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This is the blog of Ian Rosales Casocot. Filipino writer. Sometime academic. Former backpacker. Twink bait. Hamster lover.
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Bibliography
The Great Little Hunter
Pinspired Philippines, 2022
The Boy The Girl
The Rat The Rabbit
and the Last Magic Days
Chapbook, 2018
Republic of Carnage:
Three Horror Stories
For the Way We Live Now
Chapbook, 2018
Bamboo Girls:
Stories and Poems
From a Forgotten Life
Ateneo de Naga University Press, 2018
Don't Tell Anyone:
Literary Smut
With Shakira Andrea Sison
Pride Press / Anvil Publishing, 2017
Cupful of Anger,
Bottle Full of Smoke:
The Stories of
Jose V. Montebon Jr.
Silliman Writers Series, 2017
First Sight of Snow
and Other Stories
Encounters Chapbook Series
Et Al Books, 2014
Celebration: An Anthology to Commemorate the 50th Anniversary of the Silliman University National Writers Workshop
Sands and Coral, 2011-2013
Silliman University, 2013
Handulantaw: Celebrating 50 Years of Culture and the Arts in Silliman
Tao Foundation and Silliman University Cultural Affairs Committee, 2013
Inday Goes About Her Day
Locsin Books, 2012
Beautiful Accidents: Stories
University of the Philippines Press, 2011
Heartbreak & Magic: Stories of Fantasy and Horror
Anvil, 2011
Old Movies and Other Stories
National Commission for Culture
and the Arts, 2006
FutureShock Prose: An Anthology of Young Writers and New Literatures
Sands and Coral, 2003
Nominated for Best Anthology
2004 National Book Awards
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Recent Crumbs
Blogs I Read
© 2002-2021
IAN ROSALES CASOCOT
Wednesday, February 09, 2011
2:22 AM |
Those Boys...
Lynn Shelton's
Humpday [2009] is a film that runs on the engines of an intriguing idea but falls short on delivery: it is a timid, half-hearted film filled with big speeches about art and the decisions that make our lives -- but mouthed off by actors who are equally timid and half-hearted you don't believe in any of their motivations. (The only true moment comes when the wife recalls a tryst she had once and tells the story to her husband -- but that may be because it reminded me of the similar crucial moment of confession in James Joyce's "The Dead".) I don't even know why I bothered finishing it, but I did. I was hopeful all the way through, even when its clumsy cinematography overplayed its cinema vérité look and resulted only in making dizziness an excuse to play with the pause button on this one. What was I hoping for? A tight finish the way Jonathan Demme did in
Rachel Getting Married [2009], the look of which this film tried to emulate? Or perhaps, a searing exchange of dialogue to end the film? Because that was the only way this film -- about two best friends, both straight men, who proceed on a dare to make a gay porn video as an art film to be submitted to a film festival -- could be saved. There are traces of that salvation in the end, but the effort felt as if the filmmaker did not exactly know what she wanted to do, or to say, about the material, except half-heartedly pontificate about the real people we hide behind our every day masks (e.g., liberal people can be prudes, and squares can have surprising inner lives, etc.), the nature of art, and the demands of friendship. It didn't work. Nothing is as exasperating as a piece of work of such great potential squandered into meaninglessness like this crap.
Labels: film
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