SARI-SARING SINENG PINOY

      Luisito Lagdameo Ignacio's Broken Blooms (Bentria Productions, 2022) follows a volatile relationship as it flowers and wilts, thinking about what went wrong. It sounds like the cruelest sort of dissection, like pulling a butterfly apart by its wings, but Ignacio and his actors, Jeric Gonzales and Therese Malvar have not made a cold or schematic film. They aim instead for raw emotional experience, one that's full of insight into the ways a relationship can go astray, but mostly feels like a slow-motion punch to the gut. Broken Blooms amplifies the intensity a notch or two above the expected, it leaves the actors looking bruised and exhausted, like Vilma Santos and Christopher de Leon in Ishmael Bernal's Broken Marriage (1983). Sometimes the effect is too mannered, but in an independent landscape, Broken Blooms unfolds with a directness that's bracing. The passion between these young lovers is incandescent, but even in the best of times, Ignacio finds the seeds of their destruction. Though Jeremy (Gonzales) grows into a devoted husband and father, his chronic immaturity is apparent from the beginning of their married life. Cynthia (Malvar) just chooses to look past it, just as she does the marital discord within her own family. 

     Nothing out of the ordinary happens in Broken Blooms and that, together with the vital, untrammeled performances of the two leading actors is the root of its power. This demonstrates that Broken Blooms is that rare creation, a love story that doesn’t ignore its consequences or droop into pointless fantasy. The acting is exemplary. Gonzales brings a preternatural understanding of people to his performance and Malvar is amazing in the way she keeps trying to deny and conceal emotion, even as she's showing us. There's a moment in which they sing Jingle Bells together with their friends and it's clear, even as she's pretending otherwise, that she had to go through the motions. Jeremy wanted to be married to Cynthia and he still does and he still is. Cynthia can't stand that, she is a woman who has lost her pride of body and self. It's Jeremy's inability to care for Cynthia, right here, right now, because when she married him, she became exactly the wife he required. Ignacio gives the film a heartbreaking resonance. Broken Blooms sets course for a collision and measures the full weight of its impact.

Screenplay: Ralston Gonzales Jover

Director of Photography: T.M. Malones

Editing & Sound: Gilbert Obispo

Production Design: Jay Custodio

Music: Jay Abella

Direction: Luisito Lagdameo Ignacio

     Romance, so I’m to understand the term (and I don’t), is predicated on petite, strategic lies. It’s the confluence of many different slightly altered postures and highly self-moderated presentations, all calculated to either aid or discourage further amorous fission. It means that the person one falls in love with isn’t necessarily the person one has fallen in love with and vice versa. But we know this all too well, otherwise we wouldn’t expect something different and exciting from our fictions, both real and imagined. The quintessential tenet of romantic movies is that they feature characters who are either kept apart by their own deceptions or brought together by their total, yielding allowance of casting aside all that bullshit and opening up to another kindred soul. We eat that up, all the more voraciously for knowing it isn’t so simple. So when it comes to real life, we spend as much time constructing the barriers as we do peering around them to see who’s on the other side and we wonder why everyone else is doing the same thing.

     Laurice Guillen's Kasal? (Trigon Cinema Arts, 1980) uses flashbacks to chart two days worth of push-pull surrounding the wedding, back and forth with revelation and evasion. But, this being fiction, is mostly revelation. Joel (Christopher de Leon) and Grace's (Hilda Koronel) conversations appear to have all the hallmarks of research both can file away for next time, but Grace's deck outburst gives it away. She’s intending to get Joel emerge from his shell. And emerge he does, from there, the lovers connect again and again, physically, emotionally, intellectually. They invariably swim with the current of the whirlpool and are carried closer and closer to that holy grail of total, mutual understanding. The longer you spend inside Kasal?, the more its fictions seem apparent. De Leon and Koronel along with Jay Ilagan and Chanda Romero are, of course, incredibly attractive people who, despite their characters’ hang-ups and foibles, are approachable and easy to watch. But Mario O'Hara’s screenplay isn’t just perceptive to these fictions, it shows how they function in reality, narrowing the gap between the movie’s idealized representation and its audience’s own capacity to do the same. It’s nearly as galvanizing as the moment Grace finally opens up. It’s in moments like these that Kasal? nudges fantasy just a little bit closer to reality.    

     The high definition (1.67:1 aspect ratio) presentation offers a fairly decent scan with age restraining some clarity on the viewing experience. Detail is soft and while cinematographic limitations are present, sharpness feels dull, leading to only passable textures on close-ups and set decoration. Colors are equally unremarkable, skintones are somewhat bloodless and costuming lacks vibrancy even with party outfits. Delineation isn't troublesome, but never exquisite. Source is in decent shape. The 2.0 sound mix doesn't offer the type of theatrical clarity the film deserves, as age had its way with the track, resulting in a tinny, sometimes muddy listening event. Dialogue exchanges aren't where they need to be, with periodic intelligibility issues, especially when characters mumble. Sound effects are hard on the ears, but not that sharp. Some hiss is detected throughout. It's fascinating to watch Guillen's style take shape, there's provocative and passionate work here for study.

