Minari (2020) – A Review

Release date: January 26, 2020 (Sundance)
Director: Lee Isaac Chung
Starring: Steven Yeun, Han Ye-ri, Alan Kim, Noel Kate Cho, Youn Yuh-jung
Genre: Drama
Star rating: 8.5/10

Historically, the hands of immigrants founded and built the United States of America. Yet, even in the 21st century, an immediate image of immigrants that pop into Westerners’ minds are those who are not white. Such Euro-centric, xenophobic pretenses became symptoms of an internal struggle with the so-called “colored” minorities, one that delves into questions of identity and assimilation.

Lee Isaac Chung, Korean-American director, is familiar with such experiences of “otherness” and alienation all too well, as manifested in his masterpiece Minari (2020), a sentimental homage to his Asian American peers.

Closely mirroring Chung’s own life, the narrative uniquely sets itself in an unlikely setting. While most Asian Americans commonly settle in metropolitan America, the Yi family calls the Arkansas countryside home. The contrast is striking compared to films of similar themes set in more cosmopolitan areas (e.x.: The Joy Luck Club, The Farewell, Crazy Rich Asians). But this rustic choice of living proves pivotal in unveiling and exploring the dynamism of Asian American relationships from more nuclear and intimate points of view.

And Minari justly does this by viewing the Yi family not only as a single, collective unit but also as individuals, allowing room for idiosyncratic characterization, tumultuous dispute, and saccharine chemistry among its cast members.

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Minari GIF by A24 - Find & Share on GIPHY

Steven Yeun’s and Han Ye-ri’s roles as the parent figures brought out the film’s gravitas. The former’s Jacob Yi is the epitome of idealism, ambition, and tenacity; the latter’s Monica Yi is a counteractive embodiment of realism, pragmatism, and faith.

When the two clash, it is a volcanic battle between Yin and Yang.

When they compromise, it is a sigh of relief and a feeling of peace.

But the Yi’s struggles extend beyond mere filial care. It also touches on the generational divide.

Youn Yuh-jung’s portrayal of the Soon-ja induces nostalgic feelings that one might reminisce of a dotting and compassionate matriarch. Alan Kim’s and Noel Kate Cho’s depictions of Korean American youngsters best embodied a generation that ironically finds unfamiliarity with their roots. Together, they best represent the comical but often profound relationship between the old and the new, divided by distance but united by origins.

Yet, for a film that details the specific Asian American experiences of wanting societal inclusion and the barriers brought by the illusion of “otherness,” it is essential to mention that Minari aims for universal understanding. To acknowledge and praise its existence is to recognize why representation matters, a perennial problem of the Western film milieu. The minority of a viewing populace finds genuine, heartfelt appreciation when they finally see their personhood embodied in an onscreen persona. But Minari goes beyond that goal. It is the age-old tale of the American Dream and the journey of finding new beginnings and better prospects away from the places that could not offer much to them.

Yet, as long as the social construct of race blinds the audiences, relatability will be out of reach. As of this publishing, tens of thousands of Asians continue to face the plight of hatred and indifference. While words of “You don’t belong here” painfully pierce through their ears, the likes of Lee Isaac Chung, through stories like Minari, will tell them otherwise: they do belong.

Minari is truly the best. It grows anywhere, like weeds. So anyone can pick and eat it. Rich or poor, anyone can enjoy it and be healthy. Minari can be put in kimchi, put in stew, put in soup. It can be medicine if you are sick. Minari is wonderful, wonderful!
Soon-ja

MINARI (2020) dir. Lee Isaac Chung - Tumbex

Minari Movie Review | Movie Reviews Simbasible

Mank (2020) – A Review

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Release date: November 13, 2020
Director: David Fincher
Starring: Gary Oldman, Amanda Seyfried, Lily Collins, Arliss Howard, Tom Pelphrey, Charles Dance
Genre: Biography, Drama
Star rating: 7.75/10

The dichotomy of current, post-modern cinema and Classic Hollywood filmography is as stark as the monochrome imagery that people may find swift identification with the latter. Preferences morph in direct proportion with the evolution of motion pictures. Yet older generations find gladness in a niche of younger generations that still fascinate old-school filmmaking. But the intrigue for Hollywood’s Golden Age goes far beyond its feature presentations; it extends as well to the events that unfolded behind the scenes.

