Canon Decampment: Jason Paul Laxamana

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The Day After Valentine’s

Additional Languages: Hawaiian & Baybayin (written)
Year of Release: 2018
Director & Screenwriter: Jason Paul Laxamana
Producer: Viva Films

Cast: Bela Padilla, JC Santos, Regine Tolentino, Jordan Castillo, Stacey Gabriel, Phoebe Villamor, Rayton Lamay, Hermie Go, Merwyn Abel, Aries Go, Rhedz Turner, Don Michael Roxas, Easy Ferrero, Ianne Oandasan, Lars Magbanua, Maverick Manalang

Lani, a salesperson at an ukay-ukay or secondhand clothes shop in Angeles City, proceeds to assist a customer, Kai, after she realizes he needs to buy arm sleeves to hide the scars of the self-harm he committed. He tells her that he decided to remain in the country after his family returned to the US, because of a woman he had fallen in love with but who broke up with him afterward. Following psychological advice she learned, Lani realizes she could use the native writing system, which Kai’s ex had taught him, to help him heal. Grateful for her intervention, Kai invites Lani to his home on the Hawaiian island of Lanai, where their relationship tenses up and raises questions for both of them.

The travelogue rom-com was bound to reach a level of maturity despite the antimainstream misgivings of local critics, partly because of the persistence of expert practitioners, but also because of the still-expanding overseas Filipino population and their wealth of still-to-be-tapped stories. The Day After Valentine’s exemplifies new potentials in the format, focusing on the first generation of overseas migrants—kids who could still return to their parents’ country of origin and find enough familiarity to be able to thrive by themselves. It also makes use of a cis-het partnership that may be the most satisfactory in Pinas film culture, both partners being equally matched in terms of appeal, intelligence, and chemistry. Their maturity (relative to the usual teenage age-group of local movie love teams) ensures that their teamups won’t generate hysterical responses, but that also enables their projects’ creatives to focus on discursive issues that can guarantee longer-term satisfaction. The manner in which TDAV steps beyond rom-com territory and transforms into social-problem drama may be so subtle that the realization might only arrive after the viewing experience. Whether we regard this type of innovation as useful or insignificant, the fact of its availability should be justification enough.

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Canon Decampment: Soxy Topacio

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Ded Na si Lolo

English Title: Grandpa Is Dead
Year of Release: 2009
Director & Screenwriter: Soxy Topacio [as Soxie Hernandez Topacio]
Producers: APT Entertainment, Directors Guild of the Philippines, Sine Direk

Cast: Roderick Paulate, Gina Alajar, Elizabeth Oropesa, Manilyn Reynes, Dick Israel, Perla Bautista, Rainier Castillo, BJ Forbes, Tony Cruz, Richard Quan, Mosang, Froilan Sales, Phil Noble, Diego Llorico, Rhen Escaño, Karylle Quijano, Dave Cervantes, Arpee Bautista, Perry Escaño, Richard Jason Paje, Rudy Meyer, Manny Castañeda, Cesar Cosme, Mike “Pekto” Nacua, John Feir, Gene Padilla, Deborah Sun, Gigette Reyes, Noel Cabangon, Jess Evardone, Nor Domingo, Edel Templonuevo

When he dies, Lolo Juanito’s grownup children have to gather together for his wake and burial. They all resent Dolores, their eldest, for being the least affectionate sibling. Mameng and Charing bring their families to help out, while estranged son Junee arrives straight from a drag program. Finally the older son, Syano, brings a stranger to the funeral and makes the others realize they never really knew their parents that well after all.

Ded Na si Lolo underwent a trajectory of being overrated, then underrated; but in the period since its release, it deserves to be regarded as a fitting tribute to the highly regarded talents of Philippine Educational Theater Association stalwart Soxy Topacio. The narrative situation indicates an intimate familiarity not just with the score of performers in theater and TV that he worked with, but also with the reality of growing up in an urban working-class milieu. The plot would have challenged most film-trained directors, with characters who keep giving vent to their anguish, even fainting dramatically as one of the family’s quirks. Nosy neighbors and importunate superstitions, usually depicted as annoyances if not obstacles in local cinema, are presented with bemusement and acceptance of their inevitability. The narrative builds up to a quietly devastating final-act revelation, heartbreaking and heartwarming in equal measure, that evinces the kind of presence we lost with Topacio’s sudden demise.

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Canon Decampment: Wenn V. Deramas

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Ang Tanging Ina

English Title: My Only Mother
Year of Release: 2003
Director: Wenn V. Deramas
Screenwriters: Mel Mendoza-del Rosario & Keiko Aquino
(From a story by Mel Mendoza-del Rosario & Freddie M. Garcia)
Producer: Star Cinema

Cast: Aiai delas Alas, Connie Chua, Eugene Domingo, Edu Manzano, Tonton Gutierrez, Andoy Ranay, Alan Chanliongco, Jestoni Alarcon, Carlo Aquino, Nikki Valdez, Heart Evangelista, Marvin Agustin, Serena Dalrymple, Shaina Magdayao, Alwyn Uytingco, Jiro Manio, Marc Acueza, Yuki Kadooka, Jojit Lorenzo, Rommel Rellora, Anthony Griar, Nestor Balla, Angelica Panganiban, Dianne Tejada, Michelle Ayalde, Nikki Laurel, Liberty Lometillo, John Pratts, Jestoni Alarcon, Dennis Padilla, Edu Manzano, Tonton Gutierrez

Ina Montecillo falls into a pattern of discovering a handsome hunk eager to marry her, then suddenly losing said hunk in an accident and discovering her next marriageable prospect just when she lays her previous hubby to rest. After three husbands and a dozen kids, she decides to live as a single parent, to spare any future men whatever jinx she may be cursed with. Her BFF Rowena helps her in applying to any available job, but her burgeoning brood, the oldest members of whom are already of school age, demands her attention as well because of their growing-up pains.

