Marilou Diaz-Abaya (1955-2012)

Selasa, 09 Oktober 2012

Marilou Diaz-Abaya (1955-2012)

Marilou Diaz-Abaya and the Story of my Cinephilia

by Francis Joseph A. Cruz

I hate to admit it but the first Filipino film I ever paid money to see was Carlo J. Caparas’ Tirad Pass (1997). It was a school requirement, something I had to write an essay on. I remember the historical drama to be as unremarkable as my bored teacher’s unmemorable lectures. Prior to Tirad Pass, I was fed with Disney and Spielberg and I was satisfied. After Tirad Pass, I was still fed with Disney and Spielberg and I was still satisfied. Caparas’ film did not move me enough to re-think that Philippine cinema was anything but the inane slapsticks, the unrealistic melodramas, and the lewdly titled teasers that were then showing in the cinemas. Lino Brocka meant nothing to me. Ishmael Bernal, Mike de Leon, and Mario O’Hara were names that will not draw a reaction from me. My private school education and the class insecurities that such education forced upon me and I am now so ashamed to admit I used to possess did not give me the opportunity to be at least aware of those great Filipino artists’ existence. I was ignorant, pleasantly bamboozled by the candy Hollywood has been serving me.

Then Jose Rizal (1998) screened. It was another historical drama. It was another school requirement. What differentiated Jose Rizal from Tirad Pass was the very noticeable skill in which it was mounted. There was elegance in the way the film depicted the national hero. It was elegance that was comparable to the many big-budgeted Hollywood period pieces. The next year, Muro-ami (1999) screened. The images that filled up the silver screen were not only grand and beautiful, they were indelible. Cesar Montano, who donned Spanish era-formal wear, was now in rags, readying his overused goggles before recklessly diving into the sea with an army of youngsters. A couple of years later, Bagong Buwan (New Moon, 2001) screened. This was the first time I ever saw Mindanao in the big screen. With the exotic mix of local color and wartime dangers, I was sufficiently enchanted. Those films of Marilou Diaz-Abaya gave me enough hunger to seek for more, starting with Moral.

The very first time I saw Moral was in college, during a film session handled by a Filipino professor who also dabbled in filmmaking. I was already familiar with Diaz-Abaya, having seen and enjoyed her Metro Manila Film Fest entries. Jose Rizal and Muro-ami however did not prepare me for the effect Moral (1982) would have on me. I was immediately enchanted by the palpable intimacy of the storytelling. It left me thirsting for more. I searched for Brutal (1980) and Karnal (1983), both films treading the same vein. Along the way, I caught Laurice Guillen’s Salome (1981), Ishmael Bernal’s Himala (Miracle, 1982) and Lino Brocka’s Maynila sa mga Kuko ng Liwanag (Manila in the Claws of Neon, 1975). This was the same time I was obsessing over Wong Kar-Wai and Krzysztof Kieslowski, purchasing with whatever I can save from my humble allowance each and every DVD copy of their films. This was also the first time I saw how it was so difficult to be hopelessly in love with your own cinema, with all the Hollywood flicks overpowering the local ones, most of which were commercial junk anyway, with all the readily available foreign films on the latest format and the abject lack of Filipino classics on any format.

The rest, I guess, is history. Mario O’Hara released Babae sa Breakwater (Woman of the Breakwater, 2003) and I, hopefully along with the five other strangers who bought tickets and saw the film with me, were swayed by the master director’s weaving of native magic, realistic poverty, and novelty songs. Mike de Leon released Bayaning Third World (Third World Hero, 2000) and I saw how a singular vision, absent any form of studio funding, can produce such a startling piece of work. Maryo J. de los Reyes released Magnifico (2003) and I saw how a veteran filmmaker working with a then unknown screenwriter can move hearts without traditional histrionics and ridiculous plot movements. Quark Henares released Keka (2003) and I saw how young directors can infuse new ideas and vitality to an industry that was reportedly in its deathbed. Lav Diaz released Batang West Side (West Side Avenue, 2001) and I saw how Philippine cinema can do without boundaries set by the Hollywood monster.

I do not know Diaz-Abaya personally. I only know her from the films she has made. Ikaw ang Pag-ibig (You are Love, 2011), her swansong, is a film that I have been struggling to appreciate. It is as beautifully-acted and elegantly paced as all her previous works, despite the obvious modesty in the production. The film is very vocal about Catholic faith, to the point of being preachy. It is perhaps the mixture of that quality of the film and my current state of cynicism that left me unmoved. Looking back, I cannot help but remember the hopefulness of the film, the way Diaz-Abaya courageously depicted cancer as but a path to greater faith. In a way, one can say that she was already beyond the trivial but nagging concerns of the world and was more interested to what personally matters to her.

Diaz-Abaya left us with films that matter. Her final years teaching filmmaking in Ateneo de Manila University and her very own film school produced filmmakers of various styles and interests like Henares, Marie Jamora, Jeffrey Jeturian, Sherad Sanchez, and Gino Santos. Philippine cinema will always remember her as a stalwart pioneer and selfless teacher. I, however, will remember her as the filmmaker who chose to venture on, telling her peculiar stories with her peculiar way, in the midst of overwhelming junk.

I may have outgrown my love affair with Diaz-Abaya’s post-May Nagmamahal Sa Iyo (Madonna and Child, 1996) films with repeated viewings, but I cannot deny their role in my growth as a Filipino cinephiles. I cannot deny the fact that it is because of Diaz-Abaya’s faith in the Filipino audience that allowed her to make films like Jose Rizal, Muro-ami and Bagong Buwan despite the audience’s clamour for brainless comedies and tired dramas that I saw beyond the unfortunate tropes of a then-failing Filipino cinema. She was the motherly gatekeeper to my passion for my nation’s films. Through her ever-distinguished insistence on quality and taste, I got to know Brocka, Bernal, O’Hara, Gallaga, Guillen, De Leon, and so on. Thank you and farewell.