Take the Finchers’ word for it. Quite likely, Jack Fincher and his son David adulate Citizen Kane (1940) and the contextual inspirations behind it with much passion. You could easily see it in their latest work Mank (2020), serving not only an introspective look into the views of its titular subject character but also an exposé of the Los Angelean artifice.

From a more personal perspective, Mank is more than a tribute to the Hollywood of the past. It is the long-overdue fulfillment of his late father’s wishes, and it could not come in better timing. With the benefit of retroactive appreciation and antique technology, David Fincher executes his vision of a bygone movie style. Everything from the visual design of the vintage Californian epoch down to the visual aesthetic cinematography of RED cameras replicates the 1930s-inspired mode of filmmaking with not an iota of incongruity or anachronism.

Aiding this direction further are acting performances that reminisce the period’s more theatrical type of acting that frankly never goes out of style.

Gary Oldman’s penchant for transformation proves essential for the role of the well-versed yet dipsomaniacal Herman Mankiewicz, having able to provoke his privileged colleagues with subtle hilarity and without campy histrionics.

Amanda Seyfried provides a more refreshing and faithful depiction of comedienne Marion Davies, one with more elegance and graceful intelligence mixed with hints of poignant submission to a patriarchal Hollywood system.

it can't rain all the time — Amanda Seyfried as Marion Davies MANK (2020) dir....

However, by the time you have reached the halfway point of this film, you might be bombarded with the following questions.

Who is Herman Mankiewicz?

Who is Marion Davies?

Who is Orson Wells? (God forbid if you are not even familiar with this name!)

And therein lies the film’s hurdle to relay its narrative to its audiences. To watch this film blind and unknowing is akin to entering class unprepared for the final examination. Prior knowledge and contextualization are prerequisites. Otherwise, the film alienates, and you will feel underwhelmed by what it offers.

But in fairness to its storytelling, it at least tries to explain the zeitgeist of Depression-era California, albeit in a hit-or-miss manner, like a man’s countless attempts to aim for the bullseye of a dartboard. At times, you might grasp the general gist of it all, but conversely, when it delves into specific references, you are left lost and confused.

But where it may fail to educate, it may succeed in arousing curiosity on its subject matter. Tomes and documentaries await to feed and satisfy that inquiring mind.

Fincher probably aimed for Mank to be a knowledgeable gateway into the politics and economics of American entertainment. If so, he succeeds in certain aspects, shortcomings and all.

“You cannot capture a man’s entire life in two hours. All you can hope is to leave the impression of one.”
Herman Mankiewicz

Nomadland (2020) – A Review

Release date: September 11, 2020 (Venice)
Director: Chloe Zhao
Starring: Frances McDormand, David Strathairn, Linda May, Swankie
Genre: Drama, Neo-western
Star rating: 9/10

“Privilege”

Perhaps no theme dominates the rhetoric of the 21st century more than this.

It seems too easy to patronize today’s socio-politically-charged generation on the values of individual tenacity and steadfast faith for good fortune and living when the cruelest irony of it all may be that they are far from enough.

But more than victims of unfortunate circumstances, they are also messengers, voices that amplify the voiceless. The cries for betterment manifest themselves almost everywhere, from the written word to the big screen.

Nomadland (2020) is gratefully one such manifestation, a cinematic voyage into a forsaken side of America that grasps life’s volatility better than the Hollywood mimicry of it.

And curiously leading this journey is a foreigner from the Far East named Chloe Zhao. Although not part of this side of the world, Zhao holds a passionate fascination with the North American landscape, possibly more than even the average Americans that reside in it. This passion manifests itself into the screen through the wide-open panorama of the roads and lands less traveled.

