SARI-SARING SINENG PINOY

     Ang Lalaki sa Buhay ni Selya (Star Pacific Cinema, 1997) is very much a chamber piece. It has a strong cast which is sadly lumbered with dialogue that relies too often on well-worn clichés. It’s a low-key drama that works well in its quieter moments, the intimacy between the small cast is palpable at its crucial moments. There are some clunky character exchanges overly expositional dialogue or an extraneous exchange slightly cringeworthy soap-like chit chat, when a clever, quieter, more filmic sequence would have much more impact. Having said this, when Bibeth Orteza's writing is at its best, these problems are non-existent and the wonderful performances by the tightly-knit cast really comes through and definitely make up for a bit of bad dialogue. Rosanna Roces is strong as Selya, aware that something is unsettling her husband but unaware just what. Ricky Davao as Ramon is superb and carries most of the storyline. Director Carlos Sigiuon-Reyna keeps the plot boiling and everything teeters perilously close to soapy drama. He keeps the camera moving but the action fairly barrels along. Ang Lalaki sa Buhay ni Selya is a powerful film that doesn’t live up to its full potential.

     After it's recent restoration the entire film looks healthy and vibrant, boasting an exceptional range of beautiful primaries and excellent nuances. This makes the already striking cinematography look even more impressive and on a larger screen some of the outdoor visuals truly look quite magnificent. Depth and clarity remain very pleasing throughout the entire film, but I must mention that because of location and stylistic choices some minor density fluctuations can be observed. Typically the most obvious ones are during darker footage but even so, it is quite easy to tell that they are part of the original cinematography. There are absolutely no traces of problematic de-graining or sharpening adjustments. Image stability is excellent. The soundtrack incorporates a wide range of organic sounds and noises, so balance and separation are very important. Fortunately, the two-channel track serves the film really well. All of its basic characteristics are solid and without a whiff of age-related anomalies. Ang Lalaki sa Buhay ni Selya isn’t always an easy watch but it’s an interesting and emotional ride.

Original Sound: Joseph Olfindo, Rannie Euloran

Music: Ryan Cayabyab

Production Design: Joey Luna

Edited By: Manet A. Dayrit

Director of Photography: Yam Laranas

Written By: Bibeth Orteza

Directed By: Carlos Sigiuon-Reyna

        Like the brief relationship it portrays, Unfriend’s gut-punch emotional impact depends on just how unexpected its final trajectory is. The pitch builds slowly but with geometric progression, climaxing in an affective register that almost belongs to another genre entirely. The near-final scene would be a total cliché if it weren’t so entirely earned and so seamlessly, devastatingly perfect. I’m worried (really quite anxious) not to oversell the film, to create expectations when it depends so much on surprise. The surprise of this film is just how ambitious it is, how unhurried its characterizations are, surreptitiously setting up backstory that it patiently waits to pay off, how little self-regard the actors betray, never playing the subtext in their emotionally complex performances, how totally the script avoids spelling out its themes, staging a dialogue between its leads that’s of such unpretentious philosophical resonance that you don’t quite realize how exacting it is until long after you’ve seen the movie. There is a last-act revelation captured with ethnographic and empathetic precision in which Jonathan (Angelo Ilagan) and David (Sandino Martin) learn they’re connected in a way that neither had realized. Unfriend (Solar Entertainment, Center Stage Productions, BeyondtheBox, Inc., 2014)  is a film of constant anxiety and agitation. In other words a pretty fair approximation of the teenage mindset. Joselito Altarejos works wonders with crisply framed takes and two astonishingly sincere and nuanced performances. This is a film full of languid moments which are transformed by the context into instances of discovery and revelations of personality. David's outsider status is emphasized by the casting of Martin in the role. As the film wears on and David’s desperation to collapse his divided worlds into one becomes more acute, Martin’s almost ethereal difference becomes intrinsic to our understanding of the character.

