SARI-SARING SINENG PINOY

     Lawrence Fajardo is a subtle filmmaker reveling in the depiction of everyday life acted out amongst traditional activities meant to reflect the changing cultural landscape that often place its inhabitants at uncomfortable odds. Prinsesa (Cinema One Originals, Self-Service Productions, Solito Arts,  Pixel Art Media Production Co., 2007) starts out with the Philippines in political and economic turmoil, a difficult time of recovery and transition. The simple but effective approach and stylistic rigor with which Fajardo controlled his framings are very much evident here. Early in his career, he sought to find and develop a way of seeing and showing the world that felt right to him as it happened, the use of long shots, taken with a mostly stationary camera from an unusual angle in relation to the characters in frame; simple cuts rather than fades, wipes or dissolves, montage sequences of landscapes not only to begin films but also to provide punctuation and linkages between narrative scenes, a preference for ultra-naturalistic, everyday dialogue, often of the most seemingly trivial kind and a related preference for low­-key, almost de-dramatized stories evocative of the ordinary lives who make up the major part both of the population and presumably, of Fajardo’s audience. The relationship between a parent and a child is wired for heartbreak. In fact it translates human emotion and experience in ways few movies have. Go beyond the apparent simplicity and you will discover immense sophistication at play in their construction and meaning. Take, for example, the subtle treatment of the interrelated themes of loneliness, nostalgia and familial responsibility. But Prinsesa isn’t a child-in-peril melodrama or a punitive fable of parental irresponsibility. Its structure emerges through a pattern of perceptions and moods. Sometimes Princess (Katrina "Hopia" Legaspi) and her father, Mar (Romnick Sarmenta) fail to connect. Sometimes they’re silly and sometimes they relax into an easy, almost wordless intimacy. Capturing the thick, complex reality of their bond — registering its quick, microscopic fluctuations and tracking its slow tectonic shifts — is Fajardo’s great achievement. And Sarmenta and Legaspi’s as well. They are so natural, so light and grave and particular, that they don’t seem to be acting at all. It’s hard to find a critical language to account for Prinsesa’s delicacy and intimacy. This is partly because Fajardo is reinventing the language of film, unlocking the medium’s often dormant potential to disclose inner worlds of consciousness and feeling. 

     Though the film’s real focus is on what will happen between Princess and her father and even that aspect is quite complex enough in itself, given that both have a habit of concealing their real feelings, the relationship is endlessly reflected in and refracted through the experiences of the other characters in the film: not just his sister Marie (Shamaine Buencamino), but friends Enrico (Archi Adamos) and Cisco (Andre Solano). These characters’experiences and words of advice serve a number of functions: they flesh out and enrich the story, they provide the hesitant Mar with an array of options to consider; they show that his problems are common and far from extraordinary and they ensure that we don’t identify or sympathize too simplistically with either Mar or his daughter. Fajardo makes us feel deeply about his characters and does so by being honest rather than by manipulating the viewer. If we are enormously moved at the end of his film, it is not because anyone pushed the right buttons but because we have seen something that strikes us as truthful. There are, I’d suggest, various reasons for this impression of veracity. First, is the subtle way in which Fajardo contextualizes his story and characters within the wider world. Second, there is his abiding penchant for restraint and understatement, most evident in the performances. What Sarmenta does in this role goes beyond good acting. It's a risky move. He bares his soul as Mar, displaying a vulnerability that is certainly not easy to unearth from one's self. The way he acts is often loving and caring. He holds back his feelings to try and make a good life for his daughter, but ultimately it's the fact that this life is causing him such pain. Sarmenta is channeling something from within, beyond just acting. He and Legaspi both leave parts of themselves embedded into the film itself. Buencamino has always impressed, offering an assessment that is extremely true. Though the narrative content might be suggestive of a weepie, for the most part, Prinsesa is anything but. What’s resonant is that we are made to realize that words are both self-indulgent and true at one and the same time. There’s no sentimentality, only profound compassion.

Director: Lawrence Fajardo

Director of Photography: Jun Aves, Lawrence Fajardo

Screenplay: Jade Snow Calderon, Lawrence Fajardo, Dado Lumibao, Jim Flores

Production Designer: Lexter Tarriela

Editors: Lawrence Fajardo, John Wong, Conrado M. Zaguirre Jr.

