Pelikula ATBP...

In the tradition of tasteful comedy films like Mark Meily's Crying
Ladies and Jeffrey Jeturian's Bridal Shower, Regal matriarch Lily
Montiverde presents a comedy that pales in comparison to the other
two movies mentioned. I Will Survive, directed by Joel Lamangan and
scripted by Ricky Lee, has its dose of funny moments and amusing
situations. However, the film is utterly shallow, arguably awkward,
and in the end, rather forgettable.

The film revolves around the lives of three contemporary women
played by Maricel Soriano, Dina Bonnevie and Judy Ann Santos. Adding
to the trio is a gay foster father portrayed by Eric Quizon.

The main characters have their own problems to remedy. Soriano has a
very sexually aggressive son and a philandering husband who
contaminates her with a sexually transmitted disease. Bonnevie, in
turn, is a beautiful and much-adored model turned wife and mother of
an adolescent girl who seems to be her exact opposite in terms of
looks and personality. On the other hand, Judy Ann Santos plays an
Overseas Foreign Worker based in Qatar who comes home only to find
out that her daughter barely knows her and that her husband, also an
OFW based in Australia, has been keeping a secret from her for the
longest time. Finally, Eric Quizon is a gay man who is still hiding
inside his closet – as far as his two sons are concerned.

Each character stands for certain individuals that are very common
in Philippine contemporary life. Soriano is a woman who finds
herself caught up in a sexually-awakened society that so easily
crosses the line between old-fashioned timidity and sexual
promiscuity. Her character also introduces the once taboo issue of
women who contract STDs from their promiscuous partners – perhaps
taking its queue from reality by way of a TV host/actress who
publicly confessed to having STD from her incurably womanizing live-
in partner. Bonnevie's character, on the other hand, tries to
reflect the effects of a society that gives too much premium on
vanity and one's physical appearance. In the film, she is a woman
much adored by her husband and the people around her that directly
causes her alienation from her daughter who refuses to keep up with
her mom's established persona. Soap opera queen Judy Ann Santos is a
wife and mother who finds financial security in a foreign country.
However, upon her return, she finds her family in a state of
disarray. Quizon's character, lastly, tries to rebuff the notions of
what it takes to be good father and what it takes to be a "man."

In the end, Soriano's sexually awkward character in the film learns
to fully take charge of her own sexuality. Aside from that, Bonnevie
learns to accept the individuality of her daughter and Santos learns
to forgive herself and her husband. And finally, Quizon is accepted
by his first adopted son when he proves himself capable of
being "man enough" for his foster child.

Ricky Lee's light hearted and highly amusing script succeeds in
creating realistic and very interesting characters. Rising from
stereotypes, Lee manages to embellish his characters with a
very "NOW" feel and with a seeming sense of urgency as if the
characters were easily one's neighbors. Of course, his skilled
scriptwriting skills and characterizations were well matched by the
generally fine performances of the actors. Joel Lamangan, a proven
actor's director, succeeds in bringing out the best in fleshing out
the main protagonists. All four lead actors were very believable in
their respective portrayals. However, the supporting cast ranged
from excellent to so-so. Serena Dalrymple is very good as an
insecure daughter who rebels against her mother. So is Tonton
Gutierrez as Bonnevie's overly-adoring husband. However, the rest of
the cast are under-utilized and have litmus paper-thin
characterizations. Perhaps, the writer and the director focused too
much on the four protagonists.

Just like Lamangan's Filipinas, I Will Survive again has a somewhat
erratic cinematography, using improper zooms and silly camera
movement in some parts. The production design is just fine and the
editing is rather superb. In fact, the movie is fast paced and it
wastes no time. Nevertheless, there clearly were some incoherencies
when it comes to sound and the dubbing sometimes does not follow the
actual speaking of the actors.

What's rather interesting in this film is its use of song and dance
numbers. Regal's signature musical numbers seen in its films back in
the 80's were again dusted off and marched back on stage in this
film. But what separates this film from those silly slapstick
comedies of yesteryears is that I Will Survive has a clear intention
and is highly committed to good storytelling. As far as the author
is concerned, the song and dance numbers greatly added in the film's
entertainment value without violating the brains of the thinking
viewer. Moreover, although some comedic attempts are unsuccessful,
the film is still miles and miles better than the lousy Star Cinema
films starring Bayani Agbayani or Vhong Navarro shown in recent
years.

Given the film's merits and flaws, the biggest turn off in this film
is its very shallow take and simplistic resolutions on such valid
and realistic contemporary issues such as vanity, sexuality, STD,
family, the OFW, and gender roles. Even though the scriptwriter and
director clearly had good intentions in the making of this film, the
issues presented in the film end up romanticized, predictable, and
even taken for granted. They are suddenly resolved through one
single action. This hardly happens in reality.

Hence, overall, the film's ambitious efforts end up in a shallow
platter where the real issues that reflect reality evaporate along
with the musical numbers. This, sadly, leaves a half-baked effort
that is funny and entertaining but suffers in its highly simplistic
resolutions and shallow treatment of realistic issues that may be
comparable to a doughnut – sweet and delicious on the sides but
hollow at the very center.

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Follow me....

