SARI-SARING SINENG PINOY

     There’s certainly no doubting the fact that Nora Aunor was a major star of the 1970s, with a string of box-office hits behind her and a legion of die-hard fans. She also had a distinctive star image of an unconventional woman. I’ve often asked myself if we neglected to fully recognize the extent to which Aunor’s celebrity beyond her film roles provided her fans with greater access to her personality. And so the time has come to revisit this question by considering Nora Aunor not only as an actor and a star but also as a celebrity. Looking at the final decade of Aunor’s career certainly reveals that she was a major celebrity consistently profiled in the press, magazines, on television and social media. Now I’m wondering if celebrity was a major facet of her work as a star at a much earlier stage of her career. It’s something that I need to pay more attention to. Aunor gained a considerable amount of publicity and sympathy among moviegoers and movie magazine readers, significantly raising her profile.Throughout her film career, Nora Aunor was to draw repeatedly on many of the expressive techniques most often seen in the way she concentrates her performance specifically on the movements and tensions of her shoulders, torso, hips and arms. Aunor in 'Merika (1984) demonstrates her greater finesse and subtlety but also her greater reliance upon the technology of cinema. The camera’s ability to register and project minute movements and expressions is used to maximum effect here. What has gone is the attempt to project thoughts and feeling via elaborate physical action. It is not that she ceases to use physical movement to express her character’s every thought and feeling but rather that muscle tension and tiny movements of eyes and fingers convey as much (indeed more than) an arm thrown out from the body or a writhing torso, all of which are registered and revealed by the camera. Under restraint, Aunor produced a much finer and more affective screen performance in 'Merika. Aunor had proven herself not only capable of quiet restraint on the big screen but also of sparkling, ironic and witty comic playing in order to secure what is called a "smash hit comedy." However, she would attain the very highest levels of stardom and praise for her performances in a string of heavy duty dramas widely referred to as  “melodrama." As one of the country’s biggest stars, Aunor is regularly featured in movie magazines, often appearing on the covers, but also featured in photo-spreads and appeared in advertisements for products such as Coca-Cola and Pepsi, and Dial soap. Her marital breakdowns were regularly cited in the papers, and there were sometimes intimations of relationships with co-stars. 

     Television certainly proved more lucrative for her, with many of the fans that had flocked to see her movies watching her on the small screen in their homes in episodes of the weekly drama anthology, Ang Makulay na Daigdig ni Nora and her Sunday evening variety show, Superstar. Yet Aunor was struck down by ill health in 2022. Little regard was given to the effects that it might have on Aunor’s now precarious health, career and image. In fact, it couldn’t have been better calculated to jeopardize her recovery and destroy what remained of her career and public persona. Yet, once again, Aunor revealed a remarkable resilience and rather than withdraw from public view, she took whatever work was available to her, often in the full glare of the celebrity spotlight. Earlier the same year, Aunor completed work on one of her most remarkable films, Adolfo Alix's Kontrabida. This touching portrait would have made a fitting end to Aunor's illustrious film career. Aunor and her films have shown no sign of being forgotten. Nora Aunor is remembered as a great actor, an independent spirit and a gay icon. This is partly because she was a huge star and a remarkable actor but also because she maintained her celebrity profile during the troughs of her film career. Although she earned a place in film history during her lifetime, she repeatedly insisted on maintaining her cultural visibility by whatever means she could. Aunor's long and distinguished career demonstrates many of the classic hallmarks of film stardom: the rise to success and the fall from glory; the peaks and the troughs; the adjustments to accommodate age and changes in the nature of the Philippine film industry. Aunor's career illustrates the restrictions of the contract system, while her career delineates the consequences of the break-up of the studio system and the shift undertaken by stars as they were transformed from studio-owned and controlled properties to freelance agents responsible for their own choices and publicity. Her career after 1973, provides a case study for how studio stars survived in the post-studio era by appealing predominantly to marginalized audiences, while continuing to move between mainstream and more marginal productions. Meanwhile, her posthumous career is instructive in terms of how and why some stars are remembered while others are forgotten. At this moment in time, it looks very unlikely that Nora Aunor will ever be forgotten. For there is so much to remember and admire about this woman who subsequently became one of the greatest screen performers and one of the most respected celebrities. It can certainly be claimed that she is one of the most fascinating and accomplished women to have lived and worked on this planet. In short, her’s is a great story that deserves to be told and told again. As I’m sure it will.

REQUIESCAT IN PACE…

NORA AUNOR

May 21, 1953  - April 16, 2025

     It was that heady moment when movies had become cinema and were being recognized as art, with fierce critical battles underway. In the Philippines, critics suddenly had disputes and followings, while serious film books and even collections of reviews were coming out from trade publishers. The URIAN Anthology 1970-1979 landed in 1983 where a number of critics wrote essays on their chosen films, many of them prefacing their essays with a distinction between favorite movies and greatest films. My life stretches back to when we casually went to the movies, walked in at any point, stayed through the coming attractions and left where we came in. The New Frontier Theater in Cubao, in the late ’70s and ’80s, Coronet, Remar and Diamond Theaters on Aurora Boulevard, ACT Theaters and Ocean Cinemas along EDSA, and lost myself at The Manila Film Center of course. But we’ve been writing obituaries for movie theaters almost as long as we’ve been mourning the death of cinema and of cinephiles. The latter two are alive and well and yes we miss the physicality of theaters and audiences, but perhaps we should think of this not as a zero-sum loss but as a transmogrification, a metamorphosis. The where and how is not as important as the what, the thing itself. 