Screenplay: Mario O'Hara

Production Design: Mel Chionglo

Cinematography: Ricardo Remias

Film Editor: Efren Jarlego

Musical Director: Jun Latonio

Sound Supervision: Rolly Ruta

Directed By: Laurice Guillen

     Himala (Experimental Cinema of the Philippines, 1982) directed by Ishmael Bernal is a powerful and successful experiment in minimalism. Ricardo Lee’s screenplay takes on a documentary aesthetic, following characters as nothing of consequence is happening. There is great emotional resonance to the film, particularly in a handful of immensely powerful key scenes. Nora Aunor's critics claimed that she did nothing and played a bland character. While these claims are utterly unfounded, it's not hard to see where they stem from. Elsa spends most of the film being swayed by the currents of other character's desires. She almost doesn't feel like a protagonist due to her passiveness. Yet Aunor plays Elsa with immense authenticity. Perhaps it's because of the similarities between actress and character. Her role is a perfect example of an actress not being given the credit she deserves because of passiveness. Aunor's acting is almost masked by her naturalness in the role. It is the best performance Bernal has ever directed. Elsa speaks more than a sentence or two at a time and says nothing at all about life in the village or her childhood. But Elsa remains a cipher, her interests and experiences, her inner life, inaccessible. The spoken word is not cinema's most powerful tool. As anyone in the field knows all too well, cinema developed originally as a mute medium, dependent on images and editing to convey meaning. Himala is entirely structured around Elsa's point of view and this is the narrative paradigm that drives the film. I therefore have a hard time accepting the view that it silences Elsa, despite her demeanor. Aunor's lack of pretense, the naturalism with which she embodies this character is astounding. Elsa is a stoic but complex woman who witnessed hardship largely silently, but when she speaks, she is resplendant. Her final monologue showed she's reflexive, more aware about her motives and mixed emotions than all the other characters. 

     I think it is fair to say that time has not been kind to Himala. It is also fair to say that there wasn't a whole lot the restoration team could do to have the film look better than it does. Clearly, there are a number of limitations with the existing master which they had to work with. Some close-ups look quite pleasing, but elsewhere the image is rather soft and textures are problematic. Clarity, however, is mostly adequate and with a few minor exceptions, contrast levels seem stable. Some extremely light grain has been retained, but it is quite inconsistent and mixed up with light noise. The good news is that there are no traces of serious post-production sharpening. Unsurprisingly, the film does have a pleasing organic look. It is often weak but nevertheless a preferable one. Finally, some small damage marks and tiny horizontal lines are occasionally present, but I assume they could not have been removed without dramatically affecting the integrity of the image. All in all, considering ABS-CBN Film Restoration's strong record and dedication to high quality presentations, I think it is fair to speculate that this is likely the best Himala could look at the moment. Generally speaking, the dialog is crisp, stable and easy to follow. The few sequences where the music becomes prominent are also convincing. There is, however, some light background noise that occasionally pops up here and there. It is definitely not distracting, but its presence is certainly felt. There are those who diminished the turn as a non-performance, but they are sorely mistaken. Aunor's work is of staggering power and it is without question, one of her best. 

Screenplay: Ricardo Lee

Music: Winston Raval

Director of Photography: Sergio Lobo

Production Designer: Raquel N. Villavicencio

Film Editor: Ike Jarlego, Jr.