Yet Zhao’s view of America is an unorthodox one: behind all the glitzy urbanity of modern Americana lies those left behind in its hustling culture. A generation of nomads that once witnessed America in its heyday now experiences the hollow shell of its prime.

And the film highlights their unique livelihoods with methods that mix the qualities of journalistic documentaries and scripted drama. The result is a direction that does not dictate a vision like most movies; it somehow follows and captures the cadence of what already exists.

Nomadland Review: Chloé Zhao's Poetic Portrait of Modern America | Observer

Films of Nomadland‘s kind would often rely on reenactment to create the mirroring illusion of reality. Not here. Instead, it brings the true American nomads into the spotlight. Every moment of conversation and work is as authentic as it can be, guaranteeing maximum genuineness.

But while talk is one thing, immersing in their lifestyles firsthand is another. And embodying this experience best is Frances McDormand as Fern. From traversing natural American countryside with gleeful curiosity to tirelessly laboring in tourist-filled restaurants and machine-driven factories to even taking a dump in a five-gallon bucket, McDormand fully embraces the role of the modern-day nomad by actually living as one. But for all the troubles she had to endure, this is a life that she wishes to experience herself; for her, it is a dream fulfilled.

But what does it aim to instill in its viewers in showing and telling the unknown? Perhaps it is the polarizing feeling of it all. For all the halcyon peace that perambulating and migrating can offer, the desire for adventure still comes at a hefty price (literally). Driving this disposition to live in constant mobility may be the fear of instability and temporality, an all too familiar feeling in the wake of the crisis wrought by a fatal pandemic in the past year. Behind the smile and laughter of people like Linda May and Swankie is an underlying trauma caused by sudden, unwarranted loss.

For them, it is best not to expect perpetuity and keep driving, whenever and wherever.

And while those living under a quaint roof take permanence and constancy for granted, “Nomadland” will not just be a mere film. It will remain an unspoken reality that goes on like a winding road.

Nomadland Trailer: Frances McDormand Heads West – /Film

Another Smith lyric I have is, “When you’re laughing, and dancing, and finally living, you hear my voice in your head and think of me kindly.” And then also the one that means the most to me is, “Home, is it just a word? Or is it something that you carry within you?
Angela

Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom (2020) – A Review

Image result for Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom poster

Release date: November 25, 2020 (Netfilx)
Director: George C. Wolfe
Starring: Chadwick Boseman, Viola Davis
Genre: Historical drama
Star rating: 7/10

Michael Jackson and Quincy Jones argue about the direction of what would become Billie Jean.

The Beatles are on their last legs, as creative differences set them towards different paths.

Mariah Carey feuds with her dictatorial record label as the former further embraces the hip-hop-R&B realm.

Often, behind every hit that plays on the radio or a vinyl CD is a conflict unfolding behind the scenes. What it reveals is a power dynamic between creation and dictation. For any scriptwriter, it may just be the right source material for their next brainchild. But what value is there in cinematically adapting an argument? What does it reveal in the grand scheme of things?

Enter Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom (2020), a film that frames emotional turmoil in the bigger picture yet could have benefitted from a better platform than the one where it stands.

Image result for Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom gif

From its first twenty minutes, the film is laden by its screenplay with loquacity and verboseness. Such is typically uncharacteristic of cinema, where the golden rule of “show, don’t tell” is heralded.

There is a reason for this: it’s an adaptation of a 1980s theater play set in Chicago during the latter years of the Roaring Twenties. And therein lies an issue. To transition a narrative from the stage to the screen is to understand the dichotomy between film and play. It all comes down to space.

In a play, what one can narrate is all confined to the stage, an enclosed space. All the audiences’ focus is mostly on the characters’ mobility and talk.

By contrast, a film owes itself to a conceptually abstract and openly spacious room, allowing itself to create a setting in a versatile and multi-dimensional manner.

