Tuya's Marriage (2006)

Tuya's Marriage (Wang Quanan, 2006)
Mandarin Title: Tuya de hun shi

Berlinale-winner Tuya's Marriage is bookended with the same sequence: two boys fighting with one boy explaining that the other teased him regarding having two fathers. Tuya (Yu Nan) tries to calm the two boys to no avail, forcing her to storm into an empty tent to cry out of frustration. We hear a man calling for her; she merely looks out the window and the film blacks out.

Director Wang Quanan's decision to introduce his film with its inevitable conclusion is a brave one. It gives the director the tough duty to concretize the middle portion well enough to sustain the interest despite the preset knowledge of the ending. The film officially starts with Tuya and her herd of sheep; on her way home, she discovers her neighbor Sen'ge, unconscious beside his motorcycle. She brings him home and takes care of him while her invalid husband Bater calmly approves of her acts --- probably out of deference of his wife's heading his household, as he has lost his mobility in an accident.

Wang surrounds Tuya with these flawed men: Bater, who is practically another mouth to feed which Tuya, as loving wife and mother of their children, cannot just abandon; and Sen'ge, who we acknowledge as suspiciously too nice to Tuya despite being a willing slave to his materialistic wife. When Tuya is forced to divorce Bater because of her lumbar injury (the circumstances would leave the two children in the protection of their two invalid parents; something Tuya's sister-in-law disapproves of ), hordes of suitors start inviting Tuya to marriage. Her proposition is highly unlikely but something she cannot compromise --- that her prospective husband should take both her two children and ex-husband into their household.

That's basically the film's central dilemma. Tuya is stoic and strong-willed, hardly in need of a man's support but circumstance and society convinces her of the added securities of getting married to an able-bodied male. Tuya's courters include a timid middle-aged man who showers Tuya with gifts, Bater's wealthy brother, a retired professor who promises Tuya a wealthy life and education for her two kids, and of course, Sen'ge, who pledges to divorce his wife and dig a well to placate Tuya's need for a man.

The irony of everything is that Tuya would always transcend the promises of stability and good life her courters offer; and that marital life, as Sen'ge initially says is a mere scrap of formality, is hardly the solution to her troubles. The irony to the irony is that it seems that the men are the ones who are slaves of marriage --- Sen'ge with his submissiveness to his wife's whim; Bater with his cloaked jealousy with Tuya's hunt for an able man; and all the other men who have their respective reasons for courting Tuya to marriage. Tuya is the last person in the movie to ever need marriage; and her decision for doing hunting for one is merely for the benefit of her children and Bater.

Wang's critical address on China's rapid modernism is fleshed out by this intricately conceived tale that weaves a tinge of sarcasm upon the traditionalism of the marital ceremony (we witness the colors and the aural beauty of the ceremony) mixed with the modernist and proprietary benefits of marital union. That's why Wang insists on beginning and ending the film with Tuya's cry of frustration; and in the end do we truly know the quagmire of complexed and complicated familial relations and problems that the wedding has given birth to. That's when we sufficiently understand Tuya's frustration.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (2007)

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (David Yates, 2007)

Mirrors, memories and magic are the ingredients to this latest movie adaptation of J. K. Rowling's popular series of novels. Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe), that boy-wizard we first saw trying to fit in Hogwarts' crew of magically-inclined professors and students, has grown up to be an angry, angry boy. His parents killed when he was a baby, his witnessing the death of a friend and the return of Voldemort (a nose-less and reptilian Ralph Fiennes), his unbearably hot summer with frequent taunting by mama's boy-turned-faux gangster cousin --- all these and more have turned Potter pale and reclusive. His return to Hogwarts doesn't help either; there, he's seen as a fraud and a rabble-rouser.

David Yates' The Order of the Phoenix is dark and dreary. There's a lot less juvenilia on display (although there are frequent fireworks and magically-propelled origami). Instead, Yates drapes the walls of Hogwarts with fascist rules and announcement; the worst of them is the institution of Dolores Umbridge (Imelda Staunton) as Grand Inquisitor of the magic school, thus ending all forms of fun and freedom and replacing them with interrogations, painful punishments, and facile smiles and giggles.

We get a glimpse of the Ministry of Magic compound --- a fine example of urban hustle and bustle with stock-trading goblins, floo-transported witches and wizards and governmental posters in larger-than-life reproduction magically draped in the walls. The bureaucratic government starts invading on the daily grind of these beloved young wizards as response to the widespread paranoia brought about by Harry's news of Voldemort's return. Umbridge, media (utilizing the Daily Prophet, the magic community's source of news and announcements), the forming of an underground defensive army (the titular Order) against both Voldemort and the government's forced blindness --- there's something that's no longer juvenile brewing in the world of witches and wizards.

