It's Either You're Here, Or You're Not
That one came from the kewl man himself, Quentin Tarantino. He had said it during his talk when he saw a camera-phone pointed at him, following his pace. Apparently someone had been recording on video. This vexed him, so he stopped. He asked the guy to turn off the camera, emphasizing that he wanted to make the event special for everyone present.
I love Quentin. He’s frank and unapologetic that way.
Now where to begin. Because of time constraints I will not give a narration of my experience. The details are too surreal to be put into words. Plus, to reduce them into writing dessicates the experience.
I can claim, though, that I saw Quentin 4 times. The first one was when I shook his hand; the second on his afternoon talk last August 11; the third during the “Jackie Brown” screening; and the fourth outside the theater of another screening. Luck surprised me.
Incidentally, there was a light-hearted moment before his introduction of “Jackie Brown”. A Cinemanila ad made Quentin, together with the audience, roar with laughter.
The ad’s on Youtube. Click here to watch.
He said he wanted to get of a copy of it. Kewlness.
......
The ninth Cinemanila International Film Festival has been running for some weeks now. I’ve seen 12 films so far, and I plan to see 12 more. I’m kidding. Maybe just 10. This is what has kept me busy, in lieu of the sun and classes. The festival has reawakened my old obsession, and I feel unstoppable.
They say the rain induces indolence and despair, but not to me. Nowadays I feel like jogging down Katipunan and giving high-fives of everyone. Seeing arthouse films gives me the adrenaline. Always. I don’t mind shuttling back and forth to Cubao; I don’t mind braving the storm; I don’t mind watching alone. I’m just happy to suit my craving.
Out of the 12, I recommed these 6 titles in particular.
Volver (Spain)
Pedro Almodovar’s tribute the women of his lives. A beautifully complex story.
Mukhsin (Malaysia)
A gentle piece that is well-acted, well-written and well-directed.
The Art of Crying (Denmark)
I adore this film. Very dark and disturbing.
Love and Honor (Japan)
The samurai film that reduced me to tears. Yoji Yamada is my cinematic idol.
Children of Glory (Hungary)
I cannot begin to tell you how much this film worked on so many levels. It is a triumph in direction, screenplay and production design, to name a few.
Paris Je T’aime (France)
An omnibus feature, set in the City of Lights, tells 18 stories of love by 20 directors. Here are my favorites:
LES MARAIS by Gus Van Sant– A love story that was lost in translation. Compelling.
TUILERIES by the Coen Brothers– One of the funniest in the bunch.
BASTILLE by Isabel Coixet– Sad yet unforgettable.
TOUR EIFFEL by Sylvain Chomet– A charming film about mimes.
PARC MONCEAU by Alfonso Cuaron– Well-acted. I liked the twist in the end.
PLACE DES FETES by Oliver Schmitz- Deeply touching.
QUARTIER DE LA MADELEINE by Vincenzo Natali– "Sin City"-style of visuals. See Elijah Wood turn into a vampire.
FAUBOURG SAINT-DENIS by Tom Tyker– Stunningly made film which stars Natalie Portman.
14TH ARRONDISSEMENT by Alexander Payne– A poignant way to end the feature.
This is not to mean that I disliked the rest, no. I did savor them! Immensely. It’s just that the ones above blew me away.
The Gold Ticket to attend the afternoon talk with Quentin Tarantino included passes for 10 film screenings. I’ve already spent all 10, and exceeded it. But I'm planning to see more. The festival is extended until August 28, 2007.
No Sap, Only Blood
The competing filmmakers at the third Cinemalaya Independent Film Festival are a romantic bunch. Their cameras pan to lighthouses and seas, fields and a high school campus. All offer postcard-pretty shots, but only one has stuck his neck out—Jim Libiran, the director of “Tribu”.
“Tribu” tells the story of three street gangs in Tondo, namely Sacred Brown Tribe, Thugs Angels and Diablos. It is seen through the eyes of a boy, named Ebet, and his voice-over opens and ends the film. In between them, though, there is darkness: A member of SBT dies. Mackoy and his SBT suspect the Diablos as perpetrators. They vow revenge and conspire with the Thugs Angels. At midnight, their bloody war begins.
Of course, other similar films will enter your mind, especially “City of God”. But “Tribu” holds its own. To watch this film is to be punched in the gut. You crawl out of the theater reeling from its rawness. What is special here is that Libiran reveals to us the real face of Tondo, where sex and violence are not uncommon, where gangsters and hip-hop rule. The camera doesn’t shy away from tangled electric wires, slaughtered pigs and loud neighbors; instead, it sets a documentary style of filmmaking. The handheld shots give an authentic feel.
Casting real-life gangsters, as actors, also preserves the authenticity. In the film, they’re no longer acting; they play themselves. But more important, “Tribu” depicts them in a good light: that they’re family people, too. Makoy and his friend, for instance, chat with their parents over breakfast and do chores. Yes, the rest also smoke drugs and cuss and kill, but these do not define them.
