Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts

Tuesday, March 15, 2022

Madonna of the Chair


CALAUAG, NAGA CITY—Of all the photos taken at my cousin Maita Cristina’s daughter’s birthday celebration last night, this one makes me take a second look. The way my cousin holds Celestine Faith in her arms reminds me of Raphael’s Madonna of the Chair which I first saw in my Grade 6 class in the late 1980s, which I have not forgotten since.
An
iconic High Italian Renaissance art from the 1500s, Raphael’s masterpiece portrays the Blessed Virgin cuddling a cherub-like baby Jesus, as his cousin John, son of Elizabeth, watches adoringly.

But more than anything, this last night’s photo shows a poignant image of how a mother could still cuddle and comfort her child after she had a very long day. In the midst of the crowd, it is the serenity from within the mother that hushes the child. At the end of the day, what is simply pure and true is the warmth: the strength and assurance only a mother could give not only to her child but really to herself.

Saturday, May 01, 2021

Mutiny and the Bounty

Coming to Iloilo City in 2005, something immediately caught my attention.

Passing General Luna Street, I saw streamers and makeshift tents in front of the University of San Agustin. From friends and new acquaintances I would learn that the union employees of the university were protesting unlawful acts committed by the administration against them and their members.

For the succeeding months, I would see [and read] these streamers denouncing the administration for having been unjust to the employees who had served the university for a period of time; the streamers and protests also raised a number of other issues against the administration.

It was the first time I saw a dramatic interplay between two forces going on. I would see the same setup, up to the time the streamers became soiled and muddied that I could not read the words in them anymore, or that I found them annoying—because they would block my view of the university.

But the sight only drew my attention and scrutiny.

Once, I saw a public meeting by a number of people in front of the university gates, rallying aloud for their concerns. From other people I would learn that the strike by the employees was without basis; and that some of them were reinstated in their service to the university; and that others were relieved from service.

It was only later—in the official statement of the university published in the local papers that the facts became clearer.  The court finally denied the legality of the employees’ mobilization against the university.

Even before the court handed down its decision, a friend confided to me once how he pitied the union employees because despite legal assistance, their acts and even the subsequent measures they took were baseless, lacking ground and orientation. 

It does not require anyone to be a lawyer to understand an issue like this. It is easy to articulate how and why these things are made of, only if we were more than observant. 

For one, unrest in the labor sector might stem from people’s discontent. Administration, any status quo, for that matter, naturally defends itself because it normally conducts matters with much discretion and decorum, and utter deference to the people it serves—thus, its confidence in the manner of doing things is simply effortless.

Meanwhile, social realities like labor unrest do not fail to interest artists because they involve the dynamic interplay between elements in the society. 

Scenarios like this must have given inspiration to age-old masterpieces as French naturalist Emile Zola’s Germinal, a turn-of-the-century novel about the miners’ unrest against their employers in a French coalmine. The same reminds me of Mike de Leon’s Sister Stella L., a film which looms large in the social realist genre.

Artists, writers, film directors, and people of similar occupations can consider the subject for a more incisive study, so they can later put forth something from which people can learn and be inspired further.

Such experiences merit a more incisive introspection, a careful study that renders more truth. 

If rendered more truthfully, their act of writing—the work itself created after having been moved, inspired or bothered by these realities—can make persons out of individuals, or turn souls out of institutions.

Monday, February 01, 2016

Second-rate, Trying-hard

Joey Ayala at Cafe Terraza, Roxas City, Capiz
ROXAS CITY—Wala nang original sa mga Pilipino artist ngayon. Pare-pareho na lang ang tunog nila; gaya-gaya lang sila. This was the essence of what Joey Ayala said during my conversation—well, informal interview—with him in October last year here.

The Mindanao-born artist also known as the “Karaniwang Tao” (from one of his hit songs ) was hinting at the consciousness of the Filipino music artists nowadays —and how their work is rather determined by Western influences. 


Through the auspices of the Capiz Provincial Tourism and Affairs Office (PTCAO) headed by Mr. Alphonsus Tesoro​, I had the chance to personally meet with Ayala during the Heritage Camp sponsored by Capiz PTCAO. And as per Tesoro, with the assistance of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA), Capiz had the chance to see Joey Ayala for the second time.