Harry spends a lot of time dreaming, remembering, and looking at himself in the mirror. The book and the film's thrust is the supposed connection between Harry and Voldemort; and this fleshes out themes of identity coinciding with Harry's awkward stage of maturity --- no longer delegated to formal ceremonies like balls, parties, and courting but more in tune with reality (misapplied hormones, emotions, and that persistent need to matter). Radcliffe does a good job in fleshing out these teenage internalizations; and he does keep up with the bevy of British thespians lending their hand in enriching these adaptations of Britain's most popular books.

It reminded me of Alfonso Cuaron's brilliant and brisk adaptation of The Prisoner of Azkaban (2004); wherein the doldrum narrative serves as the background to Cuaron's distinct understanding of the characters' dilemmas. Yates doesn't quite achieve that height of blockbuster poetry that Cuaron so easily weaves, but he comes close --- definitely closer than Chris Columbus and Mike Newell's mechanical attempts for blank spectacle. I always thought Rowling as a poor storyteller; her books get longer and more complicated to the detriment of narrative ease.

Yates and writer Michael Goldenberg (who also adapted Peter Pan (P. J. Hogan, 2003) with complete with its sexual subtleties) do a great job in compressing Rowling's tome into a two hour-plus extravaganza; with its share of inconsistent wrinkles (that subplot with the CGI-created giant) and show stopping set pieces (the final fifteen minutes are a vast improvement to Rowling's incomprehensible climax). The performances are good; standouts include Staunton (whose Umbridge is the sort of governmental dog we love to hate), Helena Bonham-Carter (whose short stint as a crazed witch is fabulous; watch out for her subtle facial nuances near the end wherein lucidity and illucidity are mixed up flawlessly), and Gary Oldman (who comes back as Sirius Black with a touch of paternal grace to his orphaned godson). Overall, this is a more than satisfying summer film --- easy on the eyes, and complex enough to be appreciated in a different level other than mere entertainment.

El (1953)

El (Luis Buñuel, 1953)
English Title: This Strange Passion

This is Luis Buñuel's monster movie; it's only difference with the likes of James Whale's Frankenstein (1931) or The Invisible Man (1933) is that it's monster is completely human --- visible, palpable and quite normal-looking. Don Francisco (Arturo de Córdova) is a very wealthy man; he preoccupies himself with a lawsuit involving a huge amount of lot he claims as his family's. Other than that, he serves the Church well enough to treat the parish priest as a good friend who gets invited to his frequent socials at his palatial home.

That's the disturbing thing about Don Francisco --- he's actually very charming and has a way with women. It's that mysterious magnetism that pushes Gloria (Delia Garcés) to him; probably an unspeakable sexuality that simmers underneath the Sunday clothes or the romantic and longful gazes that are exchanged under the solemnities of Lenten processes. The first time we see him, he piously guides the priest in washing the feet of several altar boys before his eyes are lost in a row of feet, first of the altar boys', then the public's. A gorgeous pair of feet attracts his fancy and his eyes peek at the owner's, Gloria, looking very virginal under her veil.

You instantly sense Francisco's viciousness the moment he hunts down Gloria after church services --- the way he pulls away from the parish priest and his friends (with a not so innocent white lie; the parish priest tells him that if what he's doing is that important, it mustn't be good) to chase Gloria. The next scene at his house is even more telling of his warped nature; during that moment, he fires both his attorney and his maid for reasons that aren't exactly fair (for his lawyer's honesty and for the maid's unintentional scandalous liaison with his trusted butler).

Don Francisco's master plan to woo Gloria into marrying him instead of his good friend Raul (Luis Beristáin) is disquietingly devious. When he gets his prize, he erupts into a paranoid frenzy that culminates in random acts of cruelty and torture. Successive and spontaneous pangs of jealousy, misogyny and violence are the norm in Francisco's household. That's the monster that will hold Gloria captive during the second half of El. Francisco's depraved demeanor mixed with his pitiful condition (and the fact that he practically owns everyone, and is smart enough to win the hearts of those close to Gloria) suffocates Gloria to the point of reciprocal paranoia. Despite the illogicality of maintaining a relationship with Francisco's monstrous persona, you believe their being bound together, both by Francisco's valid threats and intimidation and Gloria's own sense of being trapped and trying to salvage a love-filled yet undeniably erroneous marriage.

