SARI-SARING SINENG PINOY

     Nothing in director Lawrence Fajardo's features approaches the power and skill of The Hearing (Cinemalaya, Pelikulaw, Center Stage Productions, 2024) which represents a major leap forward in all departments. Proving himself an astonishingly accomplished director as well as a measured storyteller. While this is unquestionably an issue film, it tackles its subject with intelligence and heart. Fajardo uses a trial to structure the film, though this isn’t a courtroom drama and those scenes are wisely kept to a minimum. He does a superb job through a mixture of shrewd editing and a multitude of sounds, generally keeping the camera just below or above twelve-year-old Lucas' (Enzo Osorio) head. In following his young protagonist and his mother Madonna (Mylene Dizon), Fajardo articulates the impossibility of the lives bestowed upon them. It’s a deeply assured piece of direction and though it only plays a few emotional notes, they are ones that won’t soon leave your memory. The Hearing gives us course after course of heart-wrenching scenarios tied to the POV of its child protagonist that it’s hard to get a sense of any course of action than the one chosen. This is not an easy movie by any stretch of the imagination. Lucas' situation goes from dire to almost unwatchable. The director allows us to enter into the boy’s mind. We watch this movie not as concerned adults but as complicit secret-sharers and that makes all the difference. But the polemical is never as powerful as the personal and Fr. Mejor's (Rom Factolerin) part of the story illuminates the whole with nauseating clarity. They welcomed him because he was their conduit to the church on which they counted for solace and support. By the time it's told, his unnerving air of detachment has been shown to be emblematic of an indifference endemic in the church itself. Fajardo isn’t interested in giving the audience the kind of relief so absent from the children Lucas represents. 

     Ginhawa (Cinemalaya, Black Toro Productions, 2022) is a captivating underdog story charting familiar ground, but in a way that feels organic, for the most part. The screenplay by writer/director Christian Paolo Lat and co-writers Mia Salisbury, Lester Caacbay and Anju de Vera works best when it focuses on the burgeoning relationship between Anton (Andrew Ramsay) and Jepoy (Shun Andrei Bacalla) as they embark on their journey. Their relationship evolves and gets put to the test. It's fortunate, then, that Anton and Jepoy remain compelling characters and most importantly, palpably human, except for an injury that Jepoy sustains later in the film and unrealistically survives. Characters arrive to make their lives difficult at the start while others stay hidden until it’s their turn to do the same. So Anton and Jepoy are more or less sandwiched by oblivion. Forwards and backwards hold no solace. The only place where they’re seemingly safe is on the boxing ring itself. And they do have some fun, trying to make the best of it. But you can’t ignore your fate forever. Eventually you have to face the demons and pick a direction. They’ve each led a life that was never built with an escape hatch. It won’t therefore be difficult to figure out any narrative progressions. Has Anton given all he has just to sacrifice his soul for nothing more than a chance at happiness? Or will he find the courage to stand-up to the world that’s done everything in its power to keep him down? Just because you won’t find any profound revelations doesn’t mean the experience is without merit. 

     One could argue that the script’s shortcomings are the actors’ gain since they’re each asked to render the emotional beats authentic despite their convenience. It helps that they all know their failings internally no matter how vehemently they argue against them. Ramsay has the juiciest role. He’s the really dangerous one, when push comes to shove brought home by an inevitable violent climax that features a superb supporting performance by Dido de la Paz as the dreaded Coach Jun. Bacalla is a quiet authentic presence, weighted down with pain and it is touching to watch him loosen up as Jepoy’s bond with Anton deepens. Duane Lucas Pascua gives a fascinating performance as Anton's older brother, Saul. The anxiety is always flickering deep in Pacsua’s eyes, even at his most brash and loud. And though his role is brief, Rolando Inocencio’s Tiyo Noel deftly conveys righteous indignation. Lat's direction is intimate and lived-in, he seems at home in the grungy rooms and streets. He doesn’t glamorize the bloody results of boxing, either. He has a way of showing tenderness and brutality in alternate scenes, with music layered into the basest of scenes. There’s little doubt that Ginhawa improves substantially as it progresses, as the movie’s effectiveness is, in its early stages, undercut by an emphasis on overly familiar plot elements and character types. It has a nice, low-key vibe to it. By the time it reaches its somewhat spellbinding third act and downright powerful finale, Ginhawa has cemented its place as an erratic yet completely rewarding little drama that’s ultimately much better than it has any right to be.