The Manunuri ng Pelikulang Pilipino (MPP) has revealed its roster of nominees vying for the annual Gawad Urian Awards – the award giving body from the respected society of major Filipino film critics.
The Gawad Urian, as far as the author is concerned, is the only award giving body in the country that still has a strong hold on integrity, as reflected on its choice of nominees and eventual winners. The group, made up of nine film/art/cultural scholars mostly from the University of the Philippines, had also experienced its own series of controversies (Brocka’s rejection of the Best Director trophy in 1980, numerous declaration of ties especially in acting categories, Butch Francisco’s entry into the group that prompted the resignation of some members, etc.) but has relatively remained unsurpassed in terms of gauging the quality of Philippine cinematic output by bestowing honors to smaller but ultimately deserving films and actors as well as in humbling overrated films and so-called “artists” by way of the Manunuri’s infamous shutouts. Hence, all these ingredients identified with the MPP are visible yet again in this year’s nominees.

The MPP determines its official nominees and eventual winners through voting and intensive deliberation. According to Professor Ellen Paglinauan, former dean of the College of Mass Communication in UP Diliman and MPP member since 1991, it is not enough for any award giving body to decide the best in Philippine Cinema by a mere show of hands or by ballot counting. Serious deliberations (as against petty PR campaigning) are indispensable because all opinions, views, and sides are heard from all members. This may lead for some members to change their minds and vote for a nominee that they did not vouch for at the start. For example, in film year 2000, Jeffrey Jeturian’s Tuhog gained a run away 8-2 edge against Laurice Guillen’s Tanging Yaman. When the final deliberations were over and both films were compared and scrutinized by the members, Jeturian’s film held a unanimous edge against Guillen’s well made albeit highly transcendental family drama. Also, films need to meet a majority number of votes before being officially nominated. This leads to a category to have as many as nine nominees or to have as low as two.

This year’s nominees, especially in the top categories, come from relatively young film outfits such as Violett Films and Unitel Productions. Among the big studios, only Robbie Tan’s Seiko Films gained a significant share of nods.

Only four films made it to the Best Film race. These include Mario O Hara’s European arthouse flick Babae sa Breakwater, Maryo de los Reyes’ Berlin winning entry Magnifico and two intelligent comedies warmly welcomed by the MPP – Bridal Shower and Crying Ladies. The writers of these four films are also the four nominees for Best Screenplay.

The heavy handed sociopolitical films Filipinas, Huling Birhen sa Lupa, and even the dead serious Homecoming were snubbed in the top category. Worse off were Regal’s grand soap opera Mano Po 2 and Star Cinema’ s crowd pleasing Wenn Deramas film Tanging Ina which were shut out in every category!

The Best Director nominees include both de los Reyes and O ‘Hara in Magnifico and Breakwater, respectively. They are joined by neophyte Mark Meily in Crying Ladies and Jeffrey Jeturian in Bridal Shower. The MPP also honored Jose Javier Reyes’ handling of Malikmata – a film which is limited in content but is just as well crafted as the other four. Overrated director Joel Lamangan failed to get a nod for either Huling Birhen or Filipinas and Gil Portes failed to defend last year’s Best Director victory for his work in Homecoming.

The acting categories are also a mixture of new and veteran faces. Dina Bonnevie and Cherie Pie Picache got twin nods for their shared lead actress work in Bridal Shower. Joining them are Ara Mina for Huling Birhen sa Lupa, Elizabeth Oropesa for Homecoming, newcomer Katherine Luna for Babae sa Breakwater, and Maricel Soriano for Filipinas. Missing in action are Zsa Zsa Padilla for Mano Po 2, Sharon Cuneta in Crying Ladies, Assunta de Rossi in Homecoming and funny girl Ai Ai de las Alas in Tanging Ina.

Four actors gained the approval of the MPP in the Best Actor race. Jiro Manio is the front runner in this category for his worthy performance in Magnifico. Also up for the fight are Cogie Domingo in Anghel sa Lupa, Aga Muhlach in Kung Ako na Lang Sana and newcomer Kristoffer King in Babae sa Breakwater.

Compared to the lead acting categories, the supporting actor and actress nominees rise above a very crowded list.

Isabella de Leon, Celia Rodriguez, Girlie Sevilla, Gloria Romero, and Lorna Tolentino all gained nods from their roles in Magnifico. They are joined by Hilda Coronel and Sherry Lara for Crying Ladies, and the relatively lightweight Mickey Ferriols in Kung Ako na Lang Sana.

The Best Supporting Actor category is also as crowded. Mark Gil and Albert Martinez lead the pack for their work in Magnifico. Eric Quizon and Julio Pacheco for Crying Ladies, Jericho Rosales in Pagsasamang Kayganda Noon at Ngayon , Alfred Vargas in Bridal Shower, Victor Neri in Filipinas, and underdog Alcris Galura for Babae sa Breakwater are also in the running.

The four films nominated for Best Picture as well as Javier Reyes’ Malikmata dominate the technical categories namely, Cinematography, Production Design, Music, Editing, and Sound. The only exception is Jesse Lucas’ nomination in the Best Music category for his scoring in Filipinas.

When it comes to actually selecting the winners, the MPP has never leaned on the so-called star factor. In fact, several of the winners in the acting categories through the years have been very unpopular with the masses (Raul Arrelano, Ruel Vernal, Yvonne, etc.). This means that the underdogs are not really underdogs for the MPP. They could even be frontrunners!