Sound Supervision: Vic Macamay

Directed By: Ishmael Bernal

      For a long spell, Law Fajardo’s Scorpio Nights 3 (Viva Films, Pelikulaw, 2022) emits a bitterly sensual charge. The film’s unexpected intrigue is partly a matter of context. In the 1980s, when Peque Gallaga was the purveyor of erotic dramas like Scorpio Nights and Unfaithful Wife, even Scorpio Nights 3’s strongest sections might have been taken for granted. But in 2022, with sex as a viable subject, the film initially feels dangerous, even personal. Gallaga’s ’80s cinema pushed everything, from the characters’ emotions to the filmmaker’s formalism in a manner that was fashionable to Philippine cinema at the time. In Scorpio Nights 3, however, Fajardo initially aims for a more strongly implicative aura in the key of a Claude Chabrol thriller, in which every line of dialogue is freighted with potential subtext, blurring our understanding of the rules of the game that we’re watching unfold. The plot is simple, even consciously reductive. This texture cuts to the heart of why Scorpio Nights 3 is initially so head-spinning, as its erotic-thriller stylization, the menacingly soft, feverish colors mesh unexpectedly with a specific and refreshingly adult examination of sexual relationship. Fajardo and screenwriter Roy Iglesias are willing to follow this relationship beyond the barriers of political correctness. Mark Anthony Fernandez (Drake) and Christine Bermas (Pinay) have suggestively conflicting ways of volleying their dialogue back and forth. Bermas, a rising ingenue looking to make her mark, wrings every line for every ounce of aggression it can yield, while Fernandez, a longtime survivor of the up-and-down fame game throws his lines away doing what he’s known for and lets Drake's anger simmer under the surface, barely allowing it to slip through until he is ready then that anger feels raw and almost feral. Ultimately, though, Scorpio Nights 3 is revealed to be Drake’s movie and there’s a suggestion of sexism to it. Astonishingly, Matthew (Gold Aceron), the upstairs neighbor doesn't intensify the relationship at the center of the film, as he appears to exist in his own orbit. Shots are more problematic that voyeurism comes into play. Frequently the camera settles on Pinay as she sleeps, vulnerable and unaware of its gaze. And there are Pinay's sex scenes, most curious for how clinical they are. The focus is almost anatomical, largely on what parts are where. For all their explicitness, they reveal nothing about the emotional or intellectual aspects of the sexuality on display. 

     What's extraordinary about Separada (Star Cinema, 1994) is that everyone in this story is right, based on their position in the situation. Melissa (Maricel Soriano) is right and Dodie (Edu Manzano) is right. And they are both hurting. Director Chito S. Roño has come about as close as you can get to telling a wrenching story with devastation but no villainy. Everything comes from that sad math. The arrangement in which both parents could be with each other and their kids has simply run out of time, it doesn't work anymore. What comes next will be awful for at least someone, if not for everyone. The meticulous fairness of Ricardo Lee and Tessie Tomas' script is remarkable. This relatively unadorned story could wind up feeling like a filmed play, but Roño's commitment to coming in close to faces, particularly Soriano's and Manzano's is sneakily effective. The tendency of conversations between Melissa and Dodie escalate from polite to tense to furious springs logically from their closely examined eyes and their tentative, layered expressions. Eddie Rodriguez as Melissa's father is wonderful in the way that parents observing marriages often can be. There's regrettably little for Sharmaine Arnaiz to do as Sandy, the other woman, but in an early scene critical to the progress of the separation, she introduces a lightness that recurs now and then, surprisingly, to let the viewer breathe. But in the end, Separada turns on the performances from Soriano and Manzano, both of whom are as good as they've ever been. She is kind with an earned edge, resentful but also empathetic. And Manzano gives Dodie a genuine commitment to doing the right thing and an unending hope that this doesn't have to be as bad as it is. He commits to moments when Dodie is awful and moments when he is extraordinarily tender and it's one of his best performances.

     The newly restored presentation does immensely well with Roño's visual style, capturing the pristine brightness of living spaces and the heaviness of restaurant visits. Primaries are clear, giving costuming a real presence with casual wear. Interior decoration is also vivid, surveying tasteful living spaces with flowery hues. Detail is sharp throughout, with excellent facial particulars that define the subtle emotional weight carried by the characters, while outfits are fibrous. Housing and office decoration are open for study, contrasting the lived-in feel of Melissa's world and Dodie's lifestyle. Delineation is satisfactory. Grain is heavier and film-like. The two-channel sound mix is a largely frontal listening event with dialogue exchanges precise, offering full, deep voices and crisp argumentative behavior. Scoring supports with a gentle orchestral sound. Room tone is present, along with more active urban environments. Low-end reaches about as far as it's meant to. Because Separada is about the process of separation, it would be easy to see in it a bleakness that would make it uninteresting. But the performances are so good and the story so complex that it is, in the end, startling and deeply humane.

Sound: Ramon Reyes

Production Designer: Ernest Santiago

Editor: Joe Solo

Musical Director: Nonong Buencamino

Director of Photography: Joe Batac

Screenplay: Ricardo Lee, Tessie Tomas

Directed By: Chito S. Roño

     There is a vivid party scene that encapsulates some of the film’s strengths. Niña who is feeling her way through early adulthood and her first serious love affair. As the evening wears on, Abaya conveys Niña's awkwardness with painful subtlety. And yet the scene, which also marks a turning point in the central relationship that mirrors the director’s approach toward the representation of women. Ultimately, it is mainly the electrifying performances that Abaya presumably elicited from Benitez and Jacinto that make Sensual a memorable film. Abaya takes us deep inside Niña’s skin in the film’s more compelling final third and she is especially heartbreaking when she portrays the character’s attempts to move on with stunned dignity despite the crushing physical isolation she feels after the carnal relationship has run its course. It helps here that Abaya keeps the camera tightly focused on Benitez's face. This is the movie’s signature shot and the one it returns to most often. These close-ups are one way of looking and they could best be described as adoring. Perhaps it represents Abaya's gaze, mesmerized by the beauty and talent of her young actress. Perhaps it’s our gaze, especially if we feel similarly. Or perhaps it’s meant to represent Elsa’s point of view, her attitude toward Niña fluctuates throughout the movie. Although Abaya reimagines the love story as a tale of evocative romance, she stays true to its fleeting essence. Sensual closes on a bittersweet note, one that sees Niña transformed establishing herself not just bound by sexual identity, but by shared pain and hope. 

