November Pain

Yesterday afternoon, I visited the place where my elementary school once stood. Traces of it remain visible: the brown gate through which generations of schoolchildren had passed through; the floor of the gym (or to be more exact, auditorium)--now overrun with various weeds and grass as tall as cornstalks--that was the venue of numerous extracurricular activities; the outline of the stage where my classmates and I mounted modest versions of Oliver! (Grade 2) and The King and I (Grade 7); the now-weatherbeaten floor of my Grade 1 classroom, where I was picked on for the first time; and the tree that stood near where my Grade 7 classroom once was, where I often struggled to stop crying after enduring another day of bullying. Sadness, not nostalgia, crept over me. Sadness for all those that disappeared from that place: the school buildings, the playgrounds, even that defenseless and wounded boy who would later learn to will himself not to cry anymore.

Looking Forward by Looking Back

Though it was published in the 112th founding anniversary supplement of The Manila Times last October 11, the online version of the first article--the one with my byline, to be exact--I wrote for the newspaper only appeared yesterday. Below are the introductory paragraphs:

In one of the graduate-level literature courses I enrolled in several years ago at the University of the Philippines in Diliman, I remember award-winning author and critic Dr. Cristina Pantoja Hidalgo exalting the country's creative writers with a statement that I believe still holds true today. Writers, she asserted then, serve as the "memory of the [Filipino] nation."

I think this can also be applied, to a certain extent, to other artists--actors, dancers, filmmakers, musicians, painters, sculptors--working today. The techniques and the technologies available today may be more sophisticated, even innovative; but observers would nonetheless point out how many of our artists--the older ones, especially--continue to draw inspiration from the past, or at least aspects of it. This is hardly surprising, considering how easily we seem to forget our history. In our country, art not only serves to entertain and enlighten, but also to remember.

The rest of the article can be accessed here.

Art Attack

Newspaper editorials rarely discuss matters about culture and the arts, so it's rather refreshing that The Manila Times had one on the subject last Saturday:

One of the more interesting ideas that prize-winning playwright and National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA) executive director Maria Lourdes “Malou” Jacob offered in an exclusive roundtable discussion with the editors and reporters of The Manila Times on Tuesday is the idea of employing our arts and culture to address, even attack an altogether different kind of “culture”—the pervasive culture of corruption, discrimination and violence in our country.

Granted, this idea is hardly new. But the strange thing is, a lot of us seem to treat it as though it is something novel, even groundbreaking. Strange because our history has shown how many of our artists—composers, creative writers, painters—have deeply and totally espoused this idea. 

The rest of the editorial can be found here.

Point of (Re)view

Inspired by an important and lively discussion sparked by one of Gibbs Cadiz's Facebook status updates, I'm posting an article I wrote for Rogue Magazine, which published a very slightly edited version of it last February. As an inactive reviewer who has experienced having one of his own works reviewed, I thought I was in a decent position to share my thoughts on the subject: reviewers.

Magazine and newspaper readers normally find them in the entertainment and lifestyle pages, praising a newly released movie or panning a recently closed stage production. Authors, artists, and actors often check them out, curious to know what they think about their latest work. What they say can stroke one’s ego at a given moment or leave another feeling as if stabbed in the gut the next. Some call them critics; others snarkily call them criticizers.

Appreciated or not, art/book/film/music/theater reviewers do not only draw attention to the ever-evolving works of art (or lack of it) being presented to the public, but also offer a closer and more informed view of these works. This view magnifies the qualities these works have, both positive and negative, for better or worse. Not too many people would bother to do that. Some of those who do honestly shouldn’t have bothered at all.

One of them is the reviewer who writes as though he or she is writing a bad book report. You’ll spot him or her devoting most of his or her review to retelling the story of the film or play he or she had watched. Worse, he or she does so in a way that discourages the reader from watching what could be a good movie or stage production. Why watch when the review practically narrates the whole plot? Highlighting the work’s merits becomes nothing more than an afterthought. The result? The review inadvertently highlights its own flaws instead.

Then there’s the reviewer who you may think is a PR hack in disguise. Ever read a review so glowing in its praise that it hurts the eyes? A review so generous with superlatives, you’d think Santa Claus wrote it? Worse, a review touting a singer to be better than, say, Lea Salonga; or a filmmaker, for example, to be the next Lino Brocka? Reviewers can be as subjective as they like, but the real ones won’t write press releases and pass these off as reviews.

Gratefully, many reviewers today write responsibly and thoughtfully. They don’t only point out what’s good and what’s not in a given work, but also explain why. Problem is, some do so as if giving a lecture or a sermon. You’ll sense it in the way they craft their critique, in the cool and impassive tone they adopt. They chide when singling out flaws. Their reviews may be sensible and smart and tactful to a fault, but these also lack bite and an engaging voice.

