SARI-SARING SINENG PINOY

     For centuries, vampires have provided handy metaphors for social and physical dilemma, but in the stylishly muted romance The Time That Remains (Netflix, Black Cap Pictures, 2025), the threat is personal. Fusing multiple genres into a thoroughly original whole, Adolfo Borinaga Alix, Jr. has crafted a beguiling and cryptic look at personal desire that creeps up on you with the nimble powers of its supernatural focus. The director combines elements of film noir and the restraint of gothic horror with the subdued depictions of Filipino culture… the comparisons go on and on, but the result is wholly original. From the first frame to its last, the movie establishes a spellbinding atmosphere with long takes, deep shadows and music cues ironically positioned against the cerebral quality of the storytelling, hinting at the vitality threatening to burst forth from its lethargic universe at any moment. The movie's constituent parts reflect a mishmash of pop cultural artifacts, both in the larger plot structures the films calls back to and the smaller elements of its design. All these elements are admirably stitched together by Alix's strict handling of tone. The Time That Remains isn't a chaotic genre mash-up that relishes every cultural reference, but a work where every individual element is sacrificed to the larger cause of creeping us right out. Alix fleshes out the somber life of mysterious vampire, Matias (Carlo Aquino). Though his origins remain obscured, as he trails locals late at night, Matias quickly turns into the face of repression burdening all of them. When he watches Lilia’s (Jasmine Curtis-Smith) behavior, it’s the first indication of a light at the end of the tunnel, a means of righting the wrongs in this broken world. But it’s not until he forms a curiously moving romance with Lilia — The Time That Remains truly moves beyond its elegant form and develops an emotional core. Hidden underneath the surface is a definite social commentary on issues like mortality and humanity’s self-destructive nature. 

     Curtis-Smith truly does a remarkable job here in the role of Lilia. Aquino is excellent as well. The two craft a charming chemistry that lends an authenticity to their relationship which really makes you feel like they have a strong level of comfort with one another. The supporting cast is uniformly fantastic too, with an especially deadpan turn from Christine Reyes and a much needed kickstart from Bembol Roco, who gives the film a bit of energy as it heads into its third act. Similarly appealing is the film’s conception of Baguio City. It mirrors the life the vampire used to have, a life of innovation and progress that becomes antiquated as the world forgets and moves on. It is desolate and seen largely at night — a moody atmosphere heightened by the movie's cinematography. Baguio is seemingly fading away into history and the few people who remain seem content retreating to their respective hiding places. There's rarely any interaction between characters that isn't somehow contractual. A scene at a tattoo parlor is one of the few featuring more than three characters as Matias goes about the routine of scoring blood from Ami (Reyes). This absence of intimacy gives the vampire's every appearance a charged energy. Filmed in the shadows, he's a menacing presence that endangers the complacent behavior we otherwise witness. Matias also initiates the only meaningful interactions that we see in the film, whether in a nascent romance or in a heartfelt chat with Lilia. The surreal nature of the city coupled with Alix's limited use of dialogue and exposition, also means The Time That Remains invites plenty of possible allegorical interpretations — not that Alix is keen on affirming any of them. In other moments, he battles our desire to over-interpret, positing the vampire and the superficial residents Matias torments, as merely ravenous, motivated not by any code but by lust and desire. Alix is known for making films of a slower, more contemplative pace and what he creates here is a sweeping and moody anti-horror movie. Alix has a talent for making it seem like the revelation of his grand vision lies just around the corner, even if it never comes. But mostly it's because, though the scenery seems familiar, the path Alix is on with The Time That Remains feels entirely his own.

Written By: Mixkaela Villalon, Jerry Gracio, Adolfo Borinaga Alix, Jr.

Director of Photography: Odyssey Flores

Production Design: Jerann Ordinario, Maria Criselda Dacanay

Film Editor: Mark Victor

Sound Design: Allen Roy Santos

Musical Score: Paul Sigua, Myka Magsaysay-Sigua

Directed By: Adolfo Borinaga Alix, Jr.

