Canon Decampment: Tata Esteban

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Alapaap

Additional Language: Ilocano
English Title: Clouds
Year of Release: 1984
Director: Tata Esteban
Screenwriter: Rei Nicandro
(From a story by Tata Esteban)
Producers: Aces Films International, Oro Vista Motion Pictures, Rare Breed Ltd.

Cast: William Martinez, Mark Gil, Michael de Mesa, Tanya Gomez, Isadora, Eva Rose Palma, Ed Villapol, Rosemarie Gil, Liza Lorena, Jabbar, Jose Cortez, Benny Resurreccion, Jerry O’Hara, Rez Cortez

After a present-day death certificate is filled out, we inexplicably flash forward to September 28, 1986, when Jake links up with the brothers Dave and Donald, to ask their help in completing a film that he needs to submit as his thesis project in an American university. The two suggest taking a trip to Baguio (bringing their girlfriends along), where they can search for material and possibly even shoot some footage there. After they persuade a reluctant old man to allow them to stay at his guesthouse, increasingly strange events begin to happen. When the brothers show Jake the shot they secretly filmed of him making out with a native lass outdoors, and realize that he had no one with him, they have no choice but to conclude that an otherworldly force is bent on messing up with their lives.

Anyone who can explain why 1984 was the most artistically productive year in Philippine film history might also have to account for why the critics of that time took it for granted. The yearend Metro Manila Film Festival, as an example, was so spoiled for great choices, dominated primarily by the films scripted by Ricky Lee for the Experimental Cinema of the Philippines, that it could afford to toss a few token awards to an exceptionally creative debut film and forget about it for good. Directed by the fairly obscure actor Steve Paolo (who was also producer and production designer) using his actual name, Alapaap took the ECP’s name literally, ensured audience patronage by banking on sex scenes and the upper-body female nudity then-exempted by censorship for depictions of indigenous practice, and scored largely on the basis of its skillful appropriation of giallo-horror principles. Its spectacle of unsurprisingly above-average performances aided significantly in overriding a few instances of anachronisms and illogical developments—with also a then-unremarked exceptional casting of the Eigenmann brothers (Michael de Mesa and Mark Gil) as well as topflight delivery by Tanya Gomez. As in countless other Philippine horror samples, the City of Pines embodies the collision between modernity and ancestral culture, but in harsher terms than usual. The ending is meant to provide some respite from the conflict, but the film is clever enough to take as much as it gives.

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Gayuma: Sana’y Mahalin Mo Rin Ako

Alternate Title: Gayuma
English Translation: Charm: I Hope You Love Me Too
Year of Release: 1995
Director: Tata Esteban
Screenwriter: Rei Nicandro
Producer: Falcon Films

Cast: Amanda Page, Julio Diaz, Maritoni Fernandez, Jay Manalo, Danny Ramos, Shirley Palma, Marissa Delgado, Lucita Soriano, Shola Luna, Connie Chua, Dennis Adobas, Archi Adamos, Boy Alano, Tata Esteban, Turko Cervantes, Gino Ilustre, Angel Baldomar, Allan Quimbo, Julian Alvaro, Bigtime Castillo, Bay Cristobal, Boy Davao, Ray Davao, Gel Dungca, Ihman Esturco, Al Eugenio, Bong Ferrer, Gil Gaganti, Saldy Golo, Berting Lago, Mariz Mauricio, Sonny Navarro, Tony Navarro, Nilo Odiaman, Doming Olivar, Tess Orias, Rudy Pontigon, Daisy Reyes, Cloyd Robinson, Dagul Salazar, Noel Sandoval, Edgar Santiago, Ina Suarez, Francisco Uno, Junior Uno

Lynn Blackwell, a half-American Pinay in Subic, longs to meet with the father who abandoned her. She professes affection for her boyfriend Dondon but leaves for Manila to meet an American pen pal who promised to take her with him to the US, but the guy leaves because of some rowdy men. When Lynn arrives, they spike her drink and kidnap her to rape and then abandon her. Meanwhile the slum-dwelling Lydia, who lives with the good-for-nothing gambler Rubing, finds frustration after the herbalists she consults are unable to cure her infertility. She encounters the dazed and confused Lynn on a jeepney ride and takes her home to care for her. Just as King, the neighborhood toughie, has taken an interest in Lydia, Rubing finds Lynn attractive enough to use her wish to migrate to the US to hoodwink her.

Two reflexive turns mark Gayuma and remind us of Tata Esteban’s intensive film immersion, apparent since his first film, Alapaap (Clouds, 1984). One is at the beginning, when the scriptwriter directly addresses the camera to explain that despite the forthcoming presentation’s sensational content, it’s actually based on true stories. The second arrives when we think that the misfortune that’s about to befall Lynn, the naïve provincial, might be carried out by King, the same slum bully professing an interest in his neighbor Lydia; as it turns out, King’s an extra who plays hostage in a movie scene where he’s dismissed after his service is no longer needed, and Lydia eventually handles him in more or less the same way. Christian morality still overpowers Gayuma’s narrative framework, but then one doesn’t have to be reduced to the Manichaean treatment that typifies such an approach: the parable of Dives and Lazarus, for example, allows for multiple, even contradictory, readings, and we find in the two primary characters not just a gender reversal but also a constant uncertainty about who between them suffers in nobility and who gets punished for her privilege. Undeniably, as befits a feminist narrative, a transference from the more familially oriented Lydia to the perplexed and traumatized Lynn takes place, but then how did Lydia manage to handle her abusive and deceitful husband? This is where Gayuma plugs in with an entire generational pop-culture trend: all the best straight-male directors, from working in genres that probably wore them out from decades of insistent masculinism, turned pro-women and queer-friendly during this period. Lydia’s BFF was her unapologetically out trans neighbor, who teaches her to be more critical of the bull dispensed by both her hubby and the herbalists who claim to have the means of jump-starting her motherhood aspiration, with her “adoption” of Lynn compounding her husband’s betrayal. Esteban’s fascination with the tricks his characters play on one another and, consequently, on the audience, arguably peaks with Gayuma—helped in no small measure by its cinematographic properties. Sergio Lobo had been disparaged for neglecting his duties with Ishmael Bernal’s major multicharacter entries, but returns with a vengeance in Gayuma and sets down evidence of a prowess that could never be equalled by anyone, except perhaps by the late Conrado Baltazar. Overdue for rediscovery and deserving of accolades that went to far less deserving entries during its time.

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