Buñuel gets the tone right. He precedes Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho (1960) in depicting the very real danger of a man gone insane. He understands the choking atmosphere provided by the tight grasp of marital vows and the accompanying pull of class procedure. The damning effect of maintaining reputation, of keeping good relations with the Church, of practically living life as dictated by societal standards keep both Gloria and the already damaged Francisco on a dangerous edge. In a way, with all the effective horror and suspense Buñuel provides, it sidesteps into the area of humorous social critique --- the way he manifestly connects the errors of religious shallowness and class maintenance with the fears, paranoia and disdain of Francisco.

El is bookended by scenes that depict Buñuel's sarcastic view of the Church. He begins with the ritual of washing of the feet (a Lenten tradition wherein the priest imitates Jesus Christ's act of washing his apostles' feet, then kissing them). Buñuel's fetishistic portrayal of the ritual reaches for the absolute silliness of the proceedings wherein minds float (from feet to feet to an unbearable sexual attraction to a church patron) against the supposed piety of the Church (Buñuel furthers this theme when he sets Francisco's final outburst inside the same Church --- wherein he imagines the patrons to be laughing at him; presumably this shows his disdain and lack of real trust on the ideals of Catholicism).

The film ends with Francisco as a monk. We somewhat get a false sense of renewed piety for Buñuel's charming monster but once he opens his mouth and again alludes to his senseless accusations and suspicions, we can see that madness still simmers underneath the same Church robes (the same way, during the first time we see him underneath his prim and proper attire). He zigzags back to the monks' abode --- his walk is very telling that there's something more than meets the eye.

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This post is my contribution to Flickhead: Luis Bunuel Blog-A-Thon.

Paraiso: Tatlong Kwento ng Pag-asa (2007)

Paraiso: Tatlong Kwento ng Pag-asa (Ricky Davao, Jun Lana & Joel Ruiz, 2007)
English Title: Paradise: Three Stories of Hope

Gawad Kalinga (its literal English translation is "to give care") is a non-profit organization whose noble goal is to build shelters and communities for millions of poor and homeless Filipinos. It has become some sort of a favorite charity for most affluent benefactors, mostly because the organization actually transmits results (in terms of completed houses and communities) and its method is very personal --- benefactors are permitted to visit the fruits of their kindness and to those who do not have the luxury of spare change, they are given the chance to share their know-how and muscles by actually building homes. To readers of this post, I suggest visiting the website to know more; or if you're really in the mood to make a difference in this world, donate money to their effort ($25,000 will create a community for several families; aptly named after the benefactor).

Paraiso: Tatlong Kwento ng Pag-asa (Paradise: Three Stories of Hope) is an omnibus film that strives to reach possible philantropists from around the world through the power of film. In the United States, the film was shown in several cities (mostly with large Filipino-American communities) to create awareness that such an organization is existing. Three short films, produced by three different film outfits, all trying to achieve an international awareness of the prevailing dilemma in the Philippines. I can't say that the three films are masterpieces, because they are not. If viewed as mere films, they are very much flawed and greatly manipulative. They are, however, very effective commercials for its singular and noble cause.

Jun Lana's Umiyak Man ang Langit (Even If the Skies Cried) begins the triptych with a tragedy: the landslide that completely covered several towns in Leyte with mud. Lana's film concerns Jocelyn (Maricel Soriano), a mother of four and one of the victims of the devastating natural calamity. It's designed to be a tearjerker, and as such, it's quite a success. What it lacks in subtlety, it compensates with pure sincerity (and believable performances by Soriano, and Noni Buencamino). It has one scene that bothered me and which I thought was completely unnecessary: Lana's team decided to recreate the landslide using miniatures. While the effort is understandable, the film could've survived without it. It's a good thing that the subsequent sequence which involves Jocelyn buried underneath the rubbles, groping her surroundings to save her daughters, was effectively heartbreaking.

The middle child of the omnibus is Joel Ruiz's Ang Kapatid Kong si Elvis (My Brother Elvis). It's undoubtedly the most interesting of the three films. The story was conceived by Michiko Yamamoto (writer of Magnifico (Maryo J. delos Reyes, 2003) and Ang Pagdadalaga ni Maximo Oliveros (The Blossoming of Maximo Oliveros, Auraeus Solito, 2005)) and Monster Jimenez (one half of the reason why Big Time (Monster Jimenez & Mario Cornejo, 2005) is so good), although based from the real experiences of Gawad Kalinga volunteers Jerome and Gina Paner (played by Michael V. and Carmi Martin) of adopting a neglected child from one of the housing projects.

