SARI-SARING SINENG PINOY

     Miss Granny (Viva Films, CJ Entertainment, 2018),  Bb. Joyce Bernal's Filipino adaptation of the hit South Korean comic-fantasy film, begins with the recollection of seventy-year-old widow, Fely (Nova Villa), that before she had a son, she couldn’t imagine living past thirty. Yet she survived enough hardships to evolve into a tough woman who says what’s on her mind, steamrollering and upsetting almost everyone in her path. Meanwhile, Ramon's (Nonie Buencamino) wife, Angie (Lotlot de Leon), develops a heart condition exasperated by her mother-in-law's nonstop nitpicking. When she ends up hospitalized, Angie's doctor says that if she doesn't live a life filled with less stress, her husband will end up a widower. He makes the difficult decision to send his mother away, promising that when his wife recovers, they will bring her back home. Buencamino does a wonderful job playing Ramon. During this melancholic moment, Fely comes across the Forever Young photo studio and decides to have her portrait taken. When she exits, she becomes her twenty-year-old self named Odrey (Sarah Geronimo) and though she may resemble Audrey Hepburn, with her gamine body and wispy bangs, she is decidedly uncoy. Odrey is coarse and crabby and has nothing to lose; she’s a grumpy grandmother with perfect teeth and a flexible physique. As Odrey, she joins her grandson Jeboy’s (James Reid) heavy metal band and transforms it into a pop group, all while winning Jeboy's affection and Lorenz (Xian Lim) a young man who runs an American Idol - style television show. When Jeboy initially flirts with her, Odrey deals with it hilariously, recalling to herself that his game is as clumsy as that of his grandfather — her deceased husband. Soon, the two take on a more sibling-like relationship, helping Jeboy transform his band into an (almost) overnight sensation. Meanwhile, Bert (Boboy Garovillo), an older friend recognizes that she’s her younger self. 

     While the broad comedy is entertaining (a youthful Odrey blowing on her grandson’s food and force-feeding him), the film also takes unexpected darker turns. “Nobody raised her son better than I did — that’s why he is so good to me!” Fely shouts during a disagreement with Ramon. This weird comedy meanders into heartfelt, complex areas about the regrets, attachments and abandonment of the aged. Geronimo does a wonderful job playing Odrey. Feisty and adorable, she has the mannerisms of a septuagenarian down pat. Some of the film's best moments are the musical numbers. Geronimo sings all her own songs displaying a pure, lovely voice that harkens back to a time when vocalists could sing beautifully without any assistance. Ultimately Miss Granny is shamelessly sentimental about the virtues of maternal sacrifice (we’re supposed to forgive Fely’s behavior when her single mother backstory is revealed) and the sanctity of the family. There are more than a few holes in the story’s logic, it’s contrived in spots to prevent the narrative from coming to a dead halt where characters acted like normal people, and its increasingly elaborate production numbers leading up to the big show panders to younger viewers. But films like Miss Granny live on the appeal of the performers, and Geronimo almost single-handedly saves the day with her pitch perfect and often hilarious spin on the young Fely.

Directed By: Bb. Joyce Bernal

Screenplay: Jinky Laurel

Director of Photography: Rody Lacap

Musical Director: Len Calvo

Sound Engineers: Albert Michael Idioma, Lamberto A. Casas, Jr.

