance that doesn't really flesh itself out - with the peak of said romance being an extended sequence during the last third that can be accurately described as "cute couple doing cute things in an exotic location." 

The payoff thus ends up forced and unearned. Baneng goes to Italy and ends up barely knowing Iggy anyway, thanks to a third act contrivance foreshadowed in the first ten or so minutes of the film. It's affecting for all of ten seconds, the emotional impact ending when one realizes that it's all fluff.

The romance ultimately serves as a distraction from something in the movie that I legitimately felt interested in - the peculiar social setup between Baneng, Iggy and their parents. In Filipino society househelpers are at times considered members of the family. In this case, Baneng's mom serves as a second parent to Iggy. Over the years Baneng's mom, and by extension, Baneng herself, has become part of a larger extended family. Yet the film doesn't forget to reiterate the master-servant dynamic, which still plays itself out even to the very end - the turning point of the relationship is orchestrated by Iggy, who has the most power over the situation, and ultimately, the relationship. It's a good thing that the feelings were mutual - imagine a situation where Baneng wasn't in love with Iggy, her mother's amo? Would he have forced the situation? It would have made for some interesting dramatic setups.

But, alas, the film decides to focus on the non-romance that's unfolding in front of us, and instead of tears or an impulse to root for this almost-love-story, all I could really muster was a shrug.

Never Not Love You

Tattoos are a distinct motif in Antoinette Jadaone's latest film Never Not Love You - they reinforce the theme of a love that starts with youthful exuberance but then matures into something completely different. Getting a tattoo is a choice and a commitment, much like getting into a relationship. Getting rid of them isn't as easy, so the initial choice must take that into consideration - at least in theory, anyway - cue the millions of tattoos with the name of an ex displayed for all to see.

When Joanna (Nadine Lustre) falls in love with artist Gio (James Reid), the sparks are there, but it's all pretty low key. Yet sooner or later the two of them dive headstrong into their romance, depicted with a level of authenticity that one rarely sees in local cinema.

When their relationship runs into a number of problems, it's here where the film makes its case: when confronted with the possibility of sacrificing work for love, Gio and Joanna react differently. The former, having lived a relatively privileged, carefree life, initially chooses love, trying to reconcile a change in lifestyle with remaining comfortably in the status quo. Joanna, on the other hand, having come from a lower socioeconomic background, considers her family's economic situation in addition to her own happiness. Thus begins a perpetual seesaw of compromise, conflict, and resolution, one that is handled expertly. But that's what love is, once we get past idealistic fairytale notions on the subject: it's a neverending compromise, a commitment that requires considerable effort and sacrifice.

It's all done without the usual histrionics we're used to when watching mainstream romantic films, and for once this is a film that the JaDine love team deserves, as it pushes their talents to the limit. Nadine Lustre in particular shines, especially in the last few moments of the film where emotions are communicated through silence rather than words.

The film's visual style is also quite lovely, showing us both the cityscape of Makati rendered in neon lights, as well as lush sunlit views of Zambales. It's far removed from the candy colored visual styles of what we've been accustomed to, and it's a trend that we've been starting to see in the past five or so years. In many ways, just like how the romance in Never Not Love You matures, the genre itself matures alongside it, portraying more complex, nuanced depictions of romance in contemporary society.

The film ends in ambiguity, in a marvelous silent sequence that communicates all manners of things -  a reaffirmation of feelings now vastly different, perhaps reminiscence of a love that has irreversibly changed, perhaps even the slightest twang of regret, or the existential fear of an eventual doomed outcome. Never Not Love You is fascinating stuff, and it ranks among one of the year's best local films so far.

Dispatches from HKIFF (++) 2018, Part 5

It seems like I am fated to catch at least one Hong Sang-soo film every time I visit HK. His latest, Grass, is the latest of more than a dozen films in the last ten years. And wouldn't you know it, Hong's back to familiar rhythms: the film is a series of extended conversations between two or three people, mostly over drinks, sometimes alcoholic.

The structure is a bit looser, the conversations winding yet somehow interesting. The film inserts a character-as-surrogate into the picture in one of his conversations just like before, though there may be more than just one: Areum (Kim Min-hee), perhaps a callback to a character in one of Hong's earlier films, Claire's Camera, overhears much of the conversations while typing on her computer. It is unclear if the conversations playing out are a product of Areum's (and consequently, Hong's) mind or if they are really playing out in real life. it's a case of the creator beholding his or her own creation and reflecting upon it.