One of a number of millennial-era victims of the punishing workload of TV-dominated film work, Wenn V. Deramas suffered further from the film-as-art ideology propagated by academe-based critic-instructors and mindlessly mouthed by practitioners—all of whom should have known better. Ang Tanging Ina’s revenge on this state of affairs actually sealed its fate as a permanently downgraded entry: not only was it produced by the most successful film studio since the end of the Second Golden Age, it was also the most profitable Filipino film project up to its time. It generated a number of sequels (although, strictly speaking, Deramas made only two that proceeded from ATI’s narrative premise); more significantly, and just as casually neglected, was the impressive development of his expertise in comedy, along with several of the talents in ATI. At the time of his demise, over a decade later, he seemed poised to rival Manuel Conde and Maryo J. de los Reyes, guaranteeing (if his and our luck hadn’t run out) one master for each of our Golden Ages plus himself as the current one. He remained prolific, to his tragic detriment, with ATI standing as proof of his then-nascent comedic gift: an ability to deliver complex expositions, an incomparable sense of timing, a fearlessness in extending setups and payoffs, and a sharp attunement to the quotidian concerns of the audience. Underlying the expected generic compromises and containment, ATI nevertheless maintains a drag-queer edginess in upholding a funny-looking elderly lady as the flamboyant master of a multifariously strenuous situation.

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Canon Decampment: Ramon A. Estella

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Kembali Saorang

English Title: One Came Back
Language: Malay
Year of Release: 1957 / B&W
Director & screenwriter: Ramon A. Estella [with dialogue by S. Sudarmadji]
(From a story by Run Run Shaw)
Producer: Malay Film Productions

Cast: Sa’adiah, Ahmad Mahmud, Salleh Kamil, Mariani, Daeng Idris, Supatri, Saamah, Habsah, Malik Sutan Muda, Omar Suwita, M. Rafee, Ali Muhammad, Kemat Hassan, Nyak Osman, Shariff Dol, Ibrahim Pendek, H.M. Busra

Hussain wants to marry his fiancée Aminah and, out of love for her, rejects Zaitun. When Hussain attempts to collect money from a debtor, he finds the latter dead and asks Zaitun to hide him. Aminah’s father searches for Hussain but gets arrested by the police. Meanwhile, Zaitun informs a detective where Hussain is hiding. Hussain flees and jumps into the sea. When the police announce his death, his best friend Yusof comforts Aminah by asking his mother to take care of her and her sister in their home. Believing that Hussain has perished, Yusof begins to develop feelings for Aminah. But Zaitun threatens to expose Yusof’s past with her. The kampung (Malay village) where they live is small enough so that the characters’ personal affairs become public knowledge sooner or later.

Only an excerpt remains of Ramon A. Estella’s 1956 triumph Ang Buhay at Pag-ibig ni Dr. Jose Rizal (The Life and Love of Dr. Jose Rizal), the same condition in which Manuel Conde’s Juan Tamad Goes to Congress (1959) can be found. But where Conde’s Vietnam-set Krus na Kawayan (Let Us Live, 1956) can be fairly described as propagandistic drivel, the output of several Filipino directors for Sir Run Run Shaw in Malaysia is of a generally noteworthy quality, with none more accomplished than Estella’s. Earlier recognized for political controversy over the long-lost Ako Raw Ay Huk (I Was Called a Rebel, later retitled Labi ng Bataan or Remains of Bataan, 1948), only one apparently complete local production of Estella’s remains. Fortunately most Filipino filmmakers’ Malay-language output has been carefully preserved in Singapore, with Estella’s debut contribution, Kembali Saorang, outshining the rest.[1] Estella admirably navigates a surprisingly complex narrative (in addition to finishing in record time, per reliable accounts) and demonstrates why his producers prevailed on him to make several more films before continuing with his peripatetic explorations.[2] For close comparison, Teodorico C. Santos made a charming effort, Taufan (Typhoon), later the same year, in the same locale and with many of the same actors; but even in reprising the melodramatic elements, Kembali Saorang pulls away with more ambitious scope, appreciation of social forces, and psychological complexity, with a resolution that honors Estella’s new sponsors’ culture as much as it reflects the maturity of Philippine film artistry.