Editors: Chrisel G. Desuasido, Bb. Joyce Bernal

Production Designer: Shari Marie Montiague

     Peque Gallaga and Lore Reyes' Magic Temple (Star Cinema Productions, Inc., 1996) is a glitzy, glamorous and rollickingly fun fantasy film that doesn't match for story their other well-known fantasy masterpiece, Once Upon A Time, although Magic Temple does one-up the 1987 classic in a number of areas, notable among them the immaculately-designed creatures that populate the film. Though still a dark story with traditional motifs and characters, Magic Temple does well to lend a lighter side to the proceedings. Song and dance, comedy and action all blend into the overreaching fantasy story arc and to very good effect. It's clear from the beginning that Magic Temple sets out to deliver a good old time at the movies and it doesn't disappoint. Escapist entertainment in the truest sense, Magic Temple brings to life a world populated by good and evil, and cuddly and scary characters where danger and laughs all await those that dare enter its inviting yet perilous and altogether fantastical world. The kingdom of Samadhi is populated by a host of fascinating characters. Magic Temple is a rare movie where even tertiary characters with a few fleeting moments of screen time enjoy such a robust and memorable presence allowing the creative minds behind-the-scenes to shine. Jason Salcedo (Jubal), Junnel Hernando (Sambag) and Marc Solis (Omar) deliver the goods. The three protagonists does well to convey thoughts, both theirs and the audience's. Their effort is breezy and sure, and gains a confidence that serves them well as the film moves on to the climax. Jackie Lou Blanco's Ravenal delivers a cheerful effort as a villain that's done a dastardly deed but has so much sinister fun in the process that it's hard not to like the character on some level. Aside from the cast, Magic Temple's most notable feature, particularly when viewing the film in retrospect is its decidedly 1990s flair. The film's song-and-dance numbers cannot help but engender an instant flashback to the era.

     Magic Temple's restoration pays off in a big way on high definition. The image is noticeably tighter, sharpening up many of the finer details like clothing lines, hair and environmental details. The leap isn't as drastic in foreground elements, but it's worthwhile. The high definition's benefit seems more clear in objects further from the screen, where the uptick in clarity is significant. Colors are more nuanced. They're not punchier, but the palette enjoys a clearly greater range of subtle shadings that give the movie a fuller look, but at the same time one that's slightly less aggressive. The palette feels more natural and the color hasn't pushed the image to overheating. It's a very natural image, beautiful in motion, and perfectly complementary of the movie's many areas of exploration. Black levels are excellent, flesh tones retain that slight rosiness. Viewers aren't going to walk away disappointed. Magic Temple is a good movie that's been given a fantastic restoration. The picture quality is a work of art and the two-channel sound embodies all of the good qualities the track has to offer, including spacious front side presence, a healthy and balanced support structure and more pleasantly robust bass. Clarity is terrific, smaller support atmospherics are well integrated and positioned. Dialogue is clear and detailed, always well prioritized. This is an exceptional soundtrack that, literally, brings a new layer of excellence to Magic Temple's sound experience.

Sound Engineer: Albert Michael Idioma

Editor: Danny Gloria. FEGMP

Music By: Archie Castillo

Production Designer: Rodell Cruz

Director of Photography: Joe Tutanes, F.S.C.

Screenplay: Peque Gallaga, Lore Reyes

Directed By: Peque Gallaga, Lore Reyes

     McArthur C. Alejandre's Call Me Alma (Viva Films, 2023) has the energy and almost surreptitious illumination of the best improvised work. Daniel “Toto” Uy’s cinematography gives the film an exacting look that cuts nicely against the gathering force of Ricky Lee's screenplay. With a combination of power and grace, Jaclyn Jose delivers one of the more memorable performances of her career as Sheila. This is no small feat, given the depth and breadth of Jose’s filmography and her consistent ability to produce great work. She’s such an instinctive actress that never hits a false note. Jose finds unexpected avenues into her character, a challenging role that requires her to show a mental deterioration that’s inherently internal. When the reality of her situation begins to set in, Sheila’s fear and anxiety turn, at times to hysteria. In other hands these moments could veer into melodrama, but Jose earns the viewer’s empathy. Her glossy circumstances disappear into the background, and all we see is an ailing woman, overwhelmed by her fate. While Alma (Azi Acosta) speaks, Sheila’s face reflects a complex interplay of emotions. The idea of recriminatory conflict between mother and daughter seems fair enough as Jose and Acosta invest their roles with undeniable emotional conviction and impact. 