Perhaps the work is a demonstration of cinematic reflexivity where one's own thoughts and beliefs influence the work, which then influences the creator. Areum is played by Kim Min-hee, who recently split with the director last month shortly after the film was made following a very public extramarital affair. Areum's views are very much the most cynical in the entire film. In the last few minutes she only joins in conversation with the other characters (or figments of her imagination) upon the departure of the other Hong-surrogate. A separation of artist and muse? Perhaps the film was made as a portent of things to come?

Even at a lean 66 minutes, Grass is comfort food Hong. It may come across as a little abstract, but it's the director baring his soul at its most intimate level, in the only way an artist can.

Based on the one-woman play by Kearen Pang, 29+1 chronicles the struggles of women in contemporary Hong Kong as they reach the cusp of their twenties and thirties, where expectations regarding work, marriage and a stable future are made more evident. 

It reminds one of Sylvia Chang's 20 30 40, a film from neighboring Taiwan made around the same time as the play, tackling similar concerns. In a fast-paced, rapidly changing society, both films ask the question: what role can women play?

The film explores two different perspectives that delve into this question: Christy Lam (Chrissy Chau) is a career-minded working woman with a stable career and a boyfriend. But a series of events casts a shadow on that life, revealing a deep well of unhappiness. Through a series of circumstances leading to her getting evicted off her apartment, she spends her time in the apartment of Wong Tin-lok (Joyce Cheng) who has left for Paris. Wong is the same age as Christy, but their respective outlooks on life are drastically different: Wong is cheerful and content to stay where she is, living life at her own pace.

The film works best when it lets its characters shine, and falters when its messages become heavy handed. Both actresses (especially Cheng) shine in their roles, giving life and character to their character's struggles, making them relateable. Once the film makes several emotional turns near the end, it's hard not to get affected. As a thirtysomething myself, the uncertainty of life after the last vestiges of youth have gone away is a notion that is all too real.

While the film suffers from a number imperfections, the film overcomes them by sheer force of charm and by the stellar performances of both its leads.

Winner of last year's Short Film Palme D'Or, A Gentle Night begins in a police station. A girl has disappeared, and a policeman is interviewing the girl's father about the situation. As the conversation goes on, it's clear that the authorities don't exactly have a sense of urgency about the whole thing. Then the shot changes, revealing that the girl's mother was there too all along. The film then follows the mother as she traverses the night in search for her daughter.

The film may be short in length but not in emotional intensity; the mother's journey is colored by maternal fear, love and guilt. Not a single shot is wasted, and the movie finds depth despite its brevity, highlighting systems of apathy within bureaucracy, of women and children without men (or the other way around.)

It's a powerful demonstration of the medium of short film, and a treat to watch.

Thomas Stuber's In the Aisles is a quiet film, one that lies unassuming and is content to stay in the background, much like the workers it depicts. Christian (Franz Rogowski) is a newly hired worker at an East German supermarket. It's evident that he hasn't had the cleanest of past lives, as he hides his tattoos when he dresses up every day. But he gets along well with his colleagues, and is mentored by former trucker Bruno (Peter Kurth) who instructs him in the surprisingly delicate job of Forklift operation. He soon meets and falls in love with co-worker Marion (Sandra Huller), who has issues of her own.

While it can be argued that the romance is the central plot of In the Aisles, the movie doesn't touch on it too heavily; there are no impassioned declarations of love or wacky rom-com elements. The movie instead focuses on the small microcosm formed by the blue collar workers of the supermarket, with its own geography and culture. Christian even refers to it as "home", a preferable alternative to the drabness of his non-supermarket life.

It's also a film about how loneliness and isolation spurs people to make connections in the unlikeliest of places, and it treats its subjects with warmth and a bit of humanity. The film is mostly grounded in reality, but it takes whimsical comfort in the oceanlike sounds of forklift hydraulics, or the promise of a workplace relationship. And that's how people roll - finding happiness within and with each other.

***

That ends this year's coverage of the HKIFF, stay tuned for a bunch of movies that premiered over the Easter weekend. Till next time ~

Dispatches from HKIFF (++) 2018, Part 4

Most screenings today were sold out, so this is a relatively light entry (and RP1 isn't part of the HKIFF obvs).