Granted that one can achieve a film adaptation of plays, the process requires space expansion. Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom could not maximize this. At best, most of the film’s attention is on its monologues and dialogues, hallmarks of Broadway-type theatrics that may or may not entice movie viewers, depending on their level of patience.

But there is one advantage to a stage-to-screen adaptation. A screenplay of its kind has an in-depth construction of characters and, in turn, provides the best chances for actors to flex their peak thespian expertise. What an opportunity indeed for Viola Davis and the late Chadwick Boseman to give what might be their most comprehensive performances to date.

As Levee, an aspiring black musician brought down by barriers and disparagement, Chadwick Boseman brings to the screen a vitality that justifies his talent as an actor. To see this bona fide virtuoso at his apex is awe-inspiring. To be presented with his finesse while he is gradually languishing off-screen is to witness a bittersweet miracle.

I know what I’m doin’. Let me handle them my way.
Levee

Image result for Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom chadwick gifs

As the titular character Ma Rainey, “Mother of the Blues,” Viola Davis reminisces a signature theme that revolves around most of her most notable roles: power. In a struggle for control, she can either wield power (How to Get Away With Murder, Suicide Squad) or submit to it (The Help). Here, Viola meets the two scenarios when embodying the black chanteuse. On the one hand, she delivers and speaks with a great reluctance to concede to the system. On the other hand, she commands and dictates her sometimes trivial wishes with fearful adamance. While intimidating, such gestures are also surprisingly comical, endearingly mirroring the amusing yet authoritative divas of contemporary times.

Together, these two characters represent the plights and obstacles of the African American community. It is a reminder made even more vivid with the events of the year it was released. However, unlike other films of its kind, it never overtly proclaims to be inspired by a time gone. No, it reflects our times, and quite possibly, beyond.

So, while its on-screen execution may be lacking and flawed, its themes it raises should withstand just as long as the issues lingering today.

They don’t care nothin’ about me. All they want is my voice. Well, I done learned that. And they gonna treat me the way I wanna be treated, no matter how much it hurt them.
Ma Rainey

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The Sound of Metal (2020) – A Review

Trailer To 'Sound Of Metal' Starring Riz Ahmed — BlackFilmandTV.com

Release date: November 20, 2020
Director: Darius Marder
Starring: Riz Ahmed, Paul Raci, Olivia Cooke
Genre: Drama
Star rating: 8/10

The epic scenes of war would not be enthralling without the sounds of explosions and battle cries of our heroes. The songs of some iconic musicals add to the poignancy and frivolity of their stories. The awe-inspiring musical scores set the right tones and auras to the respective scenes. Although understated and often taken for granted, the cinematic experience would not be the same without audio.

Yet rarely would movies take an opposite approach: one that mostly relies on silence. For instance, A Quiet Place (2018) instills fear by interactively warning its audiences not to make even a whisper, or its characters will face fatal consequences. And then there is The Sound of Metal (2020). In Darius Marder’s directorial effort, silence is not just a cinematic tool. It is the root of one’s suffering but also a refreshing angle on the human condition.

Its plot reminisces that of the stages of grief, albeit with an ambiguous final phase. And no one encompasses this turmoil more than Riz Ahmed in his stellar performance as the troubled metal drummer Ruben. Until recent years, not often does cinema introduce masculine protagonists at their most emasculated. Ahmed embraces this vulnerability and projects onscreen his talent to mix conflicting emotions in one scene, be it in taciturn or fiery expressions.

Ruben, as you know, everybody here shares in the belief that being deaf is not a handicap. Not something to fix. It’s pretty important around here. All these kids… all of us, need to be reminded of it every day.
Joe

However, the key to understanding Ruben’s plight is to comprehend what it means to be deaf, and from here, an opportunity arises. Cinema rarely explores and centers on deafness as a disability, and for the most part, films frame it via a third-person point of view. Thankfully, The Sound of Metal takes this chance by offering its audiences a first-hand, inclusive experience. Through the art of replication, the film unveils a genuine understanding of deafness by immersing the audiences in its sound design, from our main protagonist’s abrupt loss of hearing to the “sensing” of the music and beats to the hearing aid’s compensation in recovering what was lost.

