jamesnicolay
Joined Nov 2004
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Reviews15
jamesnicolay's rating
If there's one thing about widely marketed Filipino movies which should improve dramatically, it's sound--I absolutely loathe the annoying synthesized staple background music being forced upon us each time the characters are set to spew their spit with their loud, hammy dialogues, or whenever someone is about to cry. That's why I applaud local indie films which at least feature original scores or unusual songs to give better local color to the story. Some experimental films by some of the innovative, unpopular directors even skip background music in order to give a sense of realism to their films. And what a relief--here comes Brillante Mendoza's "Kinatay"--which I believe outscores--pun intended--every Filipino film for its masterful exploration of sound and its effect on people.
"Kinatay"--before it won the Best Director Award in the most prestigious film festival in the world--was butchered by various international critics when the film was screened in Cannes. They blamed the unsteady video and the lack of light in about half of the entire film. Even the famous critic Roger Ebert dismissed "Kinatay" as the worst film ever screened in Cannes, even going as far as saying that he wanted to apologize to Vince Gallo for saying the same remark about his "The Brown Bunny." (I had the misfortune of seeing Gallo's film and I thought that Ebert should not retract his statement about Gallo's horrible, conceited trash.)
Movie watching for me has always been both a visual and an auditory experience. Often, movie makers tend to focus on the story or the actors or even special effects. But few directors actually bother to heighten music or sound as the most important aspect in a film. Quentin Tarantino, who's notorious for his wild taste in music in his films, is one of the directors who, I believe, highlights sound in his work. In his "Kill Bill Vol.2", one of the crucial scenes is when The Bride gets buried alive and the video of the movie is slowly diminished by the sight of dirt covering the entire screen. For a few seconds, we hear nothing but the sound of gasping, whimpering, and crying from the protagonist as her villains make loud noises with their shovels digging and throwing dirt to the screen. Experiencing this in a theater gives the audience a claustrophobic environment where we empathize with the experience of struggling of the character.
This sadistic manipulation of sound, for me, is crucial to understand "Kinatay." Mendoza wanted to make the audience fear more for the victim by making them see less details and hear more. By making the cries of Madonna nonstop and interspersing with the curses of the police officers, the audience feels equally threatened, abused, and angered. The background music reinforces the atmosphere of terror as it sounds like a masterful and unique score of a thriller or horror film.
I actually think it's pretty obvious that since the visuals are intentionally dark and shaky, the director wanted the audience to hear the movie out instead. Unfortunately, many viewers (critics included) are already blinded by digital spectacles. How ordinary it is for modern viewers nowadays to see a film just because the movie has good visual effects. There are only a few people who after watching a film goes out to say that the film has superb score or background music.
The striking quality of the sound of "Kinatay" is definitely its profound sense of realism. We hear the sounds of the city during the first thirty minutes of the film, and for people who live in Manila, it feels like home--with all the deafening noise of the vehicles, shouts of the vendors, gossips of the housewives, screams of street basketball players, music from TV, cellphones, radios, and even noises from animals. But as night falls, the absence of noise becomes more threatening. A simple curse in the middle of the night already gives us the creeps--what more if the curses and screams are confined in a compact vehicle, a remote house in the province?
The loudest sound in the movie comes from the facial expressions of Peping. In his silence, we hear the terrifying outburst of guilt, of helplessness, and of fear. With Peping, we become passive witnesses to crime and become deaf to the cries of the victim. We know exactly who are the dregs of society and yet we do nothing because we know that we are powerless because these villains are some of the most powerful people in the society. And sad to say, the message of Brillante Mendoza has to be heard loud and clear: this is what our reality sounds like today.
"Kinatay"--before it won the Best Director Award in the most prestigious film festival in the world--was butchered by various international critics when the film was screened in Cannes. They blamed the unsteady video and the lack of light in about half of the entire film. Even the famous critic Roger Ebert dismissed "Kinatay" as the worst film ever screened in Cannes, even going as far as saying that he wanted to apologize to Vince Gallo for saying the same remark about his "The Brown Bunny." (I had the misfortune of seeing Gallo's film and I thought that Ebert should not retract his statement about Gallo's horrible, conceited trash.)
Movie watching for me has always been both a visual and an auditory experience. Often, movie makers tend to focus on the story or the actors or even special effects. But few directors actually bother to heighten music or sound as the most important aspect in a film. Quentin Tarantino, who's notorious for his wild taste in music in his films, is one of the directors who, I believe, highlights sound in his work. In his "Kill Bill Vol.2", one of the crucial scenes is when The Bride gets buried alive and the video of the movie is slowly diminished by the sight of dirt covering the entire screen. For a few seconds, we hear nothing but the sound of gasping, whimpering, and crying from the protagonist as her villains make loud noises with their shovels digging and throwing dirt to the screen. Experiencing this in a theater gives the audience a claustrophobic environment where we empathize with the experience of struggling of the character.