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Samseng

English Translation: Gangster
Language: Malay
Additional Language: English
Year of Release: 1959 / B&W
Director: Ramon A. Estella
Screenwriter: Ralph Modder
Producer: Malay Film Productions

Cast: Zaiton, Aziz Jaafar, Jins Shamsuddin, Rosnani, Saamah, A. Rahim, Haji Mahadi, Omar Suwita, M. Rafee, Ali P.G., Mohd. Hamid, Kemat Hassan, Sharif Dol, Ismail Abdullah, Ibrahim Hasan, S. Sudharmadji

Daud serves time in prison after being arrested for forgery. His good behavior impresses the warden, who promises him a job after he is released. His younger brother Ahmad meanwhile deceives his mother by claiming to be a car dealer when he actually engages in extortion and robbery. Their neighbor Kiah sympathizes with the brothers’ mother but Ahmad ignores her and takes up with a nightclub hostess. After Daud has served his sentence, he follows up on the job offered him. It turns out to be undercover police work. Daud is assigned to shadow a troublesome criminal gang, unaware that his own brother is its ringleader.

Samseng exists in atypically poor condition, since it appears to be sourced from a TV-broadcast version. But that also attests to its effectiveness as a film-noir favorite. The primary locales—Changi Prison (now Complex), then fairly new and also featured in Ramon A. Estella’s Kembali Saorang, and the underworld hotspots of Singapore—become as much dramatic players as the performers themselves. A well-regarded member of the Philippine social-realist painters circle, Estella understandably upheld verisimilitude even in shifting to cinema, and the result in this case is a tale firmly rooted in time and place. He also apparently valued memorable resolutions (possibly a consequence of his professional musicianship), which nearly saves his Mata Hari (1958) from masculinist overvaluation. The device works whoppingly for Samseng, where the standard chases, shootouts, and heartbreaks build up to an unforgettable night in the lives of the city’s dispossessed.

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Saudagar Minyak Urat

English Translation: Massage-Oil Merchant
English Title: Love Crazy
Language: Malay
Additional Language: English
Year of Release: 1959 / B&W
Director: Ramon A. Estella
Screenwriter: Ralph Modder
Producer: Malay Film Productions

Cast: S. Kadarisman, Normadiah, Aziz Sattar, Mariani, S. Shamsuddin, Leng Hussin, Ani Jasmin, Ahmad Nispu, Ibrahim Pendek, Mohd Hamid, Zainom, Saloma, S. Sudarmadji, Sharif Dol, Omar Suwita, Kemat Hassan, Ali P.G., Kassim Masdor, H.M. Busra, Omar Harun, Ismail Abdullah

Fatimah, a bossy though still-bodacious wife, has her hands full making sure her hubby stays faithful. The philandering Yusof Hamid asks his assistant to take him to a nightclub, where he meets and falls for Hamidah, even arranging to serenade her one night. Since she already has a boyfriend, she resists Hamid, forcing him to look for a miracle. He approaches a witch doctor, who arranges to cast a spell on Hamidah. When Fatimah finds out, she also asks for help from the same magician.

Only the lost Caprichosa (Whimsical Woman, 1947) and possibly Kenkoy (1950) in Ramon A. Estella’s previous film record suggest that he might have dabbled in romantic comedy. After assigning him a series of genre exercises—melodrama, horror, war, and gangster films—with generally satisfactory results, Sir Run Run Shaw must have marveled at how he came up with his best Malay-language product at that point. Saudagar Minyak Urat is a silly, rambunctious outing from start to finish, with occasional use of slapstick and sped-up footage, but like the best comedy directors, Estella ensured that a dramatically valid foundation was fully developed beforehand. He displays impressive skill in blocking and choreographing groups of performers so that the lines of action crisscross but never result in confusion, and stages a charming open-air musical interlude midway (an effervescent beach number titled “Hula Hoop” that cleverly rationalizes hip-grinding women in skimpy wear), succeeded in later scenes by a feverish song-and-dance number featuring Saloma. He also shows smart gender reversals that may have drawn on the contemporaneous full-scale treatments of Gregorio Fernandez. But until the emergence of the talents behind Juan de la Cruz Productions in the 1970s, nothing we have in available Philippine film samples has as queer a figure the way that Normadiah (as the domineering missus) is configured in SMU: garrulous, hotheaded, swaggering pugnaciously, yet winning her battles via judicious deployment of the womanly masquerade. So the great Manuel Conde movies are lost? We have this entry from Estella, and it will fulfill expectations of accomplished old-time Philippine comedy, even if it’s set in neighboring territory.

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Pusaka Pontianak

English Title: The Accursed Heritage
English Translation: The Pontianak Heritage
Language: Malay
Additional Language: English
Year of Release: 1965 / B&W
Director & Screenwriter: Ramon A. Estella
Producer: Malay Film Productions

Cast: Saadiah, Ahmad Mahmud, Dayang Sofia, Salleh Kamil, Normadiah, Mariam Baharum, Aziz Sattar, Ahmad Daud, Ibrahim Pendek, Ahmad Nisfu, Haji Mahadi, Jah Hj. Mahadi, Omar Suwita, Kuswadinata

Related individuals from various walks of life keep sighting a distant uncle whom they all regard as wealthy, but the apparitions either disappear or turn scary. They then read a newspaper report that identify the man, Datu Pengiran Sutan Kudus, as having perished in a fiery automobile accident and wishing to gather all his relatives for the reading of his last will and testament. They travel to his estate on a rubber plantation where tigers roam, and await the reading at midnight. The lawyer introduces a young woman as the late datu’s wife, who should be his rightful heir. But in acknowledgment of his many descendants, he makes a revelation along with a condition: his ancestors were pontianaks destroyed by his human family and cursed thirteen generations of the human descendants, with the datu as the last of the accursed. Those wanting their share of inheritance must remain on the plantation for four weeks, with those who leave or die forfeiting their share. A few other characters introduce themselves as investigators who find the datu’s own death suspicious.