Adding to the film’s authenticity is its participation in Hollywood’s movement for minority representation. And it succeeds in this aspect by not falsely depicting the disabled and handicapped as saintly objects of pity. They are as flawed and capable as any normal human being, giving the film a fresh dimension of relatability and humanity. And perfectly encapsulating this unvarnished portrayal is Paul Raci’s role as Joe, a compelling foil to the desperate Ruben.

And more than this tug-of-war between loneliness and fellowship is a tumultuous and all-too-familiar conflict between bargaining and acceptance. Most movies concede to their audiences’ escapist fantasies through deus ex machina and other cinematic tropes. The Sound of Metal boldly accepts this new reality, albeit with a lingering sense of uncertainty. There is no escaping from what is inevitable. The circumstances are what they are.

Yet this new normal, as the current society may call it, may not be entirely a bitter pill to swallow. Acceptance does not immediately equate to down-hearted defeat. It may just be much more ineffably cathartic than one might think.

I wonder, uh, all these mornings you’ve been sitting in my study, sitting, have you had any moments of stillness? Because you’re right, Ruben. The world does keep moving, and it can be a damn cruel place. But for me, those moments of stillness, that place, that’s the kingdom of God.
Joe

Drumming Ruben GIF - Drumming Ruben RizAhmed - Discover & Share GIFs

Network (1976) – A Review

Release date: November 27, 1976
Director: Sidney Lumet
Starring: Peter Finch, Faye Dunaway, William Holden, Robert Duvall, Beatrice Straight
Genre: Drama, Satire, Black comedy
Star rating: 8.5/10

Social media sites filled with cute animal videos and hilarious memes are now slowly occupied with expressive paragraphs of political dissent. The once high expectations of good governance are getting lower with the rise of populism and demagoguery. Deception and controversy now corrupt the most reliable news sources and institutions.

As difficult as it is to explain, something has happened to the world since 2016. The paradigm is shifting, and it has grown more despairing and less trustworthy, or has it always been?

Almost forty-five years ago, in a time of a great recession, growing anti-war sentiments, and political scandals, one movie resonated with its audiences’ frustrations. Not only has Network (1976) defined the maleficence of the times before and since, but it also provides a masterclass on acting prowess and satirical screenwriting.

It is hard to imagine the vision and merits of this film without Paddy Chayefsky’s pen game. His screenplay speaks like a collegiate essay, philosophical in substance while verbose and eloquent in articulation. To the casual viewers, it may seem a bit peculiar to see actors speak like religious preachers. But this stylistic choice of Chayefsky works to elicit various emotional reactions ranging from fear-mongering to rabble-rousing to comedic relief.

Yet only the expertise of virtuoso acting can bring to life this mixture of histrionics. Thank God we had the likes of Peter Finch and Faye Dunaway to offer viewers one of their most iconic performances of their careers!

Faye dunaway GIFs - Get the best gif on GIFER

However, to show appreciation for their efforts is not to view them as “characters,” in the sense that they are like your everyday people walking in the city streets. They are ideals and realities personified.

Howard Beale (Finch) and Diana Christensen (Dunaway) best represent two philosophies in a constant tug-of-war, expressing human madness in contrasting mannerisms. On the one hand, Beale elucidates the frustrations of unsubstantial human living and societal decay. On the other hand, Christensen’s megalomania feeds on this fury, wasting no opportunity to profit from the world’s anger. To clash them together unveils TV’s constant strife between integrity and publicity.

And therein lies the film’s most compelling rhetorical questions: who speaks and who listens?

Do the words come from a prophet warning us of the times or just nothing but from the garrulous ego?

Can these warning signs genuinely instigate change, or will they only be reduced to opium-like fodder for the self-righteous soul?

Are we searching for a new hero to bring about a revolution, or are we just looking for the next jester to entertain us?

Do these ideas make us unique individuals or, as the film puts it, “humanoids,” clones of the same mind?