     There was a crusading fervor to the arguments. It was a fanaticism unique to moviegoers born of a conviction that cinema was an art unlike any other: quintessentially modern, distinctively accessible, poetic and mysterious, and erotic and moral. For cinephiles, the movies encapsulated everything. It was the moment when cinema became conscious of itself. There are not enough hours in the day to make a dent in my ever-lengthening watchlist. I pursue whims and passions as I never could have done years ago: I went through an Ishmael Bernal phase and watched Sugat sa Ugat (1980), revisted Pagdating sa Dulo (1971), Nunal sa Tubig (1976), Manila by Night (1980) and Himala (1982). We all have favorite movie years or decades, often having less to do with the quality of the movies than with our own age and susceptibility, who we were and were about to be, at the time. For someone who formed an early addiction to transactions between grown-up men and women, my favorite theaters where my cinema education and my adulthood really began—screens that, in retrospect, seem both smaller and larger than the one in my bedroom. On the latter I watched all or most recent Filipino films. And I began to think about the idea of spectacle being as much in the beholder’s eye as on the screen.     

     When VHS was introduced in 1977 and DVDs burst onto the scene 20 years later, consumers were presented with the first viable alternatives to a movie theater. Though seen as revolutionary then, watching movies at home and bypassing theaters continues to grow. Streaming services have been available since 2005 when YouTube burst on the scene and its pickup continues to increase sharply, particularly in the past few years. Over the last decade, movie theater attendance has declined and the list of streaming services seemingly grows every day. However, COVID-19 devastated theaters due to closures and the apprehension people felt about returning to theaters after the lockdown. Streaming services facilitate the production and distribution of more diverse and niche content. In addition, because they are not as limited by the traditional studio system, streaming services can take more chances on relatively unknown filmmakers and projects, which might have a more challenging time securing funding or distribution through conventional channels. A broader range of voices and perspectives are now represented in film. It is easier for underrepresented groups to find content that echoes their experiences. Streaming services are now challenging traditional studios as prolific producers of films. Should they continue investing in original content production, this could lead to an even greater diversity of voices and perspectives represented in the entertainment industry. As these services grow in popularity, their impact on the film industry will continue to evolve, requiring traditional distribution channels to adapt and find ways to coexist.

     Because we are people with real lives and infinite similarities as a people, an audience or a country for that matter, movies of realistic fiction settings, spanning from comedy to drama and romance constantly earn their rightful piece of the artistic spotlight. They are personally engaging. These films move us. Chalk it up to the "human condition." Focusing on film as an audience, we constantly compare our own lives to what we are watching. Since life is hard no matter the setting, we often take stock in watching a film that either reminds us how good we had it or by contrast, offers relief that others had it just as hard or worse than we did. This is almost an automatic response for us as an audience and we are drawn to that feeling. Joel C. Lamangan's Fatherland (Bentria Productions, Heaven's Best Entertainment, 2025) avoids the linear and oscillates between Alex’s (Inigo Pascual) memories of his father Ipe (Allen Dizon). Lamangan and screenwriter Roy Iglesias know real-life events don't play out or turn out like they do in the movies. They aren't announced with inane plot-descriptive dialogue by supporting characters. Real lives move in moments and operate in nuances. Fatherland is about men and Lamangan weaves his narrative from two temporal threads. One is the story of how Alex begins the search for his father. The other is the story of Ipe, as lovers and family members remember him. The entire film is filtered through Alex’s consciousness, rendered in a way that affirms the basic condition of cinema—that every image is as present on the screen as every other image. Dizon has a seemingly impossible task of playing three different personalities, convincing us all that they’re in the same body and having them all come across as sincere and non-gimmicky. He is especially amazing to watch. There’s enough nuance in Dizon’s demeanor for you to really read into them and it’s fascinating to observe such intricate dynamics play out within a single person. He also plays Ipe’s alters, Fayez and Teban, performed with the same manic quality Dizon brought to his role in Abenida (2023). As we meet Ipe’s alters, the film becomes a stage for Dizon to unleash a repertoire of personas. 