The film doesn't go for a realistic portrayal of the events but instead bursts with youthful and energetic imagination. Elvis (Paulken Bustillo) eats rocks, pilfers little items, and wreaks havoc in the community before he was adopted by the couple. Of course, the newcomer doesn't really go well with the couple's only son, Pepe (Gian Bernabe). Ruiz solves the problem by giving the two siblings the opportunity to bond while traveling provincial Philippines while dragging a doghouse. It's slight, bright, and very whimsical; but beneath all the incoherent comedics (both effective and not-so-effective), is a distinguishable heart.

Marie, actor-turned-director Ricky Davao's contribution to the series, completes the trilogy. Sad to say, it's my least favorite of the bunch. It starts with the startling, and very recognizable, video of the World Trade Center collapsing before giving us a flashback of the wonderful twenty five years of the married life of Rudy (Cesar Montano) and Marie (Lexi Schultze) Abad. It's the tragic event of Marie perishing in the 9/11 tragedy that would give Rudy the inspiration to give to Gawad Kalinga, in memory of his good wife.

My problem with the film is that it lacks subtlety whatsoever. While Lana's short film bathes in melodrama, it is all worth it. Davao embellishes his film with a grandiose score; loud enough to turn the video of the twin buildings collapsing more operatic than it should be. I understand Davao's intention to make everything larger-than-life, but in a short film that should evoke sincerity and noble intentions, less is certainly more. Davao caps the film with a comparison between the colorful Gawad Kalinga homes and the dilapidated shacks on stilts in the Baseco compound. That's something Davao got right: there's still so much to do.

Nevertheless, the omnibus is still a grand success. Men and women are being recruited to fight in bloody wars when the same talents can be used to create homes; or just waste their cash on lifeless commercial efforts with films like Transformers (Michael Bay, 2007) and other loud, proud yet flat Summer flicks when the amount of money to create those films (and to spend to watch them) would be enough to create thousands of communities. The film adequately provides for something more worthwhile than being herded in this derivative life this modern world pushes us to live.

Big Bang Love, Juvenile A (2006)

Big Bang Love, Juvenile A (Takashi Miike, 2006)
Japanese Title: 46-okunen no koi

Takashi Miike has more than seventy films under his name. While most of these films are trashy fare, more commonly available in the cheap bins of Japan's DVD stores, others have crossed over to the international festival circuit. Despite his growing fanbase outside Japan, there is still little validation to the aging and prolific director. Films like the Dead or Alive Trilogy (1999, 2000 & 2002), Ichi the Killer (2001), Visitor Q (2001), and Gozu (2003) have given him god status to the quasi-pornographers of America (Eli Roth gave Miike a cameo in his Hostel (2005)), and his venture to J-Horror (the relatively interesting but very popular One Missed Call (2003)) has turned him into master of the genre (enough to give Imprint (2006) the season-ending pimp spot of the first season of the Masters of Horror television series).

Big Bang Love, Juvenile A, Miike's latest film to receive international attention, is caviar compared to his other more famous works, which are mostly delicacies of different yet plebian sorts. It's essentially a murder mystery involving inmates in what seems to be a prison by way of Lars Von Trier's Dogville (2003) and Manderlay (2005)'s chalk-drawn settings. That's the basic structure but Miike pumps the air with vibrant colors and an unhealthy dose of male pheromones; turning the prison into a literal stage for bloody brawls and homoerotic tension.

The intro has a man (Kenichi Endo) reciting from a book about light years, Earth thousands of years ago and youth, on cue of an onscreen clapper board; the camera placed still outside a room lit and colored with Chris Doyle-lusciousness (by Masahito Kaneko) with the man sitting with a stick of lighted cigarette in his hand.

The victim in Miike's murder mystery is Kazuki (Masanobu Ando), supposedly strangled to death by effeminate Ariyoshi (Ryuhei Matsuda). The two enter the penitentiary together. Their respective fates are entangled by their individual misfortunes, as both are murderers of not so identical motives (Ariyoshi was allegedly raped by his middle-aged gay patron, while Kazuki was brought up to cherish violence by an environment that is not proper in common standards). The investigation accumulates much more than the simple procedural rules of motives and reasons; but instead delivers a backdrop of something deeper; more spiritual and philosophical than mundane.

The literal translation of the Japanese title is "4.6 Billion Years of Love," alluding to the time when everything was space dust that resulted from that primordial explosion in outer space. Miike time travels to that fictional future with his prisoner boys gazing lustfully with each other, while talking about space ships and Mayan pyramids that promise of space travel and heaven, respectively.

