Eddie Romero (1924-2013)

A Tribute to Eddie Romero

by Francis Joseph A. Cruz

He was the oldest in the crowd. Seated among an ambitious batch of wide-eyed graduates of a Mowelfund course was Eddie Romero, the venerated veteran filmmaker of such works like Aguila and Ganito Kami Noon, Paano Kayo Ngayon?. He was there as a guest of honor, a beacon of what is to come for the filmmakers who are about to test the skills they have mustered from several months of sitting through lectures and practical demonstrations. When he was acknowledged by the master of ceremony, he stood up with a certain air of dignity one expects from someone who has lived a full and productive life. Predictably, his mere presence drew a round of applause from the crowd.

Eddie Romero would still continue to grace film events, garnering the same acknowledgment from his peers and the public by virtue of the title that was bestowed on him by the Philippine government. In a film industry where dreamers are turned into auteurs by virtue of a novel story treatment, a powerful pitch, and a sizable film grant, Romero’s presence felt reassuring. He represented not only an era were Filipino films were golden and weren’t begging for viewership, but an artistry that was a product of time and hard work, with a little sprinkling of good old luck. One can only wish that the filmmakers who gave their automatic applauses upon the mere mention of his name acknowledged not only the grandeur of several of his works but also his admirable story.

It was his early literary work and somebody else’s love story that pushed a young Eddie Romero into the world of film. Legendary Gerardo de Leon, enamoured and impressed by a short story he read and a native beauty, visited Silliman University. There, he wooed his future wife, and convinced Romero, the son of a schoolteacher and a government official who was already making waves writing stories for various publications, to write for him. De Leon regarded Romero as his protégé. He was the literary voice that completed De Leon’s visual verve. After a few collaborations, Romero would be ready to direct his first film. However, the Pacific War happened, and his directorial debut had to be shelved.

After the war, Romero would return to his literary roots, serving as managing editor for a magazine. De Leon would again convince Romero to return to film. He would again write scripts for De Leon, then start helping in directing various scenes, before directing his first feature, a forgotten film called Ang Kamay ng Diyos. The rest, as they all say, is history. Romero’s career as a director is marked with achievements. In 1951, he won the directorial prize of the very first Maria Clara Awards, the country’s first formal film awards-giving body. He would later on win more gold-plated trophies and medals, the pinnacle of which is the National Artist Award in 2003.

Romero would be most remembered in the Philippines for his more elegant works. Ganito Kami Noon, Paano Kayo Ngayon?, a period satire that had a very young Christopher de Leon play a simpleton in search of national identity, has turned a religious experience for some since it mostly screens during the Lenten holidays when mindless entertainment seemed too sinful. Aguila has taken its place as one of the late Fernando Poe, Jr.’s most impressive films.

Interestingly, like his mentor De Leon, Romero is most remembered overseas for his genre works. Fortunately, even in that portion of his filmography that would have caused the most revered of filmmakers some sort of embarrassment, are quiet gems that reveal artistry amidst the primary need for pleasure and entertainment. For example, The Ravagers, a cheaply-made war, had Fernando Poe, Jr., who plays sidekick to John Saxon, outshine his lead in terms of bravura and romance. In an age of American thirsting for stories about their heroes’ bravery, here comes a film where a Filipino performs the more difficult stunts to win the heart of the Caucasian bombshell, leaving the American soldier content with just saving the day.

The story of Romero’s career is one that is unheard of today. He was patient. He took time to blossom, to earn his laurels. This dedication to the craft, which took him several years and a World War to develop, gifted him with an enduring career. He started scripting films before the war and released his last film, Teach Me to Love, in 2008. His career lasted several decades, spanning all of the so-called golden ages of Philippine Cinema. He has seen it all. He has seen the triumphant premieres of Gerardo de Leon’s films. He has seen those films rot away to oblivion. He has seen Lino Brocka making waves for adventurous films in international film festivals. He has also seen the same Brocka direct popular melodramas for cash-hungry capitalists. He has seen Lav Diaz and Brillante Mendoza get critics’ approvals everywhere. He has also seen the empty local cinemas that screen those admired works.

Romero has indeed lived a long life. Through the films he has left behind and the dreamers he has inspired, he will continue to live longer. Rest in peace, Mr. Romero.

(First published in Supreme, Philippine Star, 1 June 2013.)

Teach Me To Love (2008)

Teach Me To Love (Eddie Romero, 2008)

Let me get it out. Eddie Romero's Teach Me To Love is not a very good film. Romero, who at the very ripe age of 82, attempted to resurrect his directing career with Faces of Love (2007), an amiable if not totally disposable love story about a widower (Christopher De Leon) and his former nurse and lover (Angel Aquino). Teach Me To Love, as a follow-up to Faces of Love, promises to be uncompromising, touching on the subject of teacher-student relationships, that might not be as readily acceptable as two former lovers reigniting a long-dead romantic relationship. However, the film confuses courage with trite charm, and eventually turns into an indescribable mishmash of incongruous elements that is quite frankly and most infuriatingly, near-unwatchable.