     In the Digital Age, an era dominated by rapidly evolving information technology, it is hard to imagine how pieces of our cinematic legacy could disappear forever. After all, audiovisual materials can be digitized and saved using a cloud-based online video storage provider or for those of us who prefer tangible, local data storage to servers in off-site locations — on DVDs, external hard drives or flash drives. And once you have a digital copy, it will last forever, right? Well, not exactly. Digital archiving is not the answer to this ongoing problem of deteriorating film stock and lost titles. Digital storage media, none of them last a fraction as long as celluloid negatives and prints kept in cool, dry, cared-for archives. The “cloud” isn’t the answer and the pie-in-the-sky possibilities suggest that the process of migrating preserved digital copies of historically significant material will be ongoing as technology evolves in ever faster cycles. Much of our filmed history and cinema has already been lost forever. Estimates on the number of lost films vary, most of the films made roughly 100 years ago are lost. The number of films currently in need of preservation is overwhelming, particularly when considering the complexity and cost of professional restoration. If moving images survive, live on and remain accessible in our days it is due to the efforts of dedicated individuals who have worked against time, trying to rescue films regardless of their commercial value. Film degrades. If it’s not provided continuous maintenance and stored at a target temperature, the celluloid will degrade and become unwatchable.  

     Besides preserving decaying film before it disintegrates and tracking down lost movies, archivists have broadened the perception and the scope of the accepted film canon through the discovery of lost treasures. For restorers, preservation too often involves the difficult decision of what can be saved. In the Philippines, the humidity and the lack of funding pose formidable challenges, making restoration of existing work a luxury. Loss is the foundation of archiving. If you’ve experienced the loss of a cinematic gem, the fervent goal is to prevent such casualties. With every lost film, there’s more lost history. And what’s been found and restored opens our eyes. All restoration projects start with research like finding the best elements that still exist whether the original camera negative or the best generation available. The copies are compared, frame by frame and the restorer takes the best essence to make a hybrid. Physical repairs are made frame by frame using digital technology. The original filmmakers, if still available, are always consulted. The film may be restored digitally but it will be preserved on analog. The goal is to restore, not to perfection but to what the film probably looked like when it first came out. Film must be preserved, saved, and above all, shown. The influence of old films on new filmmakers is incalculable. If we’re ever to learn from the past — a big if, but perhaps it’s still too early to surrender to despair then their work matters and in the purest sense, its preservation is of the deepest political consequence. Through films we bear witness to atrocities and wonders, crimes against humanity and everyday joys. We learn where we came from and see what we dream of. 

     Made in low-key, vérité style, writer/director TM Malones favors an austere approach that relies on long, unblinking takes, uses no music that doesn’t occur within the action itself. Remote lands are often treasure boxes full of local lore. Set in Gigantes Island, an island chain within the larger Western Visayas archipelago in the Visayan Sea, Salum (Dark Media Productions, Bonfire Productions, Filmpost Studios, Puregold Cinepanalo Film Festival, 2025) uses complex aesthetic combinations of camera and light to infuse its beauty by combining poetic imagery with diegetic conversation. Malones' living tableaus seem almost expressionistic, capturing informal portraits of Kasko (Allen Dizon) and daughter Arya (Chiristine Mary Demaisip) through gesture. Salum locates the richness in its simplicity, offering such tender moments as the living treasures Kasko finds in the ocean depths. The underwater scenes play with a bloc of soft muffled tones, often bestowing a preternatural sensuousness to the lush, rippling images, both instinctive and carefully considered. Salum’s washed-out palette pop against the deep blue, almost as though one were looking through a viewfinder. Malones' light seems veiled and diffused, at times overwhelming in its beguiling intensity. Rather than the clichéd pinscreen of the tiny human figure dwarfed by nature, Malones favors closer shots that align humans and the environment challenging romantic notions with his camera. Isolated with the father-daughter pair freed from worldly concern or by the image of a frustrated Kasko diving into the murky depths of the ocean, Salum produces such resonant images at a pace that belies the more relaxed rhythms of its story. 

     The director has a keen eye for blocking, carefully composing some shots so we have to rely on reflections and background figures. Dizon's magnetic performance brings to life one of the greatest depictions of flawed fatherhood in recent memory, as he brims with both an ineffaceable warmth and an endearing ruggedness. Dizon’s Kasko is far from the perfect dad, but we are drawn into his concerted effort to not only be a great parent but a best friend to his daughter. Demaisip’s Arya radiates with an innate curiosity, as her expressive, yet understated performance perfectly captures the sheer multitude of what Kasko means to her—and the profound impact it will have on her. Simply put, it’s one of the strongest performances in recent years. Salum excels off its two dynamic performances, taut direction and lush cinematography. It’s no surprise that it all beautifully coalesces in a cathartic swell of emotions that crashes down on its audience with immense power, unearthing all the faint and fleeting images we have of the people who mean the most to us. It truly is an astonishing achievement. Events play out at an unhurried pace, but the film certainly leaves a lasting emotional impression. Salum is left open-ended and that’s a perfect conclusion to this portrait of a father and daughter relationship. Deftly constructed and utterly heartbreaking, Salum announces Malones as an eminent storyteller of prodigious powers.

Director of Photography: TM Malones

Production Designer Kyle Fermindoza

Editor: Tara Illenberger

Sound Design: Fatima Nerikka Salim, Immanuel Verona

Music By: Armor Rapista

Written & Directed By: TM Malones