Cloistered Dreamsby Jansen Intoy Syokoy ng Kalye Marino (Calle Marino, 2012) D: Lem Lorca S: JM De Guzman, LJ Reyes, Joross Gamboa, Kenneth Salva, Arnold Reyes Lem Lorca’s Intoy Syokoy ng Kalye Marino could be told in twenty minutes or less. That is enough time to introduce the leads and prepare the screen for the film’s melodramatic conclusion. Based on Eros Atalia’s short story of the same name, there really isn’t much to tell. The film follows Intoy (JM De Guzman), a poor orphaned mussel diver with hopes of escaping the mundane life he’s living. Around him are a group of friends who, from the beginning, are doomed to share the same fate. Then there’s Doray (LJ Reyes), his childhood friend, who he continuously woos but rejects his advances. Lorca stretches Atalia’s material and fills the gaping voids with interspersed snippets of their stories, the collection of which plays out like an extended drama anthology episode. The film is effectively funny at parts, sad here and there, but overall, it’s drab, with a mood that’s as murky as the waters Intoy dives into. Though the underwater shots titillate and De Guzman and Reyes’s acting allure, there is still too much excess in the film that weighs down its potential brilliance. Too much focus is placed on the amping of misfortunes and the progression of unnecessary fillers that Intoy, as a character, is hardly every changed. He merely becomes a rickety raft we ride on throughout the whole melancholic cruise until it’s time to get off from where we started.

Cloistered Dreams
by Jansen

Intoy Syokoy ng Kalye Marino (Calle Marino, 2012)
D: Lem Lorca
S: JM De Guzman, LJ Reyes, Joross Gamboa, Kenneth Salva, Arnold Reyes

Lem Lorca’s Intoy Syokoy ng Kalye Marino could be told in twenty minutes or less. That is enough time to introduce the leads and prepare the screen for the film’s melodramatic conclusion. Based on Eros Atalia’s short story of the same name, there really isn’t much to tell.

The film follows Intoy (JM De Guzman), a poor orphaned mussel diver with hopes of escaping the mundane life he’s living. Around him are a group of friends who, from the beginning, are doomed to share the same fate. Then there’s Doray (LJ Reyes), his childhood friend, who he continuously woos but rejects his advances. Lorca stretches Atalia’s material and fills the gaping voids with interspersed snippets of their stories, the collection of which plays out like an extended drama anthology episode.

The film is effectively funny at parts, sad here and there, but overall, it’s drab, with a mood that’s as murky as the waters Intoy dives into.

Though the underwater shots titillate and De Guzman and Reyes’s acting allure, there is still too much excess in the film that weighs down its potential brilliance. Too much focus is placed on the amping of misfortunes and the progression of unnecessary fillers that Intoy, as a character, is hardly every changed. He merely becomes a rickety raft we ride on throughout the whole melancholic cruise until it’s time to get off from where we started.

41
Frenemiesby Jansen Mga Munting Lihim (2012)D: Jose Javier ReyesS: Iza Calzado, Judy Ann Santos, Agot Isidro, Janice de Belen When you have four amazing actresses playing four very despicable characters on film, it’s hard to look away from the carnage that is bound to happen. The women they play are classy, and Jose Javier Reyes keeps them that way. No hair pulling or cat scratching involved. Instead we are treated to an hour and a half of bickering, backstabbing, and a whole lot of “pakyus” from four women who are supposedly the best of friends. Carla (Iza Calzado), a self-made career woman, is handed a box containing the diaries of her late best friend Mariel (Judy Ann Santos). She reads through them and unintentionally opens a can of worms, which ultimately rocks her world, including those of their remaining girl friends, Sandra (Agot Isidro) and Olive (Janice De Belen). The three are forcefully dragged down memory lane as they’re made to face all of the bitter truths of their so-called friendship. Jose Javier Reyes’s Mga Munting Lihim is an odd independent film. It has a very accessible story that can be told without gimmicks, but it isn’t. The treatment is confused. On one hand, it desperately tries to give out an “indie” vibe, with rough editing and jarring color filter tricks that end up becoming a nuisance instead of serving the film. On the other, the treatment also has a very crisp side. The sets are too perfect, the props are too staged, and the blockings are too measured. These make the women look like second-rate Stepford wives and often detach the film from reality. Still, we cannot deny that Reyes is a master of theatrics. He peppers the script with over-the-top confrontation scenes that are chock-full of profanities and insults, enough for the women to play with. Isidro makes the perfect social climbing bitch. Santos and Calzado are just superb when they’re made to put on their game faces. But the standout is definitely De Belen, who brings the house down. Unfortunately, these scenes are interspersed with long lulls composed of talking heads and dreary flashbacks. Flaws aside, there is something about the film that is so honest. Its take on the dynamics of friendship often strikes a chord. It peels away the fluff and puts up a mirror towards its audience, revealing things that we already know but never dare to say out loud. It shows us the ugly side of friendships, the side which most friends avoid for the sake of keeping the friendship alive. This is the kind of truth that gives the film its balls and gives its audience a chance to reevaluate the relationships they have.

