SARI-SARING SINENG PINOY

     Jackstone 5 (Apex Creative Production, Inc., 2025) starts out like one of those reunion movies where friends from long ago gather again to settle old scores, open old wounds, old romances and make new beginnings. All of those rituals have been performed by the end of the film, but curiously enough, the movie isn’t really about what happens. It’s about how it feels. This is a story more interested in tone and mood than in big plot points. The first act is devoted to introductions and plot problems are assigned to various characters. The second act develops the problems and the third act solves them with appropriate surprises. By the end, we can expect that one couple will reconcile, one will begin a new romance, one will find a new truth and at least one old secret will be revealed. Oh, and a skeleton will be taken out of the closet. All of those things happen in Jackstone 5 but in a strangely low-key way. The movie is written by Eric Ramos and directed by Joel C. Lamangan (who also appears in the film). It is human nature to form groups and be loyal to them. There are real groups, like families and artificial groups, like friends you grow up with. The artificial groups create instant traditions and in remembering them you are pulled back for a moment when all life seemed to be ahead of you. Now it seems more precious and that promise more elusive than ever before. Five gay men revisit their past, reexamine their present and prepare for a better future. They represent a vivid assortment of diverse characters which includes freewheeling Felix (Eric Quizon), Remy and Pido (Jim Pebanco and Gardo Verzosa), whose (friendship) seems to be in trouble, straight acting Naldo (Lamangan) and the insensitive Bruno (Arnel Ignacio). They rediscover themselves, the people they once were and the people they could once again become. They learn that life isn't about demarcation lines. It doesn't have arbitrary starts and stops that correspond with an age, an education, a look, a feel. Life is organic, a complex element that builds off itself where everything that's to come is shaped by everything that's been. 

     The movie deliberately captures a subtle complexion that allows it to exist sort of in a bubble in time, a bubble that has become stagnant but suddenly stretches back and if they can understand where they are and why beyond the physical sense, they'll remain in that bubble that will stretch along with them for the rest of their lives. It's kind of genius to get to know the story of these characters from the perspective of adults looking back. There's a lot of delight and laughter as the friends reconnect, but there's also plenty of drama that needs sorting out as well. The movie meanders, but that's the point. Life evolves but also stays the same. It can be recaptured by a sight, a sound, a smell and carried forward not as a mere reminder of a point in time, but as a living part of something larger that just sort of got pushed by the wayside, not completely erased with the passage of time. It might be a little hard to buy that they can remember with such vivid detail the various ins and outs of their childhood experience, but the cast does a fine job of selling the idea that they can and indeed have. The movie enjoys a very organic, natural flow. It's more about feelings and ideas that sort of just swirl around and becomes a little more evident with each passing moment. There's a genuine sense of reconnection between them and a very real, very tangible excitement about returning back to a place that in their hearts they still call home. Ignacio, who could have played his role half-asleep, still manages to show a gleaming pleasure in his moments of broad farce. And each of the performers registers strongly in their big moment. Of the entire cast, Quizon and Verzosa stand out in showy roles, they get to be great, because Lamangan doesn’t need them for anything structural. Pebanco renders an entirely disciplined performance that underlies the vulnerability of his character. Lamangan gives his lines personal rhythm and brittle snap and as the lonely singleton, Ignacio demonstrates that he is an able physical comedian. Jackstone 5 is imbued with optimism and positivity, and as long as you have the right support system, anything is possible. 