     Playing an emotionally repressed middle aged man doesn't sound like much of a stretch for Jay Ilagan, but for the first time in his career, he fully sustains and builds on that tension from scene one to the final fade-out of actor/director Pio de Castro III's feature debut, Soltero (Experimental Cinema of the Philippines, 1984). It is an outstanding performance from Ilagan, not especially because it is a departure for him, but because the part itself is such a perfect match for his habitual and superbly calibrated ­performance register: withdrawn, pained, but sensual, with sparks of wit and fun. Surrounded by people but lonely and alone, Crispin might as well be invisible; so he leaves things unsaid with family and colleagues. Soltero is slowed by its own beauty, but it is salvaged by a trio of majestic scenes. In one, Crispin in a phone call from his mother (Irma Potenciano), during which his voice must betray nothing, leaving his face (on which the director is smart enough to keep the camera to do all the work); in another, the gentle sadness of an evening with RJ, whose own loneliness of abandonment is as inconsolable as Crispin’s. Chanda Romero’s performance finds the woman’s heart, though, even as she reveals a selfishness that is as monstrous as it is oddly innocent. Innocent, too, but oddly wise, is Christina (Rio Locsin), demonstraing grace, intensity and a relentlessness that is less evocative than romance of a most sentimental type. And a hopeless romantic is what Crispin with the object of his romance taken from him and a world at large that refuses to recognize its legitimacy or his loss. De Castro focuses on details, he's visualized Bienvenido M. Noeirga's screenplay with every shot precisely framed — the overall effect is the disjointedly peculiar focus of a psyche that is overwrought and acutely, painfully aware of everything around its profound isolation. If the obvious symbolism of Crispin crying inside his white Volkswagen Beetle is a hackneyed device unworthy of the rest of the film, De Castro overcomes it with a stream-of-consciousness style that is both stylish and heartfelt. As the smog in Manila causes such beautiful sunsets, sometimes awful things have their own kind of beauty. De Castro has found the beauty in despair without cheapening either. Soltero is centrally about someone who's finally learning to live in the moment — a moment that has been made, on screen, at once wrenching and ravishing.

     Presented in its original aspect ratio of 1.85:1, Soltero is sourced from a new 2K restoration that was undertaken by ABS-CBN FIlm Restoration. First, even though there are a few areas where small fluctuations are present, overall density is improved on the new release. Second, the color grading is better and as a result there are entire segments where image balance is improved. In some cases, black crush is eliminated; elsewhere the tonal balance is different and there are entirely new ranges of nuances and even highlights Third, there are improvements in terms of image stability; the most obvious examples of edge instability are essentially eliminated. Finally, it is very easy to tell that careful manual cleanup was performed because many of the small but noticeable scratches, flecks and vertical lines have been eliminated. There are no traces of problematic degraining or sharpening adjustments. There is only one standard audio track: Tagalog LPCM 2.0. Optional English subtitles are provided for the main feature. The stereo track has limited dynamic range, but clarity is very good. However, while there is no distracting/thick background hiss, in the upper register some thinness occasionally can be noticed. On the other hand, it appears that some additional cleanup and stabilization work was done because overall fluidity appears slightly better. Exposed to searching close-ups throughout, Jay Ilagan gives the performance of his career as Crispin and subtle, and sometimes not so subtle, gradations of visual texture reflect and complement his changing moods. Soltero is a self-conscious, superbly crafted, deeply felt movie. It's the story of a man in several senses, but also everyman in the way the viewer responds to him.

Sound: Ramon Reyes, Sebastian Sayson

Music: Sonny Angeles

Production Design: Cesar R. Jose

Editing: Edgardo Jarlego

Cinematography: Clodualdo Austria

Screenplay: Bienvenideo M. Noriega, Jr.

Directed By: Pio de Castro III

     In 2013, Typhoon Haiyan, an extremely powerful and catastrophic tropical cyclone devastated Southeast Asia, particularly the Philippines. Taklub (Center Stage Productions Co., 2015) is set against this backdrop. Directed by Brillante Ma Mendoza, Taklub is a testament to the combined efforts of ordinary individuals, bound by humanity in the crucible of disaster. No single movie can tell every point of view, every experience, every loss, every triumph or every story. What one single movie can do is raise our remembrance and honor what transpired on that fateful day. What one single movie can do is give at least one true story with profound respect and realism. Most importantly, what the beauty of any movie can do is remind us all of the hope and survival that rises from the depths of tragedy and loss. What is portrayed and performed in Taklub carries enough intensity, challenge and emotion to stir and reward your investment. But instead of playing for tension, Mendoza goes for character and atmosphere. It’s all superbly acted. Julio Diaz and Aaron Rivera play sheer tearful anguish in such strong believable ways. I have to admit to being blindsided by its real emotional power. There are moments here of such profound despair and heartbreak, but in the end I found honesty and compassion. It could well be Diaz's finest hour, delivering a performance with a sledgehammer emotional punch. Simply having to enunciate what has happened overwhelms him with grief and fear. In an arresting performance, Rivera catapults to unanticipated and unseen emotional heights selling Erwin's dedication to his family and also to doing the right thing, and that’s what makes Erwin such a special character. For him, this isn’t just a fight for survival or for his family, it’s a significant transformation for him as a person.