This sadistic manipulation of sound, for me, is crucial to understand "Kinatay." Mendoza wanted to make the audience fear more for the victim by making them see less details and hear more. By making the cries of Madonna nonstop and interspersing with the curses of the police officers, the audience feels equally threatened, abused, and angered. The background music reinforces the atmosphere of terror as it sounds like a masterful and unique score of a thriller or horror film.
I actually think it's pretty obvious that since the visuals are intentionally dark and shaky, the director wanted the audience to hear the movie out instead. Unfortunately, many viewers (critics included) are already blinded by digital spectacles. How ordinary it is for modern viewers nowadays to see a film just because the movie has good visual effects. There are only a few people who after watching a film goes out to say that the film has superb score or background music.
The striking quality of the sound of "Kinatay" is definitely its profound sense of realism. We hear the sounds of the city during the first thirty minutes of the film, and for people who live in Manila, it feels like home--with all the deafening noise of the vehicles, shouts of the vendors, gossips of the housewives, screams of street basketball players, music from TV, cellphones, radios, and even noises from animals. But as night falls, the absence of noise becomes more threatening. A simple curse in the middle of the night already gives us the creeps--what more if the curses and screams are confined in a compact vehicle, a remote house in the province?
The loudest sound in the movie comes from the facial expressions of Peping. In his silence, we hear the terrifying outburst of guilt, of helplessness, and of fear. With Peping, we become passive witnesses to crime and become deaf to the cries of the victim. We know exactly who are the dregs of society and yet we do nothing because we know that we are powerless because these villains are some of the most powerful people in the society. And sad to say, the message of Brillante Mendoza has to be heard loud and clear: this is what our reality sounds like today.
Even before watching our very own semi-controversial finalist in the Cannes de Festival this year, I knew that I would love Brillante Mendoza's "Serbis." Not only because two of my friends are in the production team, but this film strikes a familiar chord in my heart because I know personally the venue and the local color of the story where the story of the film takes place. I grew up in Pampanga and saw many films in majority of the theaters in Pampanga. During the lahar era, my sister and I stayed and lived in our photography studio, which was just beside San Fernando's best theater then. That time, I was inside that theater almost every day, watching the same film of the week again and again. If that does not conjure much bias for this film, maybe this one will: I personally experienced being almost sexually harassed in the Family Theater, the very same one featured in the film "Serbis." Now that's enough neo-realism for you. Hahaha!
I can understand why many people dislike "Serbis"--it's too raw, uninhibited, and bleak. Foreigners would be turned off by the disgusting display of sexual scenes and the popping of the boil from an actor's buttocks and the deafening and unrefined sound quality. And Filipinos would also be repulsed by the "lack of story" and the absence of subtitles while the actors freely converse in Kapampangan and Ilocano.
I am lucky enough to have an Ilocano beside me in the theater, translating the Ilocano dialogue. Of course, I was delighted to hear Kapampangan being spoken so lavishly and frequently in the entire course of the story. It felt so much like home to me. The sound and sight of Pampanga in the film are startlingly genuine. I shivered at the sight of familiar places. I marveled at the uncanny natural feel of the setting. The theater is alive.
We witness how the camera leads us to follow the main characters, as it snakes in and out of every room and shamelessly presents to us its ugliness and grittiness. The theater is a character itself--it has its own personality and even moral obligation to the psyche of every single character living or simply loitering in its premises. The members of the audience become part of the story as we spy on the characters' regrettable lives. The characters hang on to the theater as their refuge to the wretchedness of their own problems. We get to see a thin slice of their lives, from morning to night, which is more than enough to establish the story and make the audience draw out their own inferences as to how the story would, not end, but continue even after the credits start to roll.
That's probably what many viewers missed after seeing and dissing the movie with raised eyebrows and shoulders. The film managed to make them feel estranged because they are not familiar with such abnormalities or disgusted because the film does not apologize for its harsh depiction of the reality of "serbis" not only inside the film theater but also of the entire local film industry itself. It is quite apparent that the entire film is both homage to and critique on the Philippine cinema.
The most striking realization I had a few minutes after seeing the film is that despite the revolting scenes and appalling images bombarded to the audience in the majority of the screening time, there are also bits of images of optimism for the future of the characters and the theater itself: the walls are being repainted, the head of the family sits in front of the ticketing booth (suggesting taking more control of the cinema), and the troubled son starts his own journey to find himself even against the religious parade and the anonymous throng opposite his direction. In the words of Sam Cooke: A change is gonna come. I hope that Brillante's brilliant film will also be the impetus of such a thing in the Philippine cinematic history.
I can understand why many people dislike "Serbis"--it's too raw, uninhibited, and bleak. Foreigners would be turned off by the disgusting display of sexual scenes and the popping of the boil from an actor's buttocks and the deafening and unrefined sound quality. And Filipinos would also be repulsed by the "lack of story" and the absence of subtitles while the actors freely converse in Kapampangan and Ilocano.