Directed By: Christian Paolo Lat

Written By: Christian Paolo Lat, Mia Salisbury, Lester Caacbay, Anju de Vera

Director of Photography: Dominic Lat

Production Design: Melvin Lacerna

Editor: Alec Figuracion

Musical Director: Pau Protacio

Sound Design: Jannina Mikaela Minglanilla, Garem Rosales

     It’s devastating, the way director Maryo J. delos Reyes depicted how the domino-effect destruction of 1995’s Sa Ngalan ng Pag-ibig (Regal Films, Inc.) came within milliseconds of never happening. Spanky (Christopher de Leon) could pick up and perish the idea of sleeping with exotic, enticing Donna (Alma Concepcion) — returning home determined to reawaken his wife’s passion. Likewise, Mae (Lorna Tolentino), could reduce the rage at discovering his infidelity — resolving to attempt reconciliation and not avenge a fling that blossomed into full-fledged intimacy. Delos Reyes has never been much for subtlety, but when is true sexual passion not abandoned inhibitions and wild expression? He understands, though, that the psychology of erotic fantasy has as much potential to obliterate as to titillate. Sa Ngalan ng Pag-ibig never arouses, judges or mounts a morality play. It’s a dark, delusional piece of sultry fantasia that doesn’t condemn or condone Spanky or Mae’s choices. It simply presents people surprised by the ease with which they transgress and allow little white lies to fester into gigantic, tumorous deceptions. Delos Reyes has always been a stylish filmmaker, but he gives Sa Ngalan Pag-ibig much more than surface elegance. His choice of angles and colors, his use of shadows and especially his mastery of editing all work to create a unified psychological texture. He's aided by an unusually honest and perceptive screenplay by Raquel Villavicencio and Wali Ching, and by De Leon and Tolentino whose performances go to a place of complete emotional nakedness. There's a remarkable sequence in which Mae goes to Donna's apartment. Her emotional state is one anybody could recognize, though it's hard to put a name to it. She's trembling and we can feel it. Not every filmmaker can convey that physical sense. Delos Reyes takes us inside it, so that we understand what it would be like to be her, to inhabit a body electric with nonstop longing. It's not an enviable state. It's more like a fever. Tolentino is asked to run the full spectrum of emotions, from unexpected joy to emptiness to heartbreak and her every step is a flawless grace note. As Mae becomes more and more aware of her husband's deceitfulness, the anger, hatred and insecurities that come with it are palpably felt by Tolentino's powerhouse turn. Delos Reyes contemplates newer models when he first lingers on Tolentino's sex appeal but, in the end, the actress fights back with evocative blood-splatter. 

     A word should also be said for De Leon, here eschewing all his usual tics. Spanky knows Mae too well and the big confrontation scene is affecting because it turns on the heart of the dilemma. A man who loves his wife so much versus a man who exists entirely in the present. While Concepcion has no problem making any man vulnerable, in Sa Ngalan ng Pag-ibig, she easily captures her character giving Donna the demeanor of a free, uncomplicated but somewhat mysterious woman who enjoys the games she plays. Perhaps the most humanistically genuine motion picture Delos Reyes has yet put to celluloid, Sa Ngalan ng Pag-ibig takes an unflinching and emotionally rattling look at the recklessness of infidelity and how it can destroy the lives of all three parties involved, leaving no one satisfied. While thriller elements are introduced into the story over an hour into the proceedings, Delos Reyes resists the temptation of resorting to horror movie cliches. Here, his intentions are set on a notably higher and more thought-provoking wrung. Sex is not just a passing fancy, but profoundly disruptive, not life enhancing but life shattering and what's broken cannot be remade. The fling cannot be unflung. A skipping record is Delos Reyes' transitional element between Mae’s comfort and fear, a Model of the Year trophy, the haunting reminder of nature bringing and tearing lovers apart. Sa Ngalan ng Pag-ibig represents the best of both worlds. It excites the emotions in the way a good melodrama should, but it also stirs the quieter feelings of pity and helplessness we associate with tragedy. It's the rare kind of movie that comes along only a handful of times-- gut-level entertainment that's oddly profound. It is not often that viewers are gifted with a rare adult film that presents a serious view of sex, love and relationships. As a showcase for marvelous actors at the top of their game and a poignant portrait of a family in the midst of unraveling, Sa Ngalan ng Pag-ibig gets it just right. 