More importantly, there still seems to be a great divide between critical acclaim and box office appeal. This is proven by the strong observation that commercial films rarely figure prominently in awards citations while those films that bombed at the tills rake in the most nominations especially in the case of the Urian ( Magnifico, Breakwater…). This can only point out to the viewer’s lack of interest in the study of film as art – in the same level as painting, music, dance, architecture, and other art forms. Sadly, cinema has been relegated to a mere form of entertainment that there seems to be a need for a division between commercial cinema and art cinema when the later oftentimes is just, quite simply – decent cinema.

There is even a tendency for many viewers to simply be satisfied with commercial films and take them for what they are (for mere commercial value LANG TALAGA), which is, well, a very sad surrender to mediocrity – even to the point of condemning critics and film scholars who aim to write about film discourse and charge them of over-reading.

The bottom line is, when will the Filipino film viewer ever be critical? When will they ever be tired of escapist entertainment and with recycled plots and traditional genres?

At this point in time, if Philippine Cinema desires to have a place in World Cinema, then, by all means, the answer to both questions is – NOW.

I am 53% evil.




I'm getting there. I haven't done all the damage I could do but I've done quite a bit. I'm just over the border into the Evil Zone.


Are you evil? find out at Hilowitz.com

I am 53% evil.




I'm getting there. I haven't done all the damage I could do but I've done quite a bit. I'm just over the border into the Evil Zone.


Are you evil? find out at Hilowitz.com

FILM REVIEW: THE HOURS BY STEPHEN DALDRY

Released commercially this week in Metro Manila Theaters is Stephen Daldry’s female drama “The Hours.” The film captures the lives of three women who lived in three different time periods and environments.
The film gives us a peek into the troubled and complicated world of the female psyche, as it dissolves, deconstructs and subjectifies the myths and quasi-truths that have long been accepted by society as the measures of happiness, fulfillment and all-encompassing definition of the female essence. Thus, the film maintains an ideology that may be halfway through feminism yet detours into the more vague postmodernism.

Clarissa Vaughn (Meryl Streep) is a middle-aged woman of the present time who is about to draw a party for her special friend Richard, a gay man afflicted with AIDS. Rewound into mid-twentieth century, one finds Laura Brown (Julianne Moore), a simple infanticipating housewife who is preparing a cake for her husband’s birthday. The lives of these two women are intertwined with the life and work of Virginia Woolf (Nicole Kidman), a famous writer of the early twentieth century.

The film opens with a view of the flowing river, easily suggesting a continuity of fate and predicament which is seen throughout the film, as it draws parallelisms in the lives of these three women, intercutting with one period to another, conveying the message that time does very little, if not nothing at all to change how one understands women or if put on a more reflective manner, how society perceives women.

In the film, Virginia Woolf is shown as an accomplished writer. However, her success in her vocation is not enough to earn her the respect of her servants. Her inability to connect with her immediate environment transforms her into a disenchanted outsider. Her relationship with her husband remains harmonious albeit distant.

On the other hand, Laura Brown is a dutiful housewife and mother who sees her environment not as a home but more of a prison. In the early frames of the film, she is shown as a wife and mother who is not even at ease in being one.

Meanwhile, Clarissa Vaughn is depicted as a contemporary woman who takes care of somebody else to distract herself from her own life and existence. Superficially, she is depicted as a compassionate and loving woman with an all-too-human heart. But deep inside, she is cold, selfish, bitter and a coward who masquerades as somebody who takes care of the needy just to show that she has a purpose and that she is important.

Certainly, the film touches on a lot of issues and tries to address and eventually dismantle the myths that have been taken up as facts.

First and foremost, the film conveys the message that marriage and motherhood do not define the essence of a woman. With Laura Brown, we see that being a wife and mother are actually the roots of her unhappiness and misery. She had lost herself by playing roles that she is forced to choose between playing roles and actually living the life she wants in the end.

The film also seems to suggest that the opposite sex has very little to do in terms of defining a woman’s happiness. In the lives of both Laura and Virginia, we see responsible, understanding and kind-hearted husbands that could perhaps be the relish of every woman with a dream to eventually marry and settle down. However, it is evident in the film that these characteristics are not enough to make a woman happy. Throughout the film, we see the central characters as women who have minds of their own, exclusive of their husbands and loved ones. Hence, they are put in situations where they eventually have to face their own existence while on the other hand, trying to run away from it.

The film also conveys that altruism is not as important as the one who is actually performing the altruistic act. The feeling or the sense of being needed becomes a security blanket that prevents one from examining her own life and oftentimes becomes a selfish motive in itself.

The film also tackles on the issue of female relationships and female bonding. Hence, it is not more of a matter of women needing men but actually women finding solace and peace in the company of other women, sans any sexual connotation.

As for artistic evaluation, the film is highly commendable for breathing new life to the often saturated melodramatic arena of run-of-the-mill movies about people trying to make sense of their own lives. The aspect of time that is utilized in the film enriches the whole viewing experience. However, there are moments when the script becomes overly serious that it is evident that some humorous injections are sadly lacking in the film, in favor of philosophizing and introspection.

On the other hand, the technical elements of the film- cinematography, editing, sound and production design have all been utilized artistically, except for the music which tends to be obtrusive, unnecessary and overly used in some parts where the use of silence is more properly suitable.

However, the greatest strength of this film is its acting. All three characters deliver such strong performances and they are well-matched by the equally strong supporting cast, especially Ed Harris, who played Streep’s gay friend and Stephen Dillane who was equally magnificent as Virginia Woolf’s other half. Kidman’s prosthetics-enriched performance is worthy of an Oscar nod (although she was clearly inferior to Dianne Lane’s flawless act in “Unfaithful”) but she does not necessarily upstage Streep or Moore in this film. Daldry’s direction, meanwhile, is smooth and assured till the very end.