     The film’s most dramatic sequences focuses on Bebeth. Flinging herself, ego-free and vulnerable into Bebeth’s shredded soul with utter conviction, Nora Aunor embodies everyday maternal heroism. Hers is a performance that couldn’t exist without access to the character’s emotional truth. Thanks to her ability in conveying empathy, courage and motherly love, Aunor has created a moving tribute to the real-life woman she portrays and every single soul affected by the horrific natural disaster that was Typhoon Haiyan. Her utterly exhausting and convincing portrayal of a tragedy-stricken mother is enormously amazing and carries the entire film. For Aunor, it’s as if pain is a renewable resource for her characterization skills and of late, she seems to have specialized in the allure of the imperiled solitude with all the physicality and interiority required, whether or not the movies themselves are any good. Aunor brings that same full-bodied intensity to Bebeth. As survival cinema, Taklub has a certain unpredictable energy which Aunor embodies with a combination of compassion and exasperation. It’s the aftermath, however, in which we learn the root of Bebeth’s experience, that exposes Taklub for the well-intentioned film about grief that it is. Mendoza's direction is utterly unflinching, getting us as close to feeling Bebeth's pain as possible through the medium. The screen will always act as a barrier to a certain extent, it is almost as though we are there experiencing the reality ourselves. Honeylyn Joy Alipio's screenplay never overplays its hand when it comes to sentimentality. Its particular masterstroke is its tight focus on Bebeth (not trying to shoehorn all manner of others into the tale) while showing how her plight compares and contrasts with Larry and Erwin in the same situation. Nevertheless, the pathos is warranted as the film’s residue of sadness presented sufficiently within the context of the inhumane storm that ruined precious lives. Part of the appeal of this powerful drama is that it puts the viewer right in the moment at every stage, using authentic locations and survivors to hammer home the reality of this tragedy. 

Director: Brillante Ma Mendoza

Screenwriter: Honeylyn Joy Alipio

Director of Photography: Odyssey Flores

Production Designer: Dante Mendoza

Editor: Kats Serraon

Sound Engineers; Andrew Milallos, Addiss Tabong

Musical Director: Diwa de Leon

     Too many movies are afraid to show us a complete wretch, not Huling Palabas (CreatePHFilms, Tilt Studios, Kayumanggi Kolektib, 2023). Unclogged from the outcast-to-film pipeline comes the delightfully unpleasant Andoy (Shun Mark Gomez), a high school cinephile personified. Writer/director Ryan Espinosa Machado finds uncommon honesty even if the coming-of-age story eventually falls into some of the more palatable pitfalls its strident star would rail against. Andoy is an awkward teenager who loves movies, but Machado imbues Huling Palabas with a dignified unlikability—a confidently written and performed character who’s at times a jerk to his best friend, Pido (Bon Andrew Lentejas) and an emotional leech draining Ariel (Serena Magiliw). It’s realistic, unflattering and too true to life to be anything but personal. It’s perversely satisfying to see Gomez lean fully into Andoy’s disdain for his Robin Padilla wannabe, Uncle Julio (Jay Gonzaga). He’s impatient, his eyes greedy for the next moment where he will become the center of attention. It’s a great performance, tightly roped in by Machado’s direction. As an uneasy chemistry develops between Andoy and Isidro (Cedric Juan), it’s clear that he is forming a crush and that he’s enjoying having someone around whom he can genuinely look up to, but when Machado chooses to take the film into dark places, he does so in unexpected ways. He handles the shifts in tone with impressive ease and they’re well suited to the coming-of-age theme at the center of his work. Despite the bleak subject it touches on, the film always retains its energy and humor, just as Andoy remains likeable (at least from a distance) no matter how obnoxious his behavior may be. But even its small chuckles are more meaningful because they feel like logical progressions.