Nathan Lopez, who made the world swoon as a prepubescent gay boy in the grips of love beyond his years in Aureaus Solito's Ang Pagdadalaga ni Maximo Oliveros (The Blossoming of Maximo Oliveros, 2005) and later on became one of the petty crooks in Brillante Mendoza's Tirador (Slingshot, 2007), is charming enough as Mark, the high school boy who falls in love with Connie (Maui Taylor), the new Physics teacher. There's an endearing facet to his unrefined and un-manufactured acting. When he strums his guitar and attempts to belt out a tune, complete with his raspy post-puberty baritone and an indifference to tonal deficiencies, you can sense a quiet sincerity that resonates very well.

Unfortunately and probably due to budgetary constraints (which prevents Romero from hiring a different actor or investing in make-up) Lopez is also forced to portray Mark, seven years after his romantic interlude with Connie. He alights from the bus, supposedly several years older with several years worth of maturity. However, save for some barely-there whiskers and a get-up that is supposedly there to make him look older, Lopez, with some of the adolescent charms intact despite the lapse of time, could not pull it off and the performance, from being genial and honest, ends up pathetic and contrived.

Taylor suffers from the same fate of making most of what essentially are haphazardly written characters. Her Connie is fueled by an invisible force, if fueled by anything at all. Her motivations are unclear or perhaps completely absent. Thus, when she offers her student a clean uniform or a few hours of free tutorials, there's an uncertainty if she is just inherently helpful or if she is pushed by some kind of narcissism and enjoys the fact that she is being adored by her students. When she desperately holds unto her relationship with her married lover (Tonton Gutierrez) despite the fact that she's being used indignantly, it is either out of sheer stupidity or by some unknown and unwritten ulterior motive. Thus, when he suddenly makes love with Mark, it comes off as a total and unexpected surprise. There are no real emotions, no logic, just a drastic sleight of hand that simply does not work.

Teach Me To Love is restricted by awful writing and unremarkable directing. The screenplay, co-written by Romero with Rica Arevalo, is both flavorless and careless, with dialogues that are burdened with an incoherent interplay of antiquated flourish and contemporary colloquialisms, and several narrative turns that push the film into the edges of bad taste with utter implausibility. Romero directs, to put it bluntly, like a man who is yet to discover the wonders of Viagra. Thus, as a romance between a lovely and charismatic teacher and her virginal student, Teach Me To Love is flaccid and as a cautionary tale of the repercussions of such romance, it is impotent.

Intramuros (1964)

Intramuros (Gerardo De Leon & Eddie Romero, 1964)
American Title: The Walls of Hell

The walls of Intramuros are presently protecting a few centuries-old churches, a Mcdonald’s chain, a couple of Starbucks coffee shops, golf courses, and several other government offices that populate the enclosed Manila district. Those walls of course had a former and vaster majesty, a grander place in a nation’s history. These were the walls that used to cover the wealthy Spanish colonizers from the impoverished Filipino natives, the same walls that served shelter to thousands of Filipinos during times of war, the same walls that withstood the incessant bombardments from different invaders wanting entry to the lone Spanish colony in Asia. These mental images were manufactured from years of being taught the local history through deadened lectures and ancient photographs that adorned textbooks.

It is probably the same wonderment I had of those steadfast walls which led Eddie Romero to seek finances to help produce his film about the siege of Intramuros. He received much-needed dollars from American producers who were quick to fund something cheap but exciting and patriotic, the current lucrative staple in most American B-movie theaters during that time. To adequately capture that awing feeling of wonderment in cinematic terms, Romero sought help from his mentor, Gerardo de Leon, then currently unemployed. De Leon was the filmmaking talent whose undervalued visual flair remains unsurpassed by any Filipino director. The obvious star of the movie however is Intramuros’ imposing walls, shot in various angles and positions, all detailing its impenetrable stance against would-be invaders while delivering a subtle encompassing grandeur despite its ruined state.

In Romero and De Leon’s film however, Intramuros plays the villain to the team of American and Filipino soldiers who are bent on rescuing the few thousands of civilians mostly women, children, and old men, who are all taken hostage by desperate Japanese soldiers who would rather die with several more victims than surrender to the returning Americans. It is possibly for this reason why the film was released in the United States with the very unflattering title of The Walls of Hell, emphasizing on the historic structure’s infernal role as gargantuan hindrance to the patriotic Americans’ efforts to restore freedom to its former colony. The film is obviously lopsided in portrayals as the Japanese soldiers are portrayed as atrocious men, unsatisfied of their despairing stance in the conclusion of the Pacific War thus inflicting final fatal blows to those they have kept captive. Within the guarded walls, they would call the citizens by name, amassing them, before taking them to the prison for an undisclosed purpose. Those who do not follow will be killed outright and the women who are beautiful enough are chased around the ruined fortress and raped. It’s an unforgiving and unglamorous portrayal of the Japanese invaders but given the decade and purpose for which the film was made, is understandable. With such hellish representations of both the losing combatants and the walls that protect them, the title of the film’s American release, although overly dramatic, bears a semblance of accuracy.

