High Energy

I was supposed to be on mandatory rest for tooth healing.
But two films in a night were too energetic for me.
It doesn't mean I was equally on an adrenaline rush as a viewer.

Gerald Butler becomes an action/thriller Hannibal Lecter, without
the Spartan heroics in "Law Abiding Citizen."

While the King of Pop is given his posthumous, oh-so-kind presentation in the
musical documentary, "This Is It."

I wonder which of the two was scarier to watch, a serial killer searching
for justice, or a dead man moonwalking?

The downer was, where's "Rock With You?" Not much from the album
"Off the Wall," I guess.

While Jaimie Foxx seems like he'll sing any moment, stuck with my
images of his "Ray" and "Dreamgirls" roles, the prosecutor was always
on defense, so his counter attack is too late, and by this time,
I was too tired.

But he will witness a mind-blowing judge, literally, instead of Jennifer Hudson's
explosive performance and plea.

I slept through some scenes from the Jackson docu. Maybe it was wrong for me
to watch it after the Butler-Foxx showdown, and it was too late at night.
The music-mentary was too repetitive for me in its flow.

Or am I sour-graping because he didn't sing "Ben", too?
That song was a Pied Piper tune inspired by the rodent and rat-filled movie,
"Willard". Jackson also did another film-inspired song, "Someone In The Dark" for "E.T."

There's more daring in Madonna's music documentary, "Truth Or Dare."

And there's more scare, and brains, too, in "Silence of the Lambs."

I should've heeded my dentist's advice, bed rest for 48 hours.

Where does wasted energy go then, now that I was a participant
to both movies?

I forgot my Physics to compute the loss in joules.
In fact, I never attended my college Physics class.
But that's another wasted energy story altogether.

Point of Return

I almost made it, realizing the dream of semi-retirement!
7 months of bliss, time was at my command.

I wish at least I made it a full year, but you know how Decembers go.
Aside from that month which makes me a year older,
the year-end big bills like LUMP SUM payments happen.
Ah, but it's forced savings to invest on a pre-sold property.

So, as if things fell into place, as finances dwindled,
by stroke of timing and opportunity, a job offer came about.

When I was in a panic mode, three offers came into life.
I almost set up an agency, but by fate, it didn't want to progress.
I just had to back out from it, unfortunately, at the last minute.

There was a 3x a week work schedule offer too, my terms.
It was an attempt from my side to have regular, predictable income,
yet still having two days a week of free time.

But that didn't happen, too.

There was also the promise of moving to a different field,
still advertising, but this time, brand planning.
Well, the wait was too long, I needed a regular salary again.

Until stars aligned, the skies brought about a new day,
unaware, a job by reason of need, from both ends,
the hiree and the one who was hiring materialized.

Seven months of idleness, and being busy, at my own time,
I will surely miss that.

I completed watching Cinemalaya entries, all competing flicks,
for the first time, and ended up being part of next year too,
as a screener. (Which means, I cannot join it, sigh.)

I made new friends too, from the Cinemalaya season.
That is priceless to me.

I did that sardines ad, direct to client deal.
It proved effective and their sales started showing
significant uptick in figures, yeah!

I was able to work for seven agencies, big and small, during the seven-month itch.
I was exposed to the different ways of working,
and met brilliant, and nice people.

I lasted, albeit sacrificing the desire to shop for new clothes or shoes.

Friends and acquaintances helped me, they just came,
and offered, and sustained me.

Afternoon coffee chats became a norm, a luxury of the earning part-time bum,
while everyone is in their office. The malls are much less congested
at this hour.

It gave me time to be healthier, too.
I upped the frequency of going to the gym.
I completed all the necessary dental procedures I have ignored,
which included three visits for a root canal, two fillings, total
teeth cleaning and scaling, and yes, an extraction!

I was able to attend an advanced scriptwriting workshop.
So, I was exposed to a genius named Lao.

I even got to write a script, not original, but
like a script doctor, revising what's wrong with an indie film,
although as indie goes, that one hasn't paid me yet!

Financial need at least didn't make me resort to
my pet peeve, writing an audio-visual presentation
or that text-heavy brochure!

Someone told me, when freelancing, don't accept anything below
5,000 pesos. Luckily, I never got a task which pays less than 25,000!

God is good, His timing is perfect.
Now that bigger needs come at the end of the year,
I will be employed, again.

It was a learning process, the missed offers, the rejected offers,
the offers that never came, and finally the deciding one.
It was hard to turn down some too, painful experience I
had to go through. One even deleted me from Facebook.
Sigh. But I have no regrets, nor do I resent it.
It's business, I guess. Nothing personal.

I will be a Creative Director once again, dropping the "E" before CD,
which doesn't matter to me. I like the account I'll be working on.
And my new boss seems to be fun and hardworking at the same time.

Now, the big adjustment I have, it's not doing what I've always been doing,
but how to get to Sesame Street. It's not within my usual perimeter
and geography of work. And December traffic is bad.
It's hard to get a cab.

Next step is to find an office mate who can bring me back to Makati,
in the bustle of Christmas month, in time for one necessity,
my gym training in the evening! Now I resent the fact
that I never learned to drive!

Health is wealth. That I can never give up.

So help me God in this newfound task.

Returning to the world that sustained me, I count my blessings.
Thanks to those who were ready to be of help
in my seven limbo months. I love you all.




.

Crazy Zombies and Conquistador's Bones

Those watermelons in the air kept me sleepless to attack the zombies. While treasure hunting and rarely getting Cortes' bones draggingly bring me to the next level.

Plants and Zombies is a delight, only at certain levels. I hate my metacarpals being pressured to move quickly. The slowness of Treasure Mania, a Facebook application preview, is friendlier for my keyboard fingers. Although it's such a long wait to have a health kit refilled.

Downloading P&Z (Plants) cost me 99 pesos. I didn't know some had it for free. But it's cheap enough, although I had to delete a lot of files to accommodate its running. But its clear sharp visuals are fabulous.

My favorite weapon is the star. Its five- pointed edge release bullets quicker than the other ones.

Mindless games keep me sane. The lull I enjoy before the working storm coming, soon, a regular day worker, is to be dumb and unthinking. Only reflexes support my survival for these internet games.

I have shunned Farm Town, although I still maintain it, but with lesser fervor. I only plant for contacts and neighbors who are in the progress of expanding their haciendas.

The past month has been non-earning for me, although at least, the last of the receivables are coming in, save for two sources.

In between lull and the loss of freelancing freedoms, I empty my brain.

Goodbye, long lazy days and internet nothingness.

And to the zombies I have slain, thanks for the week-long battle.

What's done is done, let's move on to the next stress and mind fatigue buster, like, hmmm... sex? I have free time till November 15. Promo good while time lasts.

Chinky Chinky Ya-Ya Da-Da

It's the salt. Before I thought the "China Syndrome" comes from MSG in the food. This is a different buzz aside from alcohol.

But nothing satiates me more than good old Lutong Macau restaurant along Jupiter St. "Steamed Suahe", unflavored smaller prawns perfect for dipping in soya and chili oil makes me feel higher than the Shanghai Tower. Once they meet, it's perfect combination.

Saltiness of soya though makes me imagine being in a bloated state brought about by too much water retention.

But during the conversation as we ate, someone said soya is high in estrogen, which may be counter to what men like me need, a constant supply of testosterone. Scary, to have estrogen, does this cause man-boobs to grow? Harhar.

Avoiding rice or noodles, we gorged on chopstick culinary chows. Feeling healthy but not, Hainanese Chicken in oh, that lovely ginger dip, lessens the guilt of having deep fried chicken instead.

We avoided the namesake of the place, that Lutong Makaw, pretending to be conscious about gaining flabs and cholesterol. It's the post-workout psyche of trying to sustain the good deed of going to the gym.

Then, the two-vegetable mix in dried scallop sauce came along. Again, there's salt in that sauce. I should wash it more with a lot of water, but then again, I don't like to make multiple stops to the restroom.

But wait, I can't go on like this without a guilty pleasure. Bring in the spare ribs in tausi sauce, my favorite dimsum. I realized the best part of working out, is the eating after. This will never go wrong. Spareribs in tausi is good anywhere, be it from Ongpin, or from mainstream Ling Nam, or classic Hap Chan.

Riceless, noodle-less, but happiness indeed. It's weird to eat after a hard workout. You try to eat less carbs, but the sum total of what we had seem to be more.

Again, blame the salt. ( I am in denial that we ate a lot. )

Now, my eyes, always a bit chinky, have never felt so chinkier.

But the post-glow after exercise, makes me proud. I seem to have smooth Chinese skin. And it's not my SK2's or Olays who deserve the credit. It's in my chinky genes, however small the percentile may be.

Or maybe, it's actually the effect of MSG, considering a billion Mandarin speakers take it with their food? Far out, but if this stupid logic is for real, I am gonna buy every Ajinomoto in town!

Come Back, Bic

QWERTY killed the art of hand writing. A font was created, the unique penmanship dies.

The personality that oozes from the ink that lands on paper, every curve and stroke of the movement of fingers, aided by the palm and the wrist, have been mechanically deleted by the keyboard.

Pen pals have been replaced by instant messaging contacts.

And worse, words have been abbreviated by text messaging.

The speedball dip into a bottle of India Ink may sound absurd or unheard of in this generation. But there's a momentum in the dip, before a word meets the paper, aided by the speedball. It seems like writing then was a sacred ritual.

The quill becomes a cute prop seen in costume period films and HBO specials. It signifies the need to say the timeline of a story is dated, by using the outdated handwriting tool.

When was the last time you licked the edge of an envelope to seal that letter?

Love letters have become passe. Now, it's a collection of music shared in iPods and mp3 players, hoping the song's message done not by you, but a lyricist, expresses the love you feel for another.

The only need for handwriting nowadays is for signature of documents and checks. But even email messages have customized signature endings as well.

Then we begin to talk about the humble Mongol, too. Every word was manually erased by that bottom orange-colored thing. Now it is simply commanding backspace, or highlight a whole sentence, and press delete.

I remember a Mongol ballpoint pen that still had an eraser at its bottom. But my, how hard it was to erase ballpoint ink, it almost ruins the paper.

Or there was a nail polish act, called Snopake, or Liquid Eraser, to supersede what has been written.

In the name of efficiency and speed, the computer keyboard was born, a descendant of the Olympia typewriter. But what was sacrificed was that personal touch.

This Christmas, make an effort to use that Bic Ballpen again, and put some handwritten notes in the gift card, and not just as a signature. And extend beyond the generic "Merry Christmas" and individualize the message suited to each receiver.

In austere times, and post calamity season, the person behind the text matters. We're losing human contact because of technology. Leave a mark, at the very least, that you're not a computer bot. Use that hand. Grab a Bic, or a Kilometrico, or a Reynolds. Or if you're romantic and stylish enough, use a quill, a speedball, or a fountain pen.

And drop a note or two in your daily lives, be it at the office, or at home, personally hand worded by you. It makes a big difference in this automated, wired world.

Signed as first draft using
Eberhard Faber No.2,

Lilit.

A Not So Hot Summer Affair (SPOILER ALERT!)

So it's a guy chasing a girl, and the girl has the right to drop a guy in love. There's this yearning from deep inside of me to see love sans cuteness. As the film announces this is not a love story, my hopes were getting high. And most of my friends were going ga-ga over this film.

But it's melancholia without dropping cute moments. It didn't cut deeply even if it was a tandem that actually wasn't meant to be.

I missed Gerald Butler's declaration of the Ugly Truth, that men are after boobies. Sadly, he fell into the trap of chick flicks and thawed in the end to a grand hot-air balloon kiss.

The last love story I saw which dared defy all love stories was "Closer." It was like a splash of cold water on one's face looking for a fab foursome that never was.

After seeing the quirkiness of love in the non-Twilight vampire film "Let the Right One In" which I savored for its true melancholia, "500 Days of Summer" was actually "Let the Right One Out" in a non-linear countdown of those days of being hooked to That Summer Girl.

After summer comes autumn, awww c'mon. Okay, it's witty to end with a pun, and another girl, and start with Day One. Someone has to save the lonely guy from ending miserable and be a loser for life.

Now I don't get the musical number which was done wickedly campier in "Enchanted." I told you this film was trying to be anti-love story but can't forego cute.

The guy even declared, "we're adults in a relationship, there's no need for labels, it's too juvenile." But why do I feel this flick was juvenile in its sentiments?

Call me wet blanket. I do love chick flicks. But this neither wanted to be one fully, nor be anti-love struck Hollywood.

It's hard to be caught in the middle of love and lovelessness in one film. Better choose, boy.

And the other guy who just appeared in Summer's life needed more explanation. Yes the guy wanted an explanation, too. No to boyfriends, but yes to marriage, just because the moment came?

I'd rather be Sleepless in Seattle and savor the chick flickiness with my popcorn all the way. Or I'd rather get Closer and be darkly in love. Or, I'd rather go tragic and dwell on unrequited love in all its pain and self-destructing glory.

I didn't know how to feel as the movie progressed.

If you ask me, I should've opened up the DVD box set of Grey's Anatomy Season 5, and indulge in its decadent, medically love-swapping ways, or yes, maybe I should finally catch "Glee." But I hope all these Facebook statuses declaring an enjoyable find won't end up as a summer experience I might easily forget, too. But I am still excited about "Glee." It's television. There's guiltless pleasure I derive nowadays with TV series.

Sorry, I know some of you are fans of 500 days, but, maybe it wasn't made for me.

This is just an opinion, okay, a wet blanket kind of rant.

To each his own viewing pleasure, I guess.

A Serving of Angus Beef Steak Garnished with Paper Roses

Post-Sassa Jimenez show, we were all famished. From the catwalk, to the boardwalk connecting SMEX to SM MOA, the destination was the mall version of Tagaytay Highlands' steakhouse. We all trooped to the call of indulgent beef.

Medium rare, to savor the beefy juiciness were the magic words in my head I was raring to say to the waiter as we ordered.

With all this plywood panels surrounding us, for interior design's log cabin effect, little did we know we will also be transported to Folk House Bodega and retro My Father's Moustache days with the decadence of Shakey's Malate, and what used to be a food court in Farmer's Market. It's where beer and amateur music performances complete the journey to outback heartland, of the spaghetti western Weng Weng cowboy kind.

This folk singer kept on singing, until he sang "Paper Roses," I felt, I was losing my craving for bovine grill. The lyrics, "so take away the flowers that you gave me, and send the times that you remind me of, paper roses..." OK, why will a guy sing about roses being sent to him? Then "Wonderful Tonight" was his next ditty. This song is the quintessential beer in a bucket song for any roadside grill and drink stop. And yes, he sounded like a cross between Eddie Peregrina and Darius Razon.

It didn't help at all, that there's cinematographically-friendly smoke around. Yes, the smoke from the grill can only mean our required fashionably chic attire for Sassa's show will smell like Sunday barbecue. Someone forgot installing exhaust systems in an air-conditioned restaurant, I guess.

The waiters around us were clapping eagerly to the folk singer's beat, in all-out support for the performer trying to earn money while everyone is engrossed with their meals. Now I felt like I was in Friday's and its hyper order takers and birthday greeters.

Culinary taste and tasteful ambience rarely make good bedfellows in a mall. However certified American Angus steak, at no less than 1,200 pesos per serving it may be, we deserve a discount. The folk singing and smokescreen that filled the grilled beef air, made our steak indulgence seem to be far from well done an experience.

Good thing I was in good company. No amount of decadence can ruin a happy gathering among friends ( who I know will not delete me from Facebook).

By the way, I loved the comeback of geometric silhouettes and the 80's. Congrats, Sassa Jimenez! Thanks for inviting us to your show! For the third season in a row, your creations put me under a fabulous hypnotic spell once again! Looking forward to the next season!