Production Design: Jay Sabrina Lozada

Music: Jaime Fabregas

Sound Supervision: Rudy Baldovino

Screenplay: Jose Javier Reyes

Film Editor: Marc Tarnate

Director of Photography: Conrado Baltazar

Directed By: Marilou Diaz-Abaya

Sound Supervision: Lamberto Casas, Jr., Alex Tomboc

Music By: Decky Margaja

Editor: Chrisel Desuasido

Production Designer: John Ronald Vicencio

Director of Photography: Alex Espartero

Written and Directed By: Crisanto B. Aquino

 

     While there’s no good reason to remake Celso Ad Castillo's Patayin Mo sa Sindak si Barbara (1974) it’s not an inherently terrible idea. A pity, then that Chito S. Roño's Patayin sa Sindak si Barbara  (Star Cinema, 1995) is such a slog. From the beginning, this version does what it can to distance itself from the original. By relaxing the focus on Barbara, the remake sacrifices the intense empathy which made the original version so potent. If there was anything to replace that loss, it wouldn’t be an issue, but none of the new material ever coheres into anything more than placeholder scenes, exchanges which tease at depth and history without ever following through. As for the performances, Antoinette Taus (Karen) manages to suggest a sort of knowing detachment and Dawn Zulueta (Ruth) is easily the most compelling. As the hapless Nick, Tonton Gutierrez is a nonentity, fading from memory whenever he’s off screen. Lorna Tolentino’s Barbara is stronger, but she’s ill-served by the screenplay. Her charismatic presence is undone by a character who is independent, passive, paranoid and naïve by turns, without any consistent through-line to explain her behavior beyond a need to sustain the plot. It’s doubtful any performance, no matter how well-judged, could save the film. Patayin sa Sindak si Barbara  is, at best, a glossy, flat reminder that there is a better version of this story. At worst, it’s just flat.

     This high definition transfer is sourced from a brand new 2K restoration. The film looks healthy and  vibrant that it can easily fool someone to believe that it was shot less than a year or so ago. I upscaled this release to 4K and was quite overwhelmed by how great it looked. The improvements in terms of depth and delineation are staggering and since there are plenty of darker footage with specific nuances there are also entire segments with ranges of detail that are basically missing from previous releases. Fluidity is also very impressive, especially on a bigger screen. Furthermore, it is easy to tell that the entire film has been carefully color-graded because there are solid ranges of excellent organic primaries and even better ranges of beautiful nuances. Image stability is great with no traces of any compromising digital tinkering. Grain exposure is stable and very consistent. Lastly, there are no traces of conventional age-related imperfections. The quality of the 2-channel track is hugely impressive. The dialog is crystal clear and the overall dynamic movement is as good as it can possibly be. This is a great presentation.

Production Design: Ernest Santiago

Sound Effects Engineer: Gino Cruz

Editor: Jess Navarro

Musical Director: Jessie Lasaten

Screenplay: Ricardo Lee

Director of Photography: Joe Batac, FSC

Directed By: Chito S. Roño

     Gensan Punch looks fine on high definition with a few caveats. Source noise can spike with occasional bursts of thickness that reaches a level of annoyance, particularly in lower light scenes. Banding is a much smaller and barely noticeable concern. The digital video source is a little flat and edges of the frame occasionally appear smudgy rather than sharp. Flesh tones range from pasty to warm. That said, the image generally impresses. The digital shoot does allow for a fairly rich color palette, occasionally feeling a little dull and diluted but finds a more vibrantly sustained feel elsewhere, whether out on the streets of Gensan or in the boxing ring. Detail satisfies, with skin textures appearing nicely intimate and clothing textures sharp and naturally complex. Black levels hold deep and accurate. The lossless soundtrack is certainly not timid. It's very aggressive and loud, perhaps lacking finesse at its most vigorous but offering enough sonic activity to satisfy. Boxing matches are noticeably enthusiastic and complex with roaring crowds, heavy punches, microphone reverberations at introduction and chatter in the corners between rounds all vying for attention but with the most critical pieces always finding the right amount of prioritization above the din. Music is aggressive while tunes regularly spill into the back but always maintain a command of balance throughout. Dialogue is clear and front-center focused. Performances are exceptional and the fight scenes, very well composed and executed. HBO Max’s presentation of Gensan Punch delivers good video with very aggressive audio.