Finally, “The Hours” is such a sweeping film with a truthful, reflective and honest outlook on women and life in general. It is a poignant film that is definitely, one from the heart.

CD REVIEW: CHARMBRACELET BY MARIAH CAREY

It is probably safe to say that Mariah Carey is one of the biggest influences in pop music for the 20th century and the most visible recording artist of the 90's. Taking the same road that Whitney Houston took towards superstardom, Carey is responsible for taking pop music into a higher level, and probably, to much higher octave levels with her belting-out ballads and uptempo, radio friendly tunes.
In the late nineties, she was also the main innovator of the fusion of pop and hiphop,with hits like "Honey," "Breakdown" and "Heartbreaker" that had perhaps become the springboard of the careers of other female recording artists that followed with the same pop/hiphop formula (Lopez?). After suffering from extreme exhaustion in 2001, coupled by her disastrous film and soundtrack that had merely sold half a million units which led to a disgraceful buy-out from a previous label, Mariah is back with new stuff that aspires to bring her back on top of the charts.

"Charmbracelet" is Carey's second attempt at personal liberation-an idea which she has been long toying with way back from her "Butterfly" album. Some say that "Charmbracelet" is just an update of "Butterfly," and that is not actually very far from left field.

"Charmbracelet" is a purely commercial undertaking that aims to put an established artist back to the zenith of success at a time when pop music seems to be going into a continous transition, as it mingles with different genres like rock, jazz, alternative and most prominently, rap.

With this kind of musical environment, "Charmbracelet" becomes an album made up of vintage Carey material, with bits of updates and loads of catch-ups. This consequently brings out the best and the worst out of Carey.

The album opens with "Through The Rain," a pseudo-inspirational ballad that loses its inspirational effect because the lyrics are superficial and a bit shallow, lacking the emotional intensity and depth that allows the listener and even the singer to go through introspection. This is also the main flaw of the gospel tune "My Saving Grace" albeit Carey's beautiful and assured orchestration of lead and back-up vocals in this track. Indeed, the better personal and introspective moments of the album occur in "Sunflowers for Alfred Roy," which glitters with the right emotional depth and transparency, and even the controversial track "Clown" and its in-your-face lyrics and playful soulfulness, if there's such a thing. "Through The Rain Remix" doesn't do much but to remind the listener that the solo version is much better, with a lot of unnecessary noise (and great but irrelevant voices) eliminated on the original track.

Carey, together with her producers and label execs, always sees to it that a typical Mariah album comprises a selection of tracks that spell "number 1". "Boy" is one of these tracks,which is actually more of an infectious little-girl groove than a decent song.Carey does better in the laid back tracks like "You Had Your Chance," "Lullaby" and "Irresistable" although the lingering immaturity of her lyrics in these songs is still pretty much evident. However, her more restrained singing in these tracks show that she is slowly realizing the fact that having a very impressive vocal range is not exactly synonymous to being a great singer.

"You Got Me" is another proof that Carey's stay at the teeny uptempo department is already on maximum residency. On the other hand, "Bringing on the Heartbreak" is such a drippy Def Leppard cover that you can't even figure out why she covered it in the first place.

Despite these flaws, Carey still manages to have solid tracks in this album.

"The One" is an r&b track that matches Carey's voice and Jermaine Dupri's urban rhythm almost perfectly. "Yours" is a rather heavenly ballad that even though the song is much longer than it should have been, Carey's great singing on this track zeroes in to embellish the already saccharine song. "I Only Wanted" is another vintage Carey ballad but she keeps the high notes at the end of the song instead of putting them all over, allowing her solid voice to take center stage. "Subtle Invitation" is perhaps Carey's first foray into lounge music and jazz territory, and she acquits herself well, although not in an outstanding manner.

All in all, the album needs to improve in terms of songwriting as Carey's impressive voice is put to waste if she decides to remain a little girl in some if not most of her lyrics. She should also try to loosen up a bit with her background vocals and concentrate on her lead vocals instead.

Finally,"Charmbracelet" is an album which is more of a stalemate than a great leap forward. It decides to play it safe rather than venturing on fresher material that could prove to be more mature and more artistically sound. However, for a big artist such as Carey, sales matters a lot that artistic growth tends to be put in compromise with commercial success.

Who cares to make a bad album, if record sales don't show it?

QUEER

Women basically raised me. I am the youngest out of six children and an only son. My father was already forty-three when I was born and my mother was turning forty when she delivered me by caesarian section. My eldest sister and I have a twenty-one year gap while my youngest sister was already fourteen and was already enjoying the benefits of being the youngest member of the family when alas, I came along.
When I say that women basically raised me, I did not mean that my father abandoned us or that he passed away when I was just a little boy. No. Actually, my father’s authority as the patriarch in our family was strongly felt in our household, especially among his children.

For us, my father spoke the law. He was the great dictator, comparable to Fidel Castro or Ferdinand Marcos. He set the house rules, established curfew hours for my grown-up sisters, barred men from visiting them and whenever somebody dared break or twist those laws, my father expectedly implemented his infamous sanctions. It did not matter to him whether you had a good reason or explanation for not following a certain instruction, for as long as you did not do something the way he wanted you to, it is considered an offense, just the same.

And you’d certainly get it from him. This was how I got to know my father.