Save The TV Scriptwriter

Invited to a series of mind jamming sessions, a piece of the freelance writer's brain is sucked dry to provide a TV network new life, and a chance for higher ratings.

No, the freelance scriptwriter is not a regular, exclusive employee, unless he has become managerial in a big TV network.

There's a lot of room for exploitation here. On TV, unless the series or work starts production, poor writer will never be paid.

The delaying backdrop is the big TV network bureaucracy, which goes from one head, to the next, revisions happen, even on conceptual stage. The executive producer will have his inputs, too. The writer readily reboots his mind, and try to fulfill the creative managers inputs, or the creative directors, or the big bosses.

He commutes everyday, for meetings, and approvals. He co-writes with the TV writing pool, spends on beer to empty the mind again, for writing can be draining, MORE SO if the inputs of the higher-ups are bad, but still, it has to be done.

No shooting or taping, no pay, remember?

Worse, it can take months, even a year, before a soap opera is given the green light to finally be made. Worst, the project is actually shelved. In this long span, competitive network has had a hit, and so programming and executives decide to change projects to keep up with the ratings game.

The freelance writer will never be paid. His endless work saga was never produced.

At least the independent film writer has his soul fed, and gets the high of seeing his work reap awards, even get to travel, if the indie movie is invited to join in international film festivals.

But poor TV writer, who has revised for the nth time, and has had too many cooks spoil the broth, didn't have his artistic soul fed, nor his overdue rent paid.

Someone has to standardize the compensation of writers, and whether a project comes to fruition or not, writing IS LABOR RENDERED, therefore, there is a MONETARY value to this labor, whether the TV task is produced or not.

Bureaucracy can kill the writer. And yes, it can even ruin his work. It can drain his brain. But for the writer to remain unpaid, even if he cooperates with the system, it's an unpardonable crime.

Lucky are the copywriters in ad agencies, whether a client approves an ad for production or not, the copywriter will get his pay every 15th and 30th of each month. He has his thinking time and meeting time paid regularly. He even has health card benefits and 13th month pay.

The ad agency knows that MANHOURS are payable, even if it means a monthly salary.

MANHOURS are measurable, with corresponding cash equivalent for charging/ billing purposes. It protects the ad agency, too, from clients who intrinsically takes time to produce an ad, research and testing time, included, which usually delays an ad's launch.

LABOR RENDERED should be LABOR PAYABLE. Meeting hours, other than writing hours are MANHOURS, too. It's basic in a capitalist economic society. And he has spent time too, eating, commuting, drinking to get the job done, even if it's never done because of the stupid and long process of approvals and revisions.

Nothing comes for free anymore these days. And definitely, writing is not for free. It comes with a fee. And a cooperative brain coupled with resilience for revision, is rare and priceless. That should never be abused. Morally, this is mental rape, and economically, criminal.

When Sex Takes A Backseat

The midlife years are not as testosterone explosive as adolescence, definitely.

The 40-somethings have other pleasures in mind. Sex becomes a bonus, if it happens, good. If not, still good.

Originally, a gorgeous body is enough to make us salivate. But now, what's good on the outside, should be better on the inside. Brains become the sexiest organ a person can have.

Gone is the pressure of the youth that someone's got to get laid.

The search becomes a better restaurant, as you search for a better date than the last one.

Suddenly, the meal is as important as the date. Perhaps the consolation of the palate experiencing flavorful and fine tastes compensate to the lack of brains to a body right across you at the dinner table.

If it works, good. If not, oh, what a fine meal that was, at least.

Sometimes too, the yummy body disappears when the date turns out to be a witty and intelligent one. Too much talk can lessen the desire to cavort. There's a potential friend material that takes over an originally potential bed playmate.

Unless too much alcohol takes over. Alcohol indeed adds heat to the insides of the body. And it adds courage to finally say, "my place?" Before the physical momentum dwindles, and the mental momentum increases, spice up the conversation with more wine. The buzz temporarily paralyzes your mental faculties, then the gut desire of a sexual conquest comes back.

The sexiness of a body definitely vanishes with a shallow, superficial date. The shrimp theory, meaning, delicious if only the head was removed, doesn't only apply to facial attraction. It also means there's nothing in the head. It's hard to have a battle with the brainless.

Also, unlike the youthful years when ambience is not important, as long as the physical desires are consummated, now it is a consideration. It removes the cheapness of a quickie, and makes the act more dignified, to validate the life that has been lived, because, taste improves through the years. And yes, income increases too, so you can afford ambience.

Gone is the thrill of making it out in a car, or in a university lagoon, wherever and whenever libido strikes. This time, a soft bed, crisp and fresh linen, good music, ample air conditioning, and sometimes indirect lighting begin to matter.

The rawness and freshness of youth can be missed, too. There's not much cosmetic nor anti-aging care concoctions on the skin of the potential prey, so when a kiss lands and examines every body part, the taste is organic, and natural. It's unadulterated, unmanufactured, the way nature intended it to be. Now that's an older consenting adult encounter's pitfall. Too much has happened and has been applied on the face. Worse, some nip and tuck must have occurred at this stage in life.

Travel is a booster and an aphrodisiac indeed. If you have been steady, constant sexual partners, a change of scenery would rekindle the lost foreplay. Again, at this age, ambience matters. The thrill of a new place to see, seems like you're dating for the first time again.

All this boils down to is, sex is more expensive in the adult life. And it doesn't matter if it happens or not. What matters is, the individual pursuit of comfort, good food, and good talk can be more than enough rather than the pursuit of a good lay. One cannot exist anymore without the other considerations before ending up removing your fine, hard-earned expensive wardrobe.

Cocomotion

Coco Chanel spent her last breath working on a Sunday, and she was 71 years old, and she remained single all throughout her life. So did the film "Coco Avant Chanel" end with this bit of information.

Should this be the price of being a passionate visionary?

At least the film dwelt on that part of her earlier years when she was torn between two men and she had sex, that's for sure.

Two other local icons quietly entered the theater, still retaining the grace, and the aura of achievement in their lives. Spotted was Margie Moran and Celeste Legaspi. I was comparing the greyness of Celeste's hair to make-up master Jay Lozada's. It seems faux ami to me, in the future tense, how dignified grey hair can look in the future for Jay Lo.

Well, the desire to work nonstop isn't that shocking. We've got advertising icons who retired, but continue to do work. Not that they need the money. Their minds simply refuse to rest.

I am sure maybe, Audrey Tautou will continue acting, too, the way we see a resurrection of Anita Linda, in her twilight years, still getting two lead roles via "Adela" and "Lola."

It was a breather to be finally back in Power Plant, watching a foreign film, after spending much cineaste hours in mainstream Market!Market!

But this generation of mine might not be working that long. We defied the Baby Boomer's post-war industriousness, and we introduced the Work-Life Balance credo as a means to survive and be sane.

The "work to live" rather than "live to work" struggle has been going on since the 1990's. And with internet as common as candy, we've got all the more reasons to spend more time at home, without neglecting on our work responsibilities.

The only thing that will keep us working is the fragile economic world confused as to which model should be followed to recover from Recession. We will work out of necessity, rather than it being the rule of the world. It doesn't make us less ambitious. But it makes us more life-chasers, have it at its most meaningful existence, rather than be part of a factory of humans for others' profits.

I am sure Coco had her fill of sex even if she was unmarried. Fame can be an aphrodisiac to weak or social climbing men. The way Coco had to be a kept woman to rise and finally claim Paris, the city of her dreams.

But she worked on a Sunday. Even God rested on the seventh day. But then again, when you're old and wrinkled, you need to keep busy rather than sulk in nostalgia and memories, and solitude. So, yeah, Coco did right. She just had to keep on going.

What all this commotion about Coco Chanel, now an admired French film, plus Hollywood who won't be left behind by releasing last year's TV version of the fashion icon's life featuring Shirley Maclaine may be saying is this:

We need to look back at a world when it had visionaries, and inventors.

It was a product of passion and a mind not wired and lazily picking up information through Wikipedia. Originality was the key, and cut-and-paste was never an option.

What's fantastic about Coco, was, she never was exposed to haute couture and Parisian culture. She had it in her. She had a vision of women wearing less adorned and less voluminous clothes. It pays to have innate gift and talent. Armed with that, she worked real hard and she ruled the world.

And visionaries will never stop working. The only thing our generation can teach her is, hopefully, they have a life, and keep Sundays free, and reserve it for friends and loved ones, and yes, have time for wine, dine, and great weekend sex.

Thinking Aloud

The exposition of thought bubbles on film as intriguingly, and engagingly woven in Armando Lao's "Biyaheng Lupa," (Soliloquy) would wreak havoc if it happens in real life other than this bus trip to Bicolandia captured on digital film.

Imagine a corporate meeting where one's true thoughts are seen, like a visible thought balloon. The charming side of the presenter speaks otherwise than what he's really saying inside of him. He simply needs to have a decision maker approve a proposal. And the decision maker's thoughts may expose his lower level of intelligence, except he is privileged to be the button pusher that may spell earnings for you or not.

If the thought blurbs happen aloud in bars, then the seduction game is exposed. Your rejects, and your spotted, chosen, desirable ones, are seen by all, and by your object of conquest. Your sweet nothings will be revealed as simply words to get horizontal nocturnal action happening from the bar to the bed.

The politicians and powers-that-be will be unmasked as simply grandstanding speakers, whose real desire for change, for the good of all, are obviously not what they were meant to be or for whom they claim they were meant for, other than actually, themselves.

The positive side, if you romanticize this predicament in a song, says, "if you could read my mind love, what a tale my thoughts could tell."

Even Superman can't hear Lois Lane singing, "can you read my mind, do you know what it is you do to me?"

Or the musician and lyricist in "They're Playing Our Song," yearns to have their other sides seen. "If she really new me, if she really, truly knew me, maybe she would see the other side of me. If there were no music, if my melody stopped playing, would I be the kind of man she wants to see tonight?"

The talking mind may sometimes be caught as well too, without the person being conscious about it. They're the unfortunate sleep talkers. But the thoughts we hear are dreams, so they are not necessarily true, but it provides a peek into the psyche of the dreamer.

I would not want to see nor hear what goes in a creative artist's mind. The process will demystify the output. And that could prove to be exhausting. Spare me, for I go through a tiresome path, too, before arriving at any finished work. You wouldn't want to hear how it really goes.

But then again, "Biyaheng Lupa", is a film, and it only runs for almost two hours. The thoughts are chosen for dramaturgy and poetic impact, so the thinking aloud process is magical. And yes, it proves to be entertaining, too! It creates a cacophony of life, and the journey, whether meaningful, or shallow. And this life trip thought plays with the now, and its end point. Death becomes the equalizer for every individual's journey. It has to end somewhere, sometime, somehow.

Real life or not, there's always a yearning. There's always the need to be felt, be listened to, be acknowledged, and be understood, and the willingness to understand.

The world is too noisy as it is. To hear or see everyone's thoughts, aside from their spoken words, will be maddening. Unless it is done on film. It whets the appetite of the voyeur in us. But once the truth is out, it may sometimes be too true, you'll question life more, and your existence, rather than be freed by truth, via the mental language suddenly being heard.

Hear what lives and life are all about, in one road trip. Then listen to what this film, on the whole is really trying to say. Then you'll end up hearing yourself as well, and will leave you, thinking. Except, no writer is there to weave and put sense into your thoughts, and no sound engineer is there to make it audible to others, and there's no camera in front of you.

It's life and our transitory existence. What we refuse to speak about nor hear, nor give the time to think about, is spoken, seen, and heard in this small, but sensible film.

***("Biyaheng Lupa" will have another screening this Friday, October 23, 430 pm, Cinema 6, Market!Market, Bonifacio Global City, Taguig. It competes under the Digital Lokal section of the 11th Cinemanila International Film Festival,. Written and directed by Armando Lao. Cast includes Angel Aquino, Shamaine Buencamino, Eugene Domingo, Jacklyn Jose, Julio Diaz, Coco Martin, Alan Paule, Archie Adamos, Mely Aquino, Jess Evardone, Susan Africa, Kristofer King.)

So Suasoria For A Sunday

It's showing guilt, as a device, in rhetorical scriptwriting fashion.
But this very technical term amused me to the highest heavens
just by the way it's said.

It's the Lao Code word I learned for the day.

Feeling sorry is rhetorically, "suasoria."

Guilt should strike whoever thought of this source of business.
What the hell are stalactites and stalagmites doing
in Metrowalk, and are available for sale?

Why should a structure carved through hundreds of years by nature,
in the deepest recesses of untouched caves, be sold?

They're too big to be placed in an SUV, you need a truck
to bring them home.

They're too tacky to be found in your nouveau riche grotto rock garden.
And you need a big lawn to have them in the first place.

Same day, earlier, as if buying an expensive Rolex
in a nation under a state of calamity,
won't make you go into the mode of suasoria,
the same expensive watch store was robbed,
in a most unexpected place where it can happen,
at Greenbelt 5.

I won't mind if I was there and eating crispy fried ears
and heavenly noodles and fried banana dessert at Solihiya,
and I am not allowed to go out because robbery is in progress.

If I was caught inside Adora, I will try to fit those
pricey shirts, and see if I am worthy of such wasteful
spending, and if my 2-year gym-trained buddy without
losing the belly will flatter Christian Dior with his
12,000-peso creation on me.

Lucky are those who were not allowed to go out
but were in Fully Booked. Perhaps this temporary
imprisonment is enough to complete two books
without buying them.

But shouldn't I be suasorially disturbed now
posting a blog about a scary, criminal phenomenon?

I should be more guilty not fulfilling my Sunday
obligation to go to Mass because of attending
a workshop as if it can instantly fulfill a full-length
celluloid dream.

There's something less involving if a Rolex shop is robbed.
The heartland in me feels, yeah, such blatant display
of unnecessary luxury will whet the thieves' desire
for acquisition.

But I wouldn't want to be in the security guard's shoes,
whose undisturbed, air-conditioned boring job, faces
its ultimate test, when confronted with armalites
on the laziest, most family day of the week.

And to have cops from Taguig, in a pricey store,
having the chance to display their bravery by engaging
the thieves in a gunfight makes me wonder. Wow,
being a cop may be lucrative enough these days,
to walk through Patek Philippe and IWC row as a Sunday habit.

But thanks to their attempted heroism,
bravery is still a virtue. We miss action flicks.
And we still need a hero, we're holding out for a hero till the morning light.

Reeling from more mind-boggling terms
from the Code of Lao, we decided to be decadently
savoring the drinks of Decades.

I didn't know that old bar down Makati Cinema Square
exists in casino and DVD bootleg land called Metrowalk.

The old waiter who approached me seem to know me.
Oh my, he's still the same waiter from Decades Makati!

Again, I went into suasoria mode.
As I am excited about my new job,
here he was, choosing waiting tables
as a lifelong vocation, in the same bar
of my early 90's working life.

This crazy sorry Sunday made me drink once more.
I had to give a bigger tip for nostalgia's sake.
While I dripped myself in San Miguel Beer fashion,
I can see those stalactites from my peripheral vision.

There's too much guilt in this society waiting to be unleashed.
And it didn't help to know that Metrowalk is actually under
one traditional politician's ownership, Chavit Singson. Eww.

I need to get back to my bed. This is so suasorially surreal.
I stood by my window, for one long sigh, to say, what a day.
And what I see is a big cemetery, the South Cemetery
enveloped in dead darkness.

It made me ask, before dying, what the mission of this man
will be in his most productive years. Way before gout strikes,
or who knows, any other age-related debilitating disease,
as long as it didn't come from rats.

There must be a good reason to wake up, and do something,
before ending up buried under those tombs I see from my room,
or be fossilized and be found besides stalactites and
stalagmites, when Makati will be Pompeii in the next
civilization.