Frenemies
by Jansen

Mga Munting Lihim (2012)
D: Jose Javier Reyes
S: Iza Calzado, Judy Ann Santos, Agot Isidro, Janice de Belen

When you have four amazing actresses playing four very despicable characters on film, it’s hard to look away from the carnage that is bound to happen. The women they play are classy, and Jose Javier Reyes keeps them that way. No hair pulling or cat scratching involved. Instead we are treated to an hour and a half of bickering, backstabbing, and a whole lot of “pakyus” from four women who are supposedly the best of friends.

Carla (Iza Calzado), a self-made career woman, is handed a box containing the diaries of her late best friend Mariel (Judy Ann Santos). She reads through them and unintentionally opens a can of worms, which ultimately rocks her world, including those of their remaining girl friends, Sandra (Agot Isidro) and Olive (Janice De Belen). The three are forcefully dragged down memory lane as they’re made to face all of the bitter truths of their so-called friendship.

Jose Javier Reyes’s Mga Munting Lihim is an odd independent film. It has a very accessible story that can be told without gimmicks, but it isn’t. The treatment is confused. On one hand, it desperately tries to give out an “indie” vibe, with rough editing and jarring color filter tricks that end up becoming a nuisance instead of serving the film. On the other, the treatment also has a very crisp side. The sets are too perfect, the props are too staged, and the blockings are too measured. These make the women look like second-rate Stepford wives and often detach the film from reality.

Still, we cannot deny that Reyes is a master of theatrics. He peppers the script with over-the-top confrontation scenes that are chock-full of profanities and insults, enough for the women to play with. Isidro makes the perfect social climbing bitch. Santos and Calzado are just superb when they’re made to put on their game faces. But the standout is definitely De Belen, who brings the house down. Unfortunately, these scenes are interspersed with long lulls composed of talking heads and dreary flashbacks.

Flaws aside, there is something about the film that is so honest. Its take on the dynamics of friendship often strikes a chord. It peels away the fluff and puts up a mirror towards its audience, revealing things that we already know but never dare to say out loud. It shows us the ugly side of friendships, the side which most friends avoid for the sake of keeping the friendship alive. This is the kind of truth that gives the film its balls and gives its audience a chance to reevaluate the relationships they have.