Understandably, the film’s primary purpose is to showcase and parade American bravery and patriotism thus the several American characters in the film, all of whom are noble personifications of war virtues like sacrifice, selflessness and heroism. There is Papa, a novitiate in the priesthood who got spirited away into the Pacific, replacing his vows of religiosity and piety for a loaded gun and a rank as army medic. There is Murray, journalist who for better coverage of the siege of Intramuros, moves from the safety of the American regiment in Manila to the shadows of the walls of Intramuros where a mixture of Filipino guerrillas and American army men are fighting off the remaining Japanese. Finally, there is Lt. Sorenson who is played by an underwhelming Jock Mahoney, most famous for his half-naked macho turn as Tarzan in its many cinematic incarnations. Sorenson is a stoic regiment commander who is tasked with the moral duty of rescuing the civilians from the clutches of the Japanese. He is the one given with the vastest characterization, a complete back story involving his wife Tina who was snatched by the Japanese during one of their ambushes, but is later discovered to be one of the trapped survivors within Intramuros. The character’s unwieldy stoicism or the persistent woodenness that Mahoney brings into the character can’t exude the emotional distress the character is supposedly carrying. Sadly, war films, beyond the well-executed battles and the eye-popping stunts, are grounded and judged by that singular element which is the object humanity. A war film whose main character can’t convincingly elevate the film beyond the gunshots and explosions can be considered a downright failure, a delirious exercise in supposedly recreating history within a motivated perspective yet without the point of view the audience can really hold on to. The Walls of Hell, with a disappointing portrayal of Mahoney as the internally embattled commander, might very well be considered as precisely that kind of failure.

Fortunately, the film is not as American as its investors thought it was. Of equal screen time as the intimidating walls and the token American heroes is Nardo Maglaya, the Filipino guerilla who informs the American and Filipino troops stationed outside the walls of the dire predicament inside it. Played by Fernando Poe, Jr., Nardo appears from the underground passageways of Intramuros with more than enough brash swagger and action hero charisma to keep the picture afloat. He pops out of the manhole with his hair pomaded into a perfect do, and his shirt drenched in masculine sweat. Surrounded by Filipino and American soldiers who are bearing firearms and ready to shoot and suspect him a Japanese spy. He surprisingly withholds his desperation by asking questions to the men who surrounded him instead of pleading for mercy which is the logical thing to do when one escapes from an enemy-infested fortress. He keeps his ground with an able stance that foretells readiness for any kind of physical rumble, which indeed happens but with him winning and proving that he’s not the type who would fold when cornered. During his first few minutes onscreen, Poe immediately grabs your attention and gives this war film the proper reason for existence among the innumerable films that exploit the Pacific War. Out of that manhole is a Filipino who is neither servile nor obedient but instead is equal to the Americans. Such is a surprising subversion considering that these low-budgeted war pictures often sell themselves as patriotic stories where the American soldiers generously give their lives for the liberation of another nation.

In one key scene, Nardo violently berates Sorenson for the latter’s stubbornness. The scene erupts into a sudden exchange of blows between the two men ending with Sorenson being escorted out of the camp and Nardo in what seems like a defeated position. The scene is important not because of how it was directed but of the implications that materialize after the incident. It is at that scene wherein the war has been dissected not between two common factions, the American liberators and the Japanese invaders, but between three important parties, now including the Filipinos as represented by Nardo’s brash indignation of Sorenson’s blind sense of duty. The film naturally progresses to that point wherein Nardo is made to understand Sorenson’s personal predicament but notwithstanding such, his unfaltering determination astounds to the point that during the final shot of the film wherein both Sorenson and Nardo walk side by side away from the newly liberated Intramuros, you can’t help but appreciate the apparent tensions (racial, or otherwise) that ensued apart from the visceral obstacles that had to be overcome, to reach that point of conclusive satisfaction to both the film’s American and Filipino audiences.

