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.

Untried, Untested, Unstaged, Unpublished

For many people, this year's edition of the just-concluded Virgin Labfest will be memorable for many reasons. Some will remember the unprecedented increase in ticket sales, despite the harsh and honestly hole-riddled arguments of a stubbornly sharp-tongued university-based theater reviewer. Others will recall not so much of what happened onstage, but more of what took place offstage. A few may probably dwell on what went wrong this time around. But most will not forget, at the very least not now, the fact that this year's festival, like in the past, has been a solid success.

I had planned on not writing at all about this year's edition, which would have been a first. But the way I (later) saw it, to not write about it means that I'm indifferent to it: to the diversity of the plays mounted, to what each has accomplished despite its flaws. And it's very difficult to be indifferent to something like the Virgin Labfest, especially when the people behind it cared so much for it. To be indifferent is a great disservice, and apathy is one thing that we seem to have in appallingly enormous supply nowadays.

That said, below are what I think made this year's Virgin Labfest such a treat:

ACTOR: Jonathan Tadioan, in Layeta Bucoy's Doc Resurrecion: Gagamutin ang Bayan.

"Ferocious" is perhaps the perfect word to describe this actor, both for his commitment to every role he takes on and the performance that it results. His appearance, thick facial hair notwithstanding, may not strike me as particularly menacing, but the way he projects danger does. I used the aforementioned word to describe his performance in Tim Dacanay's Pamantasang Hirang last year, and I'm using it again for his portrayal of the rude, crude and corrupted cousin of the title character in Layeta Bucoy's gripping and ultimately unsettling drama.

ACTRESS: Marjorie Lorico, in Tim Dacanay's Ang Huling Lektyur ni Misis Reyes.

The Virgin Labfest has always featured works that have substantial lead roles for actresses, and this year's edition was no exception. Gigi Escalanate in Maliw, Mayen Estanero in So Sangibo a Ranon na Piyatay o Satiman a Tadman, Mailes Kanapi in Kitchen Medea, Skyzx Labastilla in Isang Araw sa Karnabal, Sherry Lara and Raquel Villavicencio in Asawa/Kabit--I would have chosen any one of them on any other day. But I chose Marjorie Lorico for the simple reason that I remember her performance the most, and remember it positively. I have admired this actress' considerable talent for a long time now, and her engaging portrayal of the easily distracted and stressed-out title character is, without a doubt, the highlight in Tim Dacanay's monologue.

SUPPORTING ACTOR: Sugus Legaspi, in J. Dennis Teodosio's Salise.

For some reason, I never found this actor's past performances particularly noteworthy. But his role as the kubrador dad in J. Dennis Teodosio's latest comedy changed that. It helped a lot that his character has much of the play's most hilarious lines, and I thought he delivered them very well. I may be wrong, but I believe this is the second time he has taken on a comic role, the first being in Nicolas Pichay's Tingnan Natin ang Mukha Niya waaaaay back in 2001. Maybe it's just me, but I feel his talent is better suited for wisecrack-filled comedies.

SUPPORTING ACTRESS: Julia Enriquez, in Reuel Molina Aguila's Maliw.

In any other day I would have selected Roence Santos for her competent turns in Salise and So Sangibo a Ranon na Piyatay o Satiman a Tadman, but there's something about Julia Enriquez's role as the desaparecido eldest daughter of former activists-turned-academicians that's inherently compelling. The daughter's expected-yet-unexpected visit in the play (as wishfully imagined by the denial-gripped mother) powerfully lends flesh and blood to the protagonist's gnawing grief and eventually gives the latter the closure she needs. In that role, I felt Julia Enriquez turned in a fine performance.

(Note: Though I failed to watch it, I heard that Cats Racsag, a last-minute replacement for Julia when the latter was hospitalized for appendicitis and therefore couldn't perform in the last show, was--let me put it this way--miraculous as the daughter. I would've loved to watch her.)

ENSEMBLE: The cast of Sheilfa Alojamiento's Boy-Gel ang Gelpren ni Mommy.

