"I wish Francis 'Oggs' Cruz, Richard Bolisay, and Dodo Dayao would get space in the broadsheets, because they're far more interesting than anyone writing there regularly."—Alexis Tioseco, "Wishful Thinking for Philippine Cinema"
When he was a boy, Richard Bolisay's father told him that he had "a peculiar pair of eyes", which no doubt accounts for his meditative gaze into the heart of dreams and—by extension—cinema. A self-described "dreamer from Manila", "Chard" Bolisay administers his own site Lilok Pelikula / Sculpting Cinema, his alternative to a dreamt-of Philippine magazine that would focus on film criticism. Indeed, Lilok Pelikula's intelligent writing seems shaped from the discipline of dreams. In his wistful Criticine "Love Letter" to the films of Mike De Leon, he described Lino Brocka as "a dream fighter of the common people." That word—dream—thrums throughout Bolisay's writing like a bass beat. One senses that this young writer has harnessed the language of dreams to "raid the inarticulate". I am grateful for his willingness to respond to my questions.
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Michael Guillén: What do you want San Francisco audiences to understand about Filipino cinema?
"Chard" Bolisay: Sometimes it's distressing that when I read foreign writers writing about Filipino cinema, the very first thing I notice is that they misspell our name. Filipino takes its shape as strangely as Philipino, Philiphino, Philipinno, or even Filiphino. So maybe I would like to make that clear first—it's Filipino. As much as we appreciate interest and admiration, annoyance can't be helped when such carelessness, whether unintentional or not, is committed. When in doubt, anyhow, one can always go for Philippine cinema.
As any national cinema, ours depicts a certain truth about our condition. Themes of poverty and violence are not surprising to see because our society is indeed poor and violent. It is something seen everyday, felt everyday, though not maybe by the filmmakers themselves but by the subjects they choose to tell. That's why local films that tackle such themes gamble on finding an audience. Why see a film of your own life? Why see a film while you can see such poorness on your own without paying for the price of a ticket? (The price which is more than enough to feed a family a day for those who live below poverty line.) There's a reason why Brillante Mendoza, like Kim Ki-duk to South Korea, is not popular in his own country.
Philippine cinema is as diverse as you can imagine: there are serious dramas, poor slapsticks, tried-and-tested romantic comedies, art house orgasms, and—once in a blue moon—interesting historical pieces. Sexually explicit films that were popular in the late '70s and '80s, and that remained steadily in the '90s through Seiko, are being revived now through the popularity of gay films, whose unsurprising number of audience is keeping Philippine cinema a little more of its (rather fittingly) gay life.
Guillén: What do you want San Francisco audiences to understand about Lino Brocka?
Bolisay: Lino Brocka is a Filipino filmmaker, as Filipino as the first Filipino may be. He knows the Filipino life, speaks the Filipino language, eats Filipino shit, breathes Filipino fart, fights for Filipino freedom, tells the Filipino experience ... and that doesn't come close to exaggerating his image, or to overrating his merits. Simply put, he is the Filipino that we never feel bad about representing us, no matter how bad he chooses us to be seen. His bad, sometimes, is even far from the others' good.
I am no expert on Brocka but I must say I like his family dramas more than his political pieces that made him an icon of the movement. A matter of taste and upbringing this preference may attribute to, but as I always argue, his family dramas are as political as much as his social realist works are. For instance, Tubog sa Ginto [Dipped in Gold, 1970], which may only pass off now as "the macho man's admission of his possession of a vagina", is practically the most entertaining movie to address homosexual relationships, with all the killer dialogues and naughty framing that Brocka unrelentingly provides. That's the quality of an important filmmaker—relevance not only during his time but even several years, or decades, after.
Guillén: How do you situate yourself within Filipino cinema and Filipino film criticism?
Bolisay: I have always been a lurker, a passive moviegoer. Blogs just happen to be public—and their being public just happens to be fun and interesting, that's why I find myself in it. Other than that I'd still be writing in my journal, cursively, selectively scribbling thoughts. Allow me to share a laugh but that phrase "Filipino film criticism" is just preposterous!