The screenplay is also by Libiran, which bagged a Palanca in 2006. Libiran has an ear for everyday speech and writes candid dialogues. “Huwag ka nang tumuloy,” a fellow thug warns Makoy not to join the brawl, “mamamatay ka lang.” Makoy is miffed and points a gun at him. “Sige, iputok mo,” replies the other, “nang malagas tayong lahat!”
The dialogues even sound poetic when the gangsters burst into rap. But they’re neither fancy nor contrived. To them, poetry comes naturally. Just listen to their anger: “‘Tang ina, bumalik na kayo sa inyong pinagputahan/ Lahat kayo ay aming babalahan.”
Sentimentality tends to mar the other films in competition (portions of “Still Life” feel like that of a primetime soap). “Tribu”, however, never succumbs to this. Through Libiran’s direction, it doesn’t manipulate the audience. Consider the scene when Ebet has prepared dinner for his mother. Ebet calls out to her, but she lies in bed still. The boy then tugs her blanket and rests at his mother’s side. No music accompanies this scene, yet it touches a nerve or two.
Some say, the way to achieve artistic perfection is to approach a full physical reality. “Tribu” is a piece of reality. It is at times dark and touching, but always simple and true. Do catch its re-runs in UP this August.
BF's Fetish
I'm not sure why Manila is getting this all-pink makeover. It feels like she’s embarrassed. Footbridges, fences, urinals.
This change, though, has been met with raised eyebrows. Mostly mine. I think “Metro Gwapo” is inappropriate; more like “Metro Ganda”, as I’d like to crack. For me the color’s a tad too girly. Just think of the repulsion of the policeman brandishing a pink flag. Or the driver of a ten-wheeler peeing in a pink urinal. Even the most macho will blush at this thought. It’s as if by peeing he has almost done something shameful.
Pink is a crude joke altogether. I suggest we drop it: the name “Manila” means indigo, in case you don’t know.......
Saw the “Harry Potter” film last night. Both my body and mind was already tired then, but I’ll go out on a limb here: it is the best in the series yet. For David Yates to make something lucid out of the longest book, with the shortest duration, is a feat in itself. His direction is tight tight tight. All the events lead to that climactic showdown without the audience feeling the tug.
It also succeeds in fluid editing, not to mention characterizations (evil meets pink in Professor Umbridge) and healthy doses of humor.
Based on his filmography, of course I’m biased to Alfonso Cuaron, director of “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban”. But David Yates seems perfect for the job. Yates doesn’t engage in flights of fancy; instead, he focuses on the dark core of the story, fleshes it out. I’m just glad he’ll direct the sixth film, and in my book, also deserves to run away with the last.
Dialogues: Speaking of Sin
Dialogue No. 1
At a local panderia, I look at the contents being sold behind the glass. I then ask the vendor a question.
Andrew: Kuya, ano yung filling nito? (points at a bread)
Vendor: Butter.
Andrew: E heto, kuya? (points at another type of bread)
Vendor: Food coloring.
Andrew: (walks away)
Dialogue No. 2
My professor and I have the same first name. One day he does an attendance check in class. He skims through the other people’s names, and finally approaches mine.
Professor: Crissey!
Crissey: Present.
Professor: Paul!
Paul: Present.
Professor: Andrew!
Andrew: Present.
Professor: (looks at Andrew) Nice name.
Andrew: OK.
Dialogue No. 3
I bump into a friend at one of the school corridors.
Friend: Hey, Andrew! Ang tagal na nating ‘di nagkikita a!
Andrew: Buti naman.
Friend: What?! (grabs Andrew’s neck)
Andrew: (pretends to be choking to death)
Friend: You’re silly.
Dialogue No. 4
A group in my Theology class is reporting about sin as an act. One of the members addresses us a question.
Student: Who among you has never sinned? Raise your hand.
Professor: (raises his hand)
Student: Lying is a sin.
Professor: (laughs)
Dialogue No. 5
During the break Mitch and Louise are playing a random game. Mitch’s boyfriend, John, is sitting beside her and I beside Loiuse.
Mitch: Patatawanin kita a! Dapat hindi ka matatawa.
Louise: Sige, sige!
Mitch: O, game na?
Louise: Wait lang. Natatawa ako sa mukha mo e!
John: ---
Andrew: (claps his hands once) Ay, magbe-bell na pala.
Dialogue No. 6
Celine is finding a band to play for her party. Jerome belongs to a rock band. Celine approaches Jerome as I silently watch on the side.
Celine: Jerome, pwede ba kayong tumugtog this Sunday?
Jerome: Sure!
Celine: May gwapo ba sa band n'yo?
Jerome: Uh, oo. May isa.
Celine: Wow, sige. Basta hindi ikaw yun a!
Jerome: ---
Celine: (laughs)
Yesterday Is History
Yesterday, I was hurriedly walking along Katipunan for my three o’clock class when a strong wind blew my folder away and scattered the papers inside it. One of them was my essay on food, which was required to be submitted. So just as I was coming near the papers, a tricycle ran over them. My jaw dropped to my chest. Then I rushed to the wide open street, only stopping for the caroming vehicles, and began picking them up. The first sheet I looked at was my essay. It was now grayish and had small protrusions on its surface as it was pressed flat against the concrete. Damn.