Among the plays staged this year, Alojamiento's work charmed me the most. I truly admire how it tackled lesbianism simply, sensitively, and without needless fuss. And I find her decision to use the children's perspective to be rather refreshing. The cast responded accordingly and I, in turn, responded very well to their chemistry. They performed as a solid team; no one tried to upstage the others. Isn't that what a true ensemble is?

DIRECTOR: Riki Benedicto, for Rogelio Braga's So Sangibo a Ranon na Piyatay o Satiman a Tadman.

A few may dispute this, but I feel the debuting director's helming is the most striking thing about this play. Rogelio Braga's elegiac play on the 1971 Tacub Massacre as filtered through the memories of a consequently jaded Christian witness presents challenges that can give any director, experienced or not, a lingering, thoughtful pause. That said, I'm quite impressed at how deftly Riki Benedicto handled the play's three timelines, and his flashlight-illuminated staging of the roundup and subsequent massacre of the innocent Maranaos was nothing short of riveting.

PLAY: Isang Araw sa Karnabal by Nicolas Pichay.

The recent increase in forced disappearances in the country has made the topic of desaparecidos a very relevant one once more. The heartbreaking loss, the unbearable lack of closure, the need for relief, the gradually fading hope that the loved one will return--Nicolas Pichay wonderfully addressed all these and more in typical Pichayesque fashion. No one but him can think of setting a play on desaparecidos in a place so unusual and rich in irony and comic potential like an Enchanted Kingdom-like theme park. No one but him can use a comic tone and get away with it, especially with the subject his play deals with. And most of all, no one but him can think of the idea of faux, beehive-shaped shit as candy. I won't be surprised if this play will be restaged next year as part of Virgin Labfest 5 Revisted.

To the VLF playwrights, actors, directors and behind-the-scene staffers: Bravo!

Prize-winning Penmasters

Winners of this year's Philippine Graphic-Nick Joaquin Literary Awards were published in the July 6, 2009 issue of the said magazine. Literary editor Marra PL. Lanot headed the Board of Judges, which was also composed of award-winning fictionists Luis Katigbak and Susan Lara. Awarding rites were held last June 25 at the Manila Grand Opera Hotel in Santa Cruz, Manila.

The winners are:

First Prize: Rosario Cruz Lucero, for Papa's Field.
Second Prize: Erwin E. Castillo, for Cape Engaño.
Third Prize: Sasha Martinez (published as Fe P. Koons), for This Fleet of Shadows.

This is the second time Lucero won first prize in this particular contest. I loved her stories since owning a copy of her National Book Award-winning Feast and Famine: Stories of Negros, and had an ultimately rewarding time learning from her in the fiction-writing class I took several semesters ago. I find it so amazing that every time she wins in a literary competition, it's always first place. Kainis, ang galing.

Congratulations to Ma'am Chari and the rest of the winners!

Protagonists, Politics, Poison

Last week I watched two one-act plays that startled me, not because of their apparent differences, but rather for their accidental similarities. The first, Oggie Arcenas's Isang Mukha ng Pandaraya, is inspired by the cheating controversy that rocked the UP School of Economics early last year. His interpretation of the scandal uses a she-said/she-said setup--to prevent a clear-cut presentation of the facts, one strongly suspects--that exposes the less-than-noble qualities of all (well, almost; one may argue that the complainant's attorney is an exception) those involved in the case. The second, Layeta P. Bucoy's Doc Resurrecion: Gagamutin ang Bayan, features an increasingly discomforting clash of wills between two adult cousins, both sharing the same surname and the same ambition to run for their town's mayorship and nothing else. Like most of Bucoy's plays, it does not end well.

Two things about the plays gave me pause. One, both protagonists have serious flaws. Isang Mukha has a hotheaded complainant who possesses an unwholesome reputation on campus, which the memorable last scene decidedly confirms. As for the title character in Bucoy's play, his appalling but understandable sense of shame about his impoverished roots threatens to undermine his well-intentioned plans for his hometown. Their less-than-sterling character threaten to bring them down. Both dare the audience to dislike them. True, many other, greater plays have featured such characters, but one could not help but remain compelled by them.