Honestly, I did not see him as somebody that I could have a relationship with. Instead, he was somebody I feared and dreaded, somebody whom I had to please, respect and follow always. Besides, he was always away from home. He worked for the government during the day and he drank with his friends during the night. On weekends, he went to the casino to gamble. And when he got home, he was either too drunk or too angry (because he had lost a lot of money), to care.

There were even times, when I, as a little boy, would wait for my father late at night because I wanted to see him before I sleep and show him something new that I had learned from pre-school. Say, a new song that I had learned to sing or a poem that I had freshly memorized. But more often than not, I would end up being scolded because I was still awake and then be told that I wouldn’t grow any taller. Then, I would be sent to bed feeling so disappointed.

But my father also taught me a few things.

When I was in first grade and was having problems in arithmetic, I asked my father to teach me on a few lessons. Much to my surprise, he said yes. He then taught me a strategy on how to multiply and divide digits faster. The thing was, I found the strategy so overwhelmingly complicated for my age and year level that I did not understand a thing he said.

So, when he tried to test me and expectedly, I gave him a wrong answer, he hit me at the back of my head and told me that I was dumb and slow for I couldn’t even follow a “simple“ strategy. I got so scared that I started to cry and call on my mother. My father got so irritated because I was crying so loud and told me to shut up because “boys don’t cry“ and that only girls did.

When my mother came to my rescue, he yelled at her too because he thought that she was raising me to be a mama’s boy, that I was a spoiled brat and was heavily dependent on others that I couldn’t even follow a simple instruction.

My mother just took me and brought me to my room.

“Mom, why is dad always mad?“, I asked.

“Your father just has a lot of work to do at the office“, she said. “He doesn’t have a lot of patience.“

Though she tried her very best to paint a good picture of my father inside my head, little did my mother know that I, ever since I was a child, was never fully satisfied with the answers she gave me whenever I would ask her why my father always easily lost his temper or why he was always impatient.

And as for the lesson I learned regarding that experience, besides of course that I should study arithmetic more cautiously, is that if I wanted to learn and be good at something, then, I could count on nobody else but myself, maybe my mother and my sisters. But as for the invaluable support and role model factor that was supposed to come from my father, that, should best be forgotten.

And to compensate for the “loss“ of my father, I turned to my mother and my five sisters. Because they were all so much older than me, I basically had six “mothers“.

It is rather amazing how they had let me into their lives, which is totally the reverse of my frustration of not having anything in common with my father.

Back in my childhood years, I would take a bath with my sisters and often times; I would abandon my bed late at night and creep into one of theirs. Furthermore, every time they got home, either from school or from work, they would always have something for me like a plastic toy truck or some cheese sticks, which was my all-time favorite “pasalubong“.

My mother and sisters treated me like a prince probably because I am the youngest and the only boy.

Indeed, I was very special.

But I also did favors for them. Such as when one of them had her monthly period, I would be asked to go to the store and buy a pack of sanitary napkins. However, I should first request that the pack of sanitary napkins be covered with newspaper. The reason for which, I still don’t know up to now.

All in all, I can say that I was somehow complete as a child. Somehow, I had actually learned to shut my father out of my simple, little life. I stopped looking for him whenever sleeping time came and he’s not yet around. Nor did I ever inquire about his rather violent behavior and his uncontrollable temper. I couldn’t care less.

As a child, naturally, I had a lot of playmates. But somehow, female playmates would always outnumber the male ones. As a result, I learned not only the traditional “male“ games like “shato“, “agawang base“, “tumbang preso“ “tex“ and “jolens“ but I also mastered the “bahay-bahayan“, the “ten-twenty“ as well as a little “Chinese Garter“.

“Patrick, don’t you think you should play more with Fernan and Ron than with Mary and Debbie?“ asked my mother as she pulled my sweat- drenched shirt from my frail body.

“But Fernan and Ron would always play basketball, mom. I don’t know how to play basketball!“ Came my honest objection.

Unfortunately, I did not learn how to play basketball because my body coordination was poor, aside from the fact that I was very sickly as a child and that I had worn glasses at such an early age. I desperately wanted to learn the sport but either my chest kept on wheezing because of my asthmatic condition, or my eyeglasses kept on falling because I was perspiring too much.

“Well, I just want you to spend more time with boys than with girls, Patrick“, added my mom, as she turned me around to put sun powder on my back. “Boys play with boys and girls play with girls.“

Back then, I did not know why my mother was so worried that I played with girls a lot than with boys my age. Not that I hated playing with boys like Fernan and Ron. Actually, Fernan and Ron were my best buddies during those carefree grade school days and we beat the hell out of Super Mario and Contra as soon as we had arrived from school and had not even removed our uniforms which by then, soaked with sweat and smelled exactly the way grade school pupils’ uniforms did after an active day in school- that of first class, unadulterated vinegar.

But my friendship with them did not stop me from being friends with girls, too. And girls, I would say, liked me too.

Not romantically of course, for we were too young to care about such adult issues that we even held hands and kissed each other goodbye without any malice. Like, I mean, in the sense that whenever one of the little girls in the neighborhood would celebrate her birthday, I would always be the first boy to get invited and at times, I’d be the only boy present when the blowing of the birthday candles came and the slicing of the birthday cake took place.

And even when boys and girls played together and had their occasional fights, I would often be singled out when girls allied together against the rest of the boys.