The question of how much closure Ramon A. Estella provided for the most productive phase of his career, in Malay-language cinema, must have been on his producer’s mind as well: he was given his third pontianak assignment, but with a treatment reminiscent of his most memorable achievement, the musical comedy Saudagar Minyak Urat. The further question of how far he was allowed to subvert his material might be impossible to determine by now, except from the historical record that no other pontianak movie was produced afterward until well into the next decade. Estella was also making films in Vietnam and Japan around this time, and would continue working in New York, Puerto Rico, and Italy, until finally retiring in Florida with his Japanese wife. The pontianak may be considered the Indo-Malayan counterpart of the Philippines’s manananggal although the also-female entity possesses the tragic backstory of childbirth trauma. Estella updates his narrative by introducing rock and roll music, with the theme song (translatable as “Rhythm of the Pontianak”) performed in doo-wop style by Ahmad Daud and the Swallows, consequently rationalizing the sharia-proscribed arrangement specified by the characters’ forebear. As described by film expert Amir Muhammad, the pop brashness “brought the pontianak out into the harsh modern light of parody and cynicism, away from the shadows of whispered superstition and taboo where she thrived” (120 Malay Movies, Matahari Books, 2010). The characters and their relationships are developed as a drawing-room drama, although the narrative resolution expands the setting in an unexpected yet apposite manner. An aura of gloom nevertheless suffuses the proceedings, derived as much from the nighttime settings as from our awareness that agricultural wealth will not be able to hold its own against a fast-industrializing economy.

Notes

[1] Available internet information on Ramon A. Estella is reflective of the negligence with which he has been treated in general, since he always seemed ready to move from place to place in search of work. As of this writing, the Internet Movie Database does not list this film as well as Saudagar Minyak Urat (Love Crazy, 1959), Darah-Ku (My Blood, 1963), and Bunga Tanjong (Cape of Flowers, 1963), and lists the earlier version of Raja Bersiong (The King with Fangs, 1963) in his name rather than K.M. Basker’s; it also misidentifies Pusaka Pontianak (The Accursed Heritage, 1965) under the credit of its assistant director, S. Sudarmaji. The Singapore Fillm Archives contains a comprehensive listing, including an Estella-directed Japan-set film, Melanchong ka-Tokyo (Holiday in Tokyo, 1964) also produced by Malay Film Productions. A missing Estella Filipino title is Ang Tagala (The Tagalog Woman, 1941), the Vietnam-set Kim (1957), and an unplaceable Italian work, Consiglio Costoso (Expensive Advice, no date provided)—all from the director’s entry in the Film volume of the Cultural Center of the Philippines’s Encyclopedia of Philippine Art (2nd ed., CCP & University of the Philipppines Diliman Office of the Chancellor, 2017, pp. 449–450).

[2] One rudimentary context of Estella’s relocation to Malaysia, which I am still in the process of further evaluating, is that his arrival coincided with the announcement of a strike for higher wages by film performers and technicians from Malay Film Productions, through the Singapore Malay Artists’ Union, submitted to Shaw Brothers. Although a Filipino actor-director, Eddie Infante, preceded everyone in 1955 with Gadis Liar (Elephant Girl, apparently unavailable), after an earlier notice concluded amicably in 1954, the near-simultaneous solicitation of a clutch of Noypi directors in 1957 and 1958 raises the disturbing possibility that our talents might have been envisioned to function as safeguards against the possible inactivity of Malaysian and Indian creatives. However, filmmaker, critic, and historian Amir Muhammed provided a crucial qualification: “I’ve asked three people who’ve written about the era and all of them say it was never a policy akin to hiring scabs; it was more like two things that happened in parallel. The strikes were never major enough to cripple production for long. (P. Ramlee’s Panca Delima, released in 1957, was one of the few films that got delayed; then there was a bigger strike in 1965 where Shaw had to temporarily close.) The Filipino directors were hired based on cultural similarities but also access to more sophisticated ‘Hollywood techniques’” (Facebook Messenger reply, November 5, 2025). [For essential basic resources, see the list of references at “Malay Film Productions & Cathay-Keris Studio (1943–1973),” Wiki.sg, last edited August 6, 2019.]

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Canon Decampment: Teodorico C. Santos

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Taufan

English Title: Typhoon
Language: Malay
Year of Release: 1957 / B&W
Director: Teodorico C. Santos [as T.C. Santos]
Screenwriter: T.C. Santos with dialogues by S. Sudarmadji
(From the story “A Storm on Pearl Island” by Chua Boon Hean)
Producer: Malay Film Productions

Cast: Ziaton, Ahmad Mahmud, Salleh Kamil, Mariani, Saamah, Aziz Sattar, Baby Suraini, Nyak Osman, Salbiah Kardi, Shariff Dol, Fatimah Osman, Ali Fijee, Jamilah, Mohd Rafee, Omar Suwita, Mustarjo, Kemat Hassan, H.M. Busra, Ibrahim Pendek, Mohd. Hamid

The fishermen of a coastal kampung or traditional village catch so little fish after a strong typhoon that they borrow money from Hamid, who takes advantage of their situation by charging usurious repayment rates. Hamid has set his sights on Fatimah, who has to attend to her father who’s ill but owes Hamid money; Hamid offers her medical care if she agrees to be his mistress, abusing his own wife when she criticizes his intention. He intends to get rid of Amir, Fatimah’s betrothed, by promising to write off Fatimah’s loan if Amir’s able to bring him a large pearl from the shark-infested waters. Fatimah protests, but Amir is determined to win her from Hamid and proceeds with the life-threatening mission.