61
Ruptured Graceby Jansen Aparisyon (2012) D: Vincent SandovalS: Jodi Sta. Maria, Mylene Dizon, Raquel Villavicencio, Fides Cuyugan-Asensio There are no miracles in Aparisyon, no visits from the ethereal. There are only secrets, hushed scandals wrapped under layers of veils and habits. The convent, a safe haven for women devoted to a lifetime of prayer, becomes the centerpiece of the film. It transforms into a stifling purgatory for vulnerable nuns to wait out their fate in the midst of national turmoil and domestic dangers lurking within their premises. The women suffer in silence in the name of a deity that has seemingly abandoned them. Vincent Sandoval rips a page off Ishmael Bernal’s Himala and waters it down to a single event, a rape bookended by the arrival of Sister Lourdes (Jodi Sta. Maria) at the cloister and the aftermath of her violent ordeal. Around the tortured sister are three other women who do their best to console her: Sister Ruth (Fides Cuyugan-Asensio), an overbearing mother figure trying to keep things under control; Sister Vera (Raquel Villavicencio), a nun constantly bothered by her grief; and Sister Remy (Mylene Dizon), her confidant with a guilty conscience. Though set in the time of the Marcos regime, the film never treats viewers to sights of the outside world. Information is only coursed through private conversations with visitors, a contraband radio set, and newspapers that are secretly read and burned in the dead of night. These women are sheltered, forcefully blinded of their realities for the sake of their futile safety. The incident rattles them in their cage. It forces them to either take action or wash their bloodied hands of their sins. Sandoval makes convenient use of the convent as a scaled-down version of the state. The parallelisms he draws are obvious, and the messages he brings across are in no way groundbreaking. His thesis on faith is weak and his stance on politics is even weaker. What Aparisyon excels at, though, is placing burden on its characters. It is able to build up their guilt and pains until none of them can carry their loads any further. The performances of all four women are exceptional, but the most noteworthy is that of Sta. Maria’s. Without making a sound, she reverberates suffering, and when she finally lets out a pained whimper, it’s impossible not to mourn with her. It is Sta. Maria and her talented colleagues that give Aparisyon’s very thin narrative its much needed support. Jay Abello’s cinematography is superb. He is able to create nuisance and danger in the most peaceful of places. His night shots in the woods, a challenge in normal production standards, seem effortlessly put together. The editing is also commendable. Jerrold Tarog steers the film away from total dullness by smoothly interspersing mood shots with that of the ongoing story and flashbacks. Aparisyon squanders all its potential by feeding its audience with things we are already all too familiar with. It recalls past events in history books and dated news clippings, and babbles on about faith without taking it anywhere significant. Still, Sandoval’s film is notable. Technically sound and brilliantly acted, it is one of the easier-to-watch Marcos-era films of late.

Ruptured Grace
by Jansen

Aparisyon (2012)
D: Vincent Sandoval
S: Jodi Sta. Maria, Mylene Dizon, Raquel Villavicencio, Fides Cuyugan-Asensio

There are no miracles in Aparisyon, no visits from the ethereal. There are only secrets, hushed scandals wrapped under layers of veils and habits. The convent, a safe haven for women devoted to a lifetime of prayer, becomes the centerpiece of the film. It transforms into a stifling purgatory for vulnerable nuns to wait out their fate in the midst of national turmoil and domestic dangers lurking within their premises. The women suffer in silence in the name of a deity that has seemingly abandoned them.

Vincent Sandoval rips a page off Ishmael Bernal’s Himala and waters it down to a single event, a rape bookended by the arrival of Sister Lourdes (Jodi Sta. Maria) at the cloister and the aftermath of her violent ordeal. Around the tortured sister are three other women who do their best to console her: Sister Ruth (Fides Cuyugan-Asensio), an overbearing mother figure trying to keep things under control; Sister Vera (Raquel Villavicencio), a nun constantly bothered by her grief; and Sister Remy (Mylene Dizon), her confidant with a guilty conscience.

Though set in the time of the Marcos regime, the film never treats viewers to sights of the outside world. Information is only coursed through private conversations with visitors, a contraband radio set, and newspapers that are secretly read and burned in the dead of night. These women are sheltered, forcefully blinded of their realities for the sake of their futile safety. The incident rattles them in their cage. It forces them to either take action or wash their bloodied hands of their sins.

Sandoval makes convenient use of the convent as a scaled-down version of the state. The parallelisms he draws are obvious, and the messages he brings across are in no way groundbreaking. His thesis on faith is weak and his stance on politics is even weaker. What Aparisyon excels at, though, is placing burden on its characters. It is able to build up their guilt and pains until none of them can carry their loads any further. The performances of all four women are exceptional, but the most noteworthy is that of Sta. Maria’s. Without making a sound, she reverberates suffering, and when she finally lets out a pained whimper, it’s impossible not to mourn with her.

It is Sta. Maria and her talented colleagues that give Aparisyon’s very thin narrative its much needed support. Jay Abello’s cinematography is superb. He is able to create nuisance and danger in the most peaceful of places. His night shots in the woods, a challenge in normal production standards, seem effortlessly put together. The editing is also commendable. Jerrold Tarog steers the film away from total dullness by smoothly interspersing mood shots with that of the ongoing story and flashbacks.