Speaking before some 300 student participants at the Capiz National High School during the students semestral break, Ayala practically brought the house down with his rapport with the young learners and leaders who represented their respective municipalities across the province. 


Among other things, Ayala underscored how a nation’s history, heredity, culture, lifestyle and a sense of identity give rise or bear on the consciousness of the individual. For him, the consciousness of the Filipino is determined by his present dispositions acquired gradually through a generation of cultural influences.


In other words, the way we think is influenced by what only prevails in our culture and environment. So, if a Filipino child has long been taught that commodities from the United States are “original’ and therefore “cool” while all products made in the Philippines are “local,” such consciousness will hardly change in his lifetime. He will grow up looking to, patronizing and, yes, worshipping anything that is estetsayd (State-side).


So shouldn't we wonder why many Filipinos would love to pursue their own American dream? For one, not too many in our batch in high school remained in our locality. Subconsciously, it has been made clear that to be successful is to go out of the hometown and make it big in the bigger city where supposedly all the perks of t


echnology; a promising, high-paying job; a successful career; and probably a better life await.

As for the Filipino music artists, Ayala’s claim at the beginning of this piece rings true, indeed, even as growing up, we have come to hear our very own Filipino singers being carbon copies of the Western sensibility.


Upon hearing Ayala’s verdict, I easily recalled how my own favorite alternative bands Cueshe, Hale and a host of similar other bands who rose to prominence in the Tunog Kalye scene in 2000s, indeed, only resonated the vocals and acoustics of Creed, 3 Doors Down, and what-have-you.


You also have the likes of Arnel Pineda and Jovit Baldovino being hailed for singing just like Journey’s Steve Perry and other rock artists who could reach high notes. I also recall hearing over an FM station eons ago how Ilonggo Jose Mari Chan is said to be the Cliff Richard of the Philippines—because of his balladeer sensibility.


I also recall reading one review in the Philippine Collegian back in the 1990s, saying how Cookie Chua’s then-upcoming group Color It Red sounds very much like Natalie Merchant’s 10,000 Maniacs. 


Later I would read about Gary Valenciano being our very own Michael Jackson, owing to the dance moves of the perennial superstar; Regine Velasquez belting it out like Mariah Carey—though the latter later referred to the former as “A BROWN MONKEY WHO CAN SING;” then the list goes on.


I also recall my high school classmates Alfredo and Delfin (who are Roxette and Madonna die-hards, respectively) constantly berated the musical pieces of Original Pilipino Music (OPM) artists who, along with their U.S. Billboard chartmakers, also enjoyed airtime on FM radio stations at the time.


Talk of colonial mentality at its worst—talk of Western parameters always being used to critique Filipino artistry and originality.


So, are contemporary Filipino music artists, indeed, unoriginal—only rather best at copying what they hear? Or is their mentality so westernized already that they cannot help but sound like anything they hear from other countries—especially United States? Is it our consciousness that is so jaded enough to not anymore believe in what the Filipino artist can achieve?


My brief conversation with Joey Ayala has not given me answers; it only raised more questions.

Thursday, October 03, 2013

Identity Thieves

Ben Affleck’s Argo, which won Best Picture this year at the Oscars, is worth talking about. 

While Oscar winner director Ang Lee’s Life of Pi is a cinematic achievement in itself taking on a surreal approach to a real adventure story, it is the role playing of the characters in Argo that deserves a second look. Argo won Best Picture probably because the Academy members saw how it looked for a better way to tell a story.

Directed by Ben Affleck, Argo recreates the Iranian hostage crisis in 1979 after radical Moslem students stormed the U.S. Embassy in Tehran, seized some 66 Americans and vowed to stay there until the deposed Shah of Iran was sent back from New York to face trial. Opposed to Western influences, the Iranian militants released 13 hostages, but held the remaining 53 Americans, now demanding the return of billions of dollars they believed the shah had hoarded abroad.

The hostage crisis lasted for almost 444 days, marring the administration of then United States President Jimmy Carter, who was unable to negotiate their release. From November 1979 to January 1981, the Carter administration suffered a setback when it failed in an attempt to rescue the hostages. Negotiations were reported to have finally succeeded where war tactics failed.  