Screenplay: Eric Ramos

Director of Photography: TM Malones, Journalie Payonan

Editing: Vanessa Ubas de Leon

Music Scorer: Mikoy Morales

Sound Design: Fatima Nerikka Salim

Production Design: Cyrus Khan

Directed By; Joel C. Lamangan

     Adapted from Himala: Isang Musikal, the 2003 stage play, Isang Himala (CreaZion Studios, UxS Stories, Kapitol Films, CMB Film Services, 2024) is a film that stubbornly refuses to shake its theatrical roots. Director Jose Lorenzo Diokno strives mightily to make the material cinematic, trying any number of tricks at his disposal. Even more successful are the film’s complicated long takes, encouraging an ebullience in viewers that’s likely of a similar (if lesser) character to what audience members in 1982 felt when experiencing the film, Himala firsthand. It’s bound to Nora Aunor whose performance adds a note of tragedy to the character’s fate. It’s a lot of weight for a musical and as a film, Isang Himala feels like a play that is weighed down rather than a film that unfolds naturally. But here the seams of the theater keep showing at every turn, so on film, Isang Himala rarely feels free. Not in the way Aicelle Santos' Elsa seems too studied in her opacity – not a sign of Ricky Lee’s own sly handling of her on the page – as a character, she plays to sensibilities that seem out of place. Elsa seems too keyed into the projections and not the central complications of the role, but it’s a stolidness that is centered by the surety of the music. And that’s something the film hedges on and that Santos' performance flounders with. Isang Himala is a heavy musical. It is unrelenting in the way that its ending gives us no catharsis. Everything is so tightly wound; even the hints of levity sustain themselves on undercurrents of desperation. Diokno’s direction leaves the actors carrying that weight and it’s too much to carry. The film is aesthetically and tonally flat, with a sheen of browness which is the worst thing for the kind of pulsating crescendo that informs Diokno’s drama. But that’s not to say that Isang Himala isn’t still a partially successful adaptation, if only for the pleasure of hearing Lee’s bracing words delivered by Bituin Escalante and Kakki Teodoro. In fact, Teodoro is a live wire that ping pongs from manic outbursts to soulful, tear-streaked monologues, from carnal lusting to tragic resignation at a moment’s notice. Teodoro commands the film, leading the vast majority of scenes and staking her claim in the story. Her character Nimia recounts traumas and dreams, and opines about the ambition she has to transcend the limitations of imagination. Escalante and Teodoro's efforts reflect a performative staginess that doesn’t entirely work within the cinematic setting, even as they remain accomplished efforts. 

     That dissonance is further punctuated when considered alongside the work from co-star David Ezra playing Orly, who deliver no less affecting but a comparatively subdued performance. But it’s the lead role that’s severely lacking and no amount of fabricated prestige can change that. It’s this inadequacy that suggests Diokno and his team weren’t all entirely on the same page, which makes for a frustrating viewing experience. Isang Himala's digital filmmaking likewise serves to highlight the artifice of the entire production, lending the ironic semblance of a stage play despite all of the nifty camerawork. And yet, Vincent de Jesus’ music consistently make their way to the fore; Lee has a remarkable ability to effortlessly and eloquently weave such varied topics as religion, art and exploitation into powerful unity. Lee’s work is as relevant as it ever was, revealing both the subtle and obvious ways that power is wielded to stir anger and hopelessness, which is in turn too often unleashed upon those facing the very same struggles and hardships. And therein lies the problem: this adaptation is unwilling to risk much in cinematic transposition and thus putting all of the responsibility on the performers to provide the juice. It’s the same problem audiences have watched play out across any number of film adaptations. There’s a jarring oddity to the filmmaking when each pivotal turning point is framed with the same kind of boxed in camera work. This story is about people and the ways they externalize their grief, pain and anger. And, yet, Diokno privileges close-ups. His instincts seem out of sync. Yes, the story is moving towards that final operatic tragedy but we are not marking time until then. The story needs to live, breathe and feel. On screen, everything feels small and crowded. A story of rape retains the same cadence. When the music begins to play, the actors sell the enthusiasm but the filmmaking itself doesn’t feel like it’s tapping out keys or feeling rhythm. It’s dutiful and earnest but it’s not lively. Santos' hurt and pain, even when the direction traps her – can be unpredictable. It can be desperate and it can even be unhinged. Escalante and Teodoro holds the key to the film’s engagement. They inhabit the tiredness of their existence without announcement. Diokno insists on opening up the muscal, literalizing Elsa’s heartache, but the moments with Nimia have a naturalness that does not need to be emphasized. They just are. The real miracle comes in the brief moments the film allows them to just exist. As filmed theater, Isang Himala lacks the exciting personal dynamics seen in the art-making processes.

Screenplay By: Ricky Lee, Jose Lorenzo Diokno

Lyrics and Music: Vincent de Jesus

Production Design: Ericson Navarro, PDCP

Cinematography: Carlo Canlas Mendoza, LPS

Film Editor: Benjamin Tolentino

Music: Teresa Barrozo

Sound Design: Albert Michael M. Idioma, Emilio Bien Sparks

Direction: Jose Lorenzo Diokno

 