     Unfriend looks even better, with a high definition transfer that near-perfectly reproduces Altarejos and cinematographer Arvin Viola's visual whirlwind of texture. The monochromatic scenes that open Unfriend are striking, with deep blacks and brilliant whites, evocative of early 1960s New Wave. Where Viola comes into his own, though, is the way he captures dingy rooms, kitchens lit with bare fluorescent bulbs and low-light nighttime exteriors. Colors are saturated, contrast is pumped and everything looks more real than real. The film's grain structure is fully intact, there's no evidence of digital manipulation of any kind and clarity is exceptional. While not as drastic an improvement as the picture quality, the film's soundtrack gets a significant bolstering thanks to a strong 2-channel mix. The sound design and overall clarity seem somewhat limited by the on-location source recordings, but acoustically there's a nice sense of place and the effects are clean. Voices can occasionally be overwhelmed by the chaos of their surroundings, but most of the dialogue is perfectly mixed. With Unfriend, Altarejos is rapidly becoming a crucial portraitist of the fragility of youth.

Screenplay: Zigcarlo Dulay

Director of Photography: Arvin Viola

Musical Scorer: Richard Gonzales

Film Editors: Zig Dulay, Joselito Altarejos

Production Designer: Lester Jacinto

Sound: Don San Miguel, Andrew Milallos

Director: J. Altarejos

     Although Pare Ko (Star Cinema, 1994) contains several scenes that are a great deal more dramatic, my favorite moments were the quiet ones, in which nothing was being said and nothing seems to be happening. To be able to listen to such silence is to understand the central dilemma of adolescence, which is that one's dreams are so much larger than one's confidence. Pare Ko is a movie that pays attention to such things. It contains some moments when the audience is likely to think, yes, being young was exactly like that. Pare Ko is a heartwarming and truthful movie, with some nice touches of humor. It contains most of the scenes that are obligatory in teenage movies, but writer and director Jose Javier Reyes doesn't treat them as subjects for exploitation, he listens to these kids. There are a lot of effective performances in this movie. Jao Mapa generates a pitch-perfect depiction of unraveling sanity and newfound passion. He's a treat here, maintaining emotional authority and crisp timing as Chipper. Mark Anthony Fernandez elevates Francis from a potentially offensive stereotype to high comedy. Also impressive is Jomari Yllana as Mackie, who captures exaggeration without abandoning his character's humanity.

     One of the best things in this new hi-def release is palette reproduction which captures nice elements like costuming. The entire transfer is on the soft side to the point that even some extreme close-ups don't offer fine detail. Outdoor or brightly lit scenes deliver the best detail, but even then softness is often pretty prevalent with gauzy, diffused and effulgent halos (not of the digitally sharpened variety) tend to tamp down detail levels. The grain field is also fairly variant in looking organic or even readily apparent, with again, the brighter scenes looking the best. Some of the darker scenes in fact flirt with compression hurdles that traipse around macro blocking territory at times. All of this said, there is still enough of a substantial uptick in palette and detail levels from the previous home video release. Pare Ko features a nice sounding 2.0 track. The film doesn't have that distinctive, instantly identifiable, score but offers a decent stereo spread at times. Sound effects land with overwhelming force and dialogue is always delivered clearly and with good prioritization. Reyes has it good with his cast and material, submitting one of his best efforts with Pare Ko which soars at times on sheer invention, making something different out of a genre that often spins with repetition.

Production Designer: Edel Templonuevo, PDGP

Sound: Ramon Reyes

Editor: George Jarlego

Musical Directors: Eric Antonio, Carlo Bulaan

Cinematographer: Ely Cruz, FSC

Written & Directed By: Jose Javier Reyes

     Kid Huwag Kang Susuko (Regal Films, 1987) is an exciting, sweet-tempered, heart-warming story with one of the most interesting friendships in a long time. From the directing team of Peque Gallaga and Lore Reyes, it ends with the same sort of climactic fight scene. But the heart of this movie isn't in the fight sequences, it's in the relationships. In addition to Sawi's (Richard Gomez) friendship with Mr. Tan (Jang Hwan Kim), there's also a sweet romantic liaison with Ogie (Rachel Anne Wolfe), your standard girl from the right side of town. When Sawi is rescued by Mr. Tan, who turns out to be an unlikely karate master from a savage beating exacted by Wrylo’s (Mark Gil) gang of hooligans, Mr. Tan resolves to teach Sawi the ways of karate. What works best in this film is not the glory of Sawi’s predictable victory.