Directed By: Brillante Ma Mendoza

Screenplay: Honee Alipio

Director of Photography: Joshua A. Reyles

Production Designer: Dante Mendoza

Editors: Ysabelle Denoga, Armando Lao, Peter Arian Vito

Musical Director: Diwa de Leon

Sound: Mike Idioma, Alex Tomboc, Deo Van N. Fidelson

     This new digital transfer was created in 4K resolution from the 35mm positive film prints at Central Digital Lab. The restoration was undertaken by the Film Development Council of the Philippines (FDCP) and the Save Our Cinema Restoration Program of the Philippine Film Archive (PFA). The visuals have proper and solid density, the lack of compromising digital adjustments ensures an all-around stable organic appearance. The color grading is outstanding. There are nicely balanced and very healthy primaries, plus excellent ranges of supporting and equally healthy nuances. In terms of overall balance and fluidity this presentation is on an entirely different level, strengthening and preserving the film’s native organic qualities. There are no stability issues. Debris, damage marks, scratches, cuts, stains and all other distracting age-related imperfections have been completely removed. It’s an excellent restoration. The Vanishing Tribe's music effortlessly enhances the intended atmosphere and never disturbs the film's native dynamic balance. The dialog is clear, stable and very clean. There are no pops, audio dropouts or distortions. For decades of moviemaking, gayness has equaled coyness and that hasn’t changed even today. Yet there was one studio release from 1980 that directly and cleverly addressed the manner in which Filipino films deploy homosexual characters and more importantly, how audiences are instructed to engage or more often, disengage with them.

Screenplay: Ishmael Bernal

Music: Vanishing Tribe

Director of Photography: Sergio Lobo, FSC

Film Editor: Augusto Salvador

Sound Supervision: Vic Macamay

Production Design: Peque Gallaga

Directed By: Ishmael Bernal

     Perez’s imagery is a mash of surrealism and anachronism but underneath it is a fascination with the forces, external and internal, centered on sexual expression and the repression of religion. Tonya is gripped by religious fervor and frustrated sexuality that erupts in mass hysteria after Selda accuses her of possessing them. The eruption feels less like women being crazy and more like a society that strictly controls sexual desire and expression finally breaking down under the weight of undirected sexual energy. Ricardo Lee’s screenplay is an intelligent discussion about the nature of sex, desire and religiosity. Perez's style in itself gives the film a sense that we are watching things that are larger, wilder than real life. Emmanuelle and Lopez display their considerable talents to the extreme. Lopez finds sympathy and pathos in Tonya, a woman warped by her society and religion. Emmanuelle runs the gamut of emotions, but it is in Selda's quietest and most introspective moments that she finds greatest depth and meaning.

     Presented in an aspect ratio of 1.85:1, encoded with MPEG-4 AVC and granted a 1080p transfer, Elwood Perez’s Silip arrives on Blu-ray courtesy of Mondo Macabro. Upgrade in quality is significant. In some areas, the improved shadow definition and overall clarity are so big that details are now easy to see. Those with large screens will instantly recognize the vastly superior fluidity. Now, the entire film boasts solid organic visuals with plenty of striking nuances. There are no traces of problematic degraining or sharpening. The color palette promotes richer primaries. Needless to say, the overall balance is more convincing and image stability is excellent. There are no damage marks, cuts, scratches, stains or other conventional age-related imperfections. I viewed the entire film with the original Tagalog DTS-HD Master Audio 2.0 track and did not encounter any technical anomalies. Depth and overall balance remains pleasing. Dynamic intensity is excellent and at times pulls a few surprises with some terrific separation. This release also features a superior selection of bonus features. Silip is a serious film grappling with deeper theological concepts than it is perhaps given credit for in the midst of its apparent madness.

Sound Engineer: Vic Macamay

Production Designer: Aped Santos

Film Editor: Edgardo "Boy" Vinarao

Screenplay: Ricardo Lee

Music: Lutgardo Labad

Cinematography: Johnny Araojo

Directed By: Elwood Perez

     Lino Brocka, a tireless cinematic champion of the underdog has marched under this banner from the start. He plies his viewers with plenty of scenes in which characters debate the finer points of syndicalist strategy, but he also scatters petals of whimsy to nourish the senses. In Bayan Ko Kapit sa Patalim (Malaya Films, Stephan Films, 1984), there is a passionate discussion in which the laborers debate the pros of union membership. There are also several tense arguments about the conflicting demands of family security and worker solidarity. As if to balance these moments, there is also Phillip Salvador in the role of Arturo "Turing" Manalastas and Gina Alajar as his wife, Luz whose performances transform the film into a vital and complex piece of political art. Brocka maintains a humble respect for his characters and an unsentimental eye for the difficulties they face. While unequivocally on the side of the union, Brocka’s keen sense of contradiction and storytelling keeps his propagandistic impulses in check. As a result, the film makes a powerfully persuasive case and gives way to the gloom and frustration of summary firings and workplace abuse. 