“We don’t like to play with all of you.“ “The only boy we want to play with is Patrick!“ yelled my playmate Jean, at one occasion when Fernan insisted that we play hide and seek and Jean, who at such an early age showed leadership potential, wanted to play “Monkey, Monkey“ instead.

On such instances, I would always be made to choose on which side I was going to take. Most boys my age chose to go with the boys, simply because, they were all boys! Just like what my mother said, boys go with boys and girls go with girls. Nevertheless, as for me, I chose on the basis of what game did I really want to play, regardless if I had to go with the boys or with the girls. So, sometimes, I preferred Fernan’s side and on other instances, I chose Jean’s.

“Patrick, are you gay?“ asked my classmate John, an overweight ten year old with rosy cheeks that seemed to have reddened because his cheeks had been pushed to the limit by the enormous amount of mass (fat actually) on both sides of his face, one rainy day in school when we were both in the fourth grade.

“No.“, I said. “And why would you think that?“

“You play with girls a lot and you eat so slow.“ was his reply.

“Oh, that!“, I responded. “No John, I’m not. And sorry for eating so slow“ I added.

That “question and answer portion“ with John etched a question in my mind. It was not until then, when John told me about his observation that I had come to realize one fact about myself and openly wondered why it was so, or why was I ever like that:

“Why, in heaven’s name, do I eat so slow?“

Maybe because I was used to talking during mealtime, like when one of my sisters would ask me what new lesson I learned from school that day, or probably because the television was always on whenever we ate at home. Regardless of that, I did not know that boys should eat and do things like they were under time pressure. However, John’s observation of my eating habits was indeed accurate, not to mention hilarious.

“What a very comprehensive presentation, Patrick!” commented my English teacher Ms. Beltran, an alarmingly slim lady whose eyebrows were always raised and whose voice reminded me of one of those antagonists in the afternoon soap opera that my mom religiously followed, after I delivered my report about Shakespeare during my sophomore year in high school. I had not slept the night before just to prepare for that report and was quite relieved that my English teacher, notorious for setting high expectations from her students and consequently failing them if they failed to meet her standards, liked the way I presented my report that morning. She only uttered praises once in a blue moon and to think that I impressed her with my report was quite an achievement for me.

“Hmmm, I’m actually witnessing another side of this infamous teacher. Well, maybe then she won’t be a spinster after all,” I devilishly said to myself.

After lunch break, I came to her office that was a small cubicle located at the rightmost area of the school’s main building to submit the written version of my presentation that morning.

“I was impressed with the large amount of data that you were able to gather for your presentation. And your analysis was sensible too.” she added, an unexpected commendation that totally sent me floating at cloud nine.

“Thank you ma’am.” was my rather humble response.

“But there is just one question that I would like to ask you, Patrick. I hope you don’t mind”, she quipped, as she took my folder where I neatly compiled all the materials that I used for my presentation.

I had not yet uttered my “No ma’am I don’t mind ma’am“ reply when she threw the question right to my face.

“Are you gay?“

Just then, the acclaim that sent me floating at cloud nine was suddenly replaced by a blank stare that seemed to ask: “Where the hell did that question come from?!?“

“Ma’am?” came my timid reply.

“I noticed a while ago when you were presenting your report in front of the class that your fingers flipped too much”, came my teacher’s totally out of left field rationalization.

I did not know what to say.

Much worse, I did not even know what she really wanted. Do I have to explain why my fingers flipped too much or was she waiting for a confirmation or a denial of my “perceived” homosexuality.

“No ma’am, I’m not. I was just nervous”, came my reply.

“Oh good!” she said. “There aren’t’ so many straight men who perform very well in English or Literature. Just look at Shakespeare! A lot of people claim that he was actually a “fairy” by heart.”

In that instant, I found it so tempting to reverse my earlier prediction that Ms. Beltran won’t be a spinster after all. Moreover, I even wanted to cast a spell on her! For I didn’t know if she was being sarcastic, or maybe she just finds Shakespeare’s private life too intriguing to handle. Or could it be that she was relieved because of my denial or if everything she had said were just weak attempts at being funny.

As soon as I had gotten out of her office, it struck my mind why Ms. Beltran found it quite unusual for men to love English and Literature, the very subject she taught. Was it because she perceived straight men as always tough and logical and that most of them do not have the time, rather, the inclination to appreciate art or the humanities? If so, is that why most men go to purely “logical” fields like Engineering, Math or pursue Business as lifelong careers? And what if a few men chose a different path? Say, a filmmaker or a playwright. Would that be way too eccentric? Or are people just so used of perceiving men as creatures who project no emotion? Like sturdy walls that nobody could crumble. Just like my father.

I and Paula -a tall, tanned, generously endowed, free-spirited and wildly liberated Psychology major, met at a birthday party of a common friend, Rosa, who was the President of the student organization where Paula was an old member and I, a newly inducted one.

Not really the mingling type, I came to the party just to greet the celebrator a “Happy Birthday”, eat dinner, have a few drinks, then disappear promptly after a couple of hours. After I had gotten food from the buffet table, I occupied the vacant monoblock chair next to where Paula, all made up and was in a revealing Spaghetti strap that night, casually seated. I assumed that she had already eaten because all she had was a bottle of “Budweiser” on her left hand and her mobile phone on the right.

We proceeded to greet each other and as a social tradition, and at the same time due to embarrassment because my plate was overflowing with rice, “menudo”, barbecue and my personal favorite “sisig”, not to mention the fact that I totally looked like I hadn’t eaten in weeks as I started to munch on the food as soon as my butt had touched the monoblock chair, I asked Paula if she cared to share the “bounty” I got from the buffet table. She merely smiled.