     Actually, the fight scenes in the end consume little screen time, as though the script knows that Sawi will win no matter what, so why dwell on it? The fights are brief, not even the karate match between Sawi and Wrylo is dragged out too long for dramatic effect. We are more concerned about Sawi gaining enough confidence. As Mr. Tan teaches honor and balance where spirit and body are superior concepts to destroying everything in one’s path with a karate chop. Such principles are what one takes away from a viewing of Kid Huwag Kang Susuko, the violent aspects of martial arts are almost completely forgotten next to these values and so the film remains highly resonant on both emotional and moral planes. And even though it contains a dated quality and the conflict has been grossly exaggerated by inhuman antagonists, on its own and separate from what came after it, Kid Huwag Kang Susuko still works on a very basic level today.

     Two key elements lift Apocalypse Child (Skinny People Productions, Arkeofilms, 2015) beyond formula, at least for most of its running time. The particulars of the film's Baler setting, with its extreme natural beauty and the strength that the central character, played with quiet ferocity by Sid Lucero finds through surfing. Director Mario Cornejo doesn't give the story's contrivances their intended impact even with strong performances notably Ana Abad Santos's eye-opening turn. She nails the self-absorbed mother's tangle of parental sincerity and ineptitude, while diving fearlessly into Chona's desperately needy and often humiliating self-destructiveness. But there's a wild beauty to more than match the narrative's shortcomings. Much as Ford (Lucero) is most at home on the ocean, the filmmaking is most fluent when filtered through the silver glitter of the surf. Contemporary but eraless, the movie has a '70s feel, from the muted palette of the production design and costumes to the sun-washed light, movingly captured in Ike Avellana's camerawork. The undercurrent of foreboding in Armi Millare's gentle acoustic score is in sync with all the characters. But it's Ford's steady searching against the flailing of almost everyone around him that keeps the story afloat. It is the film’s great fortune that the leads are portrayed by an exceptional team of actors, starting with Lucero, who is the calm eye at the center of the storm. The bellows of this tempest come from Santos, who ably depicts the demanding neediness of the vulnerable matriarch. Yet Cornejo's filmmaking never rises to the level of his cast’s nuanced performances. The actors are energized, but the camera enervates. It alternates wanly between shaky close-ups and indifferent establishing shots.

     Apocalypse Child's 1080p transfer, like most new high definition releases is flawless. The image enjoys a perfectly filmic texture, a slight layer of grain accentuates the many splendid colors and quality details that are visible in every frame. Indeed, the transfer carries the many lush hues of Baler beautifully whether natural greens and sparkling blue waters or the many bright shades and accents found on surf boards, swim trunks and the like, the transfer leaves no color behind and displays each one with a naturalism that's second to none. Fine detailing is another strength, whether smaller little touches like grains of sand and foamy surf waters or more generalized facial and clothing details, the transfer sees each element through. A few nighttime scenes yield exquisitely natural blacks and while flesh tones appear to favor a warmish shade, they seem in-line with the expected coloring of people living much of their lives in the sun of Baler. Apocalypse Child's 5.1 soundtrack isn't as energetic and powerful, but it's nevertheless technically proficient and nicely absorbing. The film is more often than not a dialogue-intensive drama, the spoken word flows naturally from the center speaker but is flanked by ambience. The film's score enjoys pinpoint clarity, seamless spacing all over the soundstage and a heftiness that gives it full body without coming across as excessively or unnaturally heavy. Ambience, often coming in the form of crashing waves and the tranquility of beachside elegance flows effortlessly from side-to-side and front-to-back, effectively transporting the listener to the waters and sandy shores of Baler. It's not the most exciting soundtrack in the world, but the execution leaves nothing to be desired. In Apocalypse Child even the sea seems stifled.

Directed By: Mario Cornejo

Written By: Mario Cornejo, Monster Jimenez

Cinematographer: Ike Avellana

Editor: Lawrence S. Ang

Production Designer: Christina Dy

Sound Designer: Corinne de san Jose

Music: Armi Millare