     Shaking off the solemnity that smothers many well-meaning, high-minded family film, Sarah... Ang Munting Prinsesa (Star Cinema, 1995) revels in an exuberant sense of play, drawing its viewers into the wittily heightened reality of a fairy tale. The material, like the title, is a tad precious, but the finished film is much too spirited for that to matter. Sarah... Ang Munting Prinsesa also arrives without the benefit of big names making it even more of an unself-conscious delight. As directed by Romy V. Suzara, the film takes enough liberties to re-invent rather than embalm Frances Hodgson Burnett's assiduously beloved story. There's a hint of magical realism to the spring and fluidity of Suzara's storytelling and it breathes unexpected new life into this fable. The tale unfolds in a fanciful, expressive and handsome set that's almost entirely green. This building is the girls' school to which Sarah Crewe (Camille Prats) is relegated after an exotic childhood spent in India. And it has been ingeniously rendered to inspire all the awe and terror a child in such altered circumstances might feel. In this film's harmonious world, anything can conspire to intensify the characters' thoughts. Suzara makes that clear from the opening sequence that sets the prevailing tone of inviting artificiality. Left in England to be educated while her father, Capt. Crewe (Mat Ranillo III) takes care of his mining business, Sarah finds herself under the wing of Miss Minchin (Jean Garcia), the schoolmistress whose fondness for her students is directly linked to their parents' financial standing. Since Sarah is rich enough to earn the nickname of the title, she is very well-treated, at least while the money holds out.

     Admired by schoolmates who wear matching middy dresses, Sarah is given ostentatiously grand quarters that befit her initial status. In keeping with the story's spirit of noblesse oblige, she finds time to befriend younger girls and charm them with her storytelling skills. Sarah also makes friends with Becky (Angelica Panganiban), the school's scullery maid who becomes her greatest ally once she experiences a severe reversal of fortune. Sarah is both patrician and bereft, with only the magic of her own daydreams to sustain her. As written by Shaira Mella-Salvador, the film injects some elements of contemporary reality into a tale that could well have remained unrelievedly quaint. Less an actors' film than a series of elaborate tableaux, it has a visual eloquence that extends well beyond the limits of its story. This restoration is a bit brighter, but I have to say neither the brightness nor the color grading struck me as unusual or inauthentic looking. While contrast is good, the increased brightness can tend to slightly blanch some scenes, but again I found nothing overly problematic in the presentation. Detail levels are excellent throughout and routinely high in close-ups where everything from the opulent fabrics in the sumptuous costumes attain an almost palpable ambience. Grain resolves naturally, though it has moments of definite uptick in some selected scenes. Sarah... Ang Munting Prinsesa features a 2.0 mix that fully supports the gorgeous music of Nonong Buencamino. Dialogue is presented cleanly and clearly and the track shows no signs of damage. To see Sarah whirling ecstatically in her attic room on a snowy night, exulting in the feelings summoned by an evocative sight in a nearby window, is to know just how stirringly lovely a children's film can be.

Sound Supervisor: Ramon Reyes

Production Designer: Manny Morfe

Editor: Edgardo "Boy' Vinarao

Musical Director: Nonong Buencamino

Director of Photography: Ely Cruz, F.S.C.

Written By: Shaira Mella-Salvador

Directed By: Romy V. Suzara

     Ishmael Bernal builds and reinforces a mood with unexpected techniques that are simple, personal and resoundingly effective from the movie's opening moments. There are no suffocating close-ups in Hinugot sa Langit (Regal Films, Inc., 1985), instead, individual shots are long and leisurely. The camera movement flows, following the characters as they move about their world. Gradually, this lived-in feeling allows us to inhabit their world, too, and with that comes, not just an understanding but an actual feel for what it must have been like. Perhaps unsurprisingly, offscreen space plays an essential role in the film’s construction. Cinematographer Rody Lacap works with a mostly fixed camera here; the unconventional framing makes us aware of a larger environment and context. In one of the film’s most extraordinary sequences Carmen (Maricel Soriano), is sitting at the doctor's office. Her mind is elsewhere. She is worried. If things go wrong her life could be ruined. Bernal places Carmen at the center of the frame and shows her in a long take as the conversation happens. This is an aspect of consciousness, a moment in life, that we've all experienced. We've all been scared and feeling outside the general mirth. Yet, I've never seen this reality conveyed in a Filipino movie before. The scene is unbearably tense, not because Bernal shows us that Carmen is tense, but rather because he puts us at the table with her, and he does so long enough that we soon feel what she is feeling. The near-constant tension between narrative and image, between what we expect to see and what we are actually shown, makes Bernal’s insert shot all the more essential. Virtually every shot has something novel about it, either in its technique, emotional weight, psychological perception or a combination of all three. 