     For centuries, vampires have provided handy metaphors for social and physical dilemma, but in the stylishly muted romance The Time That Remains (Netflix, Black Cap Pictures, 2025), the threat is personal. Fusing multiple genres into a thoroughly original whole, Adolfo Borinaga Alix, Jr. has crafted a beguiling and cryptic look at personal desire that creeps up on you with the nimble powers of its supernatural focus. The director combines elements of film noir and the restraint of gothic horror with the subdued depictions of Filipino culture… the comparisons go on and on, but the result is wholly original. From the first frame to its last, the movie establishes a spellbinding atmosphere with long takes, deep shadows and music cues ironically positioned against the cerebral quality of the storytelling, hinting at the vitality threatening to burst forth from its lethargic universe at any moment. The movie's constituent parts reflect a mishmash of pop cultural artifacts, both in the larger plot structures the films calls back to and the smaller elements of its design. All these elements are admirably stitched together by Alix's strict handling of tone. The Time That Remains isn't a chaotic genre mash-up that relishes every cultural reference, but a work where every individual element is sacrificed to the larger cause of creeping us right out. Alix fleshes out the somber life of mysterious vampire, Matias (Carlo Aquino). Though his origins remain obscured, as he trails locals late at night, Matias quickly turns into the face of repression burdening all of them. When he watches Lilia’s (Jasmine Curtis-Smith) behavior, it’s the first indication of a light at the end of the tunnel, a means of righting the wrongs in this broken world. But it’s not until he forms a curiously moving romance with Lilia — The Time That Remains truly moves beyond its elegant form and develops an emotional core. Hidden underneath the surface is a definite social commentary on issues like mortality and humanity’s self-destructive nature. 

     Curtis-Smith truly does a remarkable job here in the role of Lilia. Aquino is excellent as well. The two craft a charming chemistry that lends an authenticity to their relationship which really makes you feel like they have a strong level of comfort with one another. The supporting cast is uniformly fantastic too, with an especially deadpan turn from Christine Reyes and a much needed kickstart from Bembol Roco, who gives the film a bit of energy as it heads into its third act. Similarly appealing is the film’s conception of Baguio City. It mirrors the life the vampire used to have, a life of innovation and progress that becomes antiquated as the world forgets and moves on. It is desolate and seen largely at night — a moody atmosphere heightened by the movie's cinematography. Baguio is seemingly fading away into history and the few people who remain seem content retreating to their respective hiding places. There's rarely any interaction between characters that isn't somehow contractual. A scene at a tattoo parlor is one of the few featuring more than three characters as Matias goes about the routine of scoring blood from Ami (Reyes). This absence of intimacy gives the vampire's every appearance a charged energy. Filmed in the shadows, he's a menacing presence that endangers the complacent behavior we otherwise witness. Matias also initiates the only meaningful interactions that we see in the film, whether in a nascent romance or in a heartfelt chat with Lilia. The surreal nature of the city coupled with Alix's limited use of dialogue and exposition, also means The Time That Remains invites plenty of possible allegorical interpretations — not that Alix is keen on affirming any of them. In other moments, he battles our desire to over-interpret, positing the vampire and the superficial residents Matias torments, as merely ravenous, motivated not by any code but by lust and desire. Alix is known for making films of a slower, more contemplative pace and what he creates here is a sweeping and moody anti-horror movie. Alix has a talent for making it seem like the revelation of his grand vision lies just around the corner, even if it never comes. But mostly it's because, though the scenery seems familiar, the path Alix is on with The Time That Remains feels entirely his own.

Written By: Mixkaela Villalon, Jerry Gracio, Adolfo Borinaga Alix, Jr.

Director of Photography: Odyssey Flores

Production Design: Jerann Ordinario, Maria Criselda Dacanay

Film Editor: Mark Victor

Sound Design: Allen Roy Santos

Musical Score: Paul Sigua, Myka Magsaysay-Sigua

Directed By: Adolfo Borinaga Alix, Jr.

     Playing an emotionally repressed middle aged man doesn't sound like much of a stretch for Jay Ilagan, but for the first time in his career, he fully sustains and builds on that tension from scene one to the final fade-out of actor/director Pio de Castro III's feature debut, Soltero (Experimental Cinema of the Philippines, 1984). It is an outstanding performance from Ilagan, not especially because it is a departure for him, but because the part itself is such a perfect match for his habitual and superbly calibrated ­performance register: withdrawn, pained, but sensual, with sparks of wit and fun. Surrounded by people but lonely and alone, Crispin might as well be invisible; so he leaves things unsaid with family and colleagues. Soltero is slowed by its own beauty, but it is salvaged by a trio of majestic scenes. In one, Crispin in a phone call from his mother (Irma Potenciano), during which his voice must betray nothing, leaving his face (on which the director is smart enough to keep the camera to do all the work); in another, the gentle sadness of an evening with RJ, whose own loneliness of abandonment is as inconsolable as Crispin’s. Chanda Romero’s performance finds the woman’s heart, though, even as she reveals a selfishness that is as monstrous as it is oddly innocent. Innocent, too, but oddly wise, is Christina (Rio Locsin), demonstraing grace, intensity and a relentlessness that is less evocative than romance of a most sentimental type. And a hopeless romantic is what Crispin with the object of his romance taken from him and a world at large that refuses to recognize its legitimacy or his loss. De Castro focuses on details, he's visualized Bienvenido M. Noeirga's screenplay with every shot precisely framed — the overall effect is the disjointedly peculiar focus of a psyche that is overwrought and acutely, painfully aware of everything around its profound isolation. If the obvious symbolism of Crispin crying inside his white Volkswagen Beetle is a hackneyed device unworthy of the rest of the film, De Castro overcomes it with a stream-of-consciousness style that is both stylish and heartfelt. As the smog in Manila causes such beautiful sunsets, sometimes awful things have their own kind of beauty. De Castro has found the beauty in despair without cheapening either. Soltero is centrally about someone who's finally learning to live in the moment — a moment that has been made, on screen, at once wrenching and ravishing.

