Dalaga si Misis, Binata si Mister (1981)

Senin, 20 Februari 2012

Dalaga si Misis, Binata si Mister (1981)

Dalaga si Misis, Binata si Mister (Lino Brocka, 1981)

English Translation: The Wife's a Bachelorette, the Husband's a Bachelor'

Doria (Nora Aunor) is a professional singer. Dick (Christopher de Leon) is an advertising executive. Although married for closing to three years, they have agreed to have a liberated union, giving Doria the time to concentrate on her career and Dick the leeway to play around. The arrangement seems fine until their third year anniversary when Dick gets caught up with flirtatious go-go dancers, leaving Doria alone all night, waiting for her husband on what she thought was a very special night for them. That night’s heated argument forces Doria to leave Dick, leading to the comedic events and encounters that comprise much of what makes Lino Brocka’s Dalaga si Misis, Binata si Mister such an entertaining film.

The success of Dalaga si Misis, Binata si Mister is more a product of the witty writing and the endearing performances. Brocka’s direction, while still predictably dependable, is more perfunctory than anything. Scenes are dutifully sequenced and serviceably framed. Humor is obviously not Brocka’s cup of tea, forcing him to delegate most of the comedy to the humorous dialogue written by screenwriter Butch Dalisay and deliciously delivered by Brocka’s reliable stable of actors and actresses.

Aunor gamely plays the spitfire wife who can no longer take her husband’s infidelities. De Leon, on the other hand, expertly clowns around, allowing himself to be ridiculed as the careless playboy whose immaturity has him trapped in an illicit relationship with a sixteen year old aspiring commercial model that goes out of hand. Carmi Martin, who plays De Leon’s sixteen year old lover, mixes sexy and naive, alluring and annoying, and becomes the one character that makes De Leon’s side of the story the more interesting one in the film. Supporting Martin is Bert Olivar, who plays Martin’s perpetually drunk and extorting father with immaculate gusto. Joel Alano, who plays Aunor’s lover, an up and coming singer in Aunor’s show, is tame, colorless, and perhaps the only character who does not add anything to the film, driving Aunor’s featured escapades with him in the sidelines.

Brocka may have a chance to explore the intricacies of marital discord in a Philippine setting that is more and more moving towards the conservatism that marriage represents. However, Dalaga si Misis, Binata si Mister settles to be just a display of the hilarious consequences brought about by a relationship that was not serious right from the start. While it is interesting to see Brocka strip himself of the heavy burdens of society and just have fun in the film, one can easily judge the film with all of its missed opportunities of stretching the material further to be a satirical reflection of the hypocrisies of the supposed modern Filipino marriage rather than just an admittedly engrossing series of funny scenarios involving ex-lovers and their respective paramours are just too much to be left ignored. Perhaps the real burden of Brocka is not his need to lace his art with social relevance but that he has become too associated with social relevance that all his films will be judged as to how much they shake society to its very core.

That said, Dalaga si Misis, Binata si Mister is not a Brocka film in the same vein as Tinimbang Ka Ngunit Kulang (You were Weighed but Found Wanting, 1974), Insiang (1976) and Maynila: sa mga Kuko ng Liwanag (Manila in the Claws of Neon, 1975). It is more a showcase of the director’s competence, of his ability to stretch his reach beyond the comfort and crutches of social relevance. It is guiltlessly enjoyable. From the opening song sung exquisitely sung by Aunor to the stupendous finale involving Aunor, De Leon, Martin and Olivar in a word war, the film was clearly crafted not to arouse thinking but to fascinate and titillate. Brocka’s clever use of star power (Aunor’s role as a singer allows her to belt out a couple of Rey Valera tunes), of Aunor and De Leon’s then indefatigable love team, of Dalisay’s adept appreciation of what is funny in what is real, are all blended together into one product that is so satisfying, one can just immediately forget about all the seriousness in the world and get drowned in laughter.

(Cross-published in Lagarista.)

For Y'ur Height Only (1981)

Minggu, 18 Desember 2011

For Y'ur Height Only (1981)

For Y'ur Height Only (Eddie Nicart, 1981)

According to Australian film critic Andrew Leavold, during the 1981 Manila International Film Festival, a film festival established by the Marcoses to position Manila as the Cannes of Asia, where all the most daring, deep and artful Filipino films were exhibited to foreign guests, critics, and distributors, Eddie Nicart’s For Y’ur Height Only, a spy actioner that seemed to be the exact opposite of what the new film festival supposed to represent and share to the entire world, was the only film to land an international distribution deal. The success of Nicart’s film only reinforced the Philippines’ position as a hotbed of weird cinema, of cinema that intentionally or unintentionally poked fun at Western pop culture, of bad films so ingeniously bad they’re good.

