SARI-SARING SINENG PINOY

     Lino Brocka finds the right tone in Dalaga si Misis, Binata si Mister (PLG Films, 1981) and it’s not always very easy because he wants to make his film both true and funny, not sacrificing laughs for the truth. But what was the right tone? Armed with Jose Dalisay Jr.'s screenplay, Brocka delivers an exceedingly (and sometimes excessively) subdued endeavor that benefits from its assortment of first-class performances and there’s little doubt, certainly, that Christopher de Leon handles his character, Dick Navarro quite gracefully, wearing an impenetrable, guarded expression and playing everything very close to the vest. Nora Aunor’s completely captivating work as Dick’s ex standing as a continuing highlight within the proceedings. She is undoubtedly responsible for the picture’s most indelible, show stopping moment, as Doria attempts to win her husband back. The oddest thing about Dalaga si Misis, Binata si Mister is how many small things about it are needlessly thoughtful and complex, even though the film is mainly a very simple if well-made example of what adult entertainment looked like in the 80s. The entire film is spent showing how Doria and Dick navigate both their mixed emotions and strong attraction to one another. Dalaga si Misis, Binata si Mister manages to be fast and funny while it breaks new ground. There's a kernel of truth here. There are a lot of good laughs, too. And there is also an important problem, but it doesn't manifest itself until the story is well under way. It gives us the release we need and sets Aunor’s personality for the movie’s second act with scenes of loneliness and the beginning of emotional recovery. Brocka isn’t afraid to pull out all the romantic stops at the right moment. He wants to record the exact textures and ways of speech and emotional complexities of his characters. 

     Carmi Martin delivers a particularly sharp characterization during the first part of the story and unconvincing in the second, through no fault of her own. Nervous, demanding, high-strung and nevertheless charming, her Laila is all wrong for Dick — that's what makes their affair so unexpectedly touching and gives the story so much life. When the movie begins to insist that these two were made for each other, it gives the lie to all that has gone before. This feeling is intensified by the fact that neither character changes much during the course of the story. It doesn't help that the only amorous interludes occur very early on. Aunor takes chances here, never concerned about protecting herself and reveals as much in a character as anyone ever has. Doria is out on an emotional limb. New lovers dreading ex-wives must invariably summon someone like Aunor to mind. She is letting us see and experience things that many actresses simply couldn’t reveal. It’s a lesson for critics on the dangers of assessing performance in a movie, a medium in which the actors may be more at the mercy of the other craftspersons than we can readily realize. Rather than solely embodying the strength and confidence of a single protagonist, Dalaga si Misis, Binata si Mister mobilizes Doria’s arc as a signifier of feminist freedom without becoming didactic or trite. De Leon's performance begins very well and very seriously — all the laughs are built around him and he reacts calmly and cannily with an eye toward self-preservation. When Doria and Laila finally turn up in the same place, though, it's time for Dick to show the strain or to show the conflict, or to show something, De Leon lies low. Brocka perfects the ending by de-centering his perspective and the audience-centric satisfaction of a nihilistic open-ended conclusion, allowing the protagonist the final say regarding her personal satisfaction.

Screenplay: Jose Dalisay Jr.

Based on a Story By: Efren Abueg (Serialized in Liwayway Magazine)

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

Music: Rey Valera

Film Editor: Efren Jarlego

Production Design: Joey Luna (P.D.G.P)

Sound Supervision: Rolly Ruta

Directed By: Lino Brocka

 

     If the broad, life-affirming outlines of In His Mother's Eyes (7K Entertainment, 2023) are familiar to the point of banality, in the hands of actors as gifted as Maricel Soriano, Roderick Paulate and LA Santos, this tale of sacrifice and sibling rivalry achieves moments of real poignancy and power. There are few things as hard to play as genuine selflessness, but Paulate, without a trace of sanctimony, makes Bibs' goodness utterly natural. You can see why Santos's Tim would find comfort in his Uncle Bibs. He's rooted in the present and open to experience in ways his mother will never know. Soriano, all edges and nervous, guilty motion, makes us believe in Lucy's transformation without going soft. She's tough and abrasive, and she'll stay one. It's rare to see a film with such honest, transparent emotion and to spend time with actors who don't feel the need to cloak intimate feelings in irony. Paulate is especially moving, perhaps in part because we know him primarily as a comedian and forget all the tender emotional values he brings to drama. Soriano's ability to transform herself is remarkable. She manages to portray a quiet strengthIn without ever letting you doubt that her character is very ill. In point of fact, Tim's autism isn't really the story's main concern. Writers Jerry Gracio and Gina Marissa Tagasa are more interested in the relationship between Lucy and Bibs, and Tim's relationship with the world in general. Director FM Reyes overworks the close-ups, hits too many notes on the head, but he knows enough not to get in the way of his three superb stars, who put on a display of emotional fireworks that is lovely to behold. 