What they might recover are my Gossip Girl DVD Box Sets.
That won't make me a good fossil find and a relic of decadence
past should a future archaeologist discover this corner.
I hope I won't be sold as a mummy down Metrowalk.
By then, they might have renamed Decades as Centuries.

Forgive me for this unusual post-Sunday post.
It doesn't make sense. It attempts to be rhetorical.
But the tokens reportable in a day are too strange
to ignore.

Suasorially yours,
Lilit

Target: Market!Market!

It's the only Ayala Mall I have been to that doesn't behave like an Ayala.
Why do I feel like I am in the middle of Starmall
with a dash of Robinson's Sta. Lucia remoteness?

The ground floor feels like I am lining for an MRT ride, jampacked,
with multitudes of people walking without a pattern, and there's
a distinct aroma of isopropyl alcohol hovering in the air.

The escalators to the cinema floor seem endless. This isn't good news for me.
With only 10 minutes remaining for every gap between successive movies,
it's the most hectic film festival screening for a smoker, who has to go all
the way down the MRT station-like ground floor for the much needed cigarette break.

The dimsum counter on the cinema lobby is too small, there are no tables.
I had a hard time eating my siomai while standing up. This was the quickest
way to grab a bite with the little time left to be able to smoke, go to the
restroom, and have a stomach filler.

I would rather not comment on the mall crowd. I have no right
to do so. This is not a politically correct thing to blabber about.

Inside the cinema, it feels wintry. Why is it too cold?
Maybe, no one has ever heard of thermostat control here.
If you watch 3 consecutive films, this is torture.
I thought I would lose my ear for the first frostbite ever
experienced in a tropical country.

Last year's Cinemanila was more bearable, because it was
in Gateway Cubao. Although its first two floors are indeed
pathways for an MRT ride, as you go higher, there's a sense
of a true mall made for peace, and quiet, and a decent in-between meal.

But try that hotdog at the theater lobby near cinema 5, heavenly.
Although it's the most inconvenient hotdog to eat, it isn't handheld-friendly.
But it's not your usual Smokey's or palengke dog.

Next week, they will show the French film, Coco Chanel,
with Audrey Tautou. There's nothing haute couture - friendly
about this mall. Passers by might think there's a channel
devoted to virgin coconut oil? Now that's too mean for me to say.

All I am saying is, the rare times we've got access to foreign films,
it's the wrong place, at the wrong screening times.

It's not funny to have a very short 10-minute break, raring for
a cigarette, a fast pee break, and a quick bite in a mall like this.

There's no time left to escape from this mad mall, knowing Serendra and
Mary Grace cheese roll is just a few steps away. Arrgh!
That is, if you've got enough time left and long fast strides
to reach the ground floor.

Oh, and unlike the Cultural Center of the Philippines and Cinemalaya,
the screenings don't start on time, specially when they are waiting
for the film maker or a camera supplier, who might speak a word
or two before the movie starts, to say, "thanks for watching, enjoy the film."
I have to yet to hear one saying, "right movie, wrong place,
and hope you've got jackets to protect you from the artificial cold."

Worse, the vampire movie I saw was all snow and there was never a
spring, summer, nor fall, but exclusively winter! It made the film a 4-D experience,
literally, with the feel component in theatrical temperature surround.

Whatever it takes, for the love of film, fine.
I'll force myself to bear this un-Ayala Ayala Mall.

I'd Rather Do The Rico Mambo

Yes, rather than paint a dead kid, or finish watching a film about filmmaking ("A Year Ago In Winter," "69 1/2"), bring me to a place I am more familiar with. Let me spend the hours before my regular work begins in utmost glee.

Perhaps Market!Market! as a venue made me less receptive to the first two Cinemanila films. It's the ambience, dearie. There's a different world out there, after being used to comfort zones like Greenbelt or Power Plant.

It was not the right time to watch a talky film, so I just browsed through "A Year Ago In Winter," saw its first 20 minutes, then checked out what else was showing. There was this local digital film, which claims to be a movie about the making of the most artistic Pinoy pornographic film made me curious.

Well curiosity won't always lead to priceless discoveries. Enough said. Comedy as a wrapping will only work if at least I laughed. Maybe I am too "Market!Market!" to absorb the filmmaking jokes, and anti-sexual sex songs. There was something too messianic about a film that talks about the ideal film. Sigh.

Good thing about Market!Market!, it's right next door to where Retroville is, The Fort Strip. By retro, I mean, where else in Manila will you find three days in a week devoted to music I grew up with?

Tuesdays, Swing Night at Fuel. Thursdays, Retro Music Night at Mint. And Fridays, there's Boyet Almazan's Decadance, still going strong.

After a series of Thursday martinis, in chocolate, ginger, coconut, and pineapple, my hangover didn't stop me from having red wine. There was only one choice, one brand, whether it was a Cabernet or a Merlot. So I wrapped up this unusually alcoholic week with good ole San Miguel Light.

"Da-rat-dat-di-dah... a-rico-mambo, a-rico mambo yeah, I get the feeling , I get the feeling."

I showed them the Vicor Dancer in me. Unmindful if anybody's watching. I deserve this week. I decided to work once more. And my, the way to arriving at this decision wasn't that smooth-sailing nor easy. I could've danced all night. I was celebrating the finality of my options.

But, as always, once the 80's music dies down, and the spinner segues to the 90's, way beyond my youthful peak, I shut off. When the Rico Mambo was over, I suddenly felt tired. I am no "Faces", "Mars," nor a "Euphoria" kid. I just can't get enough, no I just can't get enough of the 80's.

Retroville is my default homepage. Unless someone invites me to sing once more, now that's another comfort zone. I might give in, in spite of this week-long hangover.

And yes, I finally got my favorite Jill's tapa, flavorful with the beef fat intact. I hope those grams of cholesterol dissolved with my sweat as I did my hyper Rico Mambo moves. I did it at level 10. Intensity and magnitude boundless, as if I was dancing to the last days of freedom.

My, what a week that was.

I will savor my final weeks as a free soul.Soon, I will be like anyone else.Waiting for the 15th and 30th of the month, and spending hard-earned cash singing and dancing to the music of my time.

Phallic Backgrounds

When you've got Meryl Streep and Amy Adams in one film,
expect their male partners to be necessary tokens without substance.

The male cheerleader phenomenon, men who are all-supportive for the quirks
of their objects of affection, make Tonton Gutierrez, the do-gooder
Sharon Cuneta heroine role's rah-rah boy, a Hollywood necessity as well.

Move over Bond girls, and other action film trophy girls.
The Mama's Boys are back. They will tolerate anything
as long as they don't get in the way of the female protagonists'
cinematic lives' objectives.

Or in Tagalog action flick world, think of the latest Binibining Pilipinas
winners who were forced to act. They become the girlfriend or damsel to be
rescued by Lito Lapid, FPJ, or Rudy Fernandez. Sometimes they become
the slapstick comedian's display chick, too.

The learning from "Julie and Julia", according to
our chick movie mate is, at the very least,
make the shallow husbands look like beefcakes,
so they will be noticed and be remembered to have
existed in the film, even if they have no backbones.
They should've spent more of the film's running time
in shirtless fashion, or the very short shorts
of the 80's, donned by Albert and William Martinez
in "Teenage Marriage."

The problem is, Julie and Julia's husbands were not hunks.
And you won't ever dare want to see them shirtless.

And the film is quite long, past two hours,
which felt like it ran forever.

There are better foodie flicks than this one.
If I were you, spend the two precious hours
eating at a French restaurant indeed.
And choose one where the waiters
are as yummy as the cuisine.

Otherwise, you bear Meryl and Amy's one-dimensional husbands.
You feel hungrier as the film's food creations
are displayed, but the men won't make you
crave for sex after.

No amount of candlelights, flowers, and violin players
and the sweetest of words will make this
Nora Ephron dining experience a seductive foreplay.

You're better off staying at home and enjoying
a great bottle of French wine. This French cookbook
on film only resulted to me whining as they were dining.



.

Hello Blogger, How Have You Been?

Blogging is actually like talking to myself and
posting it for keeps. It's a word capture of
a moment in time, in life.

So when I rarely do post a blog item,
it can only mean I am busy,
or I am too unfeeling to talk to myself,
my life in general, as a blog.

Or sometimes, there are just so many things
happening, all at the same time, or in a week's span,
that it becomes too difficult to capture
a segment worthy enough to have a singular blog theme.
It's not "bloggable," or in our workshop's term,
"reportable."

Oh you bet, in two weeks, my life
has become like simultaneous one-act plays
rising to Greek mystery and drama proportions.
It's as though I became a one-man Virgin Labfest,
or rather, a festival of plays with one character
interacting with the rest of the world.

On the side, there's always this pest,
whom I have sprayed away with
my insect repellant, who keeps
assuming I am there or here, or everywhere,
even if I have no direct contact
with the superficial parasite.

Oh well, it adds to Greek theater.
This bit player with a big thorax
and bloodsucking appendage
makes noise to feel "in the loop."
It's your typical limelight seeker.

But that's the least of my concern.
I just have to blurt that one out,
to extinguish the bug.

And quietly, I simply focused on
finishing my three-week stint,
a fab assignment I must say.
It kept me going, in spite of all the drama around.
Thanks, Cabrera and company!
Some good things never last, sigh.

They kept me stable.
And they allowed me to bear an unplanned toothache,
and a series of needle shots for a root canal therapy.
As if the saga wasn't enough, the tooth tried
to steal the scene as well. Luckily, a friend
of mine referred me to a very good lady dentist.
Now, I can say, I have a dentist. Been a while,
after I ignored my tooth, which can really paralyze one's
daily life. I blame it on someone I kissed.
It was too uneventful, it worsened my cavity. Haha!

I realized, I have a good tolerance for pain.
And amidst this colorful, rollercoasting past weeks,
I realized, honesty helped me make it through.

So please don't ask me how I have been?
Or is this true or not?
Unless you're a real friend of mine.
And there's no need to know who they are.
I've always kept my true friends in my heart.
The rest, well the word "rest", actually rhymes with the word, "pest."

Soon this will be over, and I will be back
to my peaceful freelancing, noise-proof cocoon.
Which actually, began today again, officially.

So that's it my blog, I have been doing fine, so far.
I think. Does that answer your question?

Rain or Shine, We Are Our Brothers' Keepers

The promise of sunshine should never dim our fraternity.
When storms envelop our nation, we shine, with our truest human hearts
illuminating during the darkest of days and nights.

But this need not be an interim outburst of affection and concern.
As one, we can weather any storm.
As one, we can prevent political turbulence.
As one, we can continue to share, and be less greedy,
so that more mouths are fed three times a day.

In times of peace, and calm, and sunshine,
it is when the true test of compassion to sustain our Earth,
and our fellow Earthlings will be proven.

Damage caused by men, manifested by nature's wrath,
should be reversed with a change of heart.
Care for nature is directly proportional to nature caring for us.

We prayed dearly, in times of direst need.
We hanged on to each other, held hands together,
in the darkest nights and seemingly hopeless and helpless days.

We should remember to thank God, with the same prayerful intensity,
for keeping us alive. We should thank the human heroes,
the angels on earth, who were always ready to help,
and valued the lives of our fellowmen.

The sun's rays can blind us into complacency,
and back to our individual agendas.
The sun can fool us to normalcy, as if everyone is safe,
and subsistent for survival.

There are still homes to rebuild,
hopes to revive, and souls to heal.

And more importantly, there's a whole country
too, slowly but surely rising from calamities and
economic damage.

In good times, we should prepare for bad times.
In good times, we should continue being One
to make things better, rather than always
complaining that this nation is getting worse.

We've got more than 90 million brothers and sisters to keep.
Every day, be it typhoon signal no.3, or 32 degrees warm and sunny.

In times of tempest, we showed the stuff we're truly made of.
There's more to do. This country has all the potential to be great,
not because of the next President, but because of the innately
caring and compassionate citizen Juan in all of us.

Now that's the spirit that's more than enough
to give hope and look forward to a better future.

It's what makes us Filipino.
It's this same Filipino-ness that will bring
the Philippines to safer, warmer, and prosperous shores.

If Possible, Consider Journalism's Basic Rule Before Posting or Reposting on Facebokk

Determine the source, verify, further confirm, before making it public. That's what a journalist follows that a Facebook status updater may consider as well. There are some instances when Facebook postings from anyone, anytime, anywhere are treated as truths, and spread out like wildfire, out of urgency or panic.

At least like in the case of categorizing a storm to level 5, when it is actually level 4, I check the official weather websites to know more factual, scientific information, before others interpret it wrongly.

Even sharing wrong mobile phone, text-messaged information like a storm hitting Manila directly is further shared, too, as Facebook postings.

There's a big difference between, "some have reported that there were corpses found in Payatas which are still unidentified and unattended to," rather than a Facebook post announcing, "corpses found everywhere in Payatas! No news coverage on this! Notify media! Someone should go there!"

The hidden truth behind the post is, "this is an unconfirmed report." It may be that bad, or not that bad, but how are we to know as Facebook readers?

It is more believable if it was a first-hand account posted by a Facebook user. "Here in San Mateo Rizal, flood water level is knee-deep. Water has entered our living room."

This is where Facebook matters, when first-hand accounts, with matching photos or videos taken from cellphones are posted. These are eyewitness accounts that news coverage cannot reach, and posted quickly.

A post saying, "Electricity will be shut down at 9pm! Charge your cellphones now!"

Did anyone even bother to ask the electric company if this was true before this piece of "news" was unilaterally posted, then reposted by others?

There is of course a reason to caution everyone, out of concern, and out of the suddenness of the previous storms' damage. It is understandable why people post what they post on Facebook. It is a collective expression of caring for each other, after the lessons learned from the past calamity, and proving how indeed, vital Facebook is to disseminate information.

But there is also a responsibility to confirm, and verify.

We are no journalists. But even as receivers of numerous Facebook posts, we can check to know if the latest Facebook "news" is factual news.

At least some useful google researching by resourceful Facebook users quickly spread tips on how to handle car damage after a typhoon. Some even researched on what are the essentials of an emergency kit. Internet helps for quick research. The Facebook user helps for sharing what one feels is useful for others to know, like these added tips, very helpful indeed in a given situation.

Now, in the face of a calamity, there's also the need to be proper in Facebook postings. It's a matter of personal judgment if it's appropriate to post a trivial update in the midst of national urgency.

But no one has the right to put the trivial updater down. It might be his way of coping. That there must be a bright side to a downside. But Facebook and freedom of speech is a different case altogether. What about the abuse of the freedom to post unverified reports? It's pardonable because it falls within the "disaster" category rather than the "trivial?"

A trivial post, you can hide anyway. But an unverified report? Misinformation's effect can never be placed under the hide mode. It has been posted, and it can cause more harm than good.

Personally, I like people posting a prayer or two, to lessen the sadness of a situation. It has a healing and calming effect. There's no need to verify that. It comes from true faith. It's a genuine concern, specially for Filipinos like us, which are still Catholic by faith, and by heart.

And yes, I believe in the power of prayer to stop a storm, the way it can remove a dictator.

Faith can move mountains. Faith can help us overcome. And only faith can help us make it through, and continue to feel hopeful knowing there's Someone Who'll Watch Over Us."

Now if you think this is helpful, this is not news, it's an opinion, yes, PLEASE REPOST.

Facebook Shows Its True Face In The Eye Of A Storm

Status updates suddenly read like breaking news, faster than TV networks
and newspapers' websites. Only radio proved to be as fast.

Pleas for help, where to donate, and sometimes dramatic blow-by-blow
accounts of relatives' statuses and calls for their whereabouts unfold
every minute you refresh your Facebook home page.

