If watching Ranchero felt like being in unwarranted solitary confinement, watching Concerto felt as if I attended a tertulia. Films set during Japanese Occupation-era Philippines are rather rare, and Paul Alexander Morales's fine film is a welcome addition to that list. It may not be as great as Peque Gallaga's Oro, Plata, Mata (1982), but it's definitely much better than Cesar Montano's earnest Panaghoy sa Suba and Joel Lamangan's unimaginatively titled Aishite Imasu 1941, both released in 2004. The film strongly reminded me of Gilda Cordero Fernando's classic war stories People in the War and A Wilderness of Sweets in its detailed chronicling of a large, middle-class family's struggle to survive the war. Interesting material, indeed, but what made it even more so (at least for me) is that it's based on true stories of the filmmaker's own family.
Concerto boasts of several plusses. Morales's assured helming is one; here's one director who obviously knows his material. The production design impresses, despite the movie's very limited budget. The actors are well cast, particularly Meryll Soriano in a performance that's more restrained than usual and Shamaine Centenera-Buencamino, who very skillfully avoids reducing her character--the ever-patient and understanding matriarch--into a two-dimensional saint. And it has several wonderfully staged scenes: the fantastic sepia-toned introduction, the mother's face illuminated by mirror-reflected sunlight, the title event itself. On the downside, I have to agree with Gibbs in his mini-critique of the film: it could stand further editing.
But what really struck me most about Concerto is its strong, almost insistent pacifist viewpoint. It's so strong, the United Nations, if it becomes an award-giving body like the Oscars, would give the Best Picture statuette to the film. Don't get me wrong: there's nothing wrong in espousing a pacifist stance. But there were instances I felt it threatened to undermine narrative logic and common sense. This is most obvious in the final scene: an American soldier, a Japanese civilian, and Filipinos all friendly with one another and enjoying themselves at a party held inside the reopened De La Torre house soon after the war ended. The mood was too forgiving. And there are some details that the director didn't account for, like the sudden appearance of Mr. Akiya at the concerto: where did he come from?
The film's point cannot be denied: one can transcend differences and maintain his/her humanity, even in a heinously inhuman time. And in this case, the universal language--music--proves to be the key. Concerto is an ultimately stirring ode to pacificism.
UP NEXT: Onnah Valera and Ned Trespeces's My Fake American Accent.
Concerto boasts of several plusses. Morales's assured helming is one; here's one director who obviously knows his material. The production design impresses, despite the movie's very limited budget. The actors are well cast, particularly Meryll Soriano in a performance that's more restrained than usual and Shamaine Centenera-Buencamino, who very skillfully avoids reducing her character--the ever-patient and understanding matriarch--into a two-dimensional saint. And it has several wonderfully staged scenes: the fantastic sepia-toned introduction, the mother's face illuminated by mirror-reflected sunlight, the title event itself. On the downside, I have to agree with Gibbs in his mini-critique of the film: it could stand further editing.
But what really struck me most about Concerto is its strong, almost insistent pacifist viewpoint. It's so strong, the United Nations, if it becomes an award-giving body like the Oscars, would give the Best Picture statuette to the film. Don't get me wrong: there's nothing wrong in espousing a pacifist stance. But there were instances I felt it threatened to undermine narrative logic and common sense. This is most obvious in the final scene: an American soldier, a Japanese civilian, and Filipinos all friendly with one another and enjoying themselves at a party held inside the reopened De La Torre house soon after the war ended. The mood was too forgiving. And there are some details that the director didn't account for, like the sudden appearance of Mr. Akiya at the concerto: where did he come from?
The film's point cannot be denied: one can transcend differences and maintain his/her humanity, even in a heinously inhuman time. And in this case, the universal language--music--proves to be the key. Concerto is an ultimately stirring ode to pacificism.
UP NEXT: Onnah Valera and Ned Trespeces's My Fake American Accent.
No comments:
Post a Comment