The Spy in the Sandwich

Wednesday, December 27, 2023

7:00 AM | Poetry Wednesday, No. 167.

Tuesday, December 26, 2023

12:09 AM | The Time Traveling Serial Killer

There is a point somewhere in the fuzzy third act of Mallari where a character named Agnes confronts one of the Piolos [there are four] in this movie, where she tells him: “I knew you before as a doctor. Now you’re telling me you’re a fortuneteller.” I felt her confusion so hard. Because this movie is exactly like that: it does not know what it wants to be.

Because what is this? A movie about a historical serial killer? A movie about a crusading documentarian during the American colonial period? A movie about a lovelorn doctor? A movie about aswangs or manananggals? A movie about American military propaganda against the Huks? A movie about rural beliefs? A movie about social justice? A movie about the servant class eating the rich [or at least the sinful]? A movie about proto-TikTokers? [See Felicity’s final filmed confession.]

A movie about ... time travel?

When the time travel element was introduced, that was when I finally decided to just suspend all my longing for this movie to make sense, and just surrender to the horrendous absurdity of it all.

Fact was, I was so ready to do that already the first instant Mallari wanted to underline its horror elements [mostly through cheap jump scares] by announcing them with screeching music that bludgeons the viewer to pay attention and be scared. [Screeching music. A ghost!] But it doesn’t help that they mostly announce ghouls who just stand there — and do absolutely nothing of consequence. The movie does this ad infinitum that by the time we reach the 999th jump scare, you’re just ... numb with boredom.

Which is sad, because the story of Fr. Severino Mallari — the 18th century Filipino priest who is marked in our history as the country’s first recorded serial killer — is already so rich with narrative possibilities. Just following that story, even if the filmmakers have to embellish it to make up for the lack of concrete historical data, would have sufficed. But screenwriter Enrico Santos, perhaps fearful that he didn't have enough material to constitute a screenplay, opted to fictionalize by making this a story about a curse transcending generations, threading it all with the very hoary device of ... time travel. That’s what you call a choice.

A lot of the narrative elements of the film was certainly a CHOICE: killing off Mylene Dizon in the first few moments was a choice [hello, Drew Barrymore in Scream!], and then bringing in her cowering boy to the last few minutes to round off this story with an arrest was a choice; a priest spouting off “woke knowingness” and then the film proceeding to demonstrate the “kill the gays” trope was a choice; having exactly three paintings of distant ancestors hanging in an old house as shorthand for character introductions was a choice [the other ancestors don’t matter to this family?]; Elisse Joson’s acting as a bitchy Felicity was a choice; the predictability of JC Santos’ character arc from the moment he encounters Didi was a choice; the lack of serial killing was a choice; the humanizing of the serial killer was a choice; demonizing St. Bartholomew [and then making a post-script to deny this] was a choice; Piolo’s bad wig and fake beard were a choice; having characters do mouthful expository dumps as dialogue at crucial moments of high drama [to explain away gnarly narratives] was a choice — but that one with Gloria Diaz explaining the existence of a time-traveling descendant with a knife to her throat was icing on the cake; the fact that there’s only one kind of moon — a full moon always bathed in red — was a choice.

I was so excited to watch this film, and purposefully made it the first MMFF entry I would watch for 2023. I left the theater wondering what could have been if the screenplay was better. Sayang.

Labels: philippine cinema

[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich

Monday, December 25, 2023

4:43 PM | Carol and the End of the World

So what's my Christmas Day watch? Carol and the End of the World. Nothing like an apocalyptic animated series to make me feel oh so Christmassy. Not many people know this about me but my favorite genre of movies is the apocalyptic film — because generally I just love to see the world burn or plunge to existential chaos with its imminent ending, cinematically. They’re generally of the dramatic sort, a nightmare of dystopic proportions. But Carol and the End of the World upends all of that, because it is actually quite utopic in its take of the world ending. Sure, a rogue planet called Keppler 9C is hurtling towards Earth in the course of seven months, and almost everyone is suddenly in hedonistic mode while awaiting the end of the world. And sure, it follows a sad, closed-up, seemingly purposeless woman who feels unanchored in that new world and just yearns to find a life where the old routines are respected and followed. [She finally finds it in The Distraction, a floor in an office building somewhere in an abandoned business district, which has gradually attracted people like Carol to do the old routines of going to work.] But what this Netflix series ultimately becomes is a chronicle of purpose, of community, even in the face of impeding doom — and getting there is such a journey of existentialist joy, if that makes sense. Above all, nothing of it is cloying or saccharine, which is reflective of the strengths of this series’ writers and creators. I'm glad this was my Christmas Day watch. I expected despair, I encountered hope instead.