Even news of death, from a contact's contact, sadly
was announced as a status update.

The Red Cross / Smart / Sun / Globe donation hotline
through SMS messaging and pledging to share
cash assistance became an instant, handy
tool to immediately allow us to do something.

Photographs posted every hour gave us a view
of how bad the flooding was, as personal an account
as one's garage view, or second-floor view if the waters
have gobbled up the ground floor.

The worst flooding in Luzon, after 20 years,
revealed a vital use for social networking sites
with Facebook presenting the most number
of applications and posting tools to make
everyone aware, and at times, notify the need
for help.

Unfortunately, those really affected can't
access a computer, or have lost their battery's
charge while waiting on their rooftops to call for SOS.

Most of those affected can't even afford a computer,
or internet access.

The ones lucky enough to have their internet at home
running, spared of waist to chest-deep floods
became the stranded ones' medium to shout out,
and present to the world their condition and dilemma.

Luckily for most areas, electricity was still running.
This was a rain-based storm more than a wind-based storm.

The sequence of events, from being caught by surprise
midmorning, how fast the floods rose, to its aftermath
and gradual receding of waters were all caught in real time,
from real people through Facebook.

Interspersing with the urgency of the status updates,
were breathers too, like posting a funny video,
to cope with the suddenness of this calamity.

Ironic were updates on people outside the country,
unaware there was a storm happening here,
the innocence and undisturbed world of their travels, and snapshots
of scenic locations elesewhere in the world.

Families abroad wanting to know the latest conditions
of their relatives here have Facebook as the most reliable source
of updates.

There's a newfound power inherent in social networking.
For now, it's coping with disaster.
It can even make or break a political candidate's ambition.
And maybe, God forbid, become an outlet for other
movements should a national distress arise.

This time, we are lucky the World Wide Web
coupled with cellphone technology
make it more real time, and quicker
to spread the news.

Now, it might be a good pre-emptive step
to gobble up the wireless broadband offers,
should electric supply fail us, and a computer with a longer battery life.

Hopefully, power supply is continuous in May 2010.
Facebook will be of help as it changes from Weather Watch to Election Watch.
That's another storm we have to face with the help of Facebook.
This time, we know how to cope with another disaster,
and more importantly, keep watch of anything that matters
in our country, and allow us to ACT immediately.

Bravo Facebook. It's about time you encourage everyone to open their own account,
in case some of your relatives and friend don't have one yet.
The more people use it, the more useful it becomes.

The Freelancer's Jetlag

Yes, there is such a thing as a freelancer's jetlag, so did I discover.

The absence of fixed daily timed schedules makes the freelancer's zone
inversely proportional to the regular employee's 8-hour job cycle.

A 5-month freedom from the working grind, not necessarily to mean
I never worked during this period, causes a floating state
the moment I went back to the time-in, time-out world
of corporate days.

To fill the hours sitting down, or staying still in a designated working area,
aside from the transformed body clock requires
adjustment to a previous working state I've been
in for more than two decades.

But what's two weeks, my current temporary assignment
to two decades? I thought it will be easy.

I miss typing work from my bed, with the television on.
Any moment, when thinking comes to a halt, I can simply
close my eyes and take a nap.

Goodbye to slow mornings and lazy beginnings.
There's a fixed time to start, around 930 am.
So there's no time to gradually wake up
and separate my head from my pillow.

The upside is, I am surrounded by familiar
and new faces. I get to talk with someone more,
rather than working alone and talking to myself
as if I was Gollum.

It's like being tipsy the whole day, when I started
this fixed working weeks.

But I feel too hyper, compared to anyone else,
raring to go to a boardroom meeting,
and project briefings, which used to be my pet peeve
when I was as regular an employee as anybody else.
It's as if I am always on a caffeine high.

Also, I get to wear shirts again, which has almost
been gathering dust for lack of meetings to go to.

In two weeks, I seem to wear something new,
but they're old stuff kept in jobless, meeting-free hiding.

I feel like being released from solitary confinement
in a prison.

The absence of work makes me appreciate the presence of it.
For now, it doesn't feel like a burden, but a new toy to play with.

Like jetlag, I wonder how long this will last before
work becomes like a normal state again.

Work, at least for now, feels like a break,
after taking a long break from work.
While a break, feels like drudgery.

To others, what I am doing now may be
too much of the same old thing, ah, here
we go again, another day of working.

For me, it's like rediscovering a long lost friend.
Men are so attached to their jobs, right?
But like riding a bike, once you've learned it once,
there's no way to forget how to pedal for motion.

At least, I haven't done overtime yet, hopefully not.
Now that, for a freelancer, is a big adjustment.
Knock on wood, it doesn't happen during
this fortnight assignment.

The balance of life and work brought about the freelancing option.
You choose when to work and when to stop working.

Yes, I'm working now, excitedly declaring it.
Two weeks may be enough or make me feel wanting.
But it's a welcome change of pace, and milieu.

I am enjoying my vacation, ironic as it may sound, by working.

Now I can't wait to go to the shower,
choose work shirts to wear,
and yes, get to the office on time.

Darn, it's Friday already? I am just gaining my momentum!
Hmmm, I missed that too, unwinding after a long week's work.
Cheers!

Are You Copy-Based (Text) Or Art-Based (Visual)? Are You A Writer Or A Director?

I always say, "I am life-based."

It's a trying-to-be-witty a remark for a question that has blurred the lines of creativity,
but still persists to know which area is your roots or forte.

It's the same thing in films where they think writers are responsible for simply dialogues.

Scriptwriters define which scene goes into a film, what message should be imparted,
then the directors translate the vision into a cinematically-friendly language. They even
define the framework, and flow of the movie.

Writers aren't word-based. Although its their field of discipline, writers are creative.
The way artists are not just visual thinkers, but they are creative thinkers.

They are even surprised that a writer like me don't read books.
It's not an aversion to the lengthy written word, but more of my short span of attention.
That is why movies appeal to me. That is why a 30-second ad appeals to me.

Writing words, is a field of specialty but not necessarily the core of the writing profession.
It's thinking, as in any area of art. A painter thinks before he paints, a composer
thinks before translating it into notes. A sculptor thinks before carving. An actor thinks,
before he acts.

Creativity is boundless. You don't know where the vision or creation came from.
It doesn't necessarily mean it started with the word, as the bible begins with,
"in the beginning, was the Word." Of course, God's vision was to create.
He must have not started by saying it, but by thinking about it.

Words are simply expressions or tangible manifestations of an idea.

Ideas aren't word-based, nor are they visual-based. But the inspiration
can come from a word, or a visual, or even an object, or a person,
a place, or a feeling or anything that is even invisible to the naked eye.

In fact, sometimes words get in the way. The way, sometimes, too much
music can get in the way of how we should feel towards a scene.

But the writer doesn't begin with writing, but imagining.
Imagine there's no heaven, for sure didn't begin with words,
but with an ideal as an idea.

Funny, when they say, the dialogue is good, they think of the writer.
But when the theme or vision or statement is good, they might think of the director, I think.
At least they credit the writer for the story, which indeed, was
a figment of the penman's mind. But not all stories, actually,
originate from the wordsmith. It must have started from a producer,
or a director.

Remember, when someone says, "I have an idea?"
If you don't know the field of discipline from the one who started it,
it can be a very visual person, or a word-oriented person.

"I have a story in mind." Yes, it's often peddled by writers.
But a director can initiate that too, even Mother Lily always does that,
as a producer.

A creator can be anybody.

It's in the details when an idea is executed where the writer will emerge,
or the artist, or the production designer, where the mastery of an aspect
of a creation comes out to come up with the whole.

But whether you're copy-based, or art-based, or yes, even, Math-based,
it all starts with thinking. Words nor pictures can never capture
what goes in one's mind during the creative process.

Everyone is life-based at the very least. Unless you were born dead,
but managed to write even if you're lifeless, or you have been dead
to write about death.

Mainstream Entertainment Is Here to Stay

I know, I know, we strive for better stuff.
We get so curious and excited when our local films
are toasted to the highest heavens as the cinema of the times.
But when it comes back home, where have
all those interested moviegoers gone?

But honestly, we still need shallowness in our quest for
the meaning and depth of life.

The occasional stab in our minds, and punch in our guts
of true issues besetting our nation, made even more
painful by the proliferation of independent cinema,
are fillers for the soul. It prompts us to rethink
how our society and our lives have been doing.
It may have been stunted, gone backwards, or progressively presenting
a forthcoming change and upheaval.

But we also need a John Lloyd Cruz
making Sarah Geronimo blush with just a smile.
It's why we also crave for sinful candies that may
cause tooth cavities.

We need to be cathartic when a melodramatic
heroine encounters all impossible odds,
and miraculously end it with a resolution,
or becoming wiser, not necessarily richer,
or more in love, but always triumphant
in one way or the other.

We need the decadence of Pinoy Big Brothers'
multicolored characters, dimming the lines
between what is real, or what is gimmicky for ratings.
We love the circus. And it does entertain, whether
you loathe it, it still provokes extreme reactions.

We make fun of the dirty rumors from SNN,
The Buzz, and Startalk. We need something
shallow to talk about. But deep within, we are
always curious about other peoples' lives,
how they make a mess out of it, as long
as it doesn't involve our personal lives.

We got glued to the Katrina Halili-Hayden Kho video
and the aftermath and nationwide noise it created.

We need to see what stars are wearing,
praise the wardrobe, or shred it with criticism,
even if we can't even have a haute couture
creation in our own closets. Maybe, we're
envious, of glitter and glam, against
the rags and used clothes we have to
contend with in our daily grind.

We still need good old nilaga, and broth.
The recipe never changes, but will still crave for it,
in spite of exciting chef-created cuisines,
which we cannot afford anyway.

Pop culture in a way, defines
the highs and lows of a period,
and to some extent, how a certain
group at a certain time wants to be entertained.

It's the way art defines excellence,
and higher souls gifted during a certain
period of time, rising above the expected,
and always way ahead of its time.

If we are forever in a thought-provoking mode,
go deep and deeper, even if no one can
really decipher what life is really all about,
we just have to get through, and most of the time,
forget about the reason and rhyme, and simply
sing out loud, laugh a lot, have a good cry,
and escape.

I for one will not go for a DVD marathon
of art films, I can handle two,
but after a while, I need to go back
to see who's singing now in a noontime variety show,
or what is a soap opera villainess' latest bitchy act.

It's a cycle of thinking and not thinking.
It's a rhythm of basic biological hunger, and quest for soul.

In between philharmonic orchestral greatness, are
pop singer concerts. There's a high within a theaters'
bravo and cultured applause, and a gut celebration
of cheering and shouting wildly during an outdoor concert.

It always is tough to look into the mirror, and see life as it is.
Sometimes, we just need a way out too, and imagine
ourselves to be damsels in love, princes with debonair
and dashing looks and ways, and yes, be romantic
and believe in happy endings.

To cope, we need good and bad.
Bad is sinful, addictive, and good cleanses,
and removes guilt.

It's ok to be decadent, as long as
it is also balanced with a higher pursuit,
once in a while.

It is still a fact, the decadent, the tacky
still brings in the money.

There are more people who would like to escape,
be entertained and be mindless, and there's
a small percentile who always yearns
for the undefined, and looks for ways to define it.

There's a need for both,
mediocrity and art.

Oddly, mediocrity makes more money
than art. Therefore, mediocrity and formula
always find a way to be produced. And art,
if it's truly art, is subjective anyway.

In fact, it is according to one's taste anyway
of what is trash and gold.

And they always change. What is gold now
maybe considered as trash in the future.

And what was cheap and tacky before,
turned out to be cult and campy,
like Joey Gosiengfio's Temptation Island.

There's no yin if there's no yang.
There's no depth if we don't know what shallow is.
And sometimes out of fear of drowning.
we'd rather stay where the waters are waist-deep,
and not too deep our minds have sunk and we
lose our breath and drown.

We need to go to the surface always,
or else we will never make it through, alive,
to cope well with this hard-knocked life.

A Very Independent Urian Quickie

While our lessons were becoming tougher in our Bing Lao Advanced Scriptwriting Workshop,
I was nervously wondering if I can make it on time to go to the Urian Awards.

It was an hour difference from the end of our session to the start of the Awards Night.
I cannot afford to display my coat, while being in a workshop. So, whether
it will be creased or not, I tugged it in a plastic bag, discreetly hidden.
And all I wore during the lessons was the usual "university look," in T-shirt
and jeans.

I didn't anticipate the heavy traffic volume from Shaw EDSA to CCP!
Who would think that the Gary V. Martin concert will cause
a traffic spilling over, all the way to Mandaluyong?

6pm, our session ended promptly with more jargon to remember.
The I, A & P effect were introduced. It simply shows the strategic way
to write for a desired effect, each also appropriately assigned to
the time modes of drama, real and poetic.

Bing Lao discussed the "ideal object," since we're in our Predication session,
pardon the technicalities. It's like a mistress' ideal object will be a legally married woman.
He mentioned an aspiring writer's ideal will be an event too, like the Urian awards.

Was that the reason why I needed to attend? Perhaps. But first and foremost,
was doing a cameo role in "Yanggaw." which made me an invited attendee
to this critics' awards night. But I do remember, declaring when I was
in my 20's, that someday, I will go up that stage and deliver a victory speech.

I did once, although usually, for short films, it's only the director who goes
up the stage and deliver the acceptance speech. I joined Sockie Fernandez
when she got up to receive the Urian Best Short Film Award.
I got to speak, too, being its writer, in deep Urian Tagalog.

Someday, I will, I hope, as a full-length scriptwriter, go on stage,
yes, with a dog in tow, for I have no kid to share it with.
"I would like to thank Ben Sherman for my clothes, etc., etc."

I remember the days when the Urian awards were also broadcast on TV.
But now that they feel only independent films deserve to be credited
as best, no major network can see the merit of airing it.

An Aleera Montalla will be an unknown to the TV audience, but yes, she
won Best Supporting Actress for being the possessed kid in "Yanggaw."

I wonder though if there are really no craftsman or actor worthy to be
honored at all from any mainstream movie of 2008. I personally
feel Sharon Cuneta and John Estrada were very good in "Caregiver."

Urian might well become the Independent Spirit Awards' counterpart.

But I know Mylene Dizon will still win and should win
She did give the best performance on film in 2008, for "100."

Brillante Mendoza may well be on his way to have a three-in-a-row
top plum win at the Urian. Last year, he got it for "Tirador," this year,
it's "Serbis," and next, it will be for "Kinatay." I doubt if the
Manunuris (critics) will not give him that prize if Cannes has already
hailed him as Best Director.

Haunting and mesmerizing was Cookie Chua's song number
without music. It was simply her voice, and her soulful rendition
which filled the Little Theater at the CCP. And that song,
I think from Lav Diaz's "Melancholia" was great.

Peque Gallaga receiving the Lifetime Achievement Award
was a mixed moment. At first, it sounded like a teacher,
delivering an address to the valedictory class, and a "state-of-the-cinema"
report from then and now, but I do like to have that platinum auteur
hairstyle when I grow old. But good thing, the audience did a long
standing ovation for a man truly deserving of cinematic icon honors.

I have always followed the Urian Awards. Even if I attend the affair or not,
I make sure I know who won.

Somehow, I know at least they debate thoroughly on their choices, and even
analyze films in their context, message, and crafting.

But to totally shun mainstream cinema, understandably, not
for Best Picture or Director, but for other categories, I may disagree.

So far, if you want an Urian, be a part of an indie film.

But at least I know for next year, I can trust the Urian
not to include "In My Life" in its magic five list.
Not that it was that bad, it was just so "mainstreamly"
melodramatic, so Star Cinematic.

Congratulations to all the winners of the 32nd Gawad Urian.