(First published in ABS-CBNNews.com.)

Jose Rizal (1998)

Sabtu, 23 Juni 2007

Jose Rizal (1998)

Jose Rizal (Marilou Diaz-Abaya, 1998)

Coinciding with the centennial celebration of Philippine independence from Spain, Jose Rizal was during its time the most expensive Philippine film made (Erik Matti's Exodus: Tales From the Enchanted Kingdom (2005) overtook it by a few millions of pesos). Behind the project are notable figures in Philippine cinema: screenwriter Ricky Lee (who co-wrote the screenplay with Jun Lana and Peter Ong Lim) is one of the country' most respected (although hardly consistent in his works) screenwriters; director Marilou Diaz-Abaya has a few films (Brutal (1980), Moral (1982) and Karnal (Carnal, 1983)) that have been regarded as masterpieces; Rody Lacap lensed some of the most beautiful Philippine films ever made (including Mike de Leon's Itim (The Rites of May, 1976) and Kisapmata (Blink of an Eye, 1982), and Peque Gallaga's Oro, Plata, Mata (Gold, Silver, Death, 1982)). This biopic of the country's national hero may be described as a collective work by the cinematic elite (directors like Gallaga, Chito Rono, and Joel Lamangan, and the some of country's best actors and actresses would play various roles).

The more eccentric filmmakers made their own Rizal films, of course. There is Tikoy Aguiluz's Rizal sa Dapitan (Rizal in Dapitan, 1997), which concentrated on Rizal's exile in the provincial barrio. There is Mike de Leon's Bayaning Third World (Third World Hero, 2000), which is an intriguing look into the mysteries that surround the hero. Mario O'Hara's low-budget Sisa (1999) is proclaimed by critic Noel Vera as probably the best Rizal film ever made (it's quite unfortunate that a copy of the film is nowhere to be found commercially). Of course, Gerry de Leon also has adapted Rizal's two novels (Noli me Tangere (1961) and El Filibusterismo (1962)). However, these films were more concentrated art forms, nowhere near the expansive and all-encompassing nature of Diaz-Abaya's ambitious epic.

The ambition and the pedigree doesn't quite match the results. Jose Rizal is a three-hour, short for bloated, lesson in Philippine history. Everything that can be gleaned from the film can be achieved with much more accuracy and probably, with more of the interesting bits and details on Rizal's more devious escapades, from textbooks with none of the uninteresting tastefulness that is attributed to Rizal's sanctification. It is glossy from the start; and it begins with operatic fashion and exaggeration: a naked woman, with her breasts in proud display, is bedded by a hedonistic Spanish priest. It opens with an announcement of the state of affairs during the Spanish regime. The rest of the film is fashioned the same way, as hundreds of recruited extras (both Filipino and Caucasian) recite lines on cue while the more prominent actors are given the lines that are pumped up with historical pomp and nationalistic self-importance.

The film is structured in a way that is uncharacteristic for a film that targets the Philippine masses as its audience. Although narratively straightforward, Jose Rizal is complexed by flashbacks, short allusions to Rizal's novels, fastforwards, and other narrative conceits. The result is ultimately confusing and without any background on the important events in Rizal's life, it would be very easy to get lost. The flashbacks are initiated by Rizal's two confidantes: the first one is a young prison servant (Jhong Hilario), to whom Rizal recounts his growing-up years; the more prominent one is Taviel (Jaime Fabregas), Rizal's defense counsel who slowly befriends the hero while postulating several questions regarding his motives.

Rizal is played by Cesar Montano with obvious reverence to the national hero. Lines are delivered with gospel-like fervor. The more silent and contemplative moments will have Montano daze thoughtfully into space, hoping to elicit some sort of solemn grandeur. While Montano succeeds in depicting the hero as should be done in this type of biopic, there is no question that he is upstaged by more seasoned thespians who are more creative in maximizing the meager roles that are written for them. Fabregas transforms his Taviel from mere attorney into a friend with believable ease and tenderness. Joel Torre , who plays Chrisostomo Ibarra, the main character in Rizal's novel, is both tragic and fearsome. Pen Medina plays Paciano, Rizal's elder brother, with adequate conviction. Sadly, the film is inconsistent in the acting department: Gardo Verzosa's Andres Bonifacio is an unconvincing romantic wreck, written as a cardboard cutout of blind idolatry, although the brash hero is more independent-thinking in real life; Gloria Diaz's Teodora Alonzo, Rizal's mother, falters with her miscarriage of melodramatic quips and mannerisms.

The problem with Jose Rizal is that it concentrates on historical accuracy rather than artistic contribution. The film, as mentioned, is basically a history book adapted to film. I am unable to discern any individual offering by the artists involved in the endeavor. Diaz-Abaya has made some good films that showcase her personality as a director. Lee was more interesting when he was writing under the threat of imprisonment. Lacap works better with less budget since the visuals here are too glossily perfect for my taste. It takes the nature of a commissioned work, without the gusto that could have injected some sort of discernible personality to the film. The film will satisfy the academe, or those who seek to learn the life of Rizal in a matter of three hours but that's basically it. Squeeze it for what it's worth, and all you'll get are a few glamorized phrases that show little of who what the Philippines is as a nation, what we have become with Rizal as national hero, and the hero's lasting contribution to the Philippine psyche.

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This post is my contribution to This Savage Art: The Ambitious Failure Blog-A-Thon.