     In 2013, Typhoon Haiyan, an extremely powerful and catastrophic tropical cyclone devastated Southeast Asia, particularly the Philippines. Taklub (Center Stage Productions Co., 2015) is set against this backdrop. Directed by Brillante Ma Mendoza, Taklub is a testament to the combined efforts of ordinary individuals, bound by humanity in the crucible of disaster. No single movie can tell every point of view, every experience, every loss, every triumph or every story. What one single movie can do is raise our remembrance and honor what transpired on that fateful day. What one single movie can do is give at least one true story with profound respect and realism. Most importantly, what the beauty of any movie can do is remind us all of the hope and survival that rises from the depths of tragedy and loss. What is portrayed and performed in Taklub carries enough intensity, challenge and emotion to stir and reward your investment. But instead of playing for tension, Mendoza goes for character and atmosphere. It’s all superbly acted. Julio Diaz and Aaron Rivera play sheer tearful anguish in such strong believable ways. I have to admit to being blindsided by its real emotional power. There are moments here of such profound despair and heartbreak, but in the end I found honesty and compassion. It could well be Diaz's finest hour, delivering a performance with a sledgehammer emotional punch. Simply having to enunciate what has happened overwhelms him with grief and fear. In an arresting performance, Rivera catapults to unanticipated and unseen emotional heights selling Erwin's dedication to his family and also to doing the right thing, and that’s what makes Erwin such a special character. For him, this isn’t just a fight for survival or for his family, it’s a significant transformation for him as a person.

     The film’s most dramatic sequences focuses on Bebeth. Flinging herself, ego-free and vulnerable into Bebeth’s shredded soul with utter conviction, Nora Aunor embodies everyday maternal heroism. Hers is a performance that couldn’t exist without access to the character’s emotional truth. Thanks to her ability in conveying empathy, courage and motherly love, Aunor has created a moving tribute to the real-life woman she portrays and every single soul affected by the horrific natural disaster that was Typhoon Haiyan. Her utterly exhausting and convincing portrayal of a tragedy-stricken mother is enormously amazing and carries the entire film. For Aunor, it’s as if pain is a renewable resource for her characterization skills and of late, she seems to have specialized in the allure of the imperiled solitude with all the physicality and interiority required, whether or not the movies themselves are any good. Aunor brings that same full-bodied intensity to Bebeth. As survival cinema, Taklub has a certain unpredictable energy which Aunor embodies with a combination of compassion and exasperation. It’s the aftermath, however, in which we learn the root of Bebeth’s experience, that exposes Taklub for the well-intentioned film about grief that it is. Mendoza's direction is utterly unflinching, getting us as close to feeling Bebeth's pain as possible through the medium. The screen will always act as a barrier to a certain extent, it is almost as though we are there experiencing the reality ourselves. Honeylyn Joy Alipio's screenplay never overplays its hand when it comes to sentimentality. Its particular masterstroke is its tight focus on Bebeth (not trying to shoehorn all manner of others into the tale) while showing how her plight compares and contrasts with Larry and Erwin in the same situation. Nevertheless, the pathos is warranted as the film’s residue of sadness presented sufficiently within the context of the inhumane storm that ruined precious lives. Part of the appeal of this powerful drama is that it puts the viewer right in the moment at every stage, using authentic locations and survivors to hammer home the reality of this tragedy. 

Director: Brillante Ma Mendoza

Screenwriter: Honeylyn Joy Alipio

Director of Photography: Odyssey Flores

Production Designer: Dante Mendoza

Editor: Kats Serraon

Sound Engineers; Andrew Milallos, Addiss Tabong

Musical Director: Diwa de Leon