In the decades since Network (1976), people now curiously think it is a premonition. But maybe for the late Chayefsky, this is a reality that has long persisted and reincarnated.

For others, the film’s portrayal of the media industry is all mere hyperbole. Maybe for some, its exaggeration reveals a truth yet to be fathomed or accepted by the world.

I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore! Speech from Network (1080p) on Make a GIF

I’m mad as hell, and I’m not gonna take this anymore!
Howard Beale

Balangiga: Howling Wilderness (2017) – A Review

Balangiga: Howling Wilderness (2017) - IMDb

Release date: October 20, 2017
Director: Khavn de la Cruz
Starring: Justine Samson, Pio Del Rio, Warren Tuaño
Genre: Indie, Experimental
Star rating: 9/10

“This is not a film by Khavn.”

Khavn de la Cruz, an odd but whimsical standout in the Filipino cinematic milieu, never understates that sentence with each piece he creates.

Redundant? Perhaps.

Ironic? Maybe.

But why the refusal to self-credit? To whom is the credit given? To Khavn, no man or woman behind the camera single-handedly controls the direction a film takes. It is most apparent in his full-length features like Balangiga: Howling Wilderness (2017), one of his Obra Maestra.

Many a few history dilettantes could identify the poignant significance of this quaint Visayan town the film’s title had referenced. It is the site of a fatal chapter in the Philippine-American War: the Balangiga Massacre. One might think that the film would delve into this sadly obscure part of the country’s history. Surprisingly yet curiously, the film takes a different direction. It veers away from the place of history and into the unknown and hidden depths of Samar Island’s tropical nature. Along the way is a mystical adventure that is enchanting yet perturbing.

Balangiga: Howling Wilderness (2017) - Images - IMDb

And Khavn and company want you to come along in the journey, wherever they go and however they want you to see it through the power of its cinematography that blurs the line that partitions fantasy and reality to almost non-existence.

With the camera at his disposal, Albert Banzon lets you view the peculiarity, the isolation, and the fascination of Khavn’s worldbuilding through different lenses, be it through the eyes of a child, a ghost, or even an Omnipresent Being.

A variety of perspectives is necessary. When dealt with the vastness of a fictional 20th century Samar, one must look closer and farther to get the bigger picture. The result is an aesthetically hypnotic fodder that nourishes the cinephile’s soul. You can see it in the surrealism of a dream, the placidness of the rivers and forests, or the gruesome brutality of the surroundings.

But Balangiga is not all visual gratification. Blunt frankness is well- embedded throughout its almost 2-hour screen time. And a full embodiment of this honesty lies in the character of a Visayan youngling: Kulas (Justine Samson). Written on his face is a level of complexity rarely seen on the Filipino screen: a precocious demeanor bent on survival, a ferocity akin to a pride of lions mixed with a child-like sense of isolation and vulnerability. And the most apparent irony of them all: those make him more human in contrast to the humankind that has regressed to animal-like instincts. It is petrifying to witness the clear-cut differences, indeed!

But as the film ends, audiences may feel perplexed by its unorthodox style or unsatisfied with a movie that, at face value, makes no sense to them. A word of assistance for the confused: its aim as a piece of cinema is not to recount history. As cliched as it may sound, history is more than forming and rediscovering a narrative. It is also a process of reflecting and reimagining an experience.

Balangiga elucidates those thoughts on a certain point in history by putting oneself in someone else’s shoes and invigorating it with an assortment of emotions: remorse, wonder, pity, fear, and hatred.

Indeed, this is not a film by Khavn. It is a film by and for those souls lost first to bloodshed, then to time, distance, and change. Fortunately, the memory has not lost itself to the so-called howling wilderness. It is now relived and immortalized on the screen.