Guillén: If there is one Filipino film that you don't think gets enough attention, what would it be?
Bolisay: Gerry de León's Ang Daigdig ng mga Api gets a lot of attention but only a handful have truly seen it, apparently because no print of it exists. To be honest, it wouldn't be of much help to recommend Filipino titles to foreigners considering, confronted with our own embarrassment, we don't know where to find a decent—more so, English-subtitled—copies of them. That, my dear friends, is where our history always finds itself going: disposed to disappear.
Cross-published on Twitch.
"I wish Francis 'Oggs' Cruz, Richard Bolisay, and Dodo Dayao would get space in the broadsheets, because they're far more interesting than anyone writing there regularly."—Alexis Tioseco, "Wishful Thinking for Philippine Cinema"
Lessons From the School of Inattention has long been one of my favorite blogs to explore for commentary on national cinemas. Lawyer-critic Francis "Oggs" Cruz has been administering the site since 2006—after shifting away from his previous site Repository of Ideas—and offers a helpful index of all the Filipino films he's reviewed. I'm grateful for his swift willingness to respond by email to a batch of questions related to this year's edition of the San Francisco International Asian American Film Festival.
* * *
Michael Guillén: What do you want San Francisco audiences to understand about Filipino cinema?
Francis "Oggs" Cruz: I believe the interesting thing about Filipino cinema is that it is, to put it bluntly, undefinable. In terms of how the international community sees Philippine cinema, it seems that our nation's cinema concentrates heavily on social realism (as popularized by Lino Brocka, and continued by many of his disciples from Joel Lamangan to Brillante Mendoza) or distinctly personal visions (Lav Diaz's kilometric films, Raya Martin, John Torres, Khavn dela Cruz). However, to box a national cinema based on what essentially are stereotypes is limiting (for a period, the Philippines has been an exporter of cheap exploitation flicks and gay films: Brocka's Macho Dancer).
What I essentially want San Francisco (and the rest of the world, and quite embarrassingly, even my own countrymen) to know is that there is more to Philippine cinema than what is being shown in film festivals.
First and foremost, Filipino cinema—while it is only gaining attention very recently—is not new. I hope this newfound interest in Philippine cinema will unearth the vast history that is quickly being forgotten. There are filmmakers like Gerry de León, who is more famous in the West for his exploitation features than his home-grown films (48 Oras / 48 Hours, a taut Filipino film noir; The Moises Padilla Story, a political propaganda film that hybrids as a Jesus Christ allegory); Manuel Conde (Genghis Khan, and the Juan Tamad series); and Ricardo Abelardo (Mutya ng Pasig / Muse of Pasig). All of these directors are worth discovering. The fear here is that there is very little time to discover these directors because their films are disappearing (due to governmental lack of interest to archive these films and save them from rot).
Second, Filipino cinema is not limited to Tagalog cinema. While Manila has represented the Philippines mainly because it is the seat of government, commerce and culture, the availability of digital filmmaking has created film communities outside Manila. The result of this is a multi-faceted and probably more truthful cinema. There is definitely a difference between a Manila-made film about the Mindanao rebellion (Marilou Diaz-Abaya's Bagong Buwan) and a digital film that is made by a director who is from the area (Arnel Mordoquio's Hunghong sa Yuta or Sherad Sanchez's Huling Balyan ng Buhi).
Guillén: What do you want San Francisco audiences to understand about Lino Brocka?
Cruz: Lino Brocka is also a very commercial director. There is a danger of limiting Brocka to grim and socially relevant cinema. However, throughout his career, he has made several pleasing crowdpleasers. There's Ang Tatay Kong Nanay (My Father, My Mother, 1978), a melodrama about a gay man who is forced to inhibit his homosexuality while rearing his ex-lover's son. There's Santiago (1970), a taut action film. There's Natutulog Pa Ang Diyos (God is Still Sleeping, 1988), an extremely ludicrous melodrama that is strangely a guilty pleasure of mine. There's Angela Markado (Angela the Marked One, 1980), a revenge thriller where a woman who was raped starts murdering her rapists one by one.