One of the more highly regarded talents of the First Golden Age, with over forty titles to his name as director and several more as scriptwriter (including Gerardo de Leon’s Sisa), active through the 1970s—yet the only still-available Teodorico C. Santos-directed film was the one he made for Sir Run Run Shaw. The material is old-fashioned melodrama with musical interludes, enhanced by the rural setting and made even more exotic by a cast more reticent and graceful than what we might find in a Philippine production. Santos benefited from an apparently bigger budget than Philippine-set projects could allot, and makes sure none of it is wasted: any plot excuse to follow pearl-diving characters is realized with impressive underwater photography, while Santos frames and blocks his island-set actors with sufficient evidence of technical lessons learned on Gerry de Leon projects. The propensity for excess must have been the national value he brought over; it provides him with a means to revitalize the genre’s conventions and gives the story a nervy edge, like a finely woven fishnet stretched to the point where it could easily tear in several places.

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Canon Decampment: Perci M. Intalan

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Dementia

Year of Release: 2014
Director: Perci M. Intalan
Screenwriters: Renei Dimla & Jun Lana
Producer: IdeaFirst Company

Cast: Nora Aunor, Jasmine Curtis-Smith, Bing Loyzaga, Yul Servo, Chynna Ortaleza

Mara returns to Batanes with her adoptive family, who’re hoping that her memories of her childhood experience will help cure her dementia. What Mara remembers is how a couple brought her home to keep company with their biological child, Olivia, who suffers from psychotic disorder and has to be chained to furniture. Mara’s able to pacify Olivia’s violent moods, but she faces a crossroads in her life when the man she has fallen in love with asks her to be his wife.

Dementia succeeds primarily by relying on expectations that it fulfills in unexpected ways. It proceeds primarily as a supernatural horror film but brings up a social condition, that of orphaned subjects for whom exploitation is more acceptable than abandonment. It pursues a narrative throughline that brings up unreliable recollections of traumatizing events, then flashes the title credit like an afterthought, nearly an hour into the presentation; where it goes from then on will have to be part of the discovery process. Finally, it features Nora Aunor, older and wearier after her long-drawn-out sabbatical in the US—but the greater portion of her character arc is taken up and developed by younger actors. In fact, one would be misadvised to expect one of her fireworks-laden readings in this film; her comeback career teems with such treats, but Dementia is a reminder that her artistry cannot be separated from her expertise as producer and director.[1] She exercises self-restraint in order to allow the work’s various possibilities to branch out and raise further questions about the function of the mind in comprehending pain, memory, desire, and pleasure.

Note

[1] Spoiler alert: on May 21, 2025, in commemoration of Nora Aunor’s first birth anniversary after her death, the producer’s Facebook page uploaded the raw and unedited take titled “Seq. 74, Shot 2,” comprising the central revelation in the film. Mauro Feria Tumbocon Jr., who reposted the file on the same date, reported the director’s account: “I whispered to her to stare at the camera. I told her that her character will go from not remembering to remembering bits and pieces, then without understanding she remembers the pain, then slowly it all fades away. I didn’t expect her not to even blink. There was nothing in front of her except our cinematographer and the camera. She was literally only looking at the lens. But the power her eyes wield. Mackie [Galvez, cinematographer] said he couldn’t believe what he was recording. Unfortunately for the film we had to sacrifice this one long take by inserting flashbacks to better serve the story.”

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Canon Decampment: Vic Acedillo Jr.

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Ang Nerseri

English Title: The Nursery
Year of Release: 2009
Director & Screenwriter: Vic Acedillo Jr.
Producer: Cinemalaya Foundation

Cast: Jaclyn Jose, Timothy Castillo, Lance Raymundo, Alwyn Uytingco, Claudia Enriquez, Ynez Veneracion, Tony Mabesa, Chona Fernando, Babit de Luna, Eunice Lagusad, JM de Guzman, Carme Sanchez, Irene Llopis, Gigi Locsin, Chiqui del Carmen, Gigi Pirote, Imelda Valunsat, John Hernandez, Chona Fernando, Troy de Guzman, Carmelo Soberano, Anthony Corpus, Jayr Cerdenola, Loy Maga, Mark Macalintal, Arvin Trinidad, Jonathan Olano, Melqui Sedic Asuncion, Raymond Roman, Emma Galvez, Flor Salanga, Ma. Ozita “Chit” Pambid, Bernie Villapando, Janice Fuentes, Ian Paraiso

Mai is at her wits’ end as a single mother caring for several kids, all grownup except for Cocoy. Her eldest son moved out and refuses contact with the family, while another son, Jun, has just been recommitted to drug rehab. Still another son, Dean, is acting out also because of addiction, harassing his only sister, Lyn, who eventually suffers a nervous breakdown. Realizing that she’ll need extra funds, Mai decides to go to Bohol to sell off some property, leaving Cocoy in charge of his siblings as well as Mai’s orchid nursery. Cocoy however has also been masquerading as an outstanding student, and has to assume more than his share of responsibilities when Mai keeps extending her sojourn.