On the other end, you have those who review the way an academician or a priest might, but with a condescending and dismissive attitude. They’re sometimes among the first in line at the box office, waiting for their complimentary tickets. Even before their reviews get published, they would log on to their Facebook or Multiply accounts on occasion and bitch about the show they had just seen. Not a good idea. Dagger stares, imaginary bullseyes on their backs, and raised eyebrows sometimes appear as they pass by, and they usually shrug it off.

Not all reviewers are like that, though. Several manage to find a pleasant balance in reviewing a particular work’s worth, or the absence of it. They often appraise fairly and intelligently, probing a book or movie or a play with a sensitive eye without sounding too scholarly. They assert their opinions confidently and firmly without coming across as bitchy. In person, they appear warm and unassuming. In print, they often seem particularly credible.

But to me the most compelling reviewers prove to be those whose voice, whose point of view, is so distinctive and strong, it shows in the reviews they write. Whether or not their readers agree with them, they keep them engaged. At their best, they even manage to convince a reader or two—more, in some cases—to see the work they reviewed their way. Magazines and newspapers could frankly use a few more of them.

Love them or loathe them, reviewers don't only let people know which works of art are worthwhile. They also provide certain ways of seeing things that readers may have otherwise missed.

Ondoy's Onslaught

True, Typhoon Ondoy's relentless rains flooded my room (see above)--my one-storey house--yesterday until the water reached around my knees, but I feel so thankful and lucky. I know people who barely and literally kept their heads or shoulders above water when the flood rushed in.

True, Typhoon Ondoy totally ruined some precious documents--certain issues of publications where (most of) my stories first saw print, for instance--but I still feel so thankful and lucky. I imagine all those people who lost far more valuable things--certificates, passports, letters from loved ones--never to be recovered.

True, Typhoon Ondoy destroyed some possessions my family held dear, but I remain thankful and lucky. I think of all those men and women who lost cars and clothes, even houses. I think of those who lost a loved one--or worse, those who lost their own lives.

True, Typhoon Ondoy, in one way or another, vomitted all the collected filth and grime that has been clogging our gutters, but in a strange way I feel thankful that it did. What choice do we have except to clean it up, to clean up after ourselves, to clean up our act? Isn't that a terrific lesson the storm has taught us? I think we should all be grateful for that alone.

Prize-winning Penmasters II

Winners of this year's Philippines Free Press Literary Awards were announced last night. Charlson Ong led the Board of Judges for Fiction, which included Timothy Montes and Dr. Paraluman Giron while Ricardo de Ungria chaired the Board of Judges for Poetry, which included J. Neil Garcia and Danton Remoto.

The winners are:

FICTION:

First Prize: Rhea B. Politado, for Epic Life.
Second Prize: Menchu Aquino Sarmiento, for Marita Pangan.
Third Prize: John Bengan, for Bad Heart and Sasha Martinez, for Catherine Theory. (tie)

POETRY:

First Prize: Arkaye Kierulf, for Textbook Statistics.
Second Prize: Sid Gomez Hildawa, for Poet Talks to an Old Movie.
Third Prize: Mikael de Lara Co, for Mebuyen.

Congratulations to all the winners, especially to Kael!

Info source: Sungazer (Eliza Victoria): Four eyes, etc.

Corazon Cojuangco Aquino: 1933-2009

BREAKING NEWS: Millions greet Aquino upon arrival

HEAVEN -- Millions of blessed and joyous souls who had patiently gathered and waited at the Pearly Gates for the past several days greeted former Philippine president Corazon "Cory" Cojuangco Aquino upon her much-anticipated arrival at 3:18 a.m. today.

According to the Archangel Gabriel, celestial communications chief, the Apostle Peter quickly admitted her into the Kingdom, where a cheering legion of her loved ones, led by her husband, former Philippine senator Benigno "Ninoy" Aquino Jr., rushed to surround and embrace her at the waiting lounge.

"Thank God, you're now here!" an overjoyed Ninoy was heard to have exclaimed, according to witnesses.

Outside the terminal, the former senator led Aquino to a gleaming two-seater open coach, which she initially declined to step in out of humility. After the couple rode away in it en route to the Palace of the Almighty, trumpets blared and angels and souls lining the path to the Holy Home threw confetti on them as they passed.

Mary, Queen of Heaven and Earth, is expected to personally greet her at the palace and escort her to the Most Blessed Trinity.

* * * * *

Rest in peace, Madame President. Thank you very, very much.

Photo: Richard Samaniego Roque, from the Cory Aquino Facebook Page.

The 2009 National Artists Massacre: Lord, Have Mercy on Us!

Granted, the process of selecting National Artists, whether by committee or by the President's prerogative, has always been flawed. But after looking at the list of the most recent honorees--I mean, come on! Seriously?!

The present NCCA executive director, a newly-minted National Artist for Theater? True, she founded one of the country's finest theater companies, but to be named for that alone? What the hell?! And the sunglass-wearing moviemaker best known for his string of cheap "massacre" movies, a National Artist for Film and Visual Arts?! Naknamputsa naman.