      Few films have never been as visually enthralling as Lawrence Fajardo’s latest. Everything from camera angles to scene transitions exudes longing. Sugapa (Viva Films, 2023) is an ill-fated romance, and that desirous mood grows until it overwhelms. It's a film about yearning and dependence, which later translates to love, both of which is attainable and unfeasible for lead characters Ben (Aljur Abrenica) and Ana (AJ Raval). The somewhat languid nature of their romance is never stale, nothing seems forced or exaggerated. Sugapa has Fajardo at his most restrained narrative-wise, yet that doesn’t affect the prowess of his directorial abilities nor the thematic expansiveness of the story at hand. Most cinematic romances tell us what to think, having characters state what they feel early on or inviting us to share lustful gazes. Fajardo does it the hard way, building up a complex psychological relationship in which sexual desire feels like an emergent characteristic rather than a starting point. When Ben and Anna focus on one another, the result seems so specific, so intense, as to be incompatible with any other aspect of life. It is also the kind of relationship which can make other people – including the audience – feel shut out, even rejected. The tension between the two extends like a taut wire that sits burdened under the weight of miscommunication, but also threatens to snap at the peak of their vulnerability. A shift in the second half recontextualizes aspects of the first half, but in this shift, Ana's story is more heightened. Over the course of Sugapa, Fajardo continuously elevates what we're watching and the film is never too much to handle. 

     Lino Brocka's Nakaw na Pag-ibig (Associated Entertainment Corporation, 1980) is a work of beauty, tenderness, power and insight. It is a tribute to deft dramatization that the principals are projected fully as the maelstrom of life in which they are trapped and with which they are unable to cope. One may argue that Brocka has given only surface treatment to the society which appears to propel Robert de Asis (Phillip Salvador) to his tragic end and accentuated his love affairs, groping for a higher rung in the social ladder. That it becomes apparent, is basically captious. Robert is obviously an intelligent young man whose background has not equipped him for anything better than menial endeavor. And it is not surprising that the lonely, brooding Robert will find an answer to his crying need for companionship in his drab, unlettered and equally lonely co-worker, Corazon Rivera (Nora Aunor). The forces pushing him to the final, horrible retribution are obvious and a tribute to the naturalism of Theodore Dreiser as he is suddenly exposed to the overwhelming opulence of Cynthia Ocampo (Hilda Koronel) to whose love he succumbs. Corazon becomes a nagging, inconvenient, and homely presence next to Cynthia's beauty. As Robert’s romance with Cynthia blossoms and he falls in love firmly secures the possibility of his better life in high society. At the same time, Robert repeatedly lies and breaks promises to Corazon, refusing to marry her. His desire that she just go away transforms into a murderous impulse when Corazon threatens to endanger any goodwill he’s established with Cynthia’s family. Rather than break it off, he strings her along—and so, quite understandably, she expects Robert to marry her. Since his basic upbringing does not permit him to callously desert Corazon—now frantic with the knowledge that she is bearing his child—he takes surreptitious steps to remedy his untenable position. This phase of his ordeal is a wholly tasteful and compelling handling of a delicate situation. The questions of his morals and intrinsic cowardice here are placed squarely in the eyes of the viewer. With similar integrity, the drama depicts Corazon's death and the subsequent mounting terror and confusion of her lover, faced with the enormity of the tragedy and the reiteration of the insidious thought that while he did not commit murder he must have willed it.  And, Robert, grappling with a transgression he cannot fully comprehend, is a pitiful, yet strangely brave individual as he explains his act and convictions in court. 