Sound Engineer: Joe Climaco

Production Designer: Benjie de Guzman

Director of Photography: Charlie Peralta, FSC

Film Editor: George Jarlego, FEGMP

Musical Director: Jimmy Fabregas

Screenplay: Raquel Villavicencio, Wali Ching

Directed By: Maryo J. delos Reyes

     Most movies succeed or fail because of the way they tell their stories and develop their characters. Balota (Cinemalaya, GMA Pictures, GMA Entertainment Group, 2024) does introduce remarkably three-dimensional characters, but it tells their story in an awfully off-hand sort of way. People who view movies only on this level and ask questions, are cutting themselves off from the unique experience offered by Balota. Loose ends in the plot would be important if the film depended on telling a story. It does not. The new experimental films and several of the unconventional, recent feature films don’t always make their points this simply. Instead, they draw the audience into a series of seemingly unrelated events and make their point by the way these events butt up against one another. The thread running through is that they’re events happening at the same time as the events in the plot. They establish a climate for the story. Emmy's (Marian Rivera) acts do not take place simply because they are invented. Writer/Director Kip F. Oebanda makes it clear they take place because they’re the sort of acts that are in the air. Almost all movies could take place anytime and nearly anywhere. A series of faceless heroes and heroines have their crisis, solve it, move on. There is a vague romantic subplot that surrounds Balota, but Oebanda leaves the details of the relationship up to interpretation. He isn’t concerned with plot mechanics, other than the central theme of Emmy's social conscience. He saw her as a human being manipulated and influenced by events.  

     Oebanda's camera ended up getting caught in the maelstrom of violence and what’s surprising is that his approach is so rare. Perhaps all directors secretly enjoy playing God, controlling events, dipping down into the screenplay. They don’t like their movies to give the impression they’re not running things. Oebanda's directorial posture in Balota is, however, frankly that of an observer. He is as surprised by the events in it as we are and he’s at pains to make them seem as random. He doesn’t immediately supply us with connections, but rather makes us work to piece them together and it isn’t until more than half an hour into the film that we realize how these characters’ lives will begin to intersect and create a narrative we can follow. Instead, he uses his opening scenes to establish a climate within which the movie will take place. This sort of direction requires more work from the audience and can offer greater rewards. In the conventional story framework of most movies, the audience can be completely passive, allowing events to unfold as if they made sense. Oebanda's film is one of several movies that knows these things about the movie audience. To understand the way Balota is put together is to understand something about the way events get transferred onto film. Conventional movie plots telegraph themselves because we know all the basic genres and typical characters. Rivera, maintaining her character, rushes through the chaos of the actual conflict, delivering a natural and phenomenal performance as Emmy. The violence becomes part of the story, yet it exists outside of it, as well. That’s Balota's message on the level of story. It can also be seen as Oebanda’s message on the level of technique. Balota is important and absorbing because of the way Oebanda weaves all the elements together. 

Sound Engineer: Albert Michael M. Idioma, Nicole Rosacay

Musical Composer: Emerzon Texon

Editor: Chuck Gutierrez

Production Designer: Eero Yves S. Francisco, PDCP

Director of Photography: Tey Clamor, LPS

Written and Directed By: Kip F. Oebanda

     Nympha (Regal Films, Inc., 1980) is a silly, classy, enjoyable erotic film that was an all-time box-office success. It’s not remotely significant enough to deserve that honor, but in terms of its genre, it’s very well done, filled with attractive and intriguing people, and scored with brittle, teasing music. It’s a relief to see a movie that returns to a certain amount of sexy sophistication. This tale of a young woman discovering herself was a headline-grabbing sensation when sex in films had gone mainstream. Its characters inhabit a world of wicker furniture, soft pastels, vaguely Victorian lingerie, backlighting, forests of potted plants and lots of diaphanous draperies shifting in the breeze. It’s a world totally devoid of any real content, of course and Nympha (Alma Moreno) is right at home in it. She’s the eldest daughter of Don Bernardo Monteverde (Johnny Wilson), a shipping magnate allegedly raped by one hundred young men. This experience propels her into a dizzying series of sexual encounters that range from the merely kinky to the truly bizarre. The screenplay from Toto Belano brought some class to the continuous bumping and grinding while Joey Gosiengfiao's direction shone the spotlight on the female star that gave the film much of its success. Nympha is executed with a patina of respectability. The cinematography takes advantage of the scenery, the dialogue is polished to the point of pretentiousness and there’s tact to the film’s atmosphere that definitely sets it apart from crasser approaches. This being said, much of the material feels ridiculous, offensive or hopelessly naïve by today’s standards, lending the film a veneer of sophistication, which if you looked a little closer doesn't ring true. If we were to be grown up about sex, then we must be as liberated as Nympha.