Then, without a word, she took the spoon and fork that I had already started using, took some rice and “sisig” from my plate, seductively stuck out her tongue that seemed to have blackened a little than usual because of too much nicotine, and took it all in. The rice and the “sisig”, I mean.

“I thought the “sisig” lacked some spice a while ago. Not anymore coming from your spoon,” she playfully said, winking.

I flushed at what she said, although I knew that I should take that as some kind of a joke. But we were not close and were merely acquaintances. And for her to do what she just did was really quite unexpected.

She then started to ask me questions like why I came alone or where my girlfriend was that night. I told her my girlfriend of two years was abroad and that none of my friends were available for the dragging for this particular occasion. Having heard that, she mentioned that she did not have a date too and that it feels kind of lonely to be dateless that night, and that if I didn’t mind, she wanted me to keep her company.

I told her that I’d love to keep her company, but only for a few hours because I need to get home before midnight because my girlfriend was supposed to call that night.

“We’ll see,” she said, in her playful manner, yet again.

Paula and I stayed put at our table next to each other, talking for a few hours. She was an interesting conversationalist, although her being too touchy and the way she looked at me were quite unsettling, causing me to look around every so often, looking for someone who could join Paula and me in our seemingly wholesome conversation, perhaps to loosen up my feelings of “discomfort”. But unfortunately and fortunately, depending on how one interprets my situation, everybody’s just too busy with everybody.

When I had consumed a few bottles of beer, made numerous glances at my wristwatch and felt that it was really time for me to go, I tried to look around for Rosa who was busy entertaining her guests who either arrived late or left early. I originally planned to do the latter.

When, to my relief, Rosa and I caught up with each other, I quickly stood up and greeted her one last time and told her that I had to go. She, warm and friendly as always, thanked me for coming and was even supposed to accompany me on my way out when her friend Aya pulled her rather violently for the usual picture takings. With Paula next to me, I simply apologized for not being able to stay that long and for not drinking as much as I wanted to because I had to drive my way back home.

Paula, having consumed an immeasurable amount of liquor that night, accompanied me to the parking lot. Tipsy as she already was, I volunteered to drive her home.

The minute we were both inside the car, she pulled me towards her, placed her arms on top of my shoulders and her hands at the back of my neck and her fingers through my hair, and started kissing me.

“Hey! I told you I had a girlfriend!” said I as my hands firmly grabbed her arms so that she couldn’t move. “ It’s not going to happen.”

“Where is your girlfriend now, huh?” “Tell me, where is she?” said Paula, totally out of her mind.

“I love my girlfriend,” I added, as I did my best to hide my vulnerability to the whole situation.

“I did not ask you to love me, too,” bitched Paula. “You don’t have to over blow this whole thing!”

“I’m sorry.” “I don’t do this,” I reacted, partly because I wanted to remain loyal to my girlfriend and partly because I had never come across a woman as forward and as hungry as Paula.

“Patrick, are you gay?” Paula asked teasingly and perhaps, to further challenge me to the limit.

“No, I’m not”, I said. “I don’t have to be gay to say no. Maybe you think something’s wrong. Please understand,” I added, all perplexed and taken aback by her intense aggressiveness.

“Whatever…” was Paula’s cold reply.

I still drove her home, nevertheless.

In the car, she had suddenly seemed sedated as she remained quiet the whole time I was driving all the way from Fairview, where Rosa held her birthday party, until Paula’s dormitory inside UP Campus. Nevertheless, I was also quiet and probably feeling as vulnerable as she was that very moment. We were both so silent that the only audible sound inside the car came from the stereo that had Eric Clapton playing. After that night, I never got to talk to her again.

As I lay in bed that night after my girlfriend had called, I asked myself whether it was really so gay of me not to give in to Paula’s advances. Obviously, I was the guy and I’ d lose nothing if ever I said yes to her that night. Besides, Paula was very attractive and passionate. And to say the least, she was willing. As for my part, Paula’s advances were not easy to repel.

Why does it have to be so much harder for a guy to say no to a woman’s advances as compared to the reverse situation? And if ever a man finds the discipline and the self-control to say no, the issue of sexuality almost always creeps in the way, as if something was terribly wrong with the man for simply saying no.

And looking back, why were my flipping fingers, my female playmates, my passion for Literature and my occasional manifestation of self-control held at such a big deal and was even given a direct connection to my sexuality, when it’s not even a big deal for me!

Above all, why do a person’s ways, actions, emotions, reactions and interests have to be socially classified? And if ever one fails to make it to the stereotypical, to the perceived schema and to approximate himself with what’s generally acceptable, then he is seen as someone who’s always on the outside, someone who’s somewhere halfway and someone who is yet to come up with a place to “fit in.”

“Patrick, are you gay?”

That’s probably the question that people most frequently asked me next to “What is your name?”

They had tried to judge me by what they can easily see through me. When in fact, they are only giving a mere approximation on how I compare to the guy next to me, in terms of how I act and how I behave. And if masculinity were measured only through one’s actions or through one’s outside behavior, then masculinity would probably be one of the shallowest things on Earth. And a lot of men, myself included, would be gay.

On the other hand, if masculinity were measured through a man’s level of maturity, or evaluated through his relationships with other people or through his achievements, still, a lot of men and even my own father for example, would be gay. And if they say that it takes a gay man to accurately identify another gay man, then could the reverse be applicable, just the same?