I wish "Yanggaw" got more though, and yes, I am biased
because I was a "bit part" of it, I found the
film a breakthrough for the horror genre.

And I wished they nominated Chris Martinez
for his "100" screenplay. That was one fine script!
In the jargon of Bing Lao, in the dramatic time mode category,
I know it's the best!

I capped my Urian quickie with a beer or two, listening
to the tail end of Side A singing "Forevermore" and "Tell Me"
at the very decadent, very mainstream Hard Rock Cafe.

After the independent film honors, yes, I craved for mainstream.
It was a tough day, and a surreal night, indeed.

"Serbis" Wins Top Honors At the 32nd Urian Awards

The best films of 2008 were honored on Sept.19, 2009, at the 32nd Gawad Urian Awards,
held at the CCP Little Theater.

BEST PICTURE
"Serbis" (Centerstage Productions)

BEST DIRECTOR
Brillante Mendoza, "Serbis"

BEST SHORT FILM
"Andong", directed by Milo Tolentino

BEST SCREENPLAY
Francis Xavier Pasion, "Jay"

BEST CINEMATOGRAPHY
Odyssey Flores, "Serbis"

BEST ACTOR
Ronnie Lazaro, "Yanggaw"

BEST ACTRESS
Mylene Dizon, "100"

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR
Coco Martin, "Jay"

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS
Aleera Montalla, "Yanggaw"

BEST PRODUCTION DESIGN
Benjamin Padero, Carlo Taribe "Serbis"

BEST EDITING
Francis Pasion, Kats Serraon, Chuck Gutierrez, "Jay"

BEST MUSIC
Popong Landero, "Hunghong Sa Yuta"

BEST SOUND
Joey Santos, Von De Guzman, "Yanggaw"

LIFETIME ACHIEVEMENT AWARDS, NATATANGING GAWAD
Peque Gallaga, Director

They're Moving Our Cheese!

Why are my icons dying at an earlier age?
Gone are the silver grey-haired legends who keep on living.
When Hall-of-Fame awardees still accept their awards while
they are living or almost near-death, in wheelchair,
with the dignity of an elderly sage?

Jackson, Swayze, Fawcett-Majors.
They never made it into their 70's.

Signs of the times?
Has health become more complicated, and so has pathogens
and carcinogenics?

Is this the way of ushering in a new order?
That this country who still keeps playing old love songs
on the radio, and continue to dance to 80's music
has been forced to move on?

When a newbie defeats a tennis icon,
does this mean there's a next generation
waiting to conquer the world and debunk
the myths and icons of our past?

When traditional politicians see that
name and machinery aren't enough,
and sees a lamb climbing to the surveys,
because of the death of his legendary Mom,
is this a loud message that the old ways
of campaigning and tricks don't work anymore?

When an independent film like "Kimmydora"
defies all big networks' marketing the gigantic way
makes it at the box office, doesn't this
say a lot about moving cheese?

The young ones are paving the way
to challenge the tried and tested means.

MTV used to be revolutionary.
Now it is confused. It is trying to evolve
to catch up. It lost its purely music video format.
It has shows, reality programs, apart from music.
It should've have reinvented the music video, instead.
It should've been true to its core, but changing its execution.

Even YouTube changed the game
when individuals started to dictate content
rather than giants telling us what content to view.

Even YouTube might be replaced by something
else we never imagined existed to revolutionize
the Web and entertainment.

Digital TiVo and watching-by-demand has eaten up
TV advertising, and in a way, free TV.

iTunes and music sharing killed the music and record store.
It forced the Virgin Megastore down Times Square to close shop.

Torrents have sped up the theater release and shelf lives
of movies.

Online shopping, and customer-designed and consumer-supplied
specifications, clothes shoes, and bags might prematurely kill the outlet retail store,
or fashion boutique, and yes, make window shopping at the mall a thing of the past.

These days, the slower we embrace the new.
the faster we become obsolete.

It's not a death caused by natural causes,
like Swayze's, or Jackson's, or Fawcett's.

It is the refusal to accept that doing the same
old thing will yield to the same old result.

This generation is more evolutionary,
in a very dynamic way.

They hugged new technology, and dictated
what technology should do for them.

They even used technology that may have never
been the intent of its developer. The developer
may have not seen the creative ways his
software, or program, or dot.com can be used.

Even Lea Salonga has to do a different concert
concept by letting her audience tell her what to sing,
what to do, in video a la YouTube, or social networking
a la comments on Facebook.

It doesn't take a cancer to make you a thing of the past.
It doesn't even need a cardiac arrest to turn you into a corpse.

It simply takes a refusal to change to make you frozen.

Embrace, evolve, apply, re-invent, evolutionize
with what's available or what's been practiced,
or if you're more gifted, revolutionize, and be a creator.

Morph with the times.
Then there's a big chance
you'll live longer, and continue
to be a part of this fast-changing world.

Spin to the speed of today's world rotation,
or better yet, set the pace,
before others tell you to catch up with theirs.

They've HAD the time of their lives, Swayze, et al.

The operative word is had, a thing of the past,
done, ancient, glory days gone.

The survival word is HAVE.
Be a part of the now.
If you can't comprehend and adjust to what IS and what's NOW,
then you've been HAD.

And you'll decline so fast, so sudden into a one of the HAVE-NOTS
or HAS-BEENS.

Never Too Old To Learn

It was meant to be.
While in a transitory period of joblessness and jobfulness,
while there's time to do it, I took the plunge.

Mystified by the penetration of local films
into the international festival arena,
a man who serves as its scriptwriter,
or creative consultant landed on a "code,"
made to fit the Third World Budget of this
film-loving nation.

Therefore, I registered in his 3-month
advanced scriptwriting class, which happens every Saturday afternoon.

He's Armando Lao, or Bing Lao.
The guiding mind behind "Foster Child", "Serbis",
"Kinatay", the more recent "global Pinoy films"
penetrating the festival circuit and reaping honors
for the country and the films' directors.

I hibernated this dream to write a film,
after more than 20 years, parked it,
and went out into the world to earn money,
conveniently, going into advertising.

From the basics brought about by Ricky Lee, in the 80's,
to a French film school workshop in the late 90's,
a lot have evolved in cinema.

So Bing Lao will be my mentor for this millenium.

To be in my mid-40's and attending a class once more,
yes with assignments and tasks to do from home,
for the next class, it gives me a thrill.

It humbles, too, after experiencing and earning
my way to financial sustenance, the acknowledgment
of needing to know more, is gratifying at this age.

There's a struggle though, with Mr. Lao's loads
of technical jargon, to absorb these alien terms,
and comprehend. I never encountered stranger
jargon since my Procter & Gamble advertising days!

From diagetic, to indexical, to commutation,
and more, it was an overload for an old mind,
whose capacity to memorize and absorb has depreciated.

But there's this excitement to fail, be scolded by a teacher,
and be told to revise, revisit, and rethink, and yes, suffer
once more just to get the lessons he imparts.

Being an undergraduate also fills the gap
that lingers in my aged mind, the job undone
which continues to haunt me. "When will
I finish college?"

This temporarily cures that lifetime question.
It appeases me to sit in a class once again.

It also fills the curiosity of a cineaste,
what made Bing Lao's works, or creative consultancy
be the darling of film festivals abroad.

It completes a part of local film knowledge
why these "real-time" films appeal to the Western
juries, now I know "real-time" is not just about time as it happens,
but a film writing technique, but not necessarily
a Bing Lao mandatory. It's a misnomer to typecast
real time and Lao. There's more to it, more reason,
more dimension, so am I discovering.

But one thing was made clear, if one is into
magic realism, the Bing Lao code won't apply.

I am just into my first weekend, so this Code
will be revealed more. I feel like a Dan Brown
protagonist putting together the pieces,
to hopefully gain more enrichment in the search
for that "ideal" script waiting to be written,
and to be filmed.

The Found Code of Armando Lao.

When in Lao-land, do as what Lao-landers do.
I am more than open to immerse in his
Third World film writing code.

Scared, because I know, I might
get a bad grade, or a scolding,
or worse, fail, but, it pays
to learn once more.

It's a benefit of leaving the fixed corporate
time code for now. I will soon be back
in that mode.

So, there's no time but now.
There's no day but today.

The Kimmydora Phenomenon: Learnings for Mainstream and Indie Flicks

Independent cinema with mainstream box-office potential,
that is what "Kimmydora" dared to present.
It was independently produced, yet, it never lost its vision of pleasing the audience.

But mainstream it may be with its flavor, Kimmydora had fun with wild abandon.
It never insults, but it makes you laugh.

It's like a Judd Apatow suddenly rising to comedy land, with one hit after another.
He broke the mainstream monopoly, and now, he is the one of the most
employed movie man in Tinseltown.

Joyce Bernal, though tracing her origins to bigger studios, may yet
singlehandedly redefine and reinstall comedy as a bankable offering again
in the industry, while managing to be refreshingly different, and keep
us away from idiocy.

"Supahpapalicious" didn't hit it big. The top grossers
so far this year were Star Cinema's love stories and horror films, except
for "BFF" (Best Friends Forever), a comedy with Ai-Ai and Sharon.

"Kimmydora" is a joining of forces among friends, very independent indeed.
They dared put a supporting actress in the lead, unmindful of her
untested box-office capability, but very sure of her laughter-inducing
gifts, which was Ai-Ai's claim to fame.

Another surefire move was to hire a brilliant writer, Chris Martinez.
His scriptwriting prowess is undeniably reliable. And his theater
writing helps, knowing how a live audience can be tough.

No wonder the scenes that came from his pen, and the lines
delivered by his friend/actress drew in the right reactions from
the viewers, at the right time.

It can only come from someone experienced with
what works and not with the most difficult crowd, the live theater crowd.
No wonder the "Kimmydora" viewers were responding oh so hilariously well.
Every screening even ended the theatrical way, with applause from
a cinema audience!

To pull in lines of ticket buyers never seen with an independent
offering, sans megabucks marketing money, it signals
also an audience seeking for something new.

Word-of-mouth became its cashless marketing tool.
No trailer often shown on TV can match the guarantee
of a friend saying, "Watch Kimmydora!" A trailer
can only show scenes from a movie, but word-of-mouth
gives a thumbs up sign, the powerful approval of peers
as the most assured come-on to finally see the film.

It also defies the myth that only experienced TV network heads
or big film company producers are the ones who know what
is worth filming, and distributing.

Spring Films, a fellowship of friends, decided this might make it.
And you bet, it did.

Now, let me speak as an audience. We are looking for something fresh.
We know who are funny or not. A big part of the reason for watching
Kimmydora is that we've seen, in her supporting roles, how funny
Eugene Domingo can be. She has built our trust.

We don't seek for a repeat. If we watched Mano Po, don't give us
Mano Po 2 to 5. Don't give us another "Tanging Ina 2." We liked the
first one's freshness, the second one was trying too hard.

A lazy producer will simply declare a sequel. It's safe.
But rarely do sequels outlaugh or outwit the first comedic offering.
It's an uncreative cut-and-paste decision.

It's a trap, since we made an original big, we are forced to
see the sequel. But the sequel never made us laugh as loud
as its predecessor.

It also tells us where independent cinema can go.
Of course, we still need art films. But how many independent
films have been done, without its producer recovering its investment?
How many actors have been exploited for art's sake, in indie budget?

I am not espousing that independent cinema should try to be mainstream.

Let the art films flourish. They make us think, they question, they
reflect issues, and untreaded paths. Our lives and society need such films.
They push the bar of filmmaking. It's a bigger challenge how
to market these films as well to local and foreign art houses,
DVD publishers, and cable channels. There must be a way
of these dynamic art films to recover.

But there should also be another route.
There should be some way of letting freshness and commerce meet.

Kimmydora combined what mainstream films are,
they're out to please the audience. But it also
has the risk of an independent filmmaker.
"Maindie," as one facebook contact of mine calls it.

"Crying Ladies", also a comedy, was a "maindie."
It also had a great script. Its theme was daring. Luckily, it had Sharon Cuneta.
And it also made it to become Metro Manila Filmfest's topgrossing champ.

Now, "Kimmydora" also serves as the halfway point.
It won't be as prestigious as a "Maximo Oliveros," or a "Magnifico."
it won't be as big as the box office take of "A Very Special Love."

But it is still a welcome addition to an audience searching
for their money's worth, without insulting, or being a replay
of what has been offered before.

That's why a big chunk of those who still hope there's
hope in Philippine Cinema wanted "Kimmydora" to succeed.

There has to be this third force. A force that seeks
to offer something different, and seeks to make money at the same time.
We need this force to grow. We need more "maindies."

If "maindies" hit the right button and make it big, then
the bigger mainstream might attempt something new, too, for a change.
They will put their megamillions to better use than insult us with
formula flicks.

And deep within, I am sure, a lot of people too, like me,
wanted to reward Eugene Domingo, to recognize her talent.
We wanted her first solo starrer to make it.
She is too gifted to be ignored.
She deserves her place in the sun.
She definitely deserves the success that "Kimmydora" is reaping.

And Spring Films and its team is finally rewarded for taking the big plunge.

The Eugene Domingo - KIMMYDORA Experience : Never A Dull Moment

A new comedy queen is born. She gives it her all, allowing herself to get soaked in mud, slapped by slippers and more! She's almost in every scene, with two takes each since she plays twins, Eugene Domingo has made an entire audience laugh their hearts out like never before. It may yet be the most physically and emotionally demanding role ever to hit the local screens.

The moviegoing experience in itself is meant to be shared. It's the type of film that is more enjoyable to watch with the rest of the audience.

Never mind if going to the next scene, you can't decipher the audio since it is being drowned by the moviegoers' laughter still extending after a gag or line has passed them by.

At Glorietta 4, Saturday, 1030 pm, we started to fall in line to the entrance of Cinema 6, since this is free seating, way earlier at 930, to allow ourselves to have a good seat. Late this night, in spite of the rains, the theater was fully packed!

Curiously, most were men, in groups, like fraternities, I mean sisterhoods. Buffed bodies were flaunted in torso-hugging fit T-shirts. Eugene Domingo has pulled in the Pink Market, coming in droves ready to support their Queen Bee. For a while, I thought we were in Bed Malate. Eugene didn't only pull in those who rarely watch Filipino films, but becomes a Gay Icon, too, like Cher.

Perhaps it's the Kimmy divaness, and the Dora frou-frouness, and those wacky clothes, oh those extravagant clothes, that pulled in the Pink Movement. It's like Streep in Prada, with more outrageous clothes, and a showdown with the colorful candy-cane, stray-dog-loving Japanese sweet anime heroine. Kimmy and Dora were meant not only to be sisters, but also an instant icon to the alternative divine ya-ya sisterhood and the secret life of bees.

It prompted my viewing mates, we were four + six other colleagues who coincidentally watched the movie at the same schedule, to say "maybe, we are wearing the wrong attire."
So we occupied almost a whole row, adding to the group experience that Kimmydora is meant to be. It is not for individual viewing or else you miss out on half the fun.

The first time Eugene Domingo appeared during the first scene, on top of a building, even if it wasn't a comic moment, the audience were already giggling.

Then, the giggles turned into loud laughter as the movie progressed. And the rest is a riot, not just because of what is seen on screen, but what is happening as though it's a soccer match, where the spectators react to every Eugene Domingo stimulus!

This is not a movie review but a retelling of the moviegoing madness occurring while watching it.

How long ago have we seen a local movie able to rouse a usually lukewarm audience to a hyper level we see only in concerts and a La Salle-Ateneo match?

Chris Martinez's one-liners worked so well too. The audience was lapping it up and laughing out loudly (LOL) or rather, almost rolling on the floor laughing (ROTFL).