     In His Mother's Eyes has a child whose behavior is unpredictable. With a rich vein of bleak humor, the film is about the healing power of sacrifice. In His Mother’s Eyes has so much star power. The famous faces make it difficult, at first to sink into the story, but eventually we do. The characters become so convincing that even if we’re aware of Soriano and Paulate, it’s as if these events are happening to them. Once Lucy and Bibs are reunited, the material boils down into a series of probing conversations. There is a lot to say and Reyes lets them say it. How do families fall apart? Why do many have one sibling who takes on the responsibilities of maintaining the family home, while others get away as far as they can? Is one the martyr and the other taking advantage? Or does everyone get the role they really desire? What In His Mother's Eyes argues is that Lucy by fleeing the home, may have shortchanged herself and that Bibs might have benefitted. Or perhaps not, perhaps Lucy was better off keeping out of the way. There is a point in the film where such questions inspired parallel questions in my own mind. All families have illness and death, and therefore all families generate such questions. The true depth of In His Mother's Eyes is revealed in the fact that the story is not about these questions. They are incidental. The film focuses instead on the ways Lucy and Bibs deal with their relationship–which they both desperately need to do–and the way Tim learns something, however haphazardly, about the difference between true unhappiness and the complaints of childhood. This emotionally affecting drama makes the point that the love we give to others is the only thing that makes life worth living. In His Mother's Eyes is full of complex, well-observed emotion and gives us the rare satisfaction of respecting its characters, forgiving their flaws and contradictions and celebrating their capacity to love.

A Film By: FM Reyes

Screenplay: Jerry Gracio, Gina Marissa Tagasa

Directors of Photography: Neil Daza, LPS, Rap Ramirez

Production Design: Marxie Maolen F. Fadul

Editor: Vanessa Ubas de Leon

Music Composed By: Carmina Robles-Cuya

Sound Design: Albert Michael M. Idioma, Garem Roi B. Rosales

     We have seen many directors deliver great pieces of work through modernized folk horror, however, many more have gone under the radar. All of these capture a wide variety of tales about isolation, religion and the essence of nature by using elements of folklore to invoke dread, fear or a sheer sense of unease. Going through a similar route comes Adolfo B. Alix, Jr.’s Mananambal (BC Entertainment Production, 2025), creating an atmospheric sensation that immerses you in the story more than the viewer initially anticipated. It might get under the audience’s skin, however, both in frustration because of its slow-burn approach and narrative repetition. Some montages take more time than they need to. The film is at its best when it embraces its environment that fills the screen with unease–the sensory experience that the story brings. Alix builds tension not necessarily slowly, but calmly and cautiously. He waits and lets the film’s ideas gradually carry the story and its characters, only to then raise the hairs on your neck when you least expect it. Mananambal focuses on the repercussions of hiding from danger instead of recognizing its existence. Alix has a unique directing style and it translates here. And the film has this drama that is sorely missing in most modern horror. Lucia (Nora Aunor), conceals her daughter, Alma (Bianca Umali) in the forest, devoid of contact with other people. This is not a story I can relate in any detail without giving away the twists that occur when Alma is pushed into a corner. Mananambal has less gratuitous violence than the average horror movie. Every bloody episode advances the story. There’s a cold beauty in the way the film has been shot, allowing us to experience the rawness and wonder of nature through Alma’s eyes. Alix has created a brand of horror film that poses lots of imponderable questions about the relationship between mothers and daughters. It asks if there is an inviolable core of goodness or badness within people that can survive the most bitter, violent experiences.   

     Lucia has an instinct striving towards the good while Alma has been permanently scarred, both physically and mentally. When Lucia is first recognized for instance, nobody spells out for the viewer what her significance is. Her presence alone and the reaction to it says everything. Much later, we do learn more in a situation where such knowledge would naturally come to the surface. Alma benefits from social change in a way Lucia either cannot or will not. Alix highlights why forgiveness and reconciliation is often a responsibility foisted upon the next generation, while it’s perhaps obviously easier to forgive someone who didn’t try to burn you alive, even if they did it to someone else, Alma explores the world with a cleaner slate than her mother, at least for a while. Aunor's remarkable performance as Lucia reminds us once more of how completely devoted she is to every role. She can do more with a glance, a simple shift in her eyes, than most actors can in an entire film's worth of screen time. She is capable of slowly revealing her vulnerability - another trait that sets her apart from other actors. Umali shines in a convincingly distressing performance, one that hopefully gets her many more offers for other dramatic roles. From the intimate cinematography, Mananambal excels at providing a very different level of fright. It’s through this dynamic that Alix examines the reverse perspective as children learn to forgive their parents, be it for beliefs they attempt to pass on. Alix and his editors don’t hold your hand as they guide you through the trickier, stream-of-consciousness final passages of the movie, whose scares are punctuated by moments of transcendent visual poetry. Eventually, Alix miraculously finds a way to make you feel pity and tenderness for Alma, as she rues her life and what she’s destroyed and lost. A harrowing story for Alma emerges that brings us closer to understanding her own trauma and why she’s resigned herself to a life of ritualistic destruction. Mananambal is a decidedly unorthodox type of horror, one that won’t work for those seeking superficial jump scares. But taken on a metaphysical level in tandem with the film’s motifs and themes, it all works together to create a symphony of dread, right up until the moment when it all comes to a head and real blood is shed.