     The film’s pulled-taut characters walk around wearing armor made of irony, each waiting for someone or something to hit the release valve and let their furious monologue escape. When Andoy finally breaks down or when Ariel steals the movie with a revelation, or when Pido snaps at the little shit he’s been hanging around with, you exhale—finally. But in these moments, Huling Palabas wavers. The hurt resonates, but the fallout is cushioned by cinematic airbags. You don’t want to overly punish Andoy for being the way he is, but when the film’s hard edge relents (often in some of the more broad comedic scenes) it undermines its more harsh truths. Magiliw’s wry, magnetic performance sometimes feels in service of a character who, despite his own lampshading, cannot escape the cinematic pull to coddle and educate an ill-equipped boy. Huling Palabas may be Andoy’s vision of the world, but his feel-good finale would have the cinephile in him rolling his eyes. But he’d love the rest of the movie he lives in. Machado’s filmmaking, his sense of place and his placement of sensory details build out a time capsule, plated with nostalgia and tarnished by hindsight. It doesn’t have a romantic view of high school or even a romantic view of the movies, but it does have a romanticism about its fringe-dwellers. You’re not stuck being who you were in high school, but who you were in high school never quite goes away—not from your personality and not from the “you” that those who once knew you remember. Excavating that bittersweet history, of insecurity and shame and, misanthropy rather than burying it, allows Huling Palabas to speak clearly to those who’ve also erected protective walls of pop cultural passion, without sacrificing the prickly parts that make its observations so sharp.

Film Composer: Erwin Fajardo

Sound Designers: Immanuel Verona, Fatima Nerikka Salim

Editors: Cyril Bautista, Kurt Abraham

Director of Photography: Theo Lozada, LPS

Written and Directed By: Ryan Espinosa Machado

     Alkitrang Dugo (N.V. Productions, 1976) is, in essence, a primal myth. It follows a group of young athletes stranded on an uninhabited island after their plane crashes, claiming the lives of both their pilot and coach. Luis (Eddie Villamayor) seems like a natural leader - he's smart, fair and good at planning, able to think not only about the immediate needs of the group but about the bigger picture, the importance of rescue. There's a rival on the island, however, and that's Andy (Roderick Paulate), who quickly wins the loyalty of many with his focus on hunting, feasting and dancing. Complicating the picture are socially unskilled Nilo (Toto Jr.), natural second in command Brooks (Efren Montes) and thoughtful outsider Lando (Zernan Manahan). Despite the fact that, between them, they have the skills needed to get by pretty comfortably in the short-to-medium term, the stage is set for conflict. From nowhere come disagreements and disputes. They do not realize the trouble is within themselves.The tone of the film is different, reflecting cultural changes that had taken place during that time. The notion of childhood innocence was beginning to fade from the public consciousness and has faded further since. Consequently, the boys' descent into savagery feels less like a comment on childhood; in its place, the metaphor that director Lupita A. Concio touched on at the very end resonates more strongly, with the children, unattended coming to resemble adults. Alkitrang Dugo could best be described as psychological horror, made more visceral by the sight and sound afforded by cinema. 

     To Concio, the children didn’t hit marks or try to construct their emotions in a role but rather if given the right circumstances would react with an unfiltered instinct needed for the story. The performances are remarkably organic with the trio of core characters standing out. Villamayor—who plays the mature pragmatist and elected chief, Luis—brings with him the right amount of sincerity as the one boy who tries to preserve a sense of democratic order. His opposite is represented by Andy (Paulate) who leads his fellow athletes—later rebranded in a fascistic manner as hunters—to the brink by reverting back to an anarchic primitive existence, fashioning spears and donning warpaint with fellow hunters and eventually forming a much more powerful rival tribe. In the middle of it all is Nilo (Toto Jr.), the four-eyed outsider who embodies the malaise of the outcast with the authentic awkwardness of a truly troubled adolescent trying to cling to some sense of morality amongst the chaos. This cunning corruption of paradise—a miniature Fall of Man—forces us to pit purity versus primitivism in the most direct manner of questioning our own nature and whether we would also be capable of such behavior. Concio embraces the illusion of vérité as a device to render expressionism with a sense of terrifying immediacy and palpability. There are many moments in Alkitrang Dugo that are unshakably beautiful and disturbing, allegorical yet weirdly real. Concio renders savagery with the despairing eye of a humanist and with the irresolvable ambivalence of an artist.

Screenplay: Nicanor B. Cleto Jr. Inspired By William Golding's "Lord of the Flies"

Cinematography: Joe Batac Jr.

Music By: Lutgardo Labad

Art Director: Ben Otico

Film Editor: Ben Barcelon

Directed By: Lupita A. Concio