     Salvador's portrayal, often terse and hesitating, is full, rich, restrained and, above all, generally credible. Equally poignant is Aunor's characterization of the ill-fated Corazon. Aunor, in my opinion, has never been seen to better advantage than as the colorless factory hand, beset by burgeoning anxieties but clinging to a love she hopes can be rekindled. Under Brocka's expert direction, Koronel's delineation of the rich and beauteous Cynthia is the top effort of her career. It’s a shaded, tender performance and one in which her passionate and genuine romance avoids the bathos common to love as it sometimes comes to the screen. Salvador immersed himself in the weak and insecure morality of his character, resulting in a nervous, sweaty performance. Aunor downplayed her looks with almost no makeup, playing it frumpy and pathetic. But the understanding of their respective characters varies. Aunor played her role from start to finish as a dreary, but no less empathetic innocent in love who was seemingly destined to be disappointed by Robert. Brocka understood Corazon and directed her to be a lusterless character. Salvador played his role under the notion that Robert is unsympathetic, unsophisticated, and ambitious, not realizing that his good looks would do a great deal to counteract his interpretation. Nakaw na Pag-ibig tapers its concentration on the central romance, a cruel affair on Robert’s part that, today, the audience nonetheless wants to see because of the legendary stars involved. This is despite Cynthia's underdeveloped character being a little more than an attractive status symbol to Robert, and despite Aunor's excellent turn as a pitiable victim. Even today, watching the otherwise capable film is an exercise in the appreciation of fine acting and competent direction, as opposed to a heartfelt tragedy, salient sociopolitical text, or believable romance.

Screenplay: Eddie Naval Based on a Story By Theodore Dreiser

Director of Photography: Conrado Baltazar, F.S.C.

Music: George Canseco

Film Editor: Augusto Salvador

Art Direction: Joey Luna

Sound Supervision: Ben L. Patajo

Directed By: Lino Brocka

     One thing is certain: director Bobby Bonifacio, Jr. comprehends stifling dread in the most profound sense. With a grief-soaked story of ancestral vulnerability (you can’t pick your relatives, can you?), his terrifying and startlingly confident, Numbalikdiwa (2006) proved as much. Bonifacio fidgets with that peculiar breathlessness once again throughout Kahalili (Viva Films, 2023), a cinematic sacrament that dances around a fruitless relationship in dizzying circles. But be prepared to feel equally suffocated (albeit, a chosen, cultish kind) all the same. In the midst of wide-open surroundings we may be, but Bonifacio still wants us to crave and kick for oxygen, perhaps in a less claustrophobic and more agoraphobic fashion. The tangible dread in Kahalili—oftentimes charged by tight choreography and atmospheric compositions—is so recognizably out of Numbalikdiwa that you'll immediately distinguish the connective headspace responsible for both tales. And yet, this psychedelic thriller is different by way of Bonifacio’s loosened thematic restraint. You won’t exactly feel lost while disemboweling Bonifacio’s inviting beast, this is also a fitting way to describe the location where most of the story unfolds. There is only a slack sense of yesterday and tomorrow in Bonifacio’s locale of choice where an endless string of hallucinatory traditions are exercised in broad daylight.  

    We follow  Martha (Stephanie Raz), Bonifacio’s second fearless female lead after Meryll Soriano, playing a character marked by something unspeakable. In a deeply scarred, emotionally unrestricted performance—you might hear her screams in your nightmares, Martha isn’t on her own, she's with her self-absorbed longtime boyfriend Carlos (Victor Relosa, convincingly egotistical). When Martha arrives, a couple, Isabel (Millen Gal) and Rod (Sid Lucero) respectively, Bonifacio forgoes the aforesaid narrative economy for something sinister. The sneaky hex Bonifacio casts has that tight grip, on both the characters and the audience. Sex and death, a source of so much pain and anxiety are here as part of life's unending cycle. Kahalili is in no rush to solve its mysteries. The third act is full of surreal images of revelry and ritual sacrifice. The unburdened surplus of lengthy customs does overshadow some of the film’s potentially ripe avenues of interest. But the invigorating reward here is the ultimate sovereignty you will find in Martha, a surrogate for any woman who ever excused an inconsiderate male, rationalized his unkind words or thoughtless non-apologies. Raz knows it in the film's final shot. And you will know it too, so intensely that her freedom might just feel like therapy.   