The other? In my mind, what struck me most about Isang Mukha and Doc Resurrecion was that it highlighted the role politics--academic, familial and everything in between--play in poisoning (surprise, surprise) institutions and societies, even families. Bucoy's play especially demonstrates this, with cousin turning against cousin, with disturbing consequences. Even more disturbing, we often see this poison working in real life, right in our faces, right out in the open. But you know what's most disturbing? Most of us have become indifferent--numb--to it. Sad thing is, we're aware of it.

The protagonists may be tragic. But then again, so are we.

Happy Holidays

Concert with a Cause

Like many Filipinos, I love music. To be specific, I love listening to music; God apparently did not bless me with an awesome voice or enough patience to learn a musical instrument. And I'm one of those guys who can appreciate, even like, all kinds of music (well, except classic country). One kind of music that I really have a soft spot for are the Filipino progressive songs of the 1980s. I first listened to them as a high school junior, during rehearsals for a school production of Ritchie Valencia's Juan Obrero. Our drama teacher thought to use Filipino progressive music to match the play's equally progressive content, hence my co-performers and I got to listen to Joey Ayala, Buklod and Gary Granada for the first time. I remember how their songs--Ayala's "Bata Batuta" and Buklod's "Buhay at Bukid," among others--impressed me with their sobering lyrics, stirring melodies and undeniable sincerity. So different from the ones being played on the radio then.

Last Friday, at Rody's open invitation I went to a special gig at the '70s Bistro. How special? Patatag, one of the country's finest progressive musical groups, performed a benefit gig for one of their members. I've been inclined to go: I've heard Rody, one of the group's founding members, recall his experiences with Patatag to the Bloc before, and I've been quite interested to get a hold of their three-CD set (a little pricey, but definitely worth it) that comes with the ticket to the gig. And I am not the only one: so many people came, packing the place. Not just friends, but fans of the group's music as well. Clearly Patatag has developed a devoted following through the years.

Anyone who watched that night knew why the group has so many admirers. Many of those who came to the gig grew up during the early 1980s--the time Patatag was formed--and as expected the group's songs have great nostalgic value for them. For others, including myself, it's really a pleasure to hear their voices blend so well, singing with such conviction and power in one rousing song after another: "Pagbabago." "Dapat Bawiin." "Wala Nang Tao sa Santa Filomena." Rody had a few strong solo numbers (including the very famous "Manggagawa" from Sister Stella L., which the audience loved). So did the very sweet-voiced Susan Fernandez and Patatag's musical father Jess Santiago. If there's a complaint, it's the fact the mini-concert was too short.

Below is a video of the group singing "Wala Nang Tao sa Santa Filomena" at the gig, which I found on YouTube. See how good they were:



I've been listening to Patatag's three albums since last Friday, and as far as I'm concerned I like the first one, titled Nagbabagang Lupa, the best. Perhaps that album's main theme--the unjust and miserable conditions facing our poor farmers, which I feel very sympathetic about--had a hand in my liking it so much, but to offer that as the reason, I feel, doesn't give the songs justice. "Julian Makabayan"? A pleasure to listen. "Nagbabagang Lupa"? Heartrending. "Tano"? Simple but very powerful. "Wala Nang Tao sa Santa Filomena"? Haunting. "Dapat Bawiin"? Stirring. "Butil ng Palay"? Bittersweet, its melody reminding me of lullabies.

Before they ended the gig last Friday, Patatag announced that they'll be having another concert on May 1--Labor Day--next year. I'm sure a lot of people will come--myself included. Their gig last Friday have made me an earnest admirer.

He's the Man (Asian)!

2008 Man Asian Literary Prize winner Miguel "Chuck" Syjuco

I'm sure most, if not all those in the Philippine literary community have heard--and are rejoicing, I would imagine--by now that Montreal-based Miguel "Chuck" Syjuco won this year's Man Asian Literary Prize--the Asian equivalent of the Booker Prize--for his debut novel Ilustrado. This win naturally reinforces the terrific buzz surrounding the novel after it garnered the Grand Prize at the Palancas last September. Now a lot of people, myself included, eagerly await its publication.