With all the billion years of slow creation, the result is their fated attraction, made questionable by their similar sex organs, under the not-so-perfect circumstance of jealous inmates and sadistic guards. Then there's their unattractive pasts --- literal ghosts guarding their every movement. These men are literally having their hearts bleed with this cosmological mistake; the rays of a bright future literally pass through their bodies as if they weren't part of the cumulative space dust that will inevitably meet and turn into matter. And matter turns back into space dust when applied with the potent formula of death; as we see a prisoner (animated) trying to escape burst into dust as he gets electrocuted by the high-voltage wire walls.

Cryptic, overly stylistic and ambitious yet, everything makes perfect sense. Miike was able to connect the metaphysics of the cosmos and the quiet yearnings of his two male characters. With Big Bang Love, Juvenile A, Miike may have made his first true art film, and I'm liking it.

That Day, on the Beach (1983)

That Day, on the Beach (Edward Yang, 1983)
Mandarin Title: Haitan de yitian

There's an impressive sequence in Edward Yang's debut feature That Day, on the Beach wherein we see Jia-li (Sylvia Chang), who is trapped in an unhappy marriage, stuck in an elevator with another woman. The woman, dressed in fiery red compared to her dull black, is the paramour of her husband De-wei (David Mao). The scene is tightly shot: Jia-Li is seen in the foreground and through the elevator's mirror, we see the paramour. The motionless scene is followed by their confrontation: the husband, who is abroad for business reasons, has switched their letters and the paramour is returning the letter to her while revealing her secret love affair with Jia-Li's husband. The confrontation retains the quaint and relaxed atmosphere. You can tell that the sequence is simmering with repressed emotions but nothing is ever let out. Life continues on, in a constant state of melancholy.

That's basically Yang's theme right there. He fills the movie with these quiet moments, dictating these moments with the clarity and importance of a historical event but none of the overstated dramatics. It is told with straightforward relevance by Jia-Li to her brother's ex-girlfriend (Teresa Hu) years after their last meeting. Yang's film is told through a series of flashbacks all relating to the titular incident in the beach wherein Jia-Li's husband was supposedly drowned to death. The body cannot be located, nor are they sure that the victim was indeed Jia-Li's husband but it is the moment wherein Jia-Li is gripped by a more palpable sense of uncertainty. All her life, she is dragged by the circumstances paved for her but at that exact moment, she's suddenly in a centerpoint in her adult life.

That Day, on the Beach is credited as the starting point of the Taiwanese New Wave and the career of Yang (it is also the first work of Christopher Doyle as cinematographer). It is easily representative of the distinct sensibilities of his nation's contemporary cinema (as continued by Yang himself, Hou Hsiao-hsien, and to a certain degree, Tsai Ming-liang). The film evokes a fathomable ache that inhabits the newly wealthy middle-class of Taipei: the way a lucrative job turns a lovely marriage into an essentially empty and torturous predicament. The film details the effects of the new-found commercialism the economic boom has provided: how designer clothes or sleeping pills are supposed to ease the lack of love in a marital relationship.

Yet above the subtle societal backdrop that Yang points out in the film, it is the empathetically portrayed story of Jia-Li that draws the most interest. Yang clearly understands Jia-Li's predisposition and dilemma. There are flashbacks within the flashbacks that show Jia-Li as a young girl and how she witnesses her mother's subdued nature against her father's sexual trysts. That quiet conversation with her brother just before she escapes from an arranged wedding conjures illusions of a promising future; yet the seduction of a free life does not deliver its supposed promises as Jia-Li furthers lower in the quagmire of shallow living.

But Yang does not dwell in melancholy (although he depicts melancholy so effectively). His interest is humanity's capacity to change which is the reason why Jia-Li's story is told in past tense rather than as a continuing experience. He understands the value of the past (how Jia-Li's decisions since she was a little girl has shaped who she is) but maintains an uncertain but more optimistic stance for the future. He reveals the scars of Jia-Li's life but assures that these wounds are either closed or closing. His confrontations are quiet, painful, and deep but in a way, they are relevant and important in letting go.

Jia-Li would conclude her tale with the death of her brother, wherein he leaves the world with a few acerbic messages on how he has led his life following his father's steps from the profession he chose to the girl he marries. It is an essential end to the never-ending questions that haunted the incomplete soul of the girl that character has abandoned for his decision to be perpetually dictated. It seals that undefinable what-if in the pianist's past, and sufficiently closes that chapter of Jia-Li's life wherein she has been subdued by the men in her life.

The act of communication and revelation releases both female characters from being imprisoned by their respective pasts and male tormentors. Yang plays doting master to his fractured characters that despite the melancholy of their scenarios, he breathes to them that human ability to heal and move on.