I am lucky enough to have an Ilocano beside me in the theater, translating the Ilocano dialogue. Of course, I was delighted to hear Kapampangan being spoken so lavishly and frequently in the entire course of the story. It felt so much like home to me. The sound and sight of Pampanga in the film are startlingly genuine. I shivered at the sight of familiar places. I marveled at the uncanny natural feel of the setting. The theater is alive.
We witness how the camera leads us to follow the main characters, as it snakes in and out of every room and shamelessly presents to us its ugliness and grittiness. The theater is a character itself--it has its own personality and even moral obligation to the psyche of every single character living or simply loitering in its premises. The members of the audience become part of the story as we spy on the characters' regrettable lives. The characters hang on to the theater as their refuge to the wretchedness of their own problems. We get to see a thin slice of their lives, from morning to night, which is more than enough to establish the story and make the audience draw out their own inferences as to how the story would, not end, but continue even after the credits start to roll.
That's probably what many viewers missed after seeing and dissing the movie with raised eyebrows and shoulders. The film managed to make them feel estranged because they are not familiar with such abnormalities or disgusted because the film does not apologize for its harsh depiction of the reality of "serbis" not only inside the film theater but also of the entire local film industry itself. It is quite apparent that the entire film is both homage to and critique on the Philippine cinema.
The most striking realization I had a few minutes after seeing the film is that despite the revolting scenes and appalling images bombarded to the audience in the majority of the screening time, there are also bits of images of optimism for the future of the characters and the theater itself: the walls are being repainted, the head of the family sits in front of the ticketing booth (suggesting taking more control of the cinema), and the troubled son starts his own journey to find himself even against the religious parade and the anonymous throng opposite his direction. In the words of Sam Cooke: A change is gonna come. I hope that Brillante's brilliant film will also be the impetus of such a thing in the Philippine cinematic history.
At his farewell dinner, history professor John Oldman asked a ridiculous question to his colleagues in the university: is it possible for a cave man to still exist in the world today? Being intellectuals, of course, they disagreed while keeping an open mind and telling him that nothing is really impossible. But when he mentioned that what if he were to tell them that he had been rubbing elbows with Christopher Columbus, Van Gogh, and even the Buddha himself and that he had stopped aging when he was 35 and that he had been in this world for 14,000 years, every single one of them embarked on an philosophical/psychological/religious/intellectual journey that shook the very foundations of everything they had believed in.
Written by one of the best writers of "Twilight Zone" and "Star Trek," Emerson Bixby's script of The Man from Earth could not have fallen into better hands than independent or non- Hollywood filmmakers. This sci-fi movie does not have any special effects, audio or visual, no computer-generated animations, but it does nurture the very core of a brilliant science fiction: a resounding and masterly constructed what-if story. The story moves through the discussions among these so-called experts in the university as they question or try to refute the possibility of a self-confessed cavemen who has survived hundreds of millennia. Evoking their reactions, from utter disgust to awe and wonder to emotional outburst, Professor John Oldman's character tells his story with a brick face, casually expressing his past and his thoughts and reflections on history. He tells them truths that rocked the very core of their lives.
The movie triumphs in its witty dialogue and very impressive cross-cultural juxtaposition of various moments of history and religion. Anyone who loves intellectual conversations will definitely be drawn to the arguments presented in the film. At the same time, it is probably inevitable that many will also be offended, particularly those who have rigid and firm religious beliefs and those who take everything too seriously and literally.
I have always been drawn to films filled with conversations on strange ideas, most especially if the films pose a threat to the social construct or to what the general public assumes as acceptable and irrevocable. I find it amazing how a trifle such as a movie can change how one sees the world. This film is definitely one of these films: a simple story to be reckoned with.
Written by one of the best writers of "Twilight Zone" and "Star Trek," Emerson Bixby's script of The Man from Earth could not have fallen into better hands than independent or non- Hollywood filmmakers. This sci-fi movie does not have any special effects, audio or visual, no computer-generated animations, but it does nurture the very core of a brilliant science fiction: a resounding and masterly constructed what-if story. The story moves through the discussions among these so-called experts in the university as they question or try to refute the possibility of a self-confessed cavemen who has survived hundreds of millennia. Evoking their reactions, from utter disgust to awe and wonder to emotional outburst, Professor John Oldman's character tells his story with a brick face, casually expressing his past and his thoughts and reflections on history. He tells them truths that rocked the very core of their lives.
The movie triumphs in its witty dialogue and very impressive cross-cultural juxtaposition of various moments of history and religion. Anyone who loves intellectual conversations will definitely be drawn to the arguments presented in the film. At the same time, it is probably inevitable that many will also be offended, particularly those who have rigid and firm religious beliefs and those who take everything too seriously and literally.
I have always been drawn to films filled with conversations on strange ideas, most especially if the films pose a threat to the social construct or to what the general public assumes as acceptable and irrevocable. I find it amazing how a trifle such as a movie can change how one sees the world. This film is definitely one of these films: a simple story to be reckoned with.