SPOILER ALERT (DON'T READ IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE FILM)

There were non-verbal funny surprises as well, like when Kimmy saw a trainee wearing not only the same outer wardrobe but the inner one as well. The inner revelation, simply revealed without saying the joke. Brilliant moment!

The funniest escape scene, Kimmy running down the fields to get away from her captors, like an obstacle course filled with mud, barbed wire fences, and woman-to-man fight, was a riot!

(NOW YOU CAN READ THIS PART AGAIN IF UNFORTUNATELY YOU HAVEN'T SEEN KIMMYDORA.)

And yes, Eugene Domingo is meant to be seen more often. We don't care if she comes back as quintuplets. But let her have more solo starrers from this moment on.

But we hope she doesn't fall into the trap of Ai-Ai and Wenn Deramas, churning out the same comic template after the historic success of "Ang Tanging Ina."







Eugene is so versatile to be cornered into one comic persona. She can reappear as a funny nun, or a sexy screen siren, or even a martyr wife. There are endless comic characters this lady deserves. But never repeat what has been done. Kimmydora is one-of-a-kind. I am sure the same group of people who came up with this film will do her more justice by not doing a sequel, but surprising us all once again, the way they did now, with another Eugene delight.

Luckily, its showing falls on a long holiday weekend. It gives Kimmydora more chances to let the droves of audiences looking for a good laugh, and a fresh take on comedy, the chance to see this event.

And yes, we don't mind her reappearing as a dramatic actress. She is so gifted, it seems she can take on anything.

Kimmydora is not just a movie to watch. It's an event to be a part of. It's meant to be seen while the crowds are packed. The fun lies in the audience reactions.

And twice, the audience clapped. When the story was over, they clapped, Then when the deleted scenes and bloopers came during the closing credits, after the last take, they clapped again. It's rare to see that in theaters once again. The applause was that of joy, and perhaps, a token of gratitude for Spring Films, for such a fun ride.

Like Kimmy, never be caught alone and miserable by yourself.

Watch it with your friends, your family, the whole office department, your entire high school batch, or whatever grouping extrapolation you can think of. The more, the merrier.

KimmyDora, it's Eugene Domingo, not just one, but two! It's double the fun!

It's 101% entertainment and satisfaction guaranteed.

Which Movies Became Hits In The Philippines?

As of August 2009, I scrolled down the Yearly Box Office Tally for the Philippines at boxofficemojo.com .

"Transformers 2, The Revenge" is up at number 1 with 354 Million Pesos.

But look who's at number 2, "You Changed My Life," Sarah Geronimo and John Lloyd Cruz with a whopping 226 Million Peso- Box Office Gross!

"Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince" is at number 3, with a 189.9 Million peso-take.

The only other Filipino film which made it to the Top 10 list was "BFF (Best Friends Forever)" starring Ai-Ai de las Alas and Sharon Cuneta, with a gross of 108 Million Pesos.

Interestingly, the biggest non-Star Cinema movie gross was "Sundo" with 50.1 Million, a horror film.

"Tenement 2 (T2)" another horror film, but produced by Star Cinema earned 85.5 Million. It's at number 11. Not a small feat, considering the big Hollywood releases in the list.

"And I Love You So," the Star Cinema movie which didn't show at SM Cinemas grossed 36 Million pesos. Compared to the upper limit of 226 Million set by "You Changed My Life" it can only show that SM Cinemas are needed for bigger box-office gross indeed.

"Love On Line," the last tallied GMA 7 -related film, starring Vic Sotto only grossed 10.1 Million pesos.

Star Cinema proves that its stars and marketing are more ubiquitous and bigger since most films grossed even better than the non-Star Cinema movies in the list.

I am so curious how "Kimmy Dora" did. And I am so hopeful it broke all the rules, and makes it to box office records. It's a non-Star Cinema movie, but managed to show in SM theaters, and has miniscule marketing budget. And for the past three days of its opening week, I heard it's number 1.

Curiously, a small film shown only in one theater, "Ded Na Si Lolo," starring Roderick Paulate, and shown only at Robinson's Galleria and some selected SM Cinemas, managed to gross 6.2 million pesos, by the power of word of mouth alone, with no or little advertising budget. Its production budget is only around 2 million pesos.

While the Sean Penn movie, "Milk", which was shown in more theaters only managed to earn a miniscule 830 thousand gross.

Go figure.

What A Gym Coach Can't Do For You

Shedding excess pounds, yes a personal trainer can help you with that.
Or toning your body, or having that bulky muscle mass.

But as I sweat my senses off, I look around me,
and see people religiously hitting the treadmill,
following every instruction from their drill master,
the trainer, and willingly carrying heavier weights...
but, but, but...

But we all know a buffed body isn't the solution to everything.

For one, it won't give you a more appealing face. It can't even
cure a pimple-infested face.

Secondly, it won't make you taller.

Thirdly, they cannot improve your sense of humor.

Fourthly, they cannot remove the aroma of bad personal hygiene.
Although they are in direct contact to whatever scents you emit.
The rest of us, are like, feelers of the aftershock.
The trainer is within the perimeter of the odor epicenter
that our routine's inhales to catch breath would rather not catch.

Fifthly, they are not there for your fashion makeover.
Taste cannot be trained.

Sixthly, they cannot correct bad manners. They're too kind
and client-service-oriented to pinpoint if you're unethical,
rude, nor a nuisance among other gym-goers.

This I have to expound more. There's this guy at the gym, who brings
his cellphone to the gym floor. He stops his routine when his phone rings.
In THX-sound volume, and sensurround, the whole floor area can hear
him bitching to his employee, as if the one he's talking to is the
dumbest, most inefficient subordinate on earth. Poor employee!
Bad boss!

All a gym trainer can do, is to wait for his call to finish.
Then, they go back to the routine. The bitch is still a client.
Sadly.

Seventhly, they cannot fix dates for you. They are not pimps.

Eighthly, they are not there to be booked as macho dancers for your
bridal shower parties. Give them decency and pride.

Ninthly, they don't give personal training discounts. It's not their job.
They have their sales quotas, too.

Tenthly, they're not hired for sex. They are there to build your bodies.
They aren't there to give other services. Most of them are armed
with college degrees, and even physical therapy licenses.
The gym is not a whorehouse.

Nobody's perfect. The quest for a perfect body won't exempt
you from this universal truth.

And having that divine body won't make you a divine deity after all.

The best workout involves the soul and the heart.
You don't need a trainer for that. Overhaul what's inside
as you build and improve what's outside.

Know thyself, thy strengths, thy weaknesses.
Then, move on.
And do good to others. Always.

How to Advertise Using Facebook: The "KIMMYDORA" Experiment

You just can't resist Facebook.
Create a fan site, or yes, promote a movie?
Why not on the fastest-growing social networking site on Planet Earth?

Remember how "Blair Witch Project" became the first
super-successfully marketed movie using the internet?

Now comes "KIMMYDORA," the film about comic dynamic duo,
or literally, a twinbill, is slowly but surely
promoting itself through Facebook's applications.

This is Eugene Domingo's first starring role, after being
the eternal friend of Ai-Ai in "Tanging Ina,"
and yes, her fantastic portrayal as Mylene Dizon's
best friend in "100," has two personas on Facebook.

She plays twins in this film.

You either add the bitch, Kimmy as your Facebook contact,
or the sweet and crazy Dora.

It makes them real, and interactive.
You can comment on their "walls" as well!

And sometimes, Kimmy manages to comment on your updates
or posts, too. Suddenly, she comments, "Felicitations!",
as though the bitch is pleased by saying "cheers"
or sarcastically saying "whatever".

They exchange facebook status updates, in character.
They even have a vote for Kimmy or Dora viral video.
Soon, they'll have their music video, which not only is
Facebook-friendly, but also perfect for YouTube.

The first encounter I had with this film was a news
flash posted on Facebook about this certain tycoon.
It speculates which of her twin daughters will step
into their father's shoes to run the mega-million business.

People who caught the video, posted it in their profiles as well.
So it creates a contagion, yes, the viral effect.

So, I said to myself, wow, at least it's not your
usual movie trailer!

Then one thing led to another, as more Facebook
features are used to promote the film.

There's even a fan video now! I wonder if this
was created by the marketers, or this was truly a consumer-generated
content. But nevertheless, it's interesting.

It costs you nothing at all to create the fan pages,
the Kimmy and Dora entities as Facebook contacts.

KIMMYDORA shows us how independent films can be marketed,
since it doesn't have the Star Cinema nor GMA films
budget for promotions and spots on TV.

The good thing is, these features
add to the character of its leads.
It's like having special DVD features
way before the film is released.

I wonder what's the Philippine Facebook population.
I hope it's big enough to catapult KIMMYDORA
as our first movie to hit big because of Facebook!

And it's interesting to note that this film hired film people
as well to create this Facebook marketing strategy and executions.

The people behind "Maximo Oliveros" (Raymond Lee, Michiko Yamamoto
and friends), another full-fledged indie film hit, calling themselves "Origin8",
helps out Piolo Pascual, Shayne Sarte, Joyce Bernal and the other producers
of KIMMYDORA to be able to spread the word, without
spending millions of pesos.

So add Kimmy or Dora as your facebook contact,
and be amused of their daily status updates.

I, for one, can relate to the bitchiness of Kimmy,
and the frou-frou naivete of Dora,
so I have become schizophrenic, after following
these two characters.

It just goes to show us that marketing has truly
gone beyond advertising, and yes, advertising agencies,
and TV networks, and media agencies!

I sure hope this film will be a big blockbuster.
It gives hope to other independent film makers
that yes, they can.

No one needs to be tied down to a major studio,
with major creative limitations, to have the
film not only you want to make, but the audiences
would want to see as well.

KIMMYDORA opens Sept. 2 in Metro Manila.

See, even this blog seems to be an alternative advertising
medium for the film. Yes, the power of blogging,
is a tool, too.

But no, I wasn't commissioned to do this.
I am simply excited about this new way of film merchandising.
I want it to succeed.

I wish a mega-million gross box office for this movie.
No, let's aim high, Pasay!
Let's defeat "Sukob" and Feng Shui."

Go Kimmy, go Dora, go girls!

Rewind, Pause, Unwind

What happened along the way?

We've shunned sunset till dawn friendship sessions,
worrying about the next day of work.
For some of our friends, it's about wives and kids.

But we did that often in our distant past.

Were we getting older, the spirit is willing we know that,
but physically, we've depreciated?

How ironic, we drank more, when we earned less,
and rely on paydays and Fridays to become alive again.

Gone was our spontaneity.

When someone simply declares, let's drink to this,
one for the road, turns out to be two, three, a bucket,
a 24-bottle case of beer, and suddenly in the middle of the night,
find ourselves on the road to south,
to cool Tagaytay.

We throw up, smoked more than a pack of cigarettes.

Then we realized we've drank to sleep.
Wearing the same clothes, not yet brushing our teeth.

Go home before the morning traffic begins.
Take a bath, and change into corporate clothes.

We pretend our eyes are still open during a meeting.
Even the strongest coffee, gulped with a Tylenol
can't wake us up for the daily grind.

Then, our body clocks have changed.
We still make it to a pub. As if last night wasn't long enough.
Then it happens the day after, and the next,
as if there's no tomorrow.

We behaved like carefree kids.
Work hard, play hard.

But that was then, this is now.

Occasionally, the child in us will reappear,
not as frequently as before. As seldom
as a February 29th on a calendar, or so it seems.

But once in a while, we got to do it.

It's the spark of life, never let it
become a dying ember.

If you're feeling fancy free, come
wander through world with me.
It's one for the road, and that's a long, long time.

And He Plays Piano In A Not So Dark Room

Piano man and singer at Bellisimo Restaurant, Bong Lim,
has more than good old songs to sing, he has good tips to give, too.

Surrounded by Cesar Montano paintings, his audience amply nourished
with good pasta dishes, and fantastic shrimps in soda,
Bong Lim brings back the good old days
when singing, was truly, about singing.

Bemoustached like a 70's Al Tantay,
his chinky eyes seem to be closed all the time,
as if savoring every emotion in a song,
and cooling the place with his suave baritone vocal texture.

"When you introduce a song, don't mention who sang it,
but who composed it."

It can be something like, "here's a Gershwin tune for you."

"Sing to express, not to impress."

Our local singing contests mandate belting out
to the highest notes and heavens, to bring in the final applause.

But those who sing from the heart,
connects. The singer transmits a feeling,
the voice becomes soulful.

To Bong, our truly world-class singers
are Dulce and Lea Salonga.

He is looking for a singer in one of his gigs.

"She shouldn't be obese, and she has to have a pretty face,
and of course, a great singing voice."
He acknowledges how hard it is to find a singer who has all those qualities.

"If a singer is quite voluptuous, she is seen as a comedienne,
even if she sings well."

Why pretty? Of course that's self-explanatory.

"If you sing classic songs, you're automatically on a higher
level than any other pop singer."

Gershwin, Porter, Canseco, Celerio.

Time to unearth the songs our Moms and Dads know,
or let them teach you their ditties. These may be the songs
your Mommies sang to put you to sleep, or as they
put on their make-up before going to work.

Piled with some of the song menu books
is one interesting compilation, with classic songs like "La Vie En Rose,"
even "Bridges," more than twenty songs
translated into beautiful Tagalog lyrics
by no less than Pete Lacaba, a multi-awarded writer.

It gives old melodies a deeper twist,
with our very romantic language,
and its lyrics aren't contrived.
It's as if these classics were really meant
to be Filipino.

Bong gamely accommodates any singer who wants to
try dishing out these Filipinized standards.

He plays rarely heard Manila Sound songs from the 70's, too.
I was bowled over when he started playing an intro,
and I knew what it was, it was a song from a Danny Zialcita film
starring Vilma Santos. It was from "Karma." Could it be "MInsan Sa
Isang Panahon?" Yes it was! I told him, I have to sing that,
unmindful of the key that wasn't good for me! It's a song
about love and immortality. Oh, wow, I told Bong, "I hate you!
How come you know this song, too?"

He gamely sang "Suerte-Suerte Lang," too.
It's that song with the same line of thought as
ABS-CBN's rainy station break song, "Sukob Na."
He followed it with "Gusto Ko'ng Umawit."
Wow, I miss those old love songs!

Across our table, a man named Rene began to sing.
He possessed a great voice, enough to melt the women's hearts away.
We asked the lady he was with, who turns out to be his wife,
if Rene used to serenade him. Rene's wife says,
the man actually gave her a voice tape,
filled with love songs which he sang,
more than enough reason for her to marry him.

I told her if he continues singing like that, subtly seductive,
they'll have lots of babies!

It's a small restaurant, which makes Bellisimo all the more
special.

With a pianist like Bong Lim,
you are assured of not only good Bellisimo cuisine,
but a truly enchanted evening.

(Bellisimo Ristoante is located at
105 Unit E & F Scout Castor
Corner Tomas Morato, Quezon City.

Bong Lim sings and plays the piano
from Wednesday to Saturday.
Tuesdays, he is at Ardi's Jupiter, Makati.

For reservations, call 3765746
or email akmontano@hotmail.com)

The Longest Cinemalaya Season

Sorry, but I still can't get over Cinemalaya's 5th, or "Cinemalaya Cinco."
Aside from 2009 being generally the most fruitful magic 10 films,
this batch made me feel I am not alone, in my quest for good films,
and, yes, beer.

After the final screenings, lasting till 1030 pm or 11pm, every night,
there was an instinct, unspoken, to go to the Grill Bar across
the Cultural Center of the Philippines, tackily named "Shrimps Ahoy."

Like overgrown college kids, we talked about films, people,
and other impromptu topics which usually arise after the 3rd bottle,
on our way to intoxication. These topics can be crazy, the more
intoxicated we become.