If we talk about Lino Brocka, it's impossible not to talk about Ishmael Bernal, his supposed rival and arguably the better director. He directed Himala (Miracle, 1982), Pagdating sa Dulo (At the Top, 1971), and Manila After Dark (1980), supposedly an answer to Brocka's Manila in the Claws of Neon.
The beauty of this Brocka retrospective is that it would most likely arouse curiosity as to the other directors during Brocka's period who are also worthy of similar retrospectives (Mike De Leon, Mario O'Hara, etc.). The danger of this Brocka retrospective is that it might limit Philippine Cinema to a single director's work.
Guillén: How do you situate yourself within Filipino cinema and Filipino film criticism?
Cruz: The interesting thing about the current state of Filipino cinema is that there are so many new films, so many new directors, but so few critics writing about them. Filipino cinema relies too much on foreign writers and festivals to acknowledge itself. Print media is more interested in talking about gossip, actors and actresses than film. It is more interested in listing how many awards a film has won rather than analyzing why the film won such awards. One cannot blame print media too much because film criticism does not sell. Filipinos are culturally onion-skinned and courteous, and have yet to develop a critical culture.
If digital filmmaking jump started Philippine cinema, blogging—which I think I represent—will hopefully jumpstart Filipino film criticism. Filipino film enthusiasts are getting more information about films that would normally not be able to get any attention in traditional print media from the internet and film bloggers. Little events like the Fully Booked Film Series—a monthly free screening of overlooked films that is dedicated to the memory of Alexis Tioseco and Nika Bohinc which I, Dodo and Chard curate—have become starting points for what I hope to be a revolution in film viewing.
I sincerely hope that more Filipinos would be as excited with their cinema. It's quite shameful that foreigners are more excited about our cinema than us.
Guillén: Name one Filipino film that you don't think gets enough attention and should.
Cruz: This is difficult because I have to choose one. If I had the option of being greedy, I would choose around a hundred, in the hopes that Martin Scorsese would start noticing our cinema and make a move to restore even just a few of my nation's cinematic treasures.
But if I have to choose one, it would have to be Mike De Leon's Kisapmata (Blink of an Eye, 1981). I will not say anything more in the hopes that you would try to search for it and see it for yourself.
Cross-published on Twitch.
As any national cinema, ours depicts a certain truth about our condition. Themes of poverty and violence are not surprising to see because our society is indeed poor and violent. It is something seen everyday, felt everyday, though not maybe by the filmmakers themselves but by the subjects they choose to tell. That's why local films that tackle such themes gamble on finding an audience. Why see a film of your own life? Why see a film while you can see such poorness on your own without paying for the price of a ticket? (The price which is more than enough to feed a family a day for those who live below poverty line.) There's a reason why Brillante Mendoza, like Kim Ki-duk to South Korea, is not popular in his own country.
I am no expert on Brocka but I must say I like his family dramas more than his political pieces that made him an icon of the movement. A matter of taste and upbringing this preference may attribute to, but as I always argue, his family dramas are as political as much as his social realist works are. For instance, Tubog sa Ginto [Dipped in Gold, 1970], which may only pass off now as "the macho man's admission of his possession of a vagina", is practically the most entertaining movie to address homosexual relationships, with all the killer dialogues and naughty framing that Brocka unrelentingly provides. That's the quality of an important filmmaker—relevance not only during his time but even several years, or decades, after.
Bolisay: Gerry de León's Ang Daigdig ng mga Api gets a lot of attention but only a handful have truly seen it, apparently because no print of it exists. To be honest, it wouldn't be of much help to recommend Filipino titles to foreigners considering, confronted with our own embarrassment, we don't know where to find a decent—more so, English-subtitled—copies of them. That, my dear friends, is where our history always finds itself going: disposed to disappear.