See, For Y’ur Height Only is a essentially a montage of novel and not-so-novel action sequences tied together by a very simple story of an American scientist who gets kidnapped by the minions of mysterious Mr. Giant, a devious and evil crime lord who sends his dastardly instructions to his assistants through a twinkling mirror. There is absolutely nothing in the film that would consider it a good film, even within the genre it places itself in. The acting is notoriously bad. The cinematography is at best, serviceable. The music scoring also do not inspire any excitement that is more than what the story offers. In the company of Peque Gallaga’s Oro, Plata, Mata (1982) and other well-regarded features, the film clearly pales in comparison.

It is a film that relies mostly on its lead’s starpower, a starpower that is based not on good looks or acting prowess but on his being extremely short. Weng Weng, the two-foot nine actor who has the facial features of a seven year old kid and the flirtatious antics and libido of a dirty old man is the glue that puts everything together, from the tongue-in-cheek humor to the height-specific action set pieces. Playing the film’s debonair spy called Agent OO, he gamely fights goons three times his height and cavorts with women whose breasts are larger than his head. The film, from being a mere run-of-the-mill spy thriller, mutates into a parade of visual gags, witty references, and unbelievable stunt acts.

Paced quickly to reinforce the fact that there really isn’t much substance in the sequential turnover of showcases of Weng Weng’s physical bravura despite his evident vertical limitation, the film rarely loses steam. Whenever the diminutive hero does not karate chop his opponents’ balls or share saliva with his bevy of female friends (a bevy that includes Beth Sandoval, Anna Marie Gutierrez and the Carmi Martin), he tries on his array of spy gadgets lent to him by his commander (played by Tony Ferrer, the much famed Tony Falcon a.k.a. Agent X44). His favorite, unsurprisingly, is the ill-fitting x-ray sunglasses that gave the little rascal an enjoyable glimpse of his commanders’ sexy secretaries’ secret sexy parts, making him beam his trademark smile prior to his mission of clearing the bakery of drug dealers who attempt to make a lot of dough from dough.

For Y’ur Height Only is vastly enjoyable despite its lack of any aspiration towards being anything more than a film that exploits Weng Weng’s uniqueness for commercial purposes. In fact, the film might even overtake the Bond film from which it creatively borrowed its title in terms of guiltless and mindless fun. It is a film packed with thrills, comedy, titillation, romance, and even a little bit of tragedy right in the end. In its expected modesty, it survives the test of time simply because it precisely knows its assets and limitations and therefore does not overreach. The film, like its star, is small and terrible in every way possible, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with it.

(Cross-published in Lagarista.)

Turumba (1981)

Sabtu, 07 Mei 2011

Turumba (1981)

Turumba (Kidlat Tahimik, 1981)

Turumba is arguably Kidlat Tahimik’s finest work. When compared to his other films, the film is handsomely produced, tightly edited, and sleekly told. Also absent in the film is Kidlat Tahimik’s physical presence. Instead, the film is told through the eyes of young Kadu, son of a craftsman who specializes in papier-mâché products.

Kadu, similar to Kidlat Tahimik’s character in Mababangong Bangungot (Perfumed Nightmare, 1977), is a curious creature, well-entrenched in his community but not without questions about his town’s customs and traditions. On the day of turumba, a festival celebrating the feast day of the town’s beloved Marian image, a German capitalist chances upon the papier-mâché products he is selling, leading to ever-increasing orders, and forcing Kadu’s father to turn what used to be a livelihood that is intimately connected with the town’s customs and traditions into a lucrative business, a source of immense profit.

Turumba seems to be Mababangong Bangungot’s spiritual sequel, although it can be argued that Kidlat Tahimik has spent his entire creative career tempering the allure of modernization. In the film, foreign capital is treated with suspicion. The German capitalist, a moneyed woman whose stately appearance is betrayed by her lack of grace and finesse, seems to be portrayed for laughs, not unlike the American in Mababangong Bangungot. The country folk, from Kadu’s keen grandmother to the resourceful blacksmith, are all depicted with reverence.

In that sense, Turumba does not dwell in complications. It is told with refreshing simplicity. Thus, instead of politicizing and complicating the discourses regarding Westernization, modernization, and economics, Kidlat Tahimik focuses on what is most intelligible in the arguments, and that is what is most tangible and visible, like the death of traditions, the sudden soullessness of craftsmanship, and the dissipation of cultural integrity. Turumba, without having Kidlat Tahimik, the vastly enjoyable performer performing onscreen, has the tracks of Kidlat Tahimik’s sariling dwende from start to finish.

(This article was commissioned for the programme of the 12th Jeonju International Film Festival)