Sound Design: Armand de Guzman

Music: Emerzon Texon

Editors: Nelson Villamayor, Noah Tonga

Production Designers: Sigrid T. Polon, Junebert Cantilla

Director of Photography: Michael Hernree J. Babista

Screenplay: Juvy Galamiton

Directed By: Bobby Bonifacio, Jr.

     In Lino Brocka's Maynila sa mga Kuko Ng Liwanag (Cinema Artists, 1975), Manila is a libertarian dystopia where poverty breeds its own predators and victims as the city's poor grasp for the little wealth that hasn't yet been distributed. When Julio Madiaga (Rafael Roco Jr,), a young man from the province arrives in Manila to search for his lost love Ligaya Paraiso (Hilda Koronel), he's robbed of what little cash he has. Forced to work so he can afford the bare necessities of life, Julio finds a job in an unsafe construction site in which the workers allow their employer to pocket a chunk of their pay for fear of losing their only job. Soon, Julio finds himself working as a male prostitute even if it requires a different kind of sacrifice. Brocka's Manila is ambivalent to Julio's pain and its indifference, the city stamps out every glimmer of hope in his life. There's a deep undercurrent of anger and frustration to Julio's journey. A casual conversation between construction workers is followed by a fatal accident when a rope holding a bucket of water is released and falls from the height of a few stories. At this moment, the smooth, neorealist-influenced camerawork is traded for a quickly edited shot/reverse-shot montage between the bucket and the face of the man standing below it. The bucket hits him and he dies. Stupid, meaningless and avoidable. This harsh, stylized moment of violence, one of several, contrasts with the more subdued tone of the rest of the film. It's a signal to the audience that no matter how hard the characters struggle, this world is indifferent to their pain. Even as Julio scours the city, building relationships with people he meets and getting closer to his goal of finding Ligaya, these short fits of violence and emotion disrupt the complacency of the characters to their situation, suggesting that there's tragedy to be found in their acceptance of such a fate. Maynila sa mga Kuko ng Liwanag, with its extended scenes of working-class struggle punctuated by moments of harrowing, highly stylized violence suggests that violent reactions should be expected from a society that preys on the vulnerable. By the time Julio reaches his final confrontation with Ah Tek (Tommy Yap), an act of stupid, violent catharsis feels like his only possible course of action. 

     Lupita A. Concio’s Minsa’y Isang Gamu-Gamo (Premiere Productions, Inc.,1976) is one of those films whose great qualities put its elements in sharp relief. Proof is in Nora Aunor’s performance, a chameleonic disappearance into the role. The way she inhabits Corazon de la Cruz with wounded grace is overwhelming work. Concio employs long takes that lets her breathe, and uses close-ups sparingly, but with tremendous effectiveness. A shot of Corazon and her mother Chedeng (Gloria Sevilla) by the window, watching a funeral pass by ranks among the best moments in the careers of those involved. Additionally, Marina Feleo Gonzalez’s dialogue is natural and smart, delivered by Aunor with masterly authenticity. She achieves an outstanding height in this performance. Her voice is tender, lilting, mellifluous. Aunor carefully unravels her character with surgical precision that seems to elevate her character, one which could easily be written off if done by actresses of lesser talent. Aunor has shown throughout her career that she can do anything. Her face, a mobile canvas onto which she paints angst, confusion, and deep melancholy, is masterly. Minsa’y Isang Gamu-Gamo features what still remains Aunor’s most complex film performance, solidifying her as an actress of tremendous faculties and overall technical prowess. Her range evokes envy and her presence is indomitable. Aunor’s moving treatment of the material is some of the finest screen time she has ever occupied. It established her reputation for tugging at the heartstrings in with a unique kind of emotional control. Concio knows how to draw outstanding performances from talented actors. Jay Ilagan conveys Boni's humanity with heart-warming profundity. As Carlito, Eddie Villamayor is intelligent and affecting, but not cloying. It also helps that Perla Bautista and Paquito Salcedo are so good at what they do that they can summon a legacy of hurt with as little as a broken smile.