     The new 4K restoration of Bayan Ko Kapit sa Patalim is simply fantastic. Detail and especially image depth are enormously impressive. The blockiness and sharpening have been replaced with flawless contrast and at times truly overwhelmingly beautiful blacks and whites. The problematic nighttime footage also looks excellent. Shadow definition and clarity are dramatically improved in every single sequence. Furthermore, there are absolutely no traces of problematic lab tinkering. Naturally, the high-quality grain scan is evenly distributed throughout the entire film. Color depth and saturation, especially where there is plenty of natural light are also terrific. There are absolutely no debris, scratches, cuts, warps or larger damage marks. I watched Bayan Ko Kapit sa Patalim with the Tagalog DTS-HD Mono Audio. The dialogue is crisp, clear, stable, better balanced and easy to follow. Le Chat qui Fume's restoration of Lino Brocka's Bayan Ko Kapit sa Patalim, one of Philippine Cinema's masterpieces is enormously impressive. Beautifully restored in 4K the film looks astonishingly good, the best it ever has.

Direction: Lino Brocka

Screenplay: Jose F. Lacaba

Director of Photography: Conrado Baltazar

Production Design: Joey Luna

Film Editor: George Jarlego

Music: Jess Santiago

Sound: Rudy Baldovino, Willie Islao

 

     This high definition transfer is noticeably darker and burnished looking with an emphasis on almost yellow-orange tones that can give things a painterly air. The film's rather bracing stylistic quirks are nicely rendered here adding skewed perspectives and various hues basically drenching the frame with detail levels remarkably intact throughout. The material also has excellent contrast and detail levels, despite a somewhat psychedelic approach that can superimpose image on image and the like. There are a number of hallucinatory moments in Purgatoryo which probably don't have the same kind of wow factor that, say, a contemporary multilayered enterprise might offer, but there is still appealing immersion with both clear panning effects and discrete placement of individual effects in some of the visionary moments in particular. Dialogue is rendered cleanly and clearly throughout. Bryan Dumaguina's ethereal score in particular sounds beautifully full bodied and spacious. The ideas that Cabrido puts forth are powerful and poignant. It’s drama of a vision at the end of the line as he knew it. Even in death, Purgatoryo hears the faint sounds of harmony.

Directed By: Roderick Cabrido

Screenplay: Denise O'Hara, Joseph Israel Laban

Cinematographers: Mycko David, Cesca Lee

Production Designer: Steff Dereja

Editor: Mark Cyril Bautista

Sound Design: Yves G. Patron

Music: Bryan Dumaguina

      Reroute features a gorgeous black-and-white presentation. Vivamax's release, sourced from an HD video shoot, reveals incredible detail throughout. Image clarity is striking and accuracy helps accentuate the finest facial and clothing textures, not to mention an abundance of beautiful, everyday elements throughout the film. Every scene springs to life with a beautiful natural accuracy that feels almost accentuated in black-and-white, allowing the viewer to focus more on objects rather than detail and color simultaneously. The black-and-white photography looks wonderful, with deep blacks and natural shades of gray gracing the screen. The image suffers from no perceptible banding, excess noise or blockiness. This is a fine, reference-quality transfer that will dazzle, even with the absence of color. The soundtrack offers a limited-range listen, but one that's nevertheless well-defined within those parameters. There's only simple sound effects lightly swooshing across the front with little more than a basic structural realism. A few other ambient effects play with a decent lifelike presence, at least as much as a track minus surround channels can create. Musical delivery is smooth and accurate, playing with neither shallowness nor aggressiveness, finding instead a firm, pleasing middle ground. Dialogue dominates the picture and plays with effective front-center presence and volume. The track delivers all that's required with ease. The stirring, impressive final stretch ensures that the whole thing finishes on an exceedingly compelling note, which ultimately confirms Reroute's place as a perpetually watchable thriller.