I was panting when I arrived in class. The bell had just rung, but lo and behold, my History professor wasn’t there; he was still in Madrid, his assistant said. To fill in his absence, though, the assistant gave us a lecture about the situation of the pre-colonial Philippines and its tribes. One of the most striking stories she shared was about the Igorots. She said there’s flower in their land that they constantly watch out for. Because when it blooms, death perfumes the air. The opening of its petals signals the start of their head-hunting season. And when the heads do roll, no one is sanctioned; head-hunting is considered legal since it’s part of their culture. Sadly, most of their victims, she adds, are Catholics and foreigners. Julia Campbell, the famed foreigner who got slain in Cordillera mountains, knew this, and yet she still insisted to go there. God bless her soul.
That’s it, I thought, I’m chucking my dreams of seeing the Rice Terraces. I don’t want to be beheaded. Or worse, become a human fertilizer for the crops. But what a riot if it happened! I can imagine it: in Manila, a family is eating dinner and then someone exclaims, “Yung kanin lasang tao! Pweh!”
Anyway, the lecture lasted for thirty minutes. Supposedly it was an hour and a half class. Before we were dismissed, the teacher’s assistant left us two reminders. First, she said all written essays will comprise half of our grades. And second, if we wish to get high marks on them, we should be direct and grammatically sound, and should sprinkle just a little amount of creativity.
Again, damn. I got carried away in writing my food essay. The words I picked were so descriptive, the work may actually seem fictional. Tsk tsk. Another wrong move to jumpstart my school year.
Pulling Out
I received a text message forwarded by Megeh last Friday. It was sent by Ice, and he was planning to treat us that night for his twentieth birthday. But I had to beg off, albeit reluctantly, because I was scheduled to undergo a root canal treatment with the dentist. So while my friends were dining and laughing their asses off at Trinoma, half way across the city, they did not hear a yelp. My impacted tooth was being pulled out.
Great, just great. I miss my high school friends and my tooth. All the sacrifices for a perfect row of teeth.
I got to eat a pint of ice cream, though, after treatment—it was my lone consolation. Its taste had reminded me of summer, and a smile then formed on my lips.
......
I’m hooked on this song. The lyrics are irresistable.
America
Simon and Garfunkel
"Let us be lovers we'll marry our fortunes together"
"I've got some real estate here in my bag"
So we bought a pack of cigarettes and Mrs. Wagner pies
And we walked off to look for America
"Kathy," I said as we boarded a Greyhound in Pittsburgh
"Michigan seems like a dream to me now"
It took me four days to hitchhike from Saginaw
I've gone to look for America
Laughing on the bus
Playing games with the faces
She said the man in the gabardine suit was a spy
I said "Be careful his bowtie is really a camera"
"Toss me a cigarette, I think there's one in my raincoat"
"We smoked the last one an hour ago"
So I looked at the scenery, she read her magazine
And the moon rose over an open field
"Kathy, I'm lost," I said, though I knew she was sleeping
I'm empty and aching and I don't know why
Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike
They've all gone to look for America
All gone to look for America
All gone to look for America
Chamo-Me Andrew
Bow. Below are a few photos, chosen out of nearly two hundred (because I don’t want to post the rather "personal" ones), from my recent visit to Macau. And Macau, I’m happy to report, knocked the wind out of me. The city has two faces that each look unique: temples and churches, casinos and gardens, fortresses and monuments. All these inhabit this one place where the East gladly meets the West. Here’s a set of faces and places captured during the trip:
The store filled to the wall with books, in Potuguese. Tantan would be pleased here. And incidentally, he was supposed to ask me to buy him anything with Portuguese texts on it. But too late. He only told me yesterday, and my trip had ended a week ago. Next time, Tantan, I'm bringing you Macau's road signs, all with Portuguese translations. I will unbolt them from the ground, lug and deliver the signs right at your doorstep.
The man curtseying before the shrine at the A-ma Temple. I couldn't resist taking his photo. Click click.
And someone watching the world go by at Largo de Senado. Look at him. You may think that he’s bored or exhausted, that he’s wondering about the then-ongoing elections or American Idol. But no, that’s far from the truth: relief had just taken over him now that he's away from traffic, tsismis and the dull routines back home. Earlier, a Chinese couple had asked him if they could have their photos taken by him, not with him (What am I, a star?). He doesn’t look Chinese, but they approached him nonetheless, blabbering words beyond his comprehension. This amused him, and, feeling helpful to strangers that day, the guy gave in to the request. Not an hour has passed when an old man and another couple, all of them Chinese, again asked him to take their photos. Stunned, he wanted to glare at them and say, "Shit. Ano ba 'yan!" But of course he obliged, snapping their photos as politely he could, tucking rudeness away in some unnameable corner of his head where it made noises.
Day Three, and my family and I hopped on a ferryboat that brought our travel-hungry feet to Hong Kong. But forget Hong Kong. The city has become crowded and untidy over the years. It pales in comparison, in my opinion, to the pristine serenity that made me forget my name and live. Macau Macau Macau.