Other than the basic premise, where a team of unlikely individuals race to find the greatest video game easter egg within a nostalgic virtual playground, Steven Spielberg's Ready Player One completely reworks Ernest Cline's original novel, truncating several elements and completely changing several scenarios, mostly for the better.

The adaptation manages to humanize James Halliday (Mark Rylance), the creator of the sprawling virtual world/MMORPG OASIS, making him into a character haunted by his faiilures and regrets in life. Rylance's speech at the end, while taken from the book, is made even more poignant here. It also removes some awkward and creepy moments between protagonist Wade Watts (Tye Sheridan) and his rival/partner Art3mis (Olivia Cooke), though some of the conflict between them is ultimately removed.

Despite being a film that perpetually bathes in nostalgia, the nature of the film's (and the book's) message epouses a rejection of escapism, where, despite our propensity for playthings and mindless entertainment, only 'reality is real.'

On the other hand, the film is unabashedly popcorn entertainment; it is wild, raucous fun and solidly made given Spielberg's filmmaking prowess. The film falls into the trap of being the exact kind of entertainment it stands against.

And the main thing that hampered the book also affects the film: without the rose tinted lenses of nostalgia, the film doesn't hold together as well. Only history will tell us how well the film will age ten or twenty years down the line. But in the here and now, Ready Player One is a pretty great ride.

Halley (Bria Vinaite) and her daughter Moonee (Brooklynn Prince) live in a motel at the very fringes of Disney World. Halley struggles to make ends meet through the help of friends and neighbors, but her rebellious attitude makes inding a legitimate job very hard. Meanwhile, insulated from her mother's troubles, Moonee spends her days, carefree, with her friends, getting into troubles of her own.

The characters of The Florida Project are people who live in the margins of society, a sentiment that is reflected in the film in more ways than one. Despite the film taking place right next to Disney World, we only see glimpses of it: fireworks in the distance, the ever present whirring of tour helicopters, a rogue tourist here and there. 

Baker, at least in his past two films, likes to juxtapose dreamlike fantasy worlds like Disney World and Hollywood and the concerns of Americans in the margins of society, contrasting them. 

And this is a film about children and their perspective; even if the characters of the Florida Project spend their lives (almost) never setting foot inside the "Happiest Place on Earth," they find their own happiness, as children do.  It's even reflected in both the beginning and end of the film with renditions of Kool & The Gang's Celebration, both prefacing very different chapters in these children's lives. It may seem absurd, finding something to celebrate about in such abject poverty, but that's a special power that chiildren just have.

It's also a film about parents: surrogate parents, fathers, mothers, and the extremities of their love: though one cannot say these people are the best parents for their children, they try their best and love their children, blood related or not, with all the love they can muster.

And despite how brash and incorrigible some of the characters may be, they are driven by something positive. That notion, finding something good in a wretched world, is indeed something worth celebrating.

(The preceding review is a reworking of a review for the Florida Project, previously not published here in this blog.)

Dispatches from HKIFF (++) 2018, Part 3

We begin today's slew of reviews with Young Girls Vanish, a short film that tries to connect a series of grisly murders from the 1600's and contemporary violence towards women. In the 1600's, these murders, often violent mutilations, were attributed to the activity of a giant wolf, but it soon becomes clear that some of these murders might be due to something closer to reality (i.e. the actions of depraved men). However, the film doesn't quite succeed in pulling off its thesis; it comes off as too subtle for its own good.

Amiko is a somewhat rebellious young teenager with a very distinct view in life. When she falls in love with a schoolmate Aomi, she does what many teens would do in this situation: sit on her feelings and let it simmer into wild fantasies and idealizations. But when Aomi stops going to class, Amiko takes action.

Amiko is an amalgamation of slice-of-life, wacky absurd comedy and teenage angst. It's a bit rough overall giiven its independent nature, but the product does have a certain level of charm to it that's undeniable. At a lean 66 minutes, the film doesn't overstay its welcome and at least it has that going or it.

Ryuichi Sakamoto has accumuated an impressive body of work eer since he started working in the eighties as part of the Yellow Magic Orchestra. In Ryuichi Sakamoto: Coda, a documentary by Stephen Nomura Schible, we see Sakamoto delve into his influences and what goes on when he creates music.

The documentary des not pretend to be a comprehensive historical document of Sakamoto's life, though there are still glimpses of that in this film. We see his early days at the YMO, his forays into acting and composing film music (including a fantastic anecdote where he rewrote and performed the intro for Bernardo Bertolucci's The Sheltering Sky in thirty minutes) and his recent struggles with throat cancer and the creation of async, one of his best albums to date.