Argo zooms in on the plight of one Tony Mendez, CIA technical operations officer, who negotiated to save the six American statesmen who escaped from the embassy and sought shelter in the Canadian ambassador’s residence at the height of the crisis.

When Ben Affleck’s Tony Mendez tells John Goodman’s John Chambers, a Hollywood make-up artist who has previously crafted disguises for the CIA: “I need you to help me make a fake movie,” it is made clear how art, particularly filmmaking, is used to serve a higher end—and that is to save the lives of the diplomats caught in the social unrest.

And when John Chambers says, “So you’re going to come to Hollywood, act like a big shot, and not actually do anything,” the movie’s premise was now hinged on how falsehood can rather redirect everyone to seek the truth. 

Interesting in the film is the way the six American statesmen read into their roles given by Tony Mendez. There is much drama in how they assumed to be somebody else, i.e. as members of the filmmakers’ team producing a fake sci-fi, Star Wars-inspired Argo. 

Argo is a fake movie—a foil which Tony Mendez needed to convince Iranian authorities that the consulate staff who escaped are part of the production for a sci-fi movie. An action thriller itself, Argo was concerned more on the action of rescuing the hiding statesmen and escort them back to the States.

In the movie’s climax, the Iranian airport police, despite their vigilance and stone-faced authority, still fell prey to the foil that Mendez invented—Argo’s  Star Wars charisma did not fail to lure authorities away from identifying the diplomats, thus serving Mendes’ best intentions, as originally planned.

Although the Iranians were duped by the pop culture prevalent everywhere in the world, it is admirable how the world of movies served a purpose which should serve man—who himself created the movies.

Of course, Argo the movie within the movie is able to save the diplomats, even as Argo the bigger movie has established thrills in the cat-mouse chase which heightened the tension in the film.

Though the film is said to have made alterations from the real turn of events— especially for minimizing the role that the Canadian embassy played in the rescue, among others—Argo succeeds in bringing the audience to a heightened sense of thrill, which deserves a round of applause.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Corazon: Ang Unang Aswang

Rating:★★
Category:Movies
Genre: Horror
Erich Gonzales, Derek Ramsay, Mark Gil, Epi Quizon, Maria Isabel Lopez, Tetchie Agbayani
Directed by Richard Somes
Skylight Films, 2012

Save for one poignant scene in Richard Somes’s Corazon: Ang Unang Aswang, the rest of the movie leaves a number of unresolved scenes, let’s call them clutter, that rather only puzzle the audience.

This scene involves Erich Gonzales’s Corazon fleeing the townsfolk and Derek Ramsey’s Daniel escaping the personal army of the landlord Matias (Mark Gil) in the post-World War II sakadas, most probably in the vast lands of Negros. (Immediately this mention of probability is only one among the many unresolved elements that cloud the essence of the movie. Aside from the landlord-tenant relationship which was prevalent elsewhere in the post-war Philippines, no other elements in the movie can make us infer it happened particularly there.)

In the village of Magdalena, Daniel, the loving farmer husband of the innocently beautiful Corazon, has just murdered the landlord Matias in his own mansion after the couple’s house was burned down by the goons. And the wounded Corazon, after being shot by Matias when she devoured his daughter Melissa in her bed, has also been found (and found out) by one of Daniel’s friends to be the one responsible for the killings of children in the village.

Both Daniel and Corazon are fleeing the enraged townsfolk who want to kill the village murderer. The scene rips your heart because both characters are rather fleeing their own created monsters. Daniel has murdered the landlord in retaliation for having burned down their house; while Corazon has just been found out responsible for having devoured the children in the village.

What rips your heart more is that the couple only wanted to have a child but the wife’s devotion to San Gerardo failed them—after Corazon delivered a stillborn. So the reality of a dead baby drove the main character Corazon (the could-have been mother) to curse God and throw her faith away to the dark.

The man-on-the-road element in this work of fiction is rendered well in this climactic scene, with the score swelling as the couple flees their pursuers heightening the drama and resolving it to the conclusion—as in the French term denouement (day-no-man)—when the couple vanish in the dark. So there.