Edward Yang died at an early age of 59 leaving the world with films that depicted reality with brutal honesty but with tender humanism. Previous to That Day, on the Beach, I've only seen his quiet masterpiece Yi Yi (A One and a Two, 2000), a film that is so rich with nuances that it took me more than one viewing to at least appreciate his sage-like interpretation of several generations of life blossoming in slow and almost painful grandeur. His death has caused a wave of mournful odes from cinephiles worldwide. I cannot think of a greater way to mourn his sudden passing than to celebrate the feature film that began his illustrious career.

Meet the Feebles (1989)

Meet the Feebles (Peter Jackson, 1989)

This is Sesame Street directed by the more perverted twin brother of Larry Clark. The puppets are all psychopaths and maniacs: including an overeating diva hippo with a depressive personality. a philandering, drug-dealing, porn-producing walrus; a shell-shocked crack-addicted gecko; an emphysemic chain-smoking worm; an obnoxious good-for-nothing rat; and a sodomy-loving fox. It doesn't stop there. There's also an innocent hedgehog who will fall under the love spell of a dreamy poodle; an elephant who is threatened with a paternity suit by a loose hen; a panty-sniffing anteater; and a rabbit who is suffering from the muppet-version of AIDS.

It's all done in bad taste. Peter Jackson, way before being tamed by the voluminous epic of J. R. R. Tolkien, is a genius in low-budget filmmaking. With funds saved from the grant he got for Bad Taste (1987), he developed this idea (with collaborators Fran Walsh, Danny Mulheron, and Stephen Sinclair) of repulsive characters in repulsive situations. The idea of turning the characters into puppets and mascots is golden; it allows Jackson and his crew to up the depravity without being absolutely obnoxious to the middlebrow viewer. No matter how gross and amoral things become, it'll always be perceived as satirical and not pornographic or gratuitous.

I think that Meet the Feebles is a product mainly created for fun and laughs (yes, weird sex and pointless violence is funny). However, it's not completely depleted of sense --- in fact, the film makes more sense than most pretentious issue films. The subtext of the horrors of show business hinges on legends and stories of drug-inducing, sex-starved, and suicidal stars that have graced the entertainment business. The sleaze, treachery, sex, drugs, and all that jazz that surround the business are exaggerated for laughs and giggles; the disturbing bit here is that it's not necessarily far from the truth. That showbiz people are portrayed as worms, flies, rats, lizards and hogs ups the statement a few notches higher.

The miracle of the movie is that despite its overt trashiness, Jackson inadvertently creates some nuggets of solid magic. That black-and-white flashback to the hippo and the walrus' first meeting evokes the timeless appeal of a newly discovered dreamgirl, where romance and fame mix in unhealthy quantities. That short bit in a puppet version of the Vietnam War has actual grit. Of course everything ends with a gargantuan punchline (the walrus cheating on the hippo with a seductive feline; and the lizard using the Vietnam bit as bate for donations for his drug fund).

Jackson would inevitably lose some of the zaniness of these films (although he somewhat tops the insanity of Meet the Feebles with Braindead (1992), an all-out romp of flying blood, meat and guts). His best work remains to be Forgotten Silver (1995), which is also his most effective joke (that despite being known as the biggest practical joke in cinematic history, remains to be still very funny and quite touching). Heavenly Creatures (1994) would pave his way to Hollywood wherein he will forever be known as the Academy Award-winning director of The Lord of the Rings (2001-2003, a grand epic with a less than desirous lack of Jackson's humor) and King Kong (2005). With his feet upon a high pedestal, I wonder if he still has the guts to return to his roots and give as a lovely yet salty-sour-sweet confection like this one. I hope he does.

Bullet Ballet (1998)

Bullet Ballet (Shinya Tsukamoto, 1998)

Years after his breakthrough film Tetsuo, you can still smell Shinya Tsukamoto's famous fetish with metal --- this time, with the elusive gun (a rare commodity in Japan since owning one is restricted there). The allure of securing one replaces the love for the girlfriend who killed herself upon gaining access to the prohibited weapon. Cash is exchanged; research is voluminous; and marriage licenses are signed; all in order to secure a gun. Tsukamoto, ever the visualist, creates a montage wherein the gun is played with, quite seductively and lovingly, against the formidable light and creating shadows that somewhat remind you of rock and roll erotica.