Sakamoto's image and style has shifted over the years: from his early electronica days, he has gone into a musical style that can be described as a mix of electronica, minimaliist and ambient soundscapes, as well as a bit of orchestration. Still, in the middle of all that is the piano, which he considers the heart of all his music.

Sakamoto's influences are also laid bare - Bach organ solos, Tarkovskian film scoring, ambient sounds in nature, politics and environmental activism. Fascinating is the part where Sakamoto wants to create a film score for a non-existent movie, eventually creating such a track in his latest album.

Perhaps one of the most uplifting statements of the film is where Sakamoto finds beauty in the things we often take for granted: the ntion of his own impending death, or a line from Tarkovsky's Solaris, or the sounds of nature, or a decrepit piano, the "corpse of a piano that drowned" during the Fukushima nuclear disaster. A documentary or fans and music lovers alike, Ryuichi Sakamoto: Coda is fascinating stuff.

Samuel Maoz's Foxtrot begins with a distressing emotional scene when Michael Feldman is told that his son jonathan, a soldier in the Israeli Defense Forces has died in the line of duty. But Foxtrot is far more than a simple examination of grief and mourning, it confronts a far bigger picture - the ongoing conflict between Israel and Palestine - and it does so while being a pitch black comedy.

The film is divided into three segments, each covering a different point in time. The second part focuses on Jonathan himself, working a mostly boring job manning a remote outpost on the Israeli border. The monotony actually helps depict how much  animosity and predjudice has normalized between the Israelis and the Palestinians to the point where it becomes routine, including one scene where a Palestinian couple, perhaps having come straight from a party, is made to stand in the pouring rain. Even though the order is absurd and meaningless, the couple does so, and the man looks at his wife with nothing more than a look of resignation.

And absurdity becomes Foxtrot's main weapon, so to say: it illuminates how senseless and pointless the war has become. Perhaps subliminally, Jonathan's family feels that as well, their comfortable middle-class lives detached from what is happening.

And in the third part, where it all comes together, the Foxtrot metaphor rings true: everything has changed but everything also goes back to where it came from. There's a story within a story where a priceless family heirloom is replaced by a porno magazine, where something noble has been replaced with something vulgar being passed from father to son, much like how the scars of a neverending conflict are now inherited through generations. 

Rendered in beautifully stylized rotoscoped animation, Tehran Taboo plays out ike a greatest-hits version of Iranian social cinema: it critiques multiple facets of Iran's very strict, patriarchal society through the intersecting lives of several characters. There's Pari driven into prostitution because of a drug-addicted husband who is locked in prison; there's Sara, who wants to work but is restricted by her banker husband, and Babak, who gets into a bind after a drug fueled night of sex.

The film doesn't try to be subtle about it: this is a film of protest, and it doesn't shy away from showing the many double standards and hypocrisies that exist in such a society. Perhaps comparisons can be made with this film and Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis, also animated and also made by an Iranian expat. It's been said that it isn't as bad anymore in real contemporary Iranian society, but if the foundations of abuse are still there, scenarios like the ones depicted in the film can still happen.

The film also skillfully avoids making its characters into caricatures, giving them complex stories and personalities that are relatable, all made even more devastating given the film's conclusion.

Tehran Taboo is a film that will make a lot of people indignant and angry. At the very least I hope it helps start a conversation towards real and just change.

Dispatches from HKIFF (++) 2018, Part 2

It might seem a little absurd to make a movie out of an (admittedly popular) app about colllecting cats, but the world's been guilty of far more. Neko Atsume no Ie (Neko Atsume's House) is the story of Masaru Sakumoto (Atsushi ito), a once-popular novelist who has gotten into a slump. On a whim, he decides to move to a house to the countryside, where the power of cats help him get his groove back.

That's the plot of the film, and while it does spread pretty thin for a movie this long, the cats almost make up for it. Almost. Ito (and co-star Shiori Kutsuna) are both excellent despite this, and the cinematography works best when covering our feline friends (and not humans), where the camerawork revolves around a handheld treatment and too-close-for-comfort closeups.

Surprisingly, the film does follow the mechanics of the original game (buy cat toys and cushions and food, wait for cats to arrive, take pictures, rinse and repeat) so it technically is a faithful adaptation of its source material. But for those looking for more than just cats, viewers may find nothing more of substance here.