In the 1960s, American writer Susan Sontag was brought to the world limelight after she pinpointed that camp is the “love of the unnatural, the artifice and exaggeration.”

Well, we have seen camp movies proliferate in the horror flicks of the Filipino directors in the 80s—Shake, Rattle and Roll series and tons of other films in the same vein that entertained the generation of that decade.

Through time, we have seen tendencies of Filipino movies to make use of camp, which refers to the effects that the film made to scare the audience by propping monsters and supernaturals so they look hideous or horrible only to make them appear outrageously odd or simply outrageous.

In Corazon, these include madwoman Melinda’s (Tetchie Agbayani) over-disheveled wig which rather exaggerates Diana Ross’s afro look. When I saw this, prizewinning fictionist critic Rosario Cruz-Lucero came to mind. In cases like this, Cruz-Lucero hints at the creative sense that an author needs not “overkill” the essence of what he is portraying by overdoing descriptions and attributes that have already been established.

The movie was trapped in the premise that a madwoman must really appear overly unkempt and dirty with her tattered outfit, teeth and all—or totally taong grasa so audience knows she is mad. And mad. And really mad. But there is just no need for Agbayani’s Melinda to appear this ridiculous so she could portray her Sisa character [she’s looking for her daughter who disappeared during the war]. I suppose Agbayani is fairly a good actress that her delivery of lines or a dramatic monologue alone could make us infer without a doubt she is a Sisa who was driven mad because she lost her child to the war.

Furthermore, we cannot see the relevance of Eric Gonzales’s Corazon putting on a baboy-damo mask to cloud her real intentions that she is village monster preying on the innocent victims. What is Corazon’s reason for doing that? In the first place, where did she get the mask? Too implausible. Even the metallic effect of the face of the mask strikes us like it was stolen from the set of Kate Beckinsale’s Underworld which is too European to be accepted into the Filipino sensibility. Employing all these is more than camp, but more appropriately a rushed second-year high school drama production.

The movie also suffers from the complicated plot which requires more show time for them to be unraveled and resolved. Questions. Is Melinda the lost mother of Matias’s daughter Melissa? Or is Corazon the lost daughter of Melinda? We do not know. But it seemed as if the movie showed we knew they were.

While it could have just dwelt on the legend of the aswang, or how the first human-eating human being came to be—initially called halimaw in the film—the movie touched on other sensibilities and opened territories where the other characters dwelt but which it did not pursue or explore at all.

At the time the halimaw devours the village children one by one, Corazon contorts her head like the way it is done in the Asian horror flicks that became the norm made popular by the Japanese original Ring in early 2000s. Sadly, the movie reeks of this hackneyed style which looked fresh only the first time it’s done in those days.

While the supporting characters of Mon Confiado’s and Epy Quizon’s are comfortable, Maria Isabel Lopez’s Aling Herminia is a revelation. Her portrayal of the relihiyosa in the less-than-two-minuter scene as the partera (quack midwife) is eerie and astonishingly original. The rest is unmemorable.

In some instances, also, both of the main characters deliver their intense scenes well. For one, Erich Gonzales’s childbirth is more convincing than other women who fake their
ires and arrays in most films; while Ramsay’s macho tendencies and naturalness are without question.

The mestiza face of Erich Gonzales may be deemed realistic because she was said to be the love child of her mother and an American soldier during the war.

But the placing of Derek Ramsay as the farmer Daniel, whose roots we barely know, is farcical. If at all, the movie does not make clear the background of Daniel. He is too sculpted to be just a humble farmer in the barrio—he hunts boars after he works out in the Fil-Am-Jap bodybuilding gym. Funny. Mon Confiado would be the more believable Daniel.

Further, the lead actors' metropolitan or cosmopolitan twang, could have been reworked to render their rustic characters more realistic. Talk of George VI doing the entire movie reworking his tongue in The King’s Speech. They are too beautiful to be monstrous because they look too polished for these rustic roles. Ultimately they appear ridiculous. Sadly camp.

Songs of Ourselves

If music is wine for the soul, I suppose I have had my satisfying share of this liquor of life, one that has sustained me all these years. A...