     Minsa'y Isang Gamu-Gamo is presented on Blu-ray courtesy of Kani Releasing with an AVC encoded 1080p transfer in an aspect ratio of 1.85:1. The following is from the insert booklet, 

"This transfer of Lupita A. Concio's 1976 Minsa'y Isang Gamu-Gamo (Once a Moth) originates from an incomplete 35mm print held by the ABS-CBN Film Archives supplemented by elements provided by the Film Development Council of the Philippines (FDCP). Due to the advanced deterioration of the latter element, the first half of the first reel-the initial nine minutes-appears here as significantly soft and distorted. After careul consideration of the film's historical significance and our belief in the importance of Sagip-Pelikula, ABS-CBN's ongoing restoration project, we have elected to release the film as is on home video with additional context for the restoration-and its material limitations-provided in the supplemental features. Please approach the transfer with understanding and empathy." 

Saturation levels are good and nicely rendered. Greens, blues and reds in particular pop with considerable authority. I noticed some slight fluctuations in color temperature, and a couple of dark moments have a slightly blue tinge at times. Clarity and grain can also vary as the film ventures between more controlled interior locales. There is only one standard audio track on this Blu-ray release: Tagalog LPCM 1.0. Optional English subtitles are provided for the main feature. The lossless audio track is very good. Excluding one short segment where a light echo effect appears during the exchanges otherwise, stability is excellent. The music is nicely balanced as well. Dynamic intensity is limited, but given the organic nature of the original sound design this should not be surprising. The end of Minsa'y Isang Gamu-Gamo is startingly moving. The feelings Concio evokes in the last scenes are earned: they encapsulate the whole story, and it stays with you long after the movie is over.

Musical Director: Restie Umali

Film Editor: Edgardo Vinarao

Screenplay: Marina Feleo-Gonzalez

Cinematography: Jose Batac, Jr.

Direction: Lupita A. Concio

     The astute new thriller Kamadora (Viva Films, 2023) is one of those rare movies that reinforce their themes with an insinuating, sustained tone. Its atmosphere becomes a stylistic precondition for the impulse to surrender. As a rule, filmmaker Roman Perez, Jr.'s control is so unerring that the occasional miscalculations seem unusually disruptive. A director skillful enough to impose a style can also lull you into a false sense of security. Caught up in the unfolding narrative, you forget that everyone is subject to lapses of judgment and concentration. Moreover, it's clear that sexual heat fuels the plot, inspiring a breakdown of inhibitions that transcends mere fornication. In this context, Perez would probably be justified in wallowing much more graphically in sex acts than he chooses to. He prefers to make his points incisively. Perez employs a narrative device that allows Ica to share her confessions with the audience. Kamadora is filled with a number of unusually well written characters, superbly performed by a cast of comparatively new actors. Tiffany Grey's entrance announces that Ica is the film's center of power. Grey is an intriguing original. Slender, with hair down to her shoulders, the pitch in her voice gives a playful edge to the challenging dialogue. Even in Perez's devious scheme of things it would be preferable if Ica were encountered more often in situations with other characters. I don't think there's any aspect, sincere or treacherous that Grey couldn't embody if asked to. Her slight physical assertion and urgency are scarcely reassuring to begin with. She obviously means trouble, but how much trouble?