Hayop Ka! : The Nimfa Dimaano Story (2020) – A Review

Release date: October 29, 2020 (Netflix)
Director: Avid Liongoren
Starring: Angelica Panganiban, Sam Milby, Robin Padilla, Empoy, Arci Munoz
Genre: Animation, Comedy
Star rating: 6.5/10

In the film industry, the animation sector is the quintessence of an oligarchy. From the childlike whimsy of Disney to the humanism of Studio Ghibli, the top animation studios dominate thanks to the powers of the purse and word-of-mouth. Their mainstream status has consequently left an indelible mark in their audiences’ consciousness through its visual and stylistic distinguishability.

So perhaps the difficulty for other aspiring animators comes in finding not only the most lucrative concept but also the most idiosyncratic. Enter Rocketsheep Studios, a small animation studio with potent ambitions. Ever since their debut film Saving Sally (2016) experienced an unexpected but welcoming success, it opened ajar the window of opportunity for aspiring illustrators in a country where such industry is borderline non-existent.

Culminating into their second effort Hayop Ka: The Nimfa Dimaano Story (2020), the question lingers. Does it exceed the expectations set by its predecessor, or will they be an unfortunate case of being a one-trick pony?

Firstly, any reasoning for its praise or derision should start at the element that may cause the most divisiveness: its plot. Perhaps you have heard of this pattern before: a philandering woman gets caught in a dramatic love triangle as the universe gives her the comeuppance she is due.

From there, the ambivalence is justifiable, and one must look at the argument on both sides for a fairer perspective.

On the one hand, Rocketsheep Studios seems to have not learned its lesson from its previous effort Saving Sally. It is a plot pattern that we are all too familiar with, and bluntly, it can get tiring.

It is trite.

It is banal.

It is as shallow as a kiddie pool.

So understandably, audiences who crave more profundity and substance would not prefer Hayop Ka!.

On the other hand, that might be the whole point. Daringly, the film seemingly embraces this flaw with self-awareness. It knows just how ludicrous the story is and takes advantage by pointing its flaws out in a hilarious fashion. And no cinematic medium can best express this than the hyperbolic art form of animation.

With every telenovela-style fight, hand-drawn animation intensifies it tenfold.

Any expressive, romanticized infidelity turns into hysterical caricatures of lasciviousness.

Visual and dialogical witticisms riddle each frame and every scene like an “I Spy” picture book, further spicing its comedic tone.

With these elements, the film further proves how execution matters just as much, if not more, than what narrative it offers. The story is not that deep, but the comedy compensates finely.

But the most distinctive characteristic of its animation would probably be its contemporary Pinoy identity. One Filipino could easily recognize Manila’s well-known landmarks. A politically motivated local can familiarize the socio-economic dichotomy the film attempts to convey. Even the most avid of showbiz pundits can laugh at the puns and references to local pop culture.

And such stylistic choices for the film can work in two counterproductive directions.

Will it relate to its Filipino viewers? Certainly.

Can it, however, be comprehended by foreigners? Doubtful.

Hayop Ka! is not entirely a recommended gateway into mainstream Filipino culture, but it still shows promise in titillating its intended target audiences: the Pinoys.

Yet perhaps the best way to see this potentially divisive film is to place it in where the Filipino film industry is now. The movie is no masterpiece by any stretch of the imagination, nor is it the very first of its kind here. But in a country where the animation sector’s prospects look bleak, something must be better than nothing. To acknowledge the existence of Hayop Ka! and those that came before it, whether you despise it or not, is to start a long-overdue discussion of the future of the many aspiring animators of the Philippines.

And that is why this film is one to keep an eye on.

The Social Network (2010) – A Review

Release date: September 24, 2010 (TIFF)
Director: David Fincher
Starring: Jesse Eisenburg, Andrew Garfield, Justin Timberlake, Armie Hammer, Rooney Mara
Genre: Drama, Biography
Star rating: 8.5/10

Films and literature are not only meant to mirror our current realities. They are also tools to escape into a fictitious reality of our own. Due to life’s mundanity and feelings of inferiority, our souls aim for a higher status.

We read informative books on self-help to boost our morale and confidence.

We look to formulaic narratives of rags-to-riches as road paths to good fortunes.