A young teenager, Eunchan, dies while saving his friend Ki-hyun during a swimming trip. Devatated, Eunchan's parents try to reconcile their grief and the death of their son. Eunchan's father, through a set of circumstances, then takes in Ki-hyun as an apprentice, where the young man begins to learn the trade of wallpapering and craftsmanship.

It sounds like everything is set to fall into place in Shin Dong-seok's Last Child: the parents without a child coming together with a child desperately in need of parental figures. But the truth and the eventual outcome of the film ends up being far more complicated. Last Child is an examination of guilt, societal hypocrisy, forgiveness and grief, much like the works of Shin's countryman, Lee Chang-dong - in particular, one of his more recent films, Poetry. 

Last Child is boosted in particular by several performances, most notably the central three characters, who all deal with Eunchan's death in varied and interesting ways. The film avoids shifting into frank melodrama and treats its characters with a touch of sincerity. The film builds up rather well, culminating in an emotionally charged finale reminiscent of last year's Harmonium (2016/7) but with a different, almost cathartic, outcome.

Tina is a loving mother to her daughter Vittoria, both spending a rather idyllic life in the Sardinian countryside. But the truth is, Vittoria is adopted, and one day she meets her true mother, Angelica, who is the complete opposite of what Tina embodies: irresponsible, drunk, rebellious. Vittoria becomes captivated by this mother she never knew, and this eventually puts the three in conflict with each other as Vittoria tries to reconcile the fact that she has two mothers.

Daughter of Mine is a fascinating character study from director Laura Bispuri. It soon becomes clear that both Tina and Angelica have their own dysfunctions and positive traits. Tina looks like a responsible, doting mother, but she has a hidden petty, vengeful side, and her possessiveness of Vittoria drives the child away. Angelica looks irresponsible, brash and incorriginble, but there is a genuine desire to reconnect with her daughter - at one point, she tries to pay off a long standing debt that would help alleviate her situation, but she decides to spend it on a gift for her daughter instead.

The treatment can get a little rough in parts, and certain stretches of the film feel a bit overlong for a simple story, But at the heart of it, Daughter of Mine is relateable story worth teling.

Yoshika (Mayu Matsuoka) is still smitten by her high school crush, Ichi. She spends her time fantasizing about him and reminiscing the very few times they actually spoke to each other. In the mean time, she puts up with Ni, an awkward and obnoxious, but ultimately well meaning, coworker who wishes to be her boyfriend.

Observant and funny, Akiko Ooku's Tremble All You Want has all the tropes of a conventional chick-lit romance, but it has a diferent conception of love, one that is far removed from the shoujo manga-esque notions of falling in love and ending up with your dream guy. It presents love as something rooted in a mutual understanding rather than a one sided fantasy, a relationship where both parties actively work together to understand each other, a relationship where love grows gradually and naturally, moving from "I like you" to "I love you".

Mayu Matsuoka's performance is fantastic; she keeps up with the wacky demands of the script and shows off her versatile range, laughing and crying and singing with considerable amounts of charm (yes, there's an extended musical segment in this film). 

Yoshika's story ultimately boils down to her getting out of her shell, where she realizes that the people around her are not just props for her own fantasies, but flesh and blood people with their own dreams and aspirations, their own story to tell, and her personal growth is reflected when she genuinely begins to setp out into the world and get to know people and talk to them sincerely.

It's a journey that takes a couple of detours, especially in the last third where a bunch of contrivances extend the running time far more for my taste. But in the end, Tremble All You Want is a crowd pleaser whose view on love is atypical compared to the slew of contemporary Japanese rom-coms out there.

this is (not) a review of Kamandag ng Droga THE MOVIE

Last year's best film was obviously Carlo J. Caparas' Kamandag ng Droga, and I felt it needed a much more... dedicated tribute. Although the original is better than the adaptation in most cases, I think this can communicate the thoughts of the original (non) review in a different way.

I also noticed a few things from the original piece that are actually slightly inaccurate. Probably because I was too busy laug... admiring the film at the time.

BASTA DONT DO DRUGS DAW

Since Youtube is content ID-ing an obvious work of criticism, you can DM me on twitter for a link to the video (non) review and the password.  You can take a look at the video here. Facebook friends get them automatically. I think~

This statement is not an April Fools joke obvs