     In retrospect, you understand why Perez feels impelled to play Ica's motives close to the vest. Still, it's a sneaky necessity that probably costs him a satisfying denouement and a certain amount of good will, particularly when viewers begin reflecting on the plot and discusses the twists and subterfuges. Perez can't achieve the emotional identification with Ica that comes naturally when dealing with Dave and other male characters. Victor Relosa is a man with certain arrogance to his speech, as if amused by his own intelligence. He successfully mixes both laconicism and innocence. Relosa’s got an impressive command of seemingly involuntary movement in his facial muscles that appears to reveal unguarded yearning and apprehension. He also has the working actor's versatility. His Dave is a straight leading man with a character actor's particularity. Kamadora has proved an absorbing, tangy entertainment. One may feel a trifle had, but there's little cause for rejection. Moreover, the virtues linger along with the nagging questions: cunning lines of dialogue; evocative setting and crisp, supple imagery; consistently sharp supporting roles and performances. Jun Jun Quintana is startingly effective as Roman, Ica's abusive policeman lover. Angie Castrence plays Aling Adeng who watches over Ica with a cheery but detached curiosity. Elora Españo's Monica is not on long, but what she does is very good. Perez falls short of a foolproof plot, nevertheless, he's got a lot to offer beginning with an intuitive appreciation of the look and atmosphere appropriate to an effective genre thriller.  More important than any of these individual contributions is Perez's easy command of his work as director. There's not a decision in the film that betrays that command, it doesn't look like a director's idea imposed on the characters. Instead it's a revelation of the way Ica sees herself and Dave and the outrageous situation they have feverishly worked themselves into.

Sound Engineer: Aian Louie Caro

Musical Director: Emerzon Texon

Editor: Aymer Alquinto

Screenplay: Ronald Perez

Production Designer: JC Catiggay

Director of Photography: Dino S. Placino

Directed By: Roman Perez, Jr.

     Jason Paul Laxamana's Baby Boy Baby Girl (Viva Films, Ninuno Media, 2023) retains a stylish reserve that would not seem conducive to strong passions. However, the unexpected element here is humor and Laxamana's film has a lot of measured wit. The pathos surrounding Josie (Kylie Verzosa) is in the least bit obscured by Laxamana's predilection for understatement. Baby Boy Baby Girl bottles Josie's inter-personal tensions and slowly simmers them to boil, escalating each situation by just the right amount until the film’s ultimate crescendo and final punchline. The result is a painfully funny comedy that feels universally relatable in its depiction of awkward dynamics very specific to Josie’s experience. Laxamana's approach would have not been nearly as effective were it not for Verzosa’s exquisite performance. Every piercing stare, facial muscle twitch and heightened voice conveys outrage hidden behind her feigned smile. Josie’s interactions with Seb (Marco Gumabao) have its own rhythm and emotional arc. With Seb, there’s a slow suspense of whether or not they will continue their arrangement. Seb needles Josie in front of others and cutting through her facade with direct questions. Their run-ins feel like the highs to their lows, an unsettling roller coaster ride that’s set to crash before long.  

     Baby Boy Baby Girl is a tightly wound movie, with almost every minute dedicated to some kind of moment of strife. The screenplay is packed with several rounds of fast-talking in-fighting, but that rapid fire pacing feeds the contrast between those scenes and the movie’s moments of awkward silence, which become even more painful to watch. As a team, Verzosa and Gumabao share a spot-on sense of comedic timing, knowing just when to throw in the next cutting remark, eye roll, or fake smile. They hit the bullseye each and every time, all the way to the end. Laxamana piles on the complications with the clockwork precision of a Rube Goldberg machine, but never at the service of genuine emotions. When Josie surrenders to the sheer helplessness of being completely overwhelmed, a moment that perhaps lands with more impact after collective isolation. Baby Boy Baby Girl knows that feeling and another important one besides: that in the midst of nonstop stress and distraction, a moment of quiet, unprompted tenderness can make all the difference. The whirling energy surrounding Josie in her hour of panic is what makes the film so engaging. She is the eye of the hurricane, albeit not a calm one by any means.

Sound Engineer: Aian Louie Caro 

Musical Director: Pau Protacio

Editor: Chrisel Desuasido

Production Designer: Lara Mustiola Magbanua

Director of Photography: Rommel Andreo Sales

Written and Directed by: Jason Paul Laxamana