Sound Design: Jobin Ballesteros

Musical Score: Jimmy Bondoc, DJ Myk Salomon, Jobin Ballesteros

     Lino Brocka's Pasan Ko ang Daigdig (Viva Films, 1987) is a remake of an already-terrific film, the 1956 Sampaguita picture Gilda with Lolita Rodriguez and Eddie Arenas, is one of the finest melodramas of its day so it's no little thing that Pasan Ko ang Daigdig improves upon the original in almost every way, the sophistication of its writing and the metanarrative complexity of its drama. In a role that tests every single skill Sharon Cuneta ever displayed as a performer, her apologetic nervousness, her ability to swiftly inhabit wounded melancholy with a speed that suggests it was always secretly hiding there (aided by how haunted and solemn her face is), her gift for frustrated reaction shots timed perfectly for pathos and of course, her one-of-a-kind stage presence. Her first number (the film has no book numbers, which makes it even clearer that these are showcases for Cuneta) pouring her soul and Lupe's into belting Araw-Araw Gabi-Gabi, as the camera steadily tracks her, until she strikes a final tableaux using her body to channel the energies flowing through her. There's no exhausting how immediately it proves Lupe's talent. As the driving engine for the whole movie, Pasan Ko ang Daigdig does trade pretty heavily on Cuneta's star power, but it's never just red meat for the fans. She's making very clear decisions about how she'd play the numbers, how Lupe would play the numbers and proceeds to sock us in the face with nonstop singing.   

     Beyond competition, she is well matched by Marilen Martinez's Ruffy, who makes her plunge with panache, leaving a blazing trail of sound professional acting behind. Casting aside familiar trappings, they emerge as players of the subtlest quality registering the finest shades of emotion. Brocka's skill with actors is still apparent. Loretta Marquez's Metring evokes an intense feeling of sympathy and helplessness over being unable to save herself from her all too human weakness. Mario Montenegro has a couple of terrific scenes as Lupe's record producer, Don Ignacio. Princess Punzalan is quietly wonderful as Luming. The filmmaking generally isn't show, outside of the numbers, but Brocka and his crew do exactly the right amount of work to frame the character drama for greatest effect. It's an account of the romance of a singer headed for stardom and her admirer Carding (Tonton Gutierrez), a long-time friend and neighbor waiting tables at the night club where she performs, would have very little force or freshness in this worldly wise day and age if it weren't played within the surroundings of significant performance. So it is this build-up that gives background to the film's poignance. What's fascinating is that Pasan Ko ang Daigdig gains a large measure of its sadness from the way necessity has dictated their presentation.

Production Designer: Edgar Martin Littaua

Sound Supervision: Vic Macamay

Director of Photography: Rody Lacap

Film Editor: Ike Jarlego, Jr.

Musical Director: Willy Cruz

Screenplay: Rene O. Villanueva, Orlando Nadres

Directed By: Lino Brocka

     Once upon a time long, long ago, fairytales were more than just imaginative flights of fancy. They weren't cute or cuddly, aligned with strategic marketing to create excellent cross promotion and/or marketing advantages. No, back when they were first formed, fairytales had more in common with urban legends than they did with wish fulfillment, ego integrity and lessons about sharing. If they were anything, a fairytale was a parable, a clear cautionary example of avoiding certain situations and individuals wrapped up in prosaic pomp and circumstance. They also stood as a manner of social redistribution, a chance for the commoner to laugh at the crown or sneer at the wealthy and privileged. Today, all that’s gone. In its place are politically correct platitudes and non-violent positivity. From the moment Tala (Felicity Kyle Napuli) discovers the Fairy's (Jasmine Curtis-Smith) lair, we witness the kind of vital visual splendor that has been missing from most productions. Thanks to Kenneth Dagatan’s wonderful combination of the sinister with the sublime, the whimsical elements become deep and rather disconcerting. Like the Brothers Grimm before him, here is a filmmaker who wants to give fairytales back their teeth. The journey at the center of the story is meant to symbolize the internal struggles that any young person must face when confronted by the grown-up world. Indeed, Dagatan argues that what Tala and her brother Bayani (James Mavie Estrella) faces is the temptation of choice and the confidence to decide direction for oneself. Courage is a key element in the narrative themes. We are supposed to see self-sacrifice and bravery parallel and surpass the brutal tactics resulting in a realization of what truly matters in a time of war. Take the relationship between Ligaya (Beauty Gonzalez) and her husband. In order to survive, she must trust her husband, Romualdo (Arnold Reyes) and it’s a price she’s willing to pay with her own expiring existence. 

     In Jay Altarejos' sharply simple The Last Resort (Goblin FIlms, 2023), Oliver Aquino and Erin Ocampo star as Robert and Emily, a struggling couple recovering from infidelity, whose marriage counselor recommends a getaway to get them back in sync. From the beginning, the movie points the viewer in the direction of uncomfortable truths. Most of the action takes place in a bucolic hideway where the unhappy couple goes to work on their relationship. The Last Resort employs endless restraint and builds chilling anticipation with its fraught, personal consideration of intimacy and philosophy. The set-up, reminiscent of some of Hitchcock's films, works like a well-oiled stopwatch: once the situation starts, it cannot be stopped. The film unfolds with a sense of inevitability and while the events are odd, they never lose their logic. The Last Resort is a romance, a thriller and a drama, with characters who are sketches approximating human beings, but played with sadness by the two lead actors. Not knowing the plot going in was part of the film's pleasure and it's enough to say that nothing is what it seems. There are no other guests, it's just Robert and Emily. Cinematographer Manu Garcellano fills the screen with strange points-of-view giving a horror-movie perspective. Are they being watched? On their retreat, Robert prepares a special dinner for Emily. They drink wine and loosen up. 