Outside this world, talking to business people, it's hard to talk
about independent cinema. I feel like a solitary voice in the
middle of a Hollywood-blockbuster-bred desert.

It's hard enough to convince the rest of the world to get
out of their "Transformers" and "The Proposal" menu.
It's harder to convince them to watch independent American films,
harder to convince them to watch local mainstream films,
all the more difficult to pull them to watch an independent Filipino film!

But gradually, they can be convinced.
My brother, who's been away for decades,
shun Filipino films, tagging them as slapping, crying, slapstick movies,
until I sent him a DVD copy of Mark Meily's "Crying Ladies."

He simply said, "wow!"

You can't blame him, he grew up seeing "Insiang"
and "Ganito Kami Noon, Paano Kayo Ngayon?",
the 70's Golden Era of Philippine Cinema."

I dare not send him "Supahpapalicious" nor "Enteng Kabisote" DVD's.

Now he's craving for more DVD's of independent films, ranging from
"Magnifico" to "Maximo Oliveros."

Back to the main topic, the filmmakers of Cinemalaya Batch 5,
won't simply let go. There's always a reason to see each other once again.

I invited some to screen their films for Leo Burnett's Anniversary,
rightly so, since it is the official ad agency network for the
past two Cinemalayas (2007 and 2009).

Deep within, I knew it was a reason for me to see
my newfound film soulmates, and a reason to
have the happy-go-lucky drinking sessions once again.

I never dared go to U.P. on a rainy, rush-hour evening,
but I did it twice this month, for the love of films,
and its filmmakers. Again, it's an excuse to drink
the "Shrimps Ahoy" way.

Suddenly, I felt so concerned about their films,
from "Engkwentro's" odyssey to Venice,
to "Dinig Sana Kita's" other screenings,
to "Last Supper's" promise of hitting the mainstream audiences,
to "Sanglaan's" underrated achievement, "Mangatyanan's"
often overlooked beauty and sophistication, and "Nerseri's"
high in spite of its very melancholic story.

Suddenly, I felt like each film, was mine as well.

During the Awards Night, I felt like attending the graduation
rites of the child that I never had. I was teary-eyed
and applauding!

Suddenly, I am concerned about the National Artist's awards.

Luckily, I got to write a story with Ina Feleo and Ricky Davao,
to promote Cinemalaya. These two actors make me feel humbler with their kindness, sincerity, selfless passion, and humility, in spite of their obviously
God-given acting prowess.

Perhaps it's the non-show business nature of independent cinema
which make these film lovers, actors, and makers all the more
true, and of higher integrity.

Don't get me wrong, I have met really famous film makers
and celebrities who are as human as anyone else, as dedicated like any
independent film maker.

But the new breed, it's different, it's like a college entrance exam,
there's the vulnerability if one will make it or not. It's discovery,
and learnings, and small victories, and the first time they felt like this,
that spell the Indie Magic.

It's passion that binds them, a thirst for substance,
true to their film vocation, lacking in other vehicles
which give the money, but it's a venue to unleash the soul,
through true, pure craft, and true artistry.

It's the shunning of fame and limelight, so these are
the types of film enthusiasts who you can drink with,
in street seafood grill bars I never knew existed.

They won't be mobbed by the crowds.
So they can still afford to be in a "people's hangout."


They're drinkers after a hard day's work, like the rest of us.
They really love films, like the rest of me.
And this magic combination will make
me drink everyday, toasting to passion
and cinema, and getting to afford to
talk about everyday life as well.
I don't mind having a bigger beer belly if these
are the people I drink with.

If this Cinemalaya hangover is too belated, and long for some,
to us, it's a hangover we don't mind staying up late to, every night,
and waking up with, to realities of the need to survive.

This life is not really about earning money.
This life is about doing what you really like.
It's about sharing whatever talents God has given us.
And it's really about good old bonding over beer,
the Filipino way. There will always be a need for peanuts
with beer, amongst people with same problems and ideals.

Like coffee and cigarettes, films and beer mix well, very well,
when shared with these gifted ones, who keep their feet on the ground.
And yes, they don't mind getting wet under dripping ceilings,
not found in multiplexes, or victory parties in 5-star hotels, but along the streets,
where realities do exist, and where an industry who imitates life on screen,
never lose touch of their humanity, sans blockbuster fame,
sans red carpets, sans TV ratings, sans the limelight.

Thanks for making me a part of Cinemalaya Cinco.
I love you all as much as I have loved films throughout my life.

Now I am beginning to be as mushy as "Dinig Sana Kita's" Mike Sandejas.

And I am also as "chick-flicky" an addict as Borgy Torre.

What can I do? I am a romantic fool, actually.
And I cherish friendships, old and new.

Thanks Cinemalaya Cinco, for welcoming me to your batch.

Should I shed my Jaclyn Jose tear now?

Let's drink to that again, and again, please? Way until Cinemalaya 10?

John Hughes, R.I.P. My Younger Friend Asks," John Who?"

For the "Twilight" and "High School Musical" generation, it's no wonder when I said,
"oh my, John Hughes is dead!", I get a baffled look.

But John Hughes, director of "Sixteen Candles," "Pretty In Pink", "Ferris Bueller's Day off", et al,
made teenage films more insightful, without losing the fun.
He also wrote "Home Alone"

He made the underdog teenager lacking in social skills or sexual charisma
a hopeful victor.

But no, they need not break out in songs, nor do they have
to look like frail vampires, and the lines weren't as cheesy.

Then an autocratic detention takes shape in "The Breakfast Club."
It's a precursor to Big Brother! Good looking teens, trapped in one place,
and the sparks and tension fly, like what the reality show of
this millenium is now.

But yes, like "High School Musical," his films had songs we can remember,
and sing, and dance to.

"Don't You Forget About Me," was our no.1 hit.

But John Hughes is not that old.
It's an untimely heart attack.

It reminds me of one of Asia's best advertising creative directors,
Yasmin Ahmad, who directed award-winning films as well,
dying so sudden and so soon, way before she gets so old.

I should take better care of my health!

I think John Hughes was only 51. And so was Yasmin.

Maybe I should show my younger friend the DVD's of John Hughes' films.

I am sure, she will relate to a universal teenage theme.
It's timeless.

Except Hughes films, I think, and I am biased,
are much better than the High School Musicals and Twilights of your time.

I just can't get enough of the 80's.
It's just that, they took away Michael Jackson, too, also at 51.

51 is not my number.
80's will be forever my favorite collective number.

And Madonna, please stay as healthy as possible.

After our Cory Aquino of 1986 People Power left us,
my 80's era seems to be dying so fast, so soon.



.

.

Will The Yellow In You Sleep Again for Another 23 Years?

Cory's Yellow Spirit will keep us awake and enlightened.

Where Do You Go From Here?

To the children of the 21st century
who are wondering why this yellow fever is all around you now:

There will be more colors to choose from.
I wonder what color will symbolize the battles you still have to wage.

Ours was a color to dethrone an overstaying dictator.
But we never finished the fight.
The age-old problems which our parents fought for,
remained in our generation, and will continue into your older years.

The fundamentals are sadly, still there.
The roots of all inequality, and the effects of
a republican form of rule, flawed or evolving,
borrowed from other charters, or cured for
a transitory period of time, are yours to analyze,
and revise. according to what this nation needs,
or what you think is feasible in your time.

Look back, to as far as our pre-colonial history,
and trace the evolution of our problems.
It will provide more clues, more than seeing
a revival of yellow ribbons all around you.

Look ahead, and get out of the smaller picture.
After seeing what this nation went through,
look at our country's role in the wider world.

Blame not, but do more,
to make your history.

But don't forget to seek for justice.
We forgive too easily and forget.
And the errant ones remain free.

Look around, and see all the poverty around you.
You will notice there's something wrong, and why the Gap remains the same,
ever since Spain ruled us, ever since Presidents came and went.

Fear not, if another self-serving leader tries to steal away
your liberties. It may take fast, or slow, for you to unite,
and stand as one, but like us, we waited, and we did
fight.

This is not about the death of a leader.
This is actually a reminder of how you'll live in the future.
This is about you. This is not just another festival
of what we used to be, but a refresher on what we all should be,
and where we should be going from here.

We thought we were on our way to a better place.
We are sorry we didn't fight as much and became complacent after 1986.

Weep not for a leader, but for the whole nation.
And yes, keep praying, for we have seen how faith can move mountains.

And get inspiration not just from Cory Aquino, but also from others
who fought, even died, to keep this nation free.

There's no more foreign invader to fight.
There's no more despot to unseat, for now.

We have to fight for ourselves now.
We have to think of others who fight everyday
to survive, and have three meals a day.

Look inside, then when you find your core,
start the fight.

And yes, have an icon, for people to understand,
see, and spread, like our yellow ribbon.

It may not be a ribbon, it may not be yellow.
But for sure, it will be something meaningful to
your ideals and your dreams.

May God bless this nation now, and its children's tomorrow.

9 Months After She's Been Laid to Rest

Cory's death is the beginning of another life, or "death" of ideals,
that will be delivered in May 2010.

Now, the next leader is arming himself with
the strong will to win. But will it really be about sacrificing his life
for the good of the nation? Will it really be about the will to serve?

Replacing the yellow ribbons to pay respect to a democratic icon,
will be the countless campaign posters of the next alternatives to
President Arroyo. It will definitely be a confusing choice among
the lesser evils. Unless someone from anonymity, a true statesman
sprouts from nowhere and capture the imagination of this nation.

Like EDSA I, years after, it's all been about politics, corruption,
and greed. We'll be back with candidates claiming they're for the poor.

If you're really for the poor, the needy, the underprivileged,
then spend all that campaign cash to worthy causes,
as a private citizen.

Why go for the highest position to serve the lowliest among us?

Citizen Juans, added to more Juans, can create a multitude,
a swelling of goodwill to help one another, and lead
a movement, free of political color, to figure out a way
to lessen the gap between those who have a lot, and those who have none.

This is what the EDSA Miracle taught us, one person standing along
that highway matters, it counts, to total into a million, to make a statement.
We didn't go to that highway to have a political path.
We just wanted an overstaying President to leave the Palace.

This drama and overflowing emotion of goodwill and idealism
will be gone so soon. The power chasers will make themselves
felt to win the electorate.

Savor the lull, the calm, from a nation so dedicated to
democracy. Cherish the ideal.

Once the power hopefuls run, their shadows are so black,
the sunshiny brightness of Cory's yellow
will quickly transform into the darkness of night.

Help Send A Filipino Film to Venice

We know how it is in our country.
There's not much government funds even if a good film competes in foreign festivals.

"Engkwentro," a 2009 Cinemalaya film, has been invited to the Venice International Film Festival. It will be competing at Venice's Orizzonti (New Horizons) competition, a section that provides a spectrum of new trends in cinema.

As we all know, Venice is a prestigious filmfest destination, like Berlin and Cannes.
It is an honor for our country to be invited to compete there.

But plane fare, all the way to Italy, and per diem, is needed, to send
its key film makers and some cast members.

From Pepe, the director:

"But it's also having to prepare a DCP (Digital Cinema Package), w/c is like a digital version of a film print. That really costs a lot. Then there's printing press materials, having the film translated -- all that stuff adds up kasi to the point that preparing for the festival may cost more than making the film :-( "

They have already spent much in producing the film,
for a measly production grant, so they have mustered strength to
finish it, and look for means to fund it, and complete it.

Now, another financial challenge is there to bear.

Let's wish Pepe Diokno, its director all the blessings
and congratulate him for showcasing our exceptional
film themes and stories to audiences worldwide.

I am pledging 2,000 pesos to begin the "cash drive."

Cheers to the Filipino film maker!

Let's do this too to the other films who need help
since they will go to Toronto, Pusan, and for sure,
more movie centers around the globe!

(*They're still applying for a film grant from the government.
But I know it's on reimbursement basis, AFTER the film has traveled.
So they need help for the initial expenses.)

Please share this note to your facebook and other social networking contacts.
Godbless.

From Pepe, the director:
" Interested people can contact us at engkwentromovie@gmail.com or visit our Facebook page at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Engkwentro/222952435547. Details will be posted there."

The Last Four Presidents In My Life

If I live until 70, I will be voting for four more Presidents,

if the Charter remains the same.


I hope a statesman or woman

will be one of my life's

last four leaders.


"I need a hero,

I'm holding out for a hero."

Chicks Rule

There's a double lump in my throat,
caused by the death of a democratic icon, and
our current, supposedly democratic leader allegedly railroading
the National Artist Awards.

So I went to see another chick, Sandra Bullock.
in "The Proposal," portraying another strong woman "leader."
It's the time chick flicks can assure me
the world is still fine.

Did I and my friends hear that right?
A Freudian slip came out of Ted Failon's annotation of the Cory vigil,
"the casket of President Arroyo," which of course,
could've been told as President Aquino's?
I wonder if this slip will land on YouTube.

And as these ladies dominate the news,
comes a tribute to Vilma Santos, multi-awarded actress,
"not yet a National Artist." Tributes are fine.
But obviously, this is an extended promotion of her upcoming
Star Cinema movie. But at least, it provided a break
to a nation in mourning.

No, there's no tribute yet for Mr. Carlo J. Caparas
and his visual arts and film works as he is
elevated to highest artistic honors.
Be careful what you wish for!

And it was so nostalgic to see old clips from Vilma Santos films,
the way the images of EDSA Revolution constantly play
back memories of an era gone by.

Crossing over to Cinema One, is a tale of three sisters,
caught unguarded by the death of their mother, in
"Sandalang Bahay."

Sandra, Gloria, Vilma, Cory, the Sandalang Sisters.

It's a female ensemble so diverse, all in one weekend.

The current president will soon come back from her U.S. tour.

May Corazon Cojuangco Aquino rest in peace.

The National Artist Dialogue

"Si Carlo J. Caparas, National Artist na raw."

"Artista na siya sa National Book Store?"

"Ungas, parang mangga, national fruit."

"Ano na nga ba ang national bird? Nung panahon ko, ibong maya.
Ngayon agila na yata."

"Maya, yung nabebenta sa Luneta, na pekeng pinintahan?"

"Ayun, ang pintor ay isang artist."

"So si Carlo J. Caparas ang nagpinta ng mga maya?"

"Malamang."

"Eh si Carlo Aquino, anak ba ni Ninoy?"

"Sino yun?"

"Artista yun, national din, Carlo din sya, kasi napapanood ng Nanay ko sa Surigao.
Abot ang ABS CBN doon eh."

"So dapat pala si Carlo Aquino ang National Artist? Kahit di ko siya kilala?"

"Kilala mo ba si Carlo Caparas?"

"Sabi mo sya ang nagpinta ng national bird?"

"Sya ang may likha ng Bakekang."

"Ayoko, inaapi nya ang mga pangit. Saka reverse racist yun.
Natakot si Bakekang na mabuntis ng Negro."

"Alam mo reverse racism, ha!"

"Bakit, porke masa wala nang alam sa social injustice? Tayo nga
ang mga biktima nun, eh."

"Eh ang art? Ano ba yun?"

"Malay ko. Basta yung plaka ng jeep ko, nakuha ko sa shop na
nakalagay, 'Art Signs.' "

"Baka yun ang art."

"Me pera ba pag national artist ka?"

"Oo naman, di ba ang yayaman ng mga artista! Tingan mo
si Willie Revillame, ang dami nang bahay."

"Di ba pag artista umaarte? Eh emcee yun eh."

"Di ba umarte naman sya, umiyak sya, nung nag-away sila ni Joey de Leon?"

"Sabagay, so dapat national artist din si Willie Revillame. Saka abot
din sa Surigao ang Wowowee, national talaga."

"Meaning, kaya rin nya magpinta ng national bird."