We idolize the magnates who perpetuate the need for passion and tenacity to attain success.

But just how genuinely benevolent is this self-proclaimed gospel truth? What does it truly take to reach the apex? Will the ends justify the means?

Enter The Social Network (2010), the brainchild of director David Fincher and scriptwriter Aaron Sorkin, to offer a profound take.

At face value, the synopsis seems banal: another Oscar-bait biopic that dives deep into the nitty-gritty with somniferous direction. The Social Network (2010), though, has no such intentions akin to a historian. It lectures like an engaging entrepreneur, and it demands your full attention with aural and visual poeticism.

The social network discovered by Gema on We Heart It

Observe its first five minutes as an example.

The verboseness of its scriptwriting may immediately feel overwhelming. However, it is somehow comprehensible. Step back, and one might recognize a secret to successful storytelling: adherence to a structure. From start to finish, it introduces and then concludes with substance and emotion. Like a musical piece, the characters emphatically deliver their dialogues with varying paces, cut-throat brutality, and adult witticisms. Put them together, and it reads like a sophisticated essay. If these details can excite you in five minutes, imagine what else it can do in less than two hours of film embellished with cohesive montaging and often figurative oratory.

Look you are probably going to be a very successful computer person. And you are going to go through life thinking girls don’t like you cause, you’re a nerd. And want you to know from the bottom of my heart, that that won’t be true. It’ll be because, you’re an asshole.
Erica Albright

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And as titillating as its writing is what it subsequently creates: characters that epitomized the woefulness, the stoicism, and the egregiousness of the capitalist hustle.

Justin Timberlake culminates his now developed theatrics into the role of Sean Parker, the avaricious opportunist hiding under the guise of a suave and gregarious confidant. One cannot help but hate him with a burning passion for his duality.

Andrew Garfield’s Eduardo Saverino provides the one conscionable voice of reason calling for empathic amicability. Despite having a supporting role, Andrew, through his performance, ensures that, as Patrick Rothfuss puts it, the anger of a gentle man should be feared.

Then, there is Jesse Eisenberg’s Mark Zuckerburg, the quintessence of the anti-hero. You will either despise or be intimidated by his egoism. Regardless, you cannot help but watch in awe at his cogent argumentations (especially in the deposition scenes) or marvel at the way he wields his corporate power or flexes his intellectual prowess. Jesse brought these with a scintillating and sinister screen presence.

If you guys were the inventors of Facebook, you’d have invented Facebook.
Mark Zuckerberg

Yet, when aggregating all its praiseworthy qualities, The Social Network is one that does not encourage upward mobility. If anything, it is a masterpiece of irony and a satirical subversion of an all-too-familiar story.

Was it made to malign its real-life counterparts? Perhaps not. (Again, films are not guaranteed supplementary aids to learning history.)

Could the film be an eerie foreshadowing of what is to come in the years since its release? Maybe, with the benefit of retrospect. (As of writing, the real Zuckerberg has gotten quite the public ire in the wake of recent scandals.)

But whether this may have been a product of clairvoyant thinking should not be the reason for the acclaim it is due. Possibly, the best way to see this film’s merits is to see it as the product of the current zeitgeist.

In the post-recession period, the tale of social ascendancy sounds less like a divine blessing and more like flirtatious temptation. The taste is bitter, and the feeling is desolate.

You are not an asshole Mark…you are just trying so hard to be.
Marilyn Delpy

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Shoplifters [万引き家族] (2018) – A Review

Release date: May 13, 2018 (Cannes Film Festival)
Director: Hirokazu Kore-eda
Starring: Lily Franky, Sakura Ando, Mayu Matsuoka, Kairi Jō, Kirin Kiki, Miyu Sasaki
Genre: Drama, Slice-of-life
Star rating: 8.25/10

As the cinema industry leans more towards progressivism, films are now gradually starting to mirror closer to worldly and personal realities than ever. Yet often discussed but underestimated in the pursuit of authenticity