Personal projects in independent cinema are so commonplace that they have become near-synonymous with the practice. No surprise then that the material of Ang Nerseri—familial difficulties arising from a combination of psychological and financial problems—observes the expected pattern of these troubles resolving in increasing complications, with barely enough breathing space for the characters to recover from the suffering they have to endure. Yet the film sets itself off from like-minded works by being devoid of any form of narcissism, focused instead on a careful recounting of the emotional costs of the incidents that it narrates. What showiness it possesses lies in the technological risk-taking of using a then-newish digital single-lens reflex camera, the Canon EOS 5D Mark II, a full year before other productions (mostly in Europe) figured out its usefulness for their film projects; even in this undertaking, the fine arts-trained Vic Acedillo Jr. wound up muting his screen colors except for the cooler hues, providing an uncanny feeling of comfort and distance amid the internal turbulence swirling within and among the characters. Acedillo approached his material with hesitation and humility, ironically investing it with an approachability that it affirms via well-observed details and subtle unexpected humor.

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Canon Decampment: Conrado Conde

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Talipandas

English Title: Traitor
Year of Release: 1958
Director: Conrado Conde
Screenwriter: Ding M. de Jesus
(From a serialized komiks story by Francisco V. Coching)
Producer: Sampaguita Pictures

Cast: Rita Gomez, Luis Gonzales, Van de Leon, Carlos Salazar, Rosa Mia, Bella Flores, Zeny Zabala, Bert Olivar, Ely Roque, Art Morado, Lydia Correa, Jaime Javier, Pablo Raymundo, Willie Dado, Sabas San Juan, Matimtiman Cruz, Marcela Garcia, Loida Medina, Apolonia Aguilar

Having taken the fall for his brother Andy, Bien Lopez confronts his sibling for betraying him by cohabiting with his wife Stella while he was still in prison. Although Stella insists that she was forced into the arrangement, Bien’s rejection drives her to stab Andy and commit suicide. Unaware so far of what his wife did, Bien watches a striptease number at Moonlite Cabaret; the performer, Esperanza, migrated to Manila to work at the same place where her mother once performed, to track down the man who ruined her mother’s life. Bien and Espie manage to provide comfort and support for each other and develop an alliance just when a besotted customer provides Espie with better lodging and a gang leader named George Mendez takes a prurient interest in the nightclub’s hit performer.

The fact that two komiks-sourced melodramas from the same year—this and Gregorio Fernandez’s Malvarosa—featured slum residents living by railroad tracks must have been more than coincidental. Intensely psychological where Malvarosa was sociological, Talipandas eventually abandons its expository locale when its central female character upgrades to better housing (courtesy of a loaded patron); but the opening scene’s train not only brought her to the city in the first place, it also ended the life of her would-have-been rival, the narrative hero’s wife. The plot’s twists and reversals affirm the serial nature of its origin, although it would take over a decade, with the emergence of Lino Brocka, before such irregular dramatic arcs could be tempered by an adequately prepared talent. What Talipandas provides in recompense for its directorial unevenness is a willingness to embrace material that Hollywood’s Hays Office would have rejected as extreme if not beyond-legal, from white slavery through suicide and fratricide to incest. The heroine contends with a pair of concerned surrogate mothers, one benevolent (Ely Roque) and another malignant (Bella Flores); but Rita Gomez’s sensuous and fiery reading ultimately draws the strands together in an impressive braid, while making it clear why the directors of the next Golden Age considered it a treat to work with her.

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Á!


Counteractive

Kontrabida [Villain]
Directed by Adolfo Borinaga Alix Jr.
Written by Jerry B. Gracio

After completing work on Kontrabida, Nora Aunor was finally declared National Artist, minus the execrable intrusion of any political leader or showbiz rival (essential disclosure: in June 2014, The FilAm was the first publication to criticize the ill-advised decision by President Benigno Aquino III to drop her name from the list of submissions). What should have been happy news, however, turned out distressing for her followers: she endured a severe medical emergency, declared dead at one point but revived through the intervention of an understandably panicked health team.

Anita as a haughty society matron, in her opening dream sequence. [Screen cap from Kontrabida, courtesy of Magsine Tayo!]

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11011Kontrabida might therefore be the last opportunity to watch a consummate Aunor film, although the hesitation of casual viewers would be understandable. Its director’s track record has been spotty, and the Metro Manila Film Festival’s consistent rejection of its participation is reminiscent of its judgment on her own auteur project, Greatest Performance, in 1989. Yet what traces remain of GP suggest an ambitious and exemplarily performed work, one of the MMFF’s gravest missteps in a long list of embarrassments. Kontrabida’s an even more egregious instance of insider politicking and institutional negligence.