Aparisyon squanders all its potential by feeding its audience with things we are already all too familiar with. It recalls past events in history books and dated news clippings, and babbles on about faith without taking it anywhere significant. Still, Sandoval’s film is notable. Technically sound and brilliantly acted, it is one of the easier-to-watch Marcos-era films of late.

51
Transitioningby Jansen REquieme (2012)D: Loy ArcenasS: Sharmaine Buencamino, Anthony Falcon, Rez Cortez, Lou Veloso, Lilia Cuntapay REquieme is a film that has balls, a pair of in-your-face appendages that you can’t just tuck away and forget. Its heroines are a transsexual with a heart of gold and the mother who disowned her. Despite the default inclinations of this character-driven plot, Loy Arcenas’s film speaks about the grief of loss than belabor the trusty cliché of the pursuit of genderless love. It starts with Swanie (Sharmaine Buencamino), a barangay chairman gunning for a higher political position. To advance her popularity, she makes use of an international scandal, a murder of a notorious fashion designer in the hands of his gay Filipino lover, who just happens to share Swanie’s maiden name. The event balloons into a media frenzy that drives her to do whatever it takes to bring her very distant nephew back home in one piece. Swanie’s estranged son Jose, now living as Joanne, is grieving the loss of her favorite fashion icon. Her mourning is prolonged when a father figure of hers dies abruptly, and she’s left to arrange his funeral and face a long line of bureaucracy along the way. The two stories run along different planes, sometimes intersecting, but never fully meeting. This creates an effective parallel of two women in grief. The subjects of their sorrow, of course, are each other, and the events they set into motion become their way of coping with their loss. But the film does not dip into drama as often as one would expect. REquieme is a comedy, a funny one at that. Arcenas takes advantage of the acting prowess of his leads. Both Buencamino and Falcon have impeccable comedic timing. Buencamino, in particular, has a switch that turns her into grade-A drama queen. The two carry the weight of the film on their shoulders, a feat they effortlessly achieve. Joined by an ensemble of notable bit players, Lilia Cuntapay and Lou Veloso included, the two give REquieme its life. With an ample amount of bed scenes, 80% of which belong to Joanne and her boyfriend, the movie will definitely raise eyebrows. It makes no effort to stifle Joanne’s sexuality nor does it aim to celebrate it. Arcenas is careful to show what he knows to drive a point. The film is about transitioning. First, it’s about Jose becoming Joanna. The character is in the limbo stage of her transformation. Second, it’s about a mother and her son making efforts to let each other go and move on. The third is subtle, and yet it’s the most important one. The film is about the transition of the community, a changing of mindsets. Requieme gives us a contrast of perceptions. Swanie’s barangay is one full of homophobes. They champion her as the woman who drove homosexuality away from their town. Joanne’s barangay sees her as a saint, a noble woman who’s always willing to help out. This is a microcosm of society as whole. It’s a tug of war between a culture of rejection and one of acceptance. There is no decisive victor in the film. Both women gain and lose, but at the same time, they’re set free.

Transitioning
by Jansen

REquieme (2012)
D: Loy Arcenas
S: Sharmaine Buencamino, Anthony Falcon, Rez Cortez, Lou Veloso, Lilia Cuntapay

REquieme is a film that has balls, a pair of in-your-face appendages that you can’t just tuck away and forget. Its heroines are a transsexual with a heart of gold and the mother who disowned her. Despite the default inclinations of this character-driven plot, Loy Arcenas’s film speaks about the grief of loss than belabor the trusty cliché of the pursuit of genderless love.

It starts with Swanie (Sharmaine Buencamino), a barangay chairman gunning for a higher political position. To advance her popularity, she makes use of an international scandal, a murder of a notorious fashion designer in the hands of his gay Filipino lover, who just happens to share Swanie’s maiden name. The event balloons into a media frenzy that drives her to do whatever it takes to bring her very distant nephew back home in one piece.

Swanie’s estranged son Jose, now living as Joanne, is grieving the loss of her favorite fashion icon. Her mourning is prolonged when a father figure of hers dies abruptly, and she’s left to arrange his funeral and face a long line of bureaucracy along the way.