Sound Design: Jannina Mikaela Minglanilla

Editing: Xila Ofloda, Mark Sucgang, Mark llona

Music: Mikoy Morales

Production Designer: Jhon Paul Sapitula

Director of Photography: Nelson Macababat Jr., LPS

Written and Directed By: Adolfo B. Alix, Jr.

     Maning Borlaza's Stolen Moments (Regal Films Inc., 1987) is melodramatic in the traditional sense, not in the modern pejorative sense, in that it concerns issues of class division and sexual yearning. Alex Bernabe (Miguel Rodriguez) wants a good job, lots of money and a pretty wife on his arm. And he could have it if not for his embarrassing lower-class impulses. His identity is the very thing that prevents him from attaining what he desires. The story crescendos as Alex comes closer to realizing his ambitions. And just as an opportunity presents itself, his past mistakes threaten to derail his progress, resulting in a dramatic downturn. Borlaza composes shots that magnify Alex’s status in an unsympathetic world he nevertheless desperately wants to get inside. This lets us understand Alex’s attraction to plain Marietta (Rio Locsin), but also his desire for the pampered Carol (Alma Moreno) and why it consumes him to the point of destruction. Despite a prohibition against male suitors by Marietta's Aunt Saling (Perla Bautista), an encounter lands Alex in her room and the two spend the night together. It is here where the stained hand of movie fate intervenes on Stolen Moments, aligning to give Alex what he momentarily wants, only to hold that against him later. When he is with Carol, Borlaza bathes him in light. These sequences are overwhelmingly sensual and intimate, Rodriguez showing us just how significantly he was remaking not only screen acting, but also definitions of masculinity. His men were not afraid to expose their vulnerability to the point of emotional ruin. 

     Lawrence Fajardo emphasizes the gleaming, soulless surfaces in Walker (VMX, 2025), a film accurate and attentive enough to convey the appalling emptiness of streetwalker Alex's (Robb Guinto) world. Walker is attractive to look at, shot in a fluid, semi-poetic style. The story is told in fragments out of chronological sequence. The spectator is obliged to work at piecing them together. As criticism, however, if criticism this be, Walker is ultimately timid and evasive. It relies far too much on its self-consciously oblique approach, which tends to take center stage and far too little on genuine insight into the world it represents. This is a self-conscious film from a gifted director who has often been prepared to go where the mainstream doesn't flow. Successful in both, Fajardo has balanced his ability to make commercial hits with his desire to do more personal and innovative films. This one offers an interesting idea but falters in the casting. Once the novelty of the casting wears off, the performance offers nothing to hold onto, no meaningful insight into either the character, Alex or Guinto herself. There are layers upon layers here, Guinto taking on a serious acting role in which she plays a woman whose job is to make herself an object of male fantasy. Alex (and one can’t help but imagine, Guinto) are indistinguishable: blank, dull, prone to choosing her words carefully and choosing the most banal ones imaginable. On the rare occasions when the conversation shifts to alternative topics, it is seldom enhanced. 

     In what is either a commendably honest internal critique or more likely, an attempt to head off inevitable complaints about the performance, the film practically assures us, she’s playing someone who’s completely affectless. Either way, we’re left with little more than the pretty surfaces, which those inclined could presumably see at greater expanse in Guinto’s work. It would have been possible, I suppose, for Fajardo to work his way around the collapsed star at the center of his film if the characters in her orbit brought something to the encounters, as if she were a mirror held up to their desires and disappointments. But the rest of the cast spends most of their time, like us, marveling at how closed off she is. The movie is short on information about the actual business of being a walker. The filmmakers seems to be supposing that the awfulness of most of these people means there is no high drama to be extracted from their lives. Does Mara's (Stephanie Raz) murder, for example or the fate of the innocent and not-so-innocent individuals, offer no material for tragedy? Is there something fundamentally different about the whoring that Guinto’s character does versus the whoring that everybody else in the film does? Bringing bits and pieces of this unpleasant, narcissistic life in Walker, for example, is not a satisfying substitute for explaining why such a social existence came into being and why it fell apart. No perspective at all, in this instance, means ignoring certain larger realities. Walker  proves that a visually striking film can be made on the fly. But grab-and-run is a more fruitful strategy for images than scripts.

Sound Design: Nicole Rosacay

Musical Scorer: Mbella SineScore

Production Design: Ian Traifalgar, Endi "Hai" Balbuena

Editor: Ysabelle Denoga

Cinematographer: Albert Banzon

Screenplay: Jim Flores

Directed By: Lawrence Fajardo