Directed By: Lawrence Fajardo

Screenplay: Byron Bryant

Director of Photography: Joshua A. Reyles

Production Design: Law Fajardo

Musical Scorer: Peter Legaste

Editing: Law Fajardo

Sound: Immanuel Verona

     The film illustrates their frame of reference, so we can comprehend how they live, make decisions and target their victims. This empathic approach is meant to make us cringe at the fast-paced world in which they live and die. Clearly, Perez wants us to see things we are unable or, more likely, unwilling to see. So he comes to us with a powerful ferocity, assaulting our defenses to alter our critical perspectives. Consequently, Sitio Diablo has an implicit argument - that filmmakers must possess a social conscience. Art must intrude into and open up closed worlds. His is a kind of liberation aesthetic that sheds light on serious social matters. No doubt, Perez's pedagogy is based on strong impulse and conviction that life can persevere amid the most painful, shocking circumstances. His depiction subverts traditional conventions. Ordinarily, audiences approach fictive narratives by suspending their disbelief. Perez disrupts this willful suspension by drawing explicit attention to his techniques, so the audience can understand how his choices are as much a part of the narrative as the characters, settings and conflicts. With Perez, there is a burning desire for expression and this burning doesn't allow him to function as a detached expositor. Perez and writer Enrique Villasis place their protagonist in an unwelcoming world alive with deadly horrors and through Bullet, we understand the smell of the slums and the problems posed by roving, rootless masculine groups.

Directed By: Roman Perez, Jr.

Screenplay: Enrique S. Villasis

Production Designer: JC Catiggay

Director of Photography: Alex Espartero

Editor: Chrisel Desuasido

Musical Scorer: Francis de Veyra

Sound Engineer: Immanuel Verona, Fatima Nerikka Salim

     The most immediate sensation conjured by Haplos (Mirick Films International, 1982) is that of time passing. Director Antonio Jose Perez's decision to shoot in a boxy 1.33:1 aspect ratio, enhances the film’s dreamlike tone. Haplos asks its viewers to experience and ponder rather than bouncing to beats that they're used to, while challenging and asking its audience to explore the space, mood and story being told. It wants you to feel rather than expect to be entertained or enlightened. For some, that will be too big a task, especially as the film's scant narrative ponders huge themes of fate, legacy and relationships rather than actually answering them. Perez's presence looms large, becoming more decisive as Haplos reaches the hour mark. Before then, he strikes up a particularly potent symmetry with Auring (Rio Locsin), using minimal movement or dialogue to create striking, resting images and allowing her the time to convey something that she does in a patient but affecting manner. Then, with half an hour left, Perez grabs a hold of the film and whiplashes it in a variety of directions that are, in the moment, perplexing. So much so that by the film's conclusion you know that you've felt something. You won't actually be able to fully explain what you experienced, but it definitely stays with you.

     Clara (Charo Santos) brings the same degree of sympathy to Monica’s mother, Aling Charing working alongside a brief appearance by Perla Bautista. Jay Ilagan also delivers a strong turn as Monica's abusive husband Tato, though his scenes are mostly in flashback. Brutal is a movie that pays careful attention to detail: Note how Cynthia quickly registers as a very different kind of woman from Monica. And watch through Austria’s ravishingly honest performance, how Monica becomes a shadow in the flashback scenes, wanting to reach out, but unable to take that step. The observations, nuances, and revelations all add up to a masterful narrative structure. Rather than following characters through the day-to-day transactions, Brutal interrupts the flow with its flashback structure. These flashbacks are interestingly integrated with a visual consistency and sharp delineation of actors in middle-distance beautifully shot by Manolo R. Abaya. The associations that link the past and the present are controlled by Monica's distant stares. 

     There is not a monumental shift or dramatic enhancements on display here, but the image is still very good. Viewers will note moderately sharper elements -  faces, clothes, trinkets around interiors, building exteriors, but there is not a major leap forward for textural detail, tactile definition or overall elemental clarity. Such are in evidence, but this not one of those leaps-and-bounds superior type images. Still, it holds to a perfectly filmic image with a few shots here and there that look a little processed and smooth, but it's difficult to tell where photographic characteristics stop and digital manipulation begins. The color grading brings some tinkering and tweaking to the palette, offering the usual array of benefits, including deeper overall tones, more color authenticity and tonal subtlety, and at times a slightly grayer appearance. The image also benefits from general signs of improvement to whites (more brilliant) and blacks (deeper and more absorbing without crushing out details). Likely a victim of terribly uninteresting sound design, this soundtrack rarely leaves the comfort of the center channel. Dialogue is delivered adequately sometimes fighting with ambient noise that seems to come almost exclusively from the middle. Abaya keeps our minds constantly in gear by making us fill in the blanks she leaves behind. Brutal is the epitome of what makes film a unique medium: the ability to tell stories through moving pictures.