Meaning to say, does it take a real man to know another real man? But, in heaven’s name, how would you define a real man?

For personally, I wouldn’t know.

I wouldn’t know.

FILM REVIEW: HIBLA BY YAM LARANAS

Philippine Cinema has been stuck in the tried and tested genre pictures since anyone can remember. With directors under the stranglehold of producers, the Philippine film industry churned out one tearjerker after the other, violent yet awkwardly moralistic action films, pathetic slapstick comedies and of course, the ever saleable bold film which went through a series of name changes -- from Ramon Abalos’ “Uhaw”-- the first ever Bomba film released in 1971 which starred Bomba star Merle Fernandez, up until the days of the “wet look” with Gloria Diaz, the “bold” film with newcomers like Chanda Romero and Gina Alajar, the “pene” movies of the mid 80’s which actually featured actual penetration, the “ST” films of Cristina Gonzales during the late 80’s and the early 90’s, the “TF” film which gave fuel to the careers of Rosanna Roces and the like, and up until today’s Sex films that featured young and able “hubaderas” who may either have considerable acting talent and those that are better best forgotten.
Although the bold film features gratuitous lovemaking scenes and shameless disrobing enough to call the attention of moralists and religious sectors, a number of these films have actually managed to transcend the genre and have become truly deserving of being called “art” in the true sense of the word such as Jeffrey Jeturian’s “Tuhog” and “Pila Balde”, as well as Carlos Siguion Reyna’s “Ligaya” and “Selya” among others, attesting to the fact that an artistic “bold” film can actually be produced if handled by directors with skill, sensitivity, open mindedness and most of all, integrity.

This year, there seems to be an invasion of sex films in Philippine cinema in what could be the local film industry’s response to the continued domination of Hollywood films over the local pictures.

Released just last Wednesday is “Hibla”, Yam Laranas’ fourth directorial job starring Rica Peralejo and Maui Taylor. The script was written by Quark Henares who also wrote and directed the rather impressive “Gamitan” that launched Taylor’s career as a box-office star and as a very promising actress.

The film tells the story of Isabel and Clara, two childhood friends who were separated when Clara, played by Taylor, moved to the city with her father Roman who is obviously underdog to his wife Leticia, who would later on desert both husband and daughter for another man. This would bring Roman and Clara back to the province where Clara, after ten years, renews her bond of friendship with Isabel (Peralejo), still virginal and innocent of the pleasures of the world, much to the disadvantage of her boyfriend Lando who truly loves and desires her. Clara, in turn, has turned into a scheming, attention-seeking and wanton woman that would later form the strands of deceit, betrayal and destruction between the two friends and their loved ones.

“Hibla” is a glossy film with a very beautiful opening. As in other Yam Laranas’ films, the film is stunningly photographed and the cinematography is highly commendable, proving Laranas’ strong command of the camera. The flowing of the river represents the flow of life and of relationships, eventually emptying to the ocean of desire, deceit and betrayal, love and hate, retribution and death. The music and sound successfully captures the atmosphere of simple, slow-paced and laid-back rural life.

However, after the film’s rather impressive opening and immediately after the opening credits, everything tragically goes downhill.

Both Peralejo and Taylor have great potential as serious actresses but they failed to shine in this movie because first and foremost, they play very stereotypical characters- the virgin and the vamp. The manner with which Peralejo and Taylor deliver their lines are used to differentiate the rural politeness of the former and the indiscreetness of the latter. But later on, the delivery of the dialogue becomes quite irritating that it seems as if you are actually watching two Batibot children render their obviously rehearsed children’s show conversations. Peralejo, for her part, seems to try so hard playing a country lass but she fails to sink in naturally for her role. On the other hand, Taylor was better handled by Henares in “Gamitan.”

Among the characters, it was Ricky Davao who gave out the best performance but this was barely a surprise because everybody knows that he is an established, award-winning actor. Davao knows how to communicate with his eyes and his facial expressions and movements are believable for his role as a deserted husband who uses his sexual prowess to compensate for his feelings of loneliness and defeat. Antonio Aquitania, in turn, is hard as a rock and stoned-face in this movie that he is only believable in his role when he cusses a bad word every now and then.

The script and storyline is also very thin and manipulated that the climax, when it finally comes, seems less than coherent and less than logical. The stunning cinematography and the production design fails to hold on to the end and becomes quite postage stamp-y while the editing is uneven. Of course, breast exposure seems to be more than necessary, for commercial reasons.

Laranas’ directorial mastery has always been halfway. He started out with “Balahibong Pusa”, a film that had good visuals but a wasted script. Then came “Radyo”, who had the same characteristics of an almost-genius visual style but a highly incoherent screenplay. His best work would probably be “Ikaw Lamang Hanggang Ngayon”, which was relatively well told and the characters interesting and well-rounded despite its very commercial nature. “Hibla” enjoys the same merits and suffers for the same faults. Henares, who wrote the screenplay, also wrote better for “Gamitan” than for this film.

All in all, comparably, “Hibla” is like a donut-sweet and delicious all around, yet hollow in the middle. Though the visual feast of fine scenery and sexual acrobatics are present for the audience of the big screen, important aspects of film such as the screenplay are sadly bypassed instead of being honed, developed and orchestrated to create a creative and artistic picture instead of being just a relatively run off the mill albeit interesting film.

Disappointing.