Labels: life, television

[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich

Wednesday, December 20, 2023

7:00 AM | Poetry Wednesday, No. 166.

Labels: christmas, poetry

[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich

Monday, December 18, 2023

1:12 AM | FellowTravelers

“I’ve spent most of my life waiting for God to love me. And then I realized the only thing that matters is I love God. It’s the same with you. I have loved you my whole life. I’ve never loved anyone but you. You were my great, consuming love. And most people don't get one of those. I did. I have no regrets.”

Labels: life, love, queer, television

[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich

Wednesday, December 13, 2023

7:00 AM | Poetry Wednesday, No. 165.

Labels: poetry

[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich

Tuesday, December 12, 2023

4:45 PM | Don't Follow Me, I Don't Even Know Where I'm Going

My short story “Don’t Follow Me, I Don't Even Know Where I’m Going” [Second Prize for the Short Story in English, Palanca Awards 2023] is finally out on Philippines Graphic Reader! It’s available on Shopee at this link.

Labels: fiction, life, philippine literature, writing

[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich

Wednesday, December 06, 2023

7:00 AM | Poetry Wednesday, No. 164.

Labels: poetry

[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich

Friday, December 01, 2023

2:35 PM | Human Bones, Literary Awards, and Afterparties

Kate Torralba brought her father’s bones to Palanca night. It was the first thing she told me as we settled into our seats on Table 24, where the winners for the Short Story in English were assigned, which was very conveniently located near the buffet tables inside the Francisco Dagohoy Reception Hall at the Philippine International Convention Center. And true enough, I saw what looked like shards of bones sealed in a plastic bag, and deposited deep in Kate’s purse; she showed them to all of us at the table, announced its presence with that deeply excited voice she would display all throughout the ceremonies. Later I told her, “You are probably the most excited Palanca winner tonight.” Of course, she told me: she considered the night to be the equivalent of her wedding, and she even had two photographers in tow to record everything. “Oh wow, you may be the first one to bring along a photo crew for Palanca night!” I said to her. Exie Abola, first prize winner in our category, corrected me: “Last year, Atom Araullo brought along an entire camera crew.” Kate laughed at that. But she was indeed excited to win her first Palanca, for a short story she penned in four hours while cooking Binisaya pochero for her late father for a deadline in Jing Hidalgo’s fiction workshop. “This story has taken me places,” she said. “It brought me to the UP Workshop, and now it has won me a Palanca!” I was not immune to Kate’s excitement, and her overwhelming charm. But that excited spirit was also evident all throughout the 71st Palanca Awards: this was the most fun I’ve had since I’ve been privileged to attend the ceremony in the past two decades. You could see it on the faces of the winners, many of whom were first-timers, like Vince Agcaoili, John Dante, John Patrick Solano, Ross Manicad, and fellow Sillimanian Keisiah Dawn Tiaoson. You could feel it in the stride of writing veterans, who took the night as a chance to have a reunion with writer fiends they have not seen in ages, because of the pandemic. It was good to see good friends and mentors alike, like Edgar Calabaia Samar, Susan S. Lara, Krip Yuson, the National Artist for Literature Gemino Abad, Neni Sta. Romana Cruz, Rody Vera, Russell Molina, Joel Pablo Salud, Nicholas Pichay, Jose Y. Dalisay, Marne Kilates, Trish Shishikura, Mikael Co, Charles Lee, David Corpuz, Jeffrey Jeturian, Joshua Lim So, Russell Stanley Geronimo, CD Borden, and Luis Gatmaitan, who gave a fantastic keynote speech. But the epitome of that excited spirit was Peter Solis Nery, who came clad in a dress made entirely of feathers. The Hall of Famer won first prize once more, this time for the Short Story in Filipino — something he worked on for almost a decade, and considered the prize just rewards for that labor of many years. He looked gorgeous in his gown — and on the way to the afterparty later that night, he would proclaim: “Dugyot talaga ako for the rest of the 364 days in a given year. Pero sa Palanca, just for one night, dapat bongga!”Yes, there was an afterparty, hosted by Kate. Perhaps the first Palanca afterparty I’ve ever attended, this time in the intimate confines of an upstairs room in Rafael’s Tapas Bar in Resorts World — where I got to meet friends I have not seen since the pandemic, like Yvette Tan, Moira Lang, and Myrza Sison, and I got to meet for the first time Sherad Anthony Sanchez, BJ Crisostomo, and Ed Cruz! In all the excitement, I don’t even remember eating. I came home to my hotel tired and happy, and hungry, at 2 AM. Early the next day, Renz and I flew home to Dumaguete.