The quest for a gun lands Goda (Tsukamoto), the corporate bum, in the middle of a gang war. Youth with pointless ambition are occupying the underbellies of Tokyo with their arsenal of home-made weapons (baseball bats covered with nails, lead tubes, etc.). His professional demeanor, an unsure yet desperate step towards the underground, turns him into the ideal target for their street side bullying. The lone princess of the gang Chisato (Kirina Mano) counters the metal fetish with her own set of irresistible pheromones. It's not exactly the formula for hot and steamy sexual encounters as we're talking about speed-addicted youngsters and Tsukamoto's weird sense of romanticism here. The most we get are artsy moments of ennui shared in quiet, sometimes violent but always dispassionate fashion.

Tsukamoto's black and white palette gives a metallic resonance to the hyper-urban affairs. When his camera is still, it almost evokes Japanese cinema of the 50's and 60's with Oshima's directionless youth and Imamura's angry citizens. Then, Tsukamoto convenes his trademark style of on screen mayhem; always accompanied by tight spaces representative of the iron tubes he has become so fond of. There are always extremes in Tsukamoto's filmmaking; the quiet moments are always disrupted by a sudden burst of violence. He takes it to the next level when he counters a three-way chase in the cramped alleyways of Tokyo with Chisato in an ecstatic moment of high-class fantasy in Goda's fully-furnished apartment; of taking calls and living the affluent life.

The metaphor Tsukamoto plays is one of class discontent. The gang-bangers wants to eke out a future from their unlikely lives yet are bound by the codes of honor their group has. They are disgusted by the corporate whores, yet realize the inevitability of them being whores themselves. It's a futile rebellion that will eventually die. Goda's dilemma is much more novel. His intention is to supplant his corporate lifestyle with the live-free and die-free motto of those street urchins he is trained to loathe (and in a way, adore). Initially, the match-up results in broken bones and bloodied faces but as temperatures ease and the distinctions are revealed as merely nominal, similarities pave a semblance of repressed fondness.

The title tricks you to expecting encounters of John Woo or Ringo Lam-caliber. Bullet Ballet is indeed kinetic, but not in a sense that violence is depicted in an operatic manner. One can probably assume that Tsukamoto's bullet ballet alludes to that elusive romanticism that floats and flickers on the volatile surface of Tsukamoto's art form which is all about steel, blood, and noise. Those silent moments of disconnected near-romantic gazes or dormant ambitions to escape the edgy life are the adagio to the otherwise rust-infested madness of Tsukamoto's urban nightmares.

You Got Me (2007)

You Got Me (Cathy Garcia-Molina, 2007)

As it turns out, You Are the One (2006) made considerable money for Star Cinema. The team-up of director Cathy Garcia-Molina with her two newfound stars Sam Milby and Toni Gonzaga proved to be a genuine gold mine for the film studio that within a few months, a follow-up is released. With a stable of new talents (mostly from their reality TV show) who are waiting to be given projects, it seemed wise to come up with a film that will feature more characters and more derring-do's than their previous effort.

You Got Me has an essentially different mood, a lot more serious and more melodramatic. While You Are the One has a whimsical view of the Philippines' woes and ticks, You Got Me is much more straightforward and foregos the atmospheric charm that made the previous effort so vastly enjoyable.

Kevin (Milby) and Moe (Gonzaga) are cops. Their precinct seems to belong to an alternate universe wherein Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo's promise of a strong republic was actually serious and not just for show. For one, Kevin is an IT and surveillance specialist while Moe plays a one-woman police force (regular cop/SWAT team-member/undercover agent). I'm aware that there are precincts with IT departments but that's really not a norm. The precinct is unnaturally clean with no sign of corruption, crab mentality, inutility, or other real problems of the Philippine police force. The prisoners are also treated with respect and kindness; enough for one of the prisoners, a petty criminal named Caloy (Zanjoe Marudo), to risk courting stern Moe.

With such a Utopian set-up, the only natural consequence is for the cops to worry about their affairs of the heart. A love triangle slowly boils (perhaps too slowly) in the midst of all the poorly directed action sequences and Milby's failed attempts to speak Tagalog without the distinct American twang (the writers do try to explain why Milby's character can't speak straight Tagalog by claiming he is from Cotobato where the dialect is Visayan, but that doesn't explain why his Tagalog accent is more Americanized than Visayan).

It is a hard stretch of imagination the film's writers, actors, and Garcia-Molina are convincing their audiences to make. It reminds me of Johnny To's romantic comedies (like My Left Eye Sees Ghosts (2002) or Turn Left Turn Right (2003); not really his forte but he makes them competently enough to be enjoyable) without the assured execution or the distinct charm. Here, everything feels so manufactured: the chemistry, the far fetched plot, the silly action set pieces, the clumsy portrayals. Having seen You Are the One, a film that is just surprisingly and genuinely cute and fresh, this is just so much of a letdown.