     The dynamic between Aquino and Ocampo is tense and sad, bringing relief and release, a sense that they are beginning to remember why they got together in the first place. That night, they rediscover a playfulness in their relationship. They even have sex. The entire film rests on the chemistry between Aquino and Ocampo. They create a very real relationship with a sense of shared joy in one another's company and myriad problems threatening to derail the entire thing. Robert and Emily are not extraordinary characters, but the situation in which they find themselves in is. The Last Resort is so concentrated on the characters that there is nowhere to hide. Paolo Paraiso is perfectly cast as Fred, the enigmatic resort owner and it is a treat to watch Rolando Inocencio’s caretaker, Bianong wear a very different skin. Even as the film tends to separate itself from its initial explorations of a marriage on the rocks for less esoteric waters, considering the circumstances, The Last Resort is exciting filmmaking. It expertly utilizes creative ideas and not at the expense of organic character development. While I can't divulge much else for the sake of keeping the plot a surprise, I will say that the resort has something unexpected in store for the young couple.

Production Designer: Jeric delos Angeles

Musical Scorer: Arbi Barbarona

Editor: Jay Altarejos

Director of Photography: Manu Garcellano

Screenplay: Memot Rivera, Jay Altarejos

Directed By: Jay Altarejos

     When Darna (Viva Films, 1991) goes for campy laughs, it falls flat on its face. That's a shame, because there's a place, I think, for a female superhero and Nanette Medved, who plays Darna, has the kind of freshness, high spirits and pluck that would be just right for the character. As it is, Medved is the best thing in the film. The movie starts to break down with the introduction of Pilar Pilapil as Valentina and the even less fortunate introduction of her sidekick Vibora, a bitchy snake puppet voiced by Ruby Rodriguez. We do not watch Darna movies to laugh condescendingly at the characters, which is what the screenwriter, director and even some of the actors have started to do. The gift of Vilma Santos in her best scenes and when the filmmakers allow it, is to play Darna without laughing, to take her seriously so that we can have some innocent escapist fun. Medved has the same gift, she shows super-athleticism when Darna needs to get someplace and throw down. But she also has an almost balletic manner when she is just having fun, Medved really shines. There is, of course, a lot of character moments that happen with Darna and Valentina in their own right, both individually and with their own supporting cast of characters. The film’s tone has been infected by the silly comedic approach employed in Darna at Ding (1980). The dialogue veers toward campiness and jokiness. Even during the climactic struggle, there’s nothing resembling suspense or tension. With a villain as over-the-top as Valentina, it’s impossible to accept that the stakes are high. Darna mostly suffers from lack of recognizable characters. It has been said many times that a hero is only as good as their villain and that is a very true statement. Pilar Pilapil is excellent as Valentina and probably gave the entire movie's best performance. Any potential melodrama and subsequent audience enjoyment in the interplay between Medved and Pilapil is undermined by the attempts to emote on the part of both actresses. It is rare for a superhero film to feature both a female protagonist and antagonist, but however inspired this conceit in characterization, the result is bland. Darna, in contrast, establishes its antagonist as a character who is invariably serious in her nefarious actions but it never reaches the depths of evil she strives towards. 

     To encapsulate Darna's loose, frustrating conception of camp, I must describe what is unquestionably the film’s piece de resistance, Darna’s love interest, George (Tonton Gutierrez). A  commotion ensues as he professes his love for Darna. Lamangan meant to create drama, effectively absorbing us in the adventures of a superhero flying in on the winds of the second wave of feminism. But his work lacks any playfulness or self-conscious humor. Lamangan doesn’t bother adding dimension to flat comic figures. It’s almost puzzling how the filmmakers could craft all of these fantastical conceits to fizzle out with such conspicuousness. Thrills are largely absent, clashes between good and evil are terrible (perhaps due to alternately inconsequential and frivolous motives) and notions of sacrifice, redemption and desperation are meaningless in the face of spontaneous and unexplained (and otherworldly) conflicts. If there’s one bright spot to be found, it’s Willy Cruz’s score. One of a small group of in-demand composers in the mid ‘80s, his work here is distinct yet musically linked. Entangled in the plot is a mess of magic, drama and countless unnecessary additions that only make the film less enjoyable. What’s more disappointing is that most of these decisions don’t necessarily move the plot forward. If anything, the film is halted in its tracks by the awkward jokes and choppy special effects. The oddest casting is two-fold. Edu Manzano plays Dominico Lipolico. He's fine in the part, but his talent is wasted as he plays it completely straight. Bing Loyzaga doesn't have anything going for her, but in a film like Darna, she is wasted because her character is not believable, making her Purita pointless.

Production Designer: Benjie de Guzman

Costume Designer: Ernest Santiago

Cinematographer: Ramon Marcelino

Sound Supervision: Rolly Ruta

Film Editor: Ike Jarlego, Jr.

Screenplay: Frank G. Rivera

Directed By: Joel Lamangan