The two stories run along different planes, sometimes intersecting, but never fully meeting. This creates an effective parallel of two women in grief. The subjects of their sorrow, of course, are each other, and the events they set into motion become their way of coping with their loss. But the film does not dip into drama as often as one would expect. REquieme is a comedy, a funny one at that.

Arcenas takes advantage of the acting prowess of his leads. Both Buencamino and Falcon have impeccable comedic timing. Buencamino, in particular, has a switch that turns her into grade-A drama queen. The two carry the weight of the film on their shoulders, a feat they effortlessly achieve. Joined by an ensemble of notable bit players, Lilia Cuntapay and Lou Veloso included, the two give REquieme its life.

With an ample amount of bed scenes, 80% of which belong to Joanne and her boyfriend, the movie will definitely raise eyebrows. It makes no effort to stifle Joanne’s sexuality nor does it aim to celebrate it. Arcenas is careful to show what he knows to drive a point. The film is about transitioning. First, it’s about Jose becoming Joanna. The character is in the limbo stage of her transformation. Second, it’s about a mother and her son making efforts to let each other go and move on. The third is subtle, and yet it’s the most important one. The film is about the transition of the community, a changing of mindsets.

Requieme gives us a contrast of perceptions. Swanie’s barangay is one full of homophobes. They champion her as the woman who drove homosexuality away from their town. Joanne’s barangay sees her as a saint, a noble woman who’s always willing to help out. This is a microcosm of society as whole. It’s a tug of war between a culture of rejection and one of acceptance. There is no decisive victor in the film. Both women gain and lose, but at the same time, they’re set free.

31
The Class of ‘86by Jansen Pisay (2007)D: Auraeus SolitoS: Gammy Lopez, Annicka Dolonius, Elijiah Castillo, Carl John Barrameda, Shayne Fajutagana, Jonathan Neri, EJ Jallorina, Alfred Alain Labastos, Eugene Domingo, Wena Basco, Arnold Reyes Pisay is a film that spans four years, set in a place that is very close to director Auraeus Solito’s heart. The film’s main star is his beloved alma mater, the Philippine Science High School, or Pisay for short. The period he covers is also sentimental. His story flows like a class slam book of batch ‘86. It gives the audience a peek into the private lives of the students and their educators. Given the setting and time frame, Solito’s telling of the high school experience is unique. The way he does it is special as well. Using a year, a class, and a specific student per segment, he is able to weave Philippine history with the trails that come with adolescence and studying in one of the toughest exclusive high schools in the country. Freshman year introduces us to Rom (Gammy Lopez), an alternate admitted at the last minute. He enters the school as a stranger, but quickly feels at home being with like-minded individuals. Rom is smart, a fact repeatedly pointed out by his physics teacher Ms. Casas (Eugene Domingo). But Rom, too, is young, and his hormones eventually get the best of him when he falls for Wena (Annicka Dolonius). The two are worlds apart, Rom being a vendor and OFW’s son and Wena being part of the country’s elite, but their conflict never arises there. The school’s standards play a big part, and it opens up a discourse on love (or something like it) versus studies. Second year follows Matt (Carl John Barrameda), the smartest kid from his hometown in the province, who turns out to be the dullest in his sophomore batch. Matt struggles with math despite the support he gets from his teacher. It isn’t completely his fault, as it’s revealed that the stress of living in a boarding house with a bunch of bullies and a bad case of homesickness are getting to the poor boy. Luckily he has a best friend in Minggoy (Elijah Castillo) and the academic stipend he’s saving for a brand new pair of Sauconies—one of the many constant reminders of the decade. Junior year is about Liway (Shayne Fajutagana) and Andy (Jonathan Neri), lab partners and social science group mates who discover that chemistry is also applicable out of class. Liway is the daughter of an Ifugao freedom fighter, a man on Marcos’s hit list. Like her father, she fights for human rights and puts it into practice when the school implements a class segregation system. Andy, on the other hand, is a guy on his way to being the high school corps commander. It’s their being polar opposites that keeps them together, but it’s the looming events of 1985 that eventually dictate their individual fates. This is, perhaps, the strongest segment of the film. Senior year is capped by Euri (EJ Jallorina), a student in the midst of an important pre-college crisis. He has to choose between sticking with the rules of Pisay and taking a degree in science or following his heart in drama. All of this happens while the country is nearing the eve of its historic revolution. Euri gets inspired by current events and stages a play that is met with strict censorship from Ms. Casas, who’s seen more than her fair share of student activists get killed by the government. But with the help of his friends and eager teachers (Wena Basco and Arnold Reyes), Euri defies the system and ultimately gets the kind of liberation he’s aspiring for. Pisay ends on a hopeful note, with each ongoing story arc closing in different ways. It is as symbolic as it is nostalgic. It celebrates the Filipino’s fight for freedom in the 80s as well as the relationships and many colorful experiences Solito and his friends built during their stay in Pisay.