11011Any initial viewing will instantly distinguish the film as reminiscent of Aunor’s case history during her peak premillennial years, when filmmakers would be able to realize significant achievements by simply having her on board; her skills in streamlining, clarifying, and amplifying character attributes was (and remains) second to none, ascribable to her intensive experience in creative processes and immersion in her compatriots’ sociological concerns. Kontrabida has also turned out to be her first millennial project that references her stature as queer icon, resisting the typical indie practitioner’s tendency to recognize her considerable store of gifts by unnecessarily pedestalizing her.

Jaclyn Jose as Dolly, a devoted fan of Anita. [Screen cap from Kontrabida courtesy of Magsine Tayo!]

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11011The best way of extracting the film’s potential would be by focusing on the persona that she proffers, inasmuch as Aunor appears in every scene. Early in the plot, her Anita Rosales prepares to dispose of the bric-a-brac she accumulated as a movie supporting player, including her only acting trophy. Any devoted Philippine cinema observer would readily recognize that the object happens to be Anita Linda’s only Maria Clara award, the first institutional prize ever handed out for local film achievement. A fan of hers shows up to purchase it, and it turns out to be played by the recently departed Jaclyn Jose – who professes so much devotion that she decides to return the item to its owner.[1]

11011The parallelisms with film history are profound and moving, yet unobtrusive enough to remain hidden for those who prefer to ignore them. Aunor was the actor who set out to challenge Linda’s First Golden Age stature as the country’s greatest performer and succeeded due to her marshaling of her own privileges as the most successful star in Pinas cinema as well as the upgrade in resources and sensibility of the Second Golden Age; Jose meanwhile carved out her own niche in depicting characters ravaged beyond redemption by poverty and managed to snag the much-coveted Cannes Film Festival best actress prize in the process.

Anita comforts her intellectually challenged neighbor Jai after his father went berserk during his mother and her new partner’s wedding. [Screen cap from Kontrabida courtesy of Magsine Tayo!]

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11011Linda had been gone by the time Kontrabida was made (her final starring role was also in an Alix film), but neither Aunor nor Jose, just like Linda before them and unlike a long list of their contemporaneous performers, make an effort to recapture their appearance during their Golden Age glory years. The weight they put on, the wrinkles, lumps, and veins on their faces, their slower movements and weaker physical capacities – all affirm their lifetime aspiration to enable their audiences to identify with them. In this instance, they constitute a redefinition of glamour for those who care to ponder on these matters: that it might mean conforming to a near-unattainable youthful ideal for the vast majority, but it could also mean the fulfillment of long-cultivated potential offered for widespread and long-term public consumption: talent, to paraphrase Pauline Kael, will always be a surer guarantee of glamour.

11011Alix of course had collaborated long enough with Aunor to be able to provide unintrusive details that function like humor devices, and then some: Anita begins by slapping someone in her high-camp dream where she plays a society matron, but gets slapped symbolically by her working-class existence in a crisis-ridden administration; she may have retained ownership of her acting trophy, but we eventually get to see how Aunor herself regards these empty symbols of triumph;[2] she lives in a world where those who recognize her adulate her for her past attainments, but she pays the closest attention to people taken for granted by everyone else.

After helping her rehearse for her comeback role, Ramon asks Anita to dance with him. [Screen cap from Kontrabida courtesy of Magsine Tayo!]

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11011Toward a later part of the film, Alix introduces Bembol Roco, one of her few male contemporaries who has perfectly understood that one must complement Aunor in order to survive a scene with her, in the role of her infirm ex-husband Ramon. The exchanges of scripted lines between them play on their characters’ real-life circumstances and display the warmth and collegiality that their long-time immersion in Philippine film culture has enabled. Anita then forms a pistol with her fingers and aims it at Ramon, then reflexively remarks “bad acting” about herself. The gesture’s payoff is earth-shattering but doesn’t have to be spoiled in a review. Kontrabida nonetheless deserves to be watched for all the tremendous pleasure and pain that the full life of a genuine film artist has brought to the project.

Notes

First published November 18, 2024, as “Nora Returns Minus the Glamour of the Glory Years,” in The FilAm.

[1] Dolly claims that Anita turned her life around by inspiring her to avenge herself on her wrongdoers. In her real-life career, Jaclyn Jose became a much sought-after camp presence in TV drama by specializing in comically snobbish aristocrats, similar to the characters that Anita dreams that she portrays, but directly opposed to Nora Aunor’s actual movie persona.

11011Her first significant interview was titled “Walang Bold sa Langit [Bold Not Allowed in Heaven]” (1986), conducted by Ricky Lee, retitled “May Bold Ba sa Langit? [Is Bold Allowed in Heaven?]” and reprinted in his 2009 anthology Si Tatang at Mga Himala ng Ating Panahon: Koleksyon ng mga Akda or Old Man and the Miracles of Our Time: Collection of Writings, pp. 70-74). In it, Jose mentioned watching Ishmael Bernal’s Himala [Miracle] (1982) for her lesson in acting excellence and described how she wished she could perform on the same level that Nora Aunor had demonstrated, attaining maximal impact via the smallest of gestures. A final Noranian intertext occurs in Emmanuel Dela Cruz’s 2005 film Sarong Banggi [One Night], where Jose’s character, also named Jaclyn, professes fanaticism toward Aunor, her fellow Bicol-born native. (Thanks to Deo Antazo for this vital recollection.)