"Mayaman siguro pag National Artist?"

"Ewan ko, yung Art Sign shop, parang di naman sila mayaman."

"At saka di sila National, isa lang ang branch."

"So ano tawag dun, Barangay Artist?"

"Baka pag nagpinta sila ng national bird, eh di national artist ka."

"Galing mo! Halika, let's paint our birds."

"Inggles yun ah."

"Ano ba dapat ang national language, Tagalog o Cebuano?"

"Malay ko, Ilokano ako eh. Gutom lang ito, nahihilo na ako sa usapan natin."

"Baka me pakain, pag national artist."

"Kung meron man, di naman natin text mate si Carlo Caparas."

"At saka wala na akong load. Mahirap lang ako eh."

"At di ka artist."

"At hanggang Quiapo lang ang rota ng jeep ko."

"Yucch, so local, hindi ka National. Eww."

"Hindi bagay sa yo magsalitang sosyal."

"Sosyal ba si Carlo Caparas?"

"Ibang isyu na yan ha, uwi na nga tayo. Pasakay nga sa jeep mo."

Inside Looking Out: Brillante Mendoza's "Kinatay"

To look at a crime and all its angles, should you be outside looking in, or inside looking out?

So says the criminology professor (Mark Meily), to the student, Peping (Coco Martin), during the lighter side, with more lighting, haha, of "Kinatay," the Daytime Part.

In this journey, we are placed too much in it, we hope we can get out of it.

It begins with a promise of new life, as Peping and his wife goes about the day, to end up in a judge's court, to get married. In fact, these scenes were very cute and poignant in spite of the squalor around.

Less the grainy feel of "Serbis," and more polished and composed, Odyssey Flores, the cinematographer, starts the film with us looking at how innocent and dreamy urban squalor can appear, while the sun is still up, before darkness creeps in.

By dark, it will really get dark.

Only to stall the shock, and like a long relaxing exhale, before a gruesome inhale, as the Night Sequences slowly assault us for the harrowing trip Peping is about to witness.

We will be experiencing it with him, as a participant with no choice but to be as surprised and as shocked as he will be, with no way out. We will react the way Peping reacts.

The whole theater will be filled with Pepings, all-unwilling passengers to a crime.

Suddenly, the images play with darkness and blur, as we take a trip inside a van, not knowing what will happen next, or how gruesome this tale will turn.

We want to see what's happening but sometimes we can't. Or as a witness, like Peping, we hope we can't see, but curious and afraid of what we might see!

Therefore, like Peping, we are holding on to the edge of the van's seat, to our theater seat, to make way for what will turn out to be a suspense thriller!

Yes, for a change, it's not "Serbis" or "Foster Child" that seem like social documentary or essays on film. This perhaps, is the more palatable Mendoza film, that you might actually enjoy.

The seemingly unseen and seen soon-to-be-murdered target, right beside the innocent protagonist, combined with music as though our heart will pound loudly and stop beating, and mixed with conversations to aid the non-visible violence in alternately nonchalant and filthy dialogue, make "Kinatay" an effective thriller, in realistic, but darkly visualized manner.

The trip to the destination can be a blur, visually. Because we also wanted to blur it, and we aren't clear why we took the ride, or why we subject ourselves to such a ride, again, like Peping.

As we hardly see Madonna (Isabel Lopez), but if we do so, we see her bloodied and beaten, she is ever present in her wailing and pleading, until she suddenly becomes quiet. The silence chills, as we here the vehicle's motor running. Outside the van, the police car's siren cry loudly, taking over her wails and moans. And the police won't notice, which makes it chilling. And inside our van, are cops, too, gone berserk. Cops to cops.

Realism and suspense make a more heart-pounding combination. Add to that the dirty alpha-male cop psyche provides an excruciating trip. Like Peping, we would like to find the first moment we can escape, but we have no choice.

We have become a part of the crime, and will lose our decency, our innocence, and our sanities as well.

Like Peping seeing a bus during a stopover, we have a chance to get out, and simply walk out of the theater, but we can't. We've been glued!

So suspenseful can realism be, my seatmate can hear my deep breathing!

Until we get to the death trap, an abandoned house with a basement. We know the worst is yet to come, we have been prepared.

As Peping goes in and out of the "death chamber", we squirm and relax at the same time.Masterful technique, I must say, to add to the fear,yet, continuously providing the drama the character undergoes.

It still has a human core in spite of its animalism.

Not to pre-empt the next series of events, which is why the film is titled "Butchering", we go deeper into the possibilities of cruelty, and loss of human soul.

In the end, we are so relieved the long, harrowing night is over. But our innocence has been damaged.Yes, like Peping not knowing if he'd go back to the cab whose tire burst, we don't know what to do next.

We been crippled, like Madonna, the victim.

We've been paralyzed.

We died slowly.

We walk out of the crime still alive,

as if everything around us is normal.

But after this, it will never be.

The disturbing thing about this film actually, is,it seemed so real, and we just watched, and watched, without becoming angry, or reversing the heinous act, and use Peping's gun to stop it. Yes, he had a gun. It's a gift. It's a bribe and an offering of power.

Are we also looking for more, the way the beastly cops wanted more? Are we also unleashing the darkest side of our personas, we actually wanted to see it happen?

Only violence can stop this violent act. But we choose to simply witness it happen, sitting down. Like Peping, we were not prepared to see this.Therefore, we can't move, and got no choice but to complete the ride. That's how thrilling however assaulting this experience was.

Are you ready to take this ride, too?

If you are, there's another screening this August.

Date:
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Time:
7:00pm - 9:30pm
Location:
Cinema 2, Greenbelt 3

For ticket purchase:

Phone:
09175826536
Email:
info@adobomagazine.com


This is a film unlikely to be shown in commercial theaters. So take this rare chance to see it.

The Lonely Hues of "Nerseri" by Vic Acedillo, Jr.

If "Sanglaan" was quietly melancholic,
"Nerseri" was disturbingly sad and of a deeper kind of blue, and... green.

I promised to write about this film in a separate blog post.
It deserves its own space for its different presentation of family life.

A dysfunctional family needs someone to function.
Pity the kid who was left with this burden when his Mom
had to leave for two weeks, leaving him to take care
of his drug-addicted, mentally disturbed siblings.

We are witnesses to this story unfolding in muted colors,
save for the blues and greens dominating its canvas.

Ironic, the orchids which keep his Mom busy, perhaps
the only sources of color for her life, are muted as well.
save for the green botanical color.

Since we watch the film from the kid's point of view,
we wonder, why his vision was like this, until the
harrowing ending transforms to full color.

Skip to ending, it's what the kid sees, that we didn't see in the
beginning when this same scene opened the film. It can only mean,
the kid knew if his Mom was coming back or not. He saw this moment!
And we are exposing what the kid sees as truth, and "drugged."

It also explains why he called his Mom, but the Mom isn't on the other end
of the line, but he kept on talking, as if the Mom is there. He definitely knew.
And he was helpless, and it's a nice script device too, to expose the kid's wishes,
without resorting to "voice-over", an easy cop-out mechanism of most writers.

This was a moment of truth for us, not him.
The tears Jaclyn Jose had, was the turning point
which explains abandonment, deeper than when
Meryl Streep of "Kramer vs. Kramer" had the gall
to leave her kid for freedom. And it bleeds,
it makes us bleed, in bloody red, as a viewer.

Drugs lead to hallucinations.
Jaclyn's orchids serve as her only psychedelic trip.
Only she and the kid were not dependent on drugs.
She was so addicted to her orchids.
But they were dependent on each other to make the family work.

But the kid sees only green and blue.
He must have muted the colors of life,
and chose two hues to see his world.
This is his hallucination, too.

In fact, the kid only chose his Mom and his sister,
and the other brother, as his reason to feel, and care, and be concerned.

His good-for-nothing angry brother, to him, is the nemesis.
His other brother, is caged in the rehab center, to stop the fighting.
It is the effect of his nemesis' villainous ways. Maybe he even blames
the departure of his Mom to this good-for-nothing brother.
His view is still black-and-white, rather, green and blue, simplistic.
There are good guys, and there are bad guys, no greys. He is still a kid, remember?

I should view it once again if the characters were color-coded as well.

His sexual trips, at a very young age, was as disturbing as his Mom's decisions.
To be with a family like this is a big downer than no drug can match,
and at this early age, it will indeed make the kid everyday "stoned," and
oddly perverted.

He begins to lie, too, about his educational achievements.
It's one sign of drug addiction, the chronic lies.
He's as drugged as the rest, except, his upper or downer
were not of the pharmaceutical, chemical, nor botanical kind.

He almost jumped off a building, the way his Mom
jumped out of her responsibilities. How druggie they have become!

This is just a preview of how brilliantly scripted this film is.
It seeks not to explain, but it explains.
It seeks not to bother, since it seemed trivial,
and day-to-day in the life of a family, but it bothers us
to a different dimension, as though we have been drugged as well.

It's a neo-Woodstock tone that is written well and forms like
a helix, without being excessive. They all blended well.
The higher intent, the insight of a drug-user, the decisions,
the character's reasons, the family as a whole, brilliant writing,
all in hallucinogenic and unique fashion.

A drug trip is also excessive, hence, the indulgent color-coding
treatment. Therefore, it makes sense not only as a statement,
but thematically as well. It's a trip, so who cares, it's the director's trip.

The mom seems existentialist, she's just being there.
She just goes through the daily chores, and the abnormalities
of her family, and settles disputes without the iron hand.

But she exploded in our mind, without the hysterics,
by not coming back.

Just like when you're drugged, everything is happening around you,
but you're just there, calmly letting the drama pass you by.
While stoned, we just let the problems happen, and we're just there.

But the effect of drugs in our mental crevices are permanent.
Jaclyn's family has drugged her for years, figuratively,
which makes her decision disturbing.

It has affected her brain, and heart, and soul over time, but it is also oddly
courageous for a mother to do, defying all madonna-and-child
unbreakable bond, and she did it! She cut her ties! Just like that!
Leave the kid alone, and let it be, even if the kid doesn't deserve
such burden! Damages of family abuse, is Jaclyn's equivalent
drug abuse's permanent havoc.

And by golly, what about the kid who was subject to this "family abuse?"
He would definitely be a sicko for life. Poor kid, arrrrgh!

I stand by my word, it's my Best Picture.
If people didn't see it the way I did,
maybe I've been drugged by Vic Acedillo, Jr.
without me knowing it.

Last Supper No. 3 was my Best Picture No.2.
It's a brilliant film, too. It's an upper, a stimulant.

"Nerseri" is a depressant, a narcotic, which made me feel high.
The "high" comes from it being a brilliant piece!

But no, it's not addictive, I can't take a lonely
film twice, I will definitely watch "The Proposal"
with Sandra Bullock, or "Last Supper" three times over, after "Nerseri."

Choosing Love Over A Better Life: Milo Sugueco's "Sanglaan"

With this year's strong statements, and lofty themes,
comes the quietest film among the entries,
subtly making its way through the indiefest barrage of voices.

Holistic in its survival theme, done in a very
claustrophobic micro-entity, the humble pawnshop,
the effects of recession to a business where lives
are dependent on it to cope with a down-spiraling economy:

"Sanglaan" by Milo Sugueco pains us with its simplicity.
It makes the issue closer to our little homes.
Therefore, it makes it lonelier and more personal for us.

I wanted to write about it way after I've viewed it,
because at the onset, some people find it the most boring film.
I did, too, but it grew on me all the more, and actually find it more
beautiful now. An afterthought, or is it, an "after-view" realization
how good this film actually was!

Of course, to those seeking entertainment or shock,
it will be too quiet compared to "Astig." It will be too cold and icy if shown
after "Dinig Sana Kita," and too tame and cowardly if shown after "Engkuentro."

It makes "Sanglaan" then, more sincere.
It doesn't show ambition, but it shows quiet affection.
Its message is actually cheesier than "DInig,"
love conquers all amidst poverty.
It is actually optimistic on the power of love to
conquer all Third World odds. Or is it really?

It is better to be poor, as long as you love somebody?
There's a striking naivete about this. Or so I thought.

The pawnshop owner, played by Tessie Tomas, not made selfish, but also trapped
in the same dilemma as her employee, and her security guard, held on
to the business, out of love. Initially, she says she loves this country
more than joining her son abroad.

But her family is her pawnshop dependents.
She has been hers, even when her husband was alive.
She represents the thousands of small enterpreneurs,
even the humble neighborhood sari-sari store or retail store,
who keep on running a business, that doesn't make one wealthy, anyway.

You'll never grow big, you're target market's periphery is too small in
the first place! They will never be rich!

She is doing this for love, and for people who's been with her
all the way.

Ina Feleo, her appraiser, stays with her out of
gratitude. She is in no way her daughter,
but unlike the son who went to America,
she still is with her employer, dines, and eats with her,
even dyes Tessie's hair (!)
and even forgives her meddling into her blossoming heart.

Tessie is the mother she never has anymore, and Ina is the child
Tessie lost when her son left for the States.

Yes, it's that simplistic. No pretension or deeper reason,
which makes this film actually better than we initially thought it was.

Then the complementing characters surrounding Ina and Tessie
are on the same boat. They are driven by love against all odds.
Except, Tessie has that usual Filipino pride, too. She doesn't want to
depend on her son, but she wants others to continually depend on her!

The husband who works for Tessie as a guard, goes all out
to meet the medical requirements of her wife, to the point of
"selling" his kidneys, unless there was a pawnshop for internal organs, too.

He did pawn the only token of love given by his soldier son who died in battle.
But that too, can be temporary. In fact, the TV set was robbed,
all together with the whole pawnshop that Tessie hanged on to throughout her life.
And Ina who never moved on and became contented being an appraiser.

The loyalties of the characters to the people they love were so intense.
They are all stuck in this small business, and a small space.

It is a comfort zone.
It is passiveness.
It is false contentment.

"Sanglaan" has to show us how static our nation has become,
through this very small story and very singularly little milieu.
It doesn't have to show the whole city to make its point, unlike "Astig."

The eerie part is, they are victims of love, and love being victimized by it.

It took a robbery, to shock this losers out of their wits!
The way it took an assassination to awaken this nation!
Or more literally, when they people Joseph Estrada robbed them
by becoming involved with illegal gambling.

How ironic that they remain in the ideal love for others world,
even after realizing everything could be lost in a split second.
How Christian. How Filipino.

In fact, the character of Joem Bascon did get out of this comfort zone.
Love was an obstacle to his survival. If he stayed with Ina, he'll be forever
in debt, forever not making his monthy rental payment to the couple,
forever beholden to their small time Executive-In-Command, Tessie Tomas.

But he got out of this suffocating feeling, and this very crowded world of weak
fighters for lovel, and left.

"Sanglaan" is the anti-thesis to "Panggagahasa Kay Fe's" desire to leave
the miserable Third World life. It's not folklore and the supernatural that can save the "Sanglaan's" characters. It's love that makes them content.
It's a drug that they think is effective, but it made them not use their heads to improve.
It's hypnosis. It's a trap.

It's the micro-entity of a pawnshop to a nationally macro-disease,
to tell us, how dumb we can be, to stick to what matters most,
instead of moving on for a better life.

Would you really rather be with your loved ones, and remain poor?
Or be a good looking seaman and earn more, by not loving?

Since we value our hearts more, we are all pawned to poverty,
and we will never be able to recover pay our debts back,
because we choose to LIVE for LOVE. What a sad, sappy nation
we have become!

There are films which need to be parked for a while,
before we can actually see its true merits.
It was overpowered by the "bigger, noisier, stronger, shocking, engaing" films.

But I was right, I like "Sanglaan's" simplicity the first time I ever saw its face.
Like a simple face, it becomes more beautiful the more you look at it!
It's got a true soul!