The Walls of Hell is not a subversive or journalistic piece of art. It is primarily an action film, one that certainly does not disappoint. The soundtrack of the film mostly consists of distant explosions and incessant gunfire, enunciated by cinematic orchestrations of folk songs mixed with military melodies. This keeps the atmosphere very hectic and hurried. Such precisely crafted atmosphere and the backdrop of the historic walls of Intramuros keep the film in a state of perpetual kineticism. There’s an apparent physicality in the action sequences that I am particularly pleased with. The co-directors make use of the perfect location shooting and utilize each and every crevice, cave, and wall to stage suspenseful clashes between the rescuing forces and the vile Japanese soldiers. Moreover, there is a specific visual splendor, one that is characterized by the gorgeous panoramic shots of the ruined fortress made even more ravishing by the abundance of smoke and fire all captured in crisp black and white, that embellishes the visceral and mostly violent encounters. There is no doubt that De Leon’s unique brand of aesthetics is at work here, harmoniously complementing Romero’s narrative integrity. The film is often magnificent to look at, where the actors are given a three dimensional setting to perform their respective stunts, the most fascinating of which is Poe’s swinging outside the walls to combat a Japanese soldier by the window, before landing with graceful flourish.

The Walls of Hell, like the historically important Intramuros it so captivatingly breathes cinematic life to, is but a fraction of what it was. It is undoubtedly outdated and therefore thought of as a forgettable remnant of the cinematic past especially if compared to other films that tackled the Pacific War that were released after like Tatlong Taong Walang Diyos (Three Years Without God, Mario O'Hara, 1976), Aishite Imasu 1941 (I Love You 1941, Joel Lamangan, 2004), or Letters From Iwo Jima (Clint Eastwood, 2006) which portrayed the Japanese with as much humanity as the protagonists. In a long line of low-budgeted war films released during that era where most of America was hungering for exhilarating tales of wartime heroism, The Walls of Hell branched out from the conceived norm and allowed a native Filipino to share with his so-called American brothers a space in that exalted pedestal of patriots. I may be over-reading a movie that was funded and made exactly to be enjoyed and then possibly disposed of. At present however, it cannot be denied that The Walls of Hell is a moving and exhilarating reminder of a past and former grandeur that has long been diminished to the pressures of commercialism and modernity, a persisting proof that sometime in a nation’s past or even in the deepest of the nation’s greatest artists, is a moment where both former colonial and colonizer stood and fought as equals against one enemy to achieve an admirable greater good.

Faces of Love (2007)

Faces of Love (Eddie Romero, 2007)

Eddie Romero, like his mentor Gerry de Leon, is more famous internationally for the low budget genre pictures he made for American producers rather than his homegrown films. Largely unseen outside the Philippines are his more serious works, which are regarded in his native land as classics, with his Ganito Kami Noon, Paano Kayo Ngayon (This was How We Were, What Happens to You Now, 1976) landing in many Filipino critics' lists of the most important Filipino films of all time. It has been a little less than two decades since his last feature (imdb lists an action B-movie Whiteforce released in 1988 as his last film), and even more for his last Filipino film (Hari sa Hari, Lahi sa Lahi (King and Emperor, 1987)).

In 2006, Romero finally finished Faces of Love, his first digital feature. The film finally gets a commercial release, with most critics and cinephiles excitedly gushing over the come-back. However, absent the irrational effects of nostalgia and reverence for the 82 year old National Artist for film, the film is rather lightweight and quite disappointing. Romero's cross-over to digital filmmaking opens the feature to a number of technical quirks: Romero's filmmaking style makes use of static shots, the only movement is the frequent zooms in to his character's faces --- the digital zooms make the movements both distracting and discomforting.

Romero explores the ails and joys of rediscovering romance with Faces of Love. Widower Arcadio (Christopher de Leon) hires Toby (Alfred Vargas) to investigate a series of romantic letters that he received during the years. With the help of Skip (Juliana Palermo), Toby traces the letters down to Arcadio's former nurse and lover Ligaya (Angel Aquino), who is in trouble with the police chief (Bembol Roco) for rebellion-related crimes. The characters are entangled in a not-so-intricate web of romantic love, with the only seeming solution for entanglement is for these characters to just let go and confront the emotions.

The dialogue is driven by refreshing wit and charm. Co-written by Romero with Rica Arevalo, the screenplay evokes the romantic cynicism in most of Woody Allen's earlier scripts, with a troubling absence of Allen's neurotic humor and an irreverent spark. Moreover, there's an obvious disconnect between Romero's actors and the smartly-written script, driving away much of the emotional impact of the lines --- it is quite an unlively misunderstanding as it seems Romero goes for subtlety and freshness while the telenovela-fed thespians are overacting as if they were in a melodramatic event flick. Mon Confiado, who plays Skip's homosexual pal, seems to appreciate the script for what it is --- fancifully delivering his lines with an unmindful flow. On the opposite end is Vargas who seems to relish his lines and scenes too much as if the screenplay and the film were gospel truth.

It's a problematic film. Romero strives for lightness but with his artistic stature in the country, the film is burdened with ambition and expectations. One can only hope that Romero get used and finally adapt his methods to digital filmmaking, as this little film feels more like a transition, an excerise, an experimentation rather than an inspired work.