The Class of ‘86
by Jansen

Pisay (2007)
D: Auraeus Solito
S: Gammy Lopez, Annicka Dolonius, Elijiah Castillo, Carl John Barrameda, Shayne Fajutagana, Jonathan Neri, EJ Jallorina, Alfred Alain Labastos, Eugene Domingo, Wena Basco, Arnold Reyes

Pisay is a film that spans four years, set in a place that is very close to director Auraeus Solito’s heart. The film’s main star is his beloved alma mater, the Philippine Science High School, or Pisay for short. The period he covers is also sentimental. His story flows like a class slam book of batch ‘86. It gives the audience a peek into the private lives of the students and their educators. Given the setting and time frame, Solito’s telling of the high school experience is unique. The way he does it is special as well. Using a year, a class, and a specific student per segment, he is able to weave Philippine history with the trails that come with adolescence and studying in one of the toughest exclusive high schools in the country.

Freshman year introduces us to Rom (Gammy Lopez), an alternate admitted at the last minute. He enters the school as a stranger, but quickly feels at home being with like-minded individuals. Rom is smart, a fact repeatedly pointed out by his physics teacher Ms. Casas (Eugene Domingo). But Rom, too, is young, and his hormones eventually get the best of him when he falls for Wena (Annicka Dolonius). The two are worlds apart, Rom being a vendor and OFW’s son and Wena being part of the country’s elite, but their conflict never arises there. The school’s standards play a big part, and it opens up a discourse on love (or something like it) versus studies.

Second year follows Matt (Carl John Barrameda), the smartest kid from his hometown in the province, who turns out to be the dullest in his sophomore batch. Matt struggles with math despite the support he gets from his teacher. It isn’t completely his fault, as it’s revealed that the stress of living in a boarding house with a bunch of bullies and a bad case of homesickness are getting to the poor boy. Luckily he has a best friend in Minggoy (Elijah Castillo) and the academic stipend he’s saving for a brand new pair of Sauconies—one of the many constant reminders of the decade.

Junior year is about Liway (Shayne Fajutagana) and Andy (Jonathan Neri), lab partners and social science group mates who discover that chemistry is also applicable out of class. Liway is the daughter of an Ifugao freedom fighter, a man on Marcos’s hit list. Like her father, she fights for human rights and puts it into practice when the school implements a class segregation system. Andy, on the other hand, is a guy on his way to being the high school corps commander. It’s their being polar opposites that keeps them together, but it’s the looming events of 1985 that eventually dictate their individual fates. This is, perhaps, the strongest segment of the film.

Senior year is capped by Euri (EJ Jallorina), a student in the midst of an important pre-college crisis. He has to choose between sticking with the rules of Pisay and taking a degree in science or following his heart in drama. All of this happens while the country is nearing the eve of its historic revolution. Euri gets inspired by current events and stages a play that is met with strict censorship from Ms. Casas, who’s seen more than her fair share of student activists get killed by the government. But with the help of his friends and eager teachers (Wena Basco and Arnold Reyes), Euri defies the system and ultimately gets the kind of liberation he’s aspiring for.

Pisay ends on a hopeful note, with each ongoing story arc closing in different ways. It is as symbolic as it is nostalgic. It celebrates the Filipino’s fight for freedom in the 80s as well as the relationships and many colorful experiences Solito and his friends built during their stay in Pisay.

58

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