My heart goes out to the other, much more deserving five who have to share the now-tarnished honor. I'm expecting a hell of a storm brewing. If it does, it can turn real bad.

Cinemalaya 2009: 24K

The story may not be new, but just the same it promises to be fraught with drama: encouraged by a good omen, three treasure hunters--Manok (Julio Diaz), Freddie (Archi Adamos), and Boyet (Jojit Lorenzo)--return to their digging site in Suyo, Ilocos Sur and rejoin Karlo (Miguel Vasquez) and Arturo (Alchris Galura) in excavating what they believe is gold that the Japanese had buried during World War II. Signs at the site--shadow formations and nearly indistinguishable marks on rocks included--tell them that they're certain to unearth the treasure. But the locals are already aware and suspicious of their prolonged presence, and fear and paranoia inevitably set in.

Truth to tell, there are several things to like about 24K. There's the competent camerawork and editing, for one. The musical score is another, serving its purpose well, even if it has a suspiciously East Asian flavor to it. The amusing repartée between Manok, Freddie and Boyet, and their long climb back to the site, fly. And those smaller-scale rice terraces are quite lovely to behold. Compared to Chito Roño's Yamashita: The Tiger's Treasure (2001), this film is several notches higher.

Unfortunately, I couldn't add the characters to that list.

It's not that I didn't like them. It's just that I ultimately didn't find them as interesting as much as I (and they) should. The way I see it, writer-director Ana Agabin didn't flesh them out further, didn't make their personalities distinct enough. They even sound oddly alike, if one thinks about it. She also didn't delve that deeply into their desire and drive for treasure hunting, but to be fair she did touch on it in a nighttime scene midway through the movie. As a result, whatever tension the characters created among themselves comes off as superficial or weak. It's a shame, for the uniformly solid cast got shortchanged by this shortcoming.

Among the five, only Boyet stands out due to his habit of leaving food, beer and lit cigarettes for the site's guardian spirits, but I failed to know anything else about him beyond that. And when Manok hurries down the site and eventually unearths something unexpected in the end, it startled me. Specifically, it startled me that I didn't feel anything for him. No sense of loss, nada. It certainly didn't help that the fortysomething Diaz, who I must say could still reasonably pass for someone a few years younger, has never been a compelling, intense performer.

Also: that tribal dance toward the end, interesting as it was to watch, didn't serve the plot at all.

Too bad, really: I honestly wanted to like 24K more. But with characters I barely got to know or care, this movie is not exactly the goldmine it could have been.

Cinemalaya 2009: Ang Panggagahasa kay Fe (The Rapture of Fe)

On paper, the material is as melodramatic as they come: an antagonistic, very resentful rattan harvester (Nonie Buencamino) constantly lashes out at his basket-weaving wife (Irma Adlawan) since she returned home after being laid off in Singapore. No longer able to endure the abuse, she rekindles her relationship with a former lover who's now her employer (TJ Trinidad), hoping he would help her out. However, the inexplicable and persistent delivery of dark-skinned fruits at her house suggest the presence of a suitor, who may or may not be her savior.

So many things can go wrong in this surprisingly short full-length film, but screenwriter-director Alvin Yapan admirably manages to avoid the pitfalls that usually accompany his chosen material. His decision to introduce elements of folklore elevates and enriches the story, and the measured pace and subdued tone he maintains throughout the film reminds one of short fiction. Which is no surprise at all: Yapan is a Palanca-winning fictionist in Filipino. The first few scenes show the filmmaker at his most confident, but the ones with Fe and Arturo, especially inside that huge rattan lounging chair--they come across as rather show-offy.

The cast give committed, textured performances, especially by Adlawan. Her part may invite less talented actresses to go on histrionics at every possible turn, but under Yapan's helming she inhabits Fe credibly, simply and without any fuss. Buenacamino similarly underplays his role and consequently shows Dante as a once-good husband who lets his disappointment and frustration at the cards life had dealt him with turn him into an unapologetic wifebeater. Though Trinidad is adequate as Arturo, one gets the feeling that the role is better suited to an older actor.

The movie may touch substantially on domestic abuse, but in my mind it actually deals with the idea of escape. The way I see it, Fe is always looking for a way to escape, be it from the harsh life she and Dante were living (as gleaned from the fact that they had to reluctantly sell their land so that she could work abroad) or the hostile situation she found herself in when she came home. This is reinforced at one point by Arturo's brother, who wants to return to Manila and escape the hardship in helping to take care of his incapacitated father. It is this need to escape that drives her to seek out her suitor, who may and may not offer her a way out. The ending reflects this clearly, and whatever choice she makes saves and dooms her. She is a truly tragic figure, much more so than what may be her closest counterpart, Persephone.

A battered wife. An abusive husband. An attractive ex-lover. An unseen suitor. In lesser hands, such a combination of these characters promise melodrama at its lowest. Luckily, that isn't the case here. Solidly scripted and directed, Ang Panggagahasa kay Fe is an effective and restrained film that offers a portrait of a woman always looking for a way out.