Nora Aunor on the set of Kontrabida, with Anita Linda’s memento. [Photo by Adolfo Borinaga Alix Jr.]

[2] I am indebted to critic-archivist Jojo Devera, not just for providing access to Kontrabida, but also for pointing out the function that Anita Linda’s Maria Clara trophy signifies in the plot of the film.

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From Nightfall Jitters to Morning Calm

My first trip to Korea, as an exchange professor from the national university, was strictly transactional: I had a number of student and personal loans to repay from nearly a decade of graduate studies in the US, and a state institution would be incapable of assisting me no matter how hard I worked. Engaging in corruption, petty or otherwise, was out of the question for me, regardless of how many instances I saw people openly practicing it, using the rationale that “we never get paid enough” as essentially government personnel.

11011My personal quirk as a traveler was that I abhor touring. I prefer to remain for as long as I could tolerate a place, so I could learn what makes it tick for its native population. As an academic, I could not avoid the usual swift passage for the purpose of participating in some scholarly event or other, but whenever I had a program to complete, I always attempted to maximize my stay without bothering with the usual tourist spots. I only visited the World Trade Center in the Financial District of Manhattan when some foreign visitors insisted on sipping coffee at the Windows of the World (I told friends then that for me, the towers diminished the impact of the Manhattan skyline).

11011This was how I reached the conclusion that the first item to check out in a new place is the people. I arrived in Korea a few years before one of the Presidents was honest enough to remark that the country had the worst appearance among the OECD members: rows of buildings that looked like yellow shoeboxes stood end-to-end, with red crucifixes atop many of them at night like distant hilltop cemeteries. The same President said that the country should aspire to attain the title of world design center, just as he later said that the country’s recovery during the last global financial crisis should take less than a year. The fact that these and other declarations of national purpose happened, sometimes ahead of schedule, clued me in to the culture’s ability to focus attention on whatever was the common-good goal of the moment.

11011This made my teaching and advising difficult in ways I did not anticipate, since the premise of Western-sourced instruction is always individual growth and excellence. I quickly realized that encouraging outstanding candidates to consider higher studies was always a matter of helping them negotiate with their entire social circle of family, classmates, and friends – and often, their decision was always hindered by their hesitation to leave everyone else behind. The usual counter-argument that worked elsewhere, that the person advising them might be wrong, was never sufficient, and sometimes even unacceptable when the advice came from familial authority figures. Yet when news of a serious global pandemic began spreading during the winter break of 2019, I knew that my best hope of survival was by advancing my return trip to Korea. Friends thought I was deliberately endangering myself, since the first area to be hit by the Covid-19 infection outside of China was Daegu, courtesy of a proselytizing superspreader.

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11011I’d been in Korea long enough by then to know that the population’s unusual abiltiy to coalesce during crisis periods was going to be the key to its now-renowned response to the pandemic. The very same quality that I wished I didn’t have to contend with as an educator was what kept me safe through the seemingly interminable period when the virus dominated human affairs everywhere. The pandemic also preempted a painstakingly finalized move to another teaching post in China, near the origin of the breakout, as it turned out. I accepted the inevitable and waited out the last few years until I retired, which happened at the end of February 2024.

11011Aside from the several adjustments in teaching methods plus the arrival of so many foreign students that Koreans numbered less than half of my total students, I also had to contend with the many rituals and voluminous exit reports that were typical of major transitions in East Asian culture. My experience as a migrant worker from the Philippines may not be typical in the sense that I didn’t work in a factory or on a farm, but I still regard teaching as labor-intensive as any of the jobs I used to hold down. Providing classroom instruction requires intensive performances to convey knowledge effectively (in a less-than-familiar language) to a heterogeneous mix of listeners, while the research and publication projects I had to complete outside of teaching required tracking down sources and experts, presenting findings at conferences, and constant drafting and revision.

11011Was Korea worth expending the peak and culmination of an extensive academic career? I cannot provide a definitive answer, but in relative terms: it was a better site than any of the other countries I’d known, sadly including my own. Are there lessons for people who find themselves in a similar migratory situation? My conceit is that my journey has been so idiosyncratic that it probably will be impossible to replicate. But the real motive underlying that assertion is that I had proceeded from too many failed instances of risk-taking, which is why I tend to have definitive words of advice for people that I mentor. I still believe that errors bear useful lessons for intellectuals – more than triumphs would, in fact – but I’d prefer that people be fully aware of the price they’re paying before they fully commit themselves to an unconventional option.

11011The overriding context here is that contemporary life changes faster than any set of lessons can assure for success. What had worked for me (and, more important, what had failed) during the time and place I attempted an analysis of the world and my place in it will not always guarantee success for anyone who repeats anything I attempted then in the here and now. So any lesson I impart will necessarily have to be conceptual at best, and probably overfamiliar to many people: determine the area where you’ll be sure to excel, with alternate routes in case of setbacks, and devote your existence in pursuit of that ideal. The only reward I can promise is that the prospect of permanent rest that you’ll be able to perceive toward the end will not seem so weary.

[Published in Dáyo / 이민자: Stories of Migration, ed. Erlinda Mae T. Young, Seoul: Philippine Embassy in Seoul, Korea, 2024.]

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