I don't know the man personally, but I can't help but feel happy for him. Imagine, winning at his age (31) and with his very first novel? Very few writers can pull that off. More importantly, I'm happy about Syjuco's win for it may help bring overdue attention to the country as an emerging force in the global literary stage. Maybe the exposure resulting from the victory may get more people, particularly those in the West, interested in the stories we tell and how we write them. Wouldn't that be sweet?

At the same time, I can't help but notice how, judging from the premise and the excerpt, history plays a pivotal role in the narrative. In that sense, it appears Ilustrado is the latest in a very long line of novels where history is a major player. Needless to say, history will remain a top topic for writers to tackle--and that's something I sort of feel ambivalent about, at least as I write this.

In any case, Syjuco winning the Man Asian Literary Prize is a huge encouragement. Not only to him, but also, to a certain extent, to the Philippine literary community. For that, among many things, his victory should be celebrated.

Photo: The Man Asian Literary Prize

A "Barry" Happy Day

What else can I say, honestly? America just made progress--and consequently, history--today. And the world will be better for it.

Congratulations, President-elect Barack Obama. Congratulations, America. Couldn't be happier, or more relieved.

Photo: Obey Giant: Obama

Light My Fire

It may not match the deep emotional power of the sight of Parkinson's-afflicted Muhammad Ali lighting the cauldron at the 1996 Atlanta Olympics, but it's as inventive (if not more) as the spectacle of an archer shooting a flaming arrow towards the cauldron at the 1992 Olympics in Barcelona. What a brilliant conclusion to a mind-blowing opening ceremony.

(Photo courtesy of Yahoo!/Reuters)

I wonder how London will top that four years from now. WOW.

Winning Wordsmiths

Earlier this evening, I browsed through the pages of the latest issue of the Philippine Graphic (dated August 11, I believe) and saw that it has already announced its winners for the 2007-2008 Philippine Graphic-Nick Joaquin Literary Contest:

First Prize: Virgilio Harry C. Tejero, for How Baby Doll Became an Amazon.
Second Prize: Raymund P. Reyes, for Marie, 22, DH.
Third Prize: Danton Remoto, for Wings of Desire.

Apparently, the awarding ceremony took place last month, and according to Remoto, he learned about his win in mid-June. Tejero's first-prize win this time marks his fourth, and as such is inducted into the competition's Hall of Fame.

Belated CONGRATULATIONS to all the winners!

Cinemalaya 2008: Namets!

For a film with a plot as thin as a thread and a cast led by two very attractive starlets (Christian Vasquez and Angel Jacob) who perform as if they're still acting in commercials, Jay Abello's Namets! (which means "delicious" in Ilonggo) managed to come across as a charming comic confection. How so? Well, Abello's consistent use of a lightweight, angst-free tone contributes part of the movie's charm, as does director Peque Gallaga's effective acting turn as a gibberish-speaking local kingpin. And as someone born and bred in Manila, the movie's location--Bacolod City--and Ilonggo dialogue (with English subtitles) completely engaged me.

But what I like most about Namets! is that it introduces the audience to Negrosanon cuisine; call it Negrosanon Cuisine 101, if you will. The late, great PDI food critic and Silay City native Doreen G. Fernandez would've approved of the effort, I'm sure. But at some point I felt it remained just that: an introduction. It never really satisfied my hunger to know more about this particular cuisine: the contrasting textures, the different flavors, the culture behind it. In other words, what makes it special, unique? The uproarious vignettes spread throughout the film (the best features the wonderful Ronnie Lazaro as a meat-starved farmer), though enlightening to some extent, helped very, very little in this regard.

In a way, I wish I had watched this movie first; it's the perfect, pleasant appetizer for most of the Cinemalaya full-length entries this year that had served as the main course.

UP NEXT: Ellen Ongkeko-Marfil's Boses.