Transformers (2007)

Transformers (Michael Bay, 2007)

I remember when I myself was transfixed on the animated series Transformers. I longed to buy each and every transforming toy and show them off to all my friends and be the envy of the entire neighborhood. I memorized each of their names, and their qualities, and sometimes pitted them against each other utilizing my imagination. I grew up of course but there still remains that little part in my heart that longs for a come-back of those heroic (and villainous) alien robots.

I wasn't alone. The theater wherein Michael Bay's update of the popular series was playing was jampacked with eager viewers and most of them are of my age (or of my generation). Some of them would bring their parents (who probably slaved away to buy their kids those expensive toys), or to the lucky few, their kids (who would probably plead their parents to slave away to buy them the neat-looking new line of toys). Bay, the film's producers, and the numerous companies who tied-in with the movie have hit the jackpot. The film caused the audience to cheer, clap, and march away from the cinema with eager points for conversation and a renewed feeling of "it's fun to be a geek."

Now, I was alone. Amidst the sea of satisfied and salivating enthusiasts, I was the lone Grinch. I was thinking why I didn't like the film as much as the rest and I was ready to pinpoint Bay as the prime culprit yet I didn't. The film was tailor fit to Bay's sensibilities. It was loud, consistently moving, and slick (in your typical summer blockbuster way). It was the film Bay was destined to make; the film that would cement his status of prime director of cinematic junk food.

Sure, I was annoyed by Bay's methods. He can't ever have his camera still, it always had to move (through a dolly, a crane, handheld, or whatever) and the constant motion would either cause your adrenaline to pump or give you a severe brain seizure. He also relishes in over-the-top and suspect cheesiness as let's say: a little girl asking a gigantic robot whether it's the tooth fairy; or a shot of the two protagonists suddenly holding hands amidst the mayhem; or that entire ending sequence which stank of pure childish and illogical kitsch. Despite Bay's distasteful tendencies, I was very ready to let everything sink as it is: a pure popcorn flick that would carry me back to those good old days wherein my only worry was that I didn't have enough money to purchase that Bumblebee toy.

The culprit can't be the technical aspect of the film. The CGI was breathtaking; and the reincarnations of the alien robots were in my opinion very apt. I thought the film didn't really need Steve Jablonsky's epic-sized musical score (complete with Carmina Burana-esque chorale singing), but I guess he was trying to top the juicy visuals that was consistently on display. Bay's camera tricks didn't really help showcase the technical pizzazz of the film; but sure, it wasn't totally atrocious. The point is, I knew what was happening onscreen.

Then there's the ridiculous plot. Much of it is grabbed from the Transformers canon (whose illogicality is necessary), but the stuff that was added, I couldn't really buy. The first half of the film involved a chase to get Sam Witwicky (Shia LeBeouf) who is in possession of a pair of eyeglasses that would reveal the location of the powerful Allspark. The second half (or what I'll refer to as the shut-your-brains-and-just-watch part) has the robots and humans battling the evil Decepticons to protect the Allspark. Annoyingly, the two halves don't jive; the first half isn't really necessary to arrive at the much-awaited mayhem of the climax and thus, the more-than-two-hour running time could have been trimmed to serve it better; and give it the appropriate label as a popcorn flick without all the inept narrative it tries so hard to sell.

I thought the update to Transformers is good. The animated series enters the present world of the world wide web, cellphones, Ebay, and Youtube. Meteorites land in the backyard and kids won't scurry away but will get their cameras to film the event and then upload to their respective websites. Everything is sold including family heirlooms using the ease of the internet. Information has become so readily available that the robots themselves form a complete vocabulary, attitude, and racial stereotypes utilizing the information gathered freely from the web. In a way, I can't really complain of the modifications the filmmakers have done to the beloved cartoon series.

I can understand the resounding praise that film has garnered from old and new fans alike. It's so easy to get lost in the fantasy of the boy and the car (who can transform into a heroic robot), especially if it's told with all the million-dollar special effects and goodies. It comes with this generation that is so engrossed with pumping up the ordinary: just observe the hundreds of nobodies in Youtube turning into internet superstars with their Jackass-videos or imaginative creations. Michael Bay's Transformers fits right in. It tickles that fancy of every Gen-X or Y employee that his used Corolla would play the right tunes for that hot chick he's never had the courage to ask for a date. In a way, it is that perfect escapist material for the frenzied masses who see technology as both foe and friend. So what's there to dislike in the film? Honestly, aside from Bay's inept direction and the inutile plot, I don't know.