Screenplay: Ricardo Lee

Musical Director: George Canseco

Production Design: Don Escudero

Film Editors: Manolo R. Abaya, Mark Tarnate

Sound: Amang Sanchez

Director of Photography: Manolo R. Abaya

Directed By; Marilou Diaz-Abaya

     Emma makes love for Ben's horny amusement. She's in a moment of intimate pause that's only for us, the camera and the audience. There's no similar instant for contemplation in the ensuing narrative, seeing as Emma is constantly on the alert, seducing and setting the pieces on her mental chessboard that will result in a most astonishing checkmate. For her part, Khang is brilliant at this kind of opaque character construction. That's what attracts men in the film to her Emma. She feels impenetrable, a challenging impossibility that harkens back to how audiences regarded bigger-than-life movie stars. She's out of this world, but instead of alienation, this personal quality produces intractable attraction. Consider the seduction of her lover, Alfred (Paolo Gumabao). Cocksure and touched by a hint of self-aggrandizing intoxication, he never quite catches on to the full depth of Emma's deception. The way she does it is effortless, she tosses off her commands, aloof but never completely uninvested. The femme fatale never hides her contempt for the lesser creatures at her feet, becoming all the more eager to get a sign of unachievable approval. All that, and there's the way she moves. Khang embodies a physical demeanor characterized by great confidence that it's difficult to regard her as a sexual object. Alejandre deserves plenty of plaudits too. Ricky Lee’s screenplay is taut and gripping revealing devastating surprises along the way.

Sound Engineer: Immanuel Veroba

Musical Director: Von de Guzman

Production Designer: Ericson Navarro

Editor: Benjo Ferrer

Director of Photography: Daniel "Toto" Uy

Screenplay: Ricky Lee

Directed By: MacArthur C. Alejandre

     Naglalayag is a romance between Dorinda and Noah (Yul Servo), two people in search of an unnameable connection, and we warm to the way they find solace in each other. But the fleeting nature of this affair is its most golden element; it is romantic precisely because it can't last. In the end, Naglalayag is really a romance of the self, a celebration of the person you can become when someone else touches you deeply. We're all souvenirs of our own experiences, and what we take away from love affairs is sometimes of more value than what we gain when we try to wrest them into some ill-fitting frame of permanence. A kept memento is a sad thing, but a memory remains alive and supple forever. It's the flower you don't catch, the one you never crush by pressing it into a book. Dorinda's triumph in Naglalayag isn't a conquering of loneliness - some form of that will always be with her. Dorinda's victory is that she has said yes - not just to a younger man but to herself. Loneliness can't be cured, but it can change shape. What appealed to me in the idea of Naglalayag? Loneliness - a more common emotion than love, but we speak less about it. We are ashamed of it. We think perhaps that it shows a deficiency in ourselves. That if we were more attractive, more entertaining, and less ordinary, we would not be lonely.

Sound Engineers: Nestor Arvin Mutia, Angie Reyes

Editor: Jesus Navarro

Music: Gardy Labad

Production Designer: Randy Gamier

Director of Photography: Odyssey 'Odie' Flores

Screenplay: Irma Dimaranan

Directed By: Maryo J. delos Reyes

     A hit-and-run lands a detective in more trouble than he could have ever imagined in A Hard Day (Viva Films, Inc., 2021), a thriller that finds director Law Fajardo handling a taut yet elaborately plotted narrative with control and near-faultless technical execution. Edmund Villon's (Dingdog Dantes) resourcefulness and resistance to intimidation makes us root for him, despite his professional conduct, and lack of moral fiber. In a morbid example of necessity being the mother of invention, Villon  hits upon a novel way of disposing the body in an extraordinary stunt sequence. With increased freneticism, Fajardo moves Villon relentlessly forward in the face of an obstacle course filled with pop-up hurdles and an occasional kick in the gut. Dantes’s disciplined performance ties all of A Hard Day’s inventions together, investing the film with visceral panic. He plays Villon as a henpecked nice guy, this delusion serving as a self-fulfilling prophecy. 

     Just about the time it seems Fajardo should soon be running on empty, he introduces a new threat, Lieutenant Ace Franco. Played by a spectacular John Arcilla adding a bespoke dash to the villainous picture, he slides into the story and soon engulfs it. Arcilla has a face that can freeze into a stone-cold slab of pure malice. Fajardo keeps the chaos moving at a breathless tempo. He's a remarkably fluid orchestrator of action kinetics, always springing his surprises a beat faster than one expects only to occasionally slow things down to prevent the viewer from acclimating to his quicksilver timing. An explosion is timed with nightmarish precision perhaps because Fajardo caps a phenomenal, self-consciously Hitchcockian set piece with an unexpected commonplace payoff. Throughout, the images are sleek and silvery informing the debauchery with an aura of impersonality. A Hard Day is ultimately a parody of self-entitlement, though the carnage dramatically registers. The filmmakers walks as many tightropes as Villon does, and one gratefully submits to their dexterity.

Directed By: Law Fajardo

Screenplay: Arlene Tamayo

Production Designer: Mark Sabas

Director of Photography: Rodolfo Aves Jr.

Edited By: Law Fajardo

Musical Score: Peter Legaste, Rephael Catap

Sound Engineers: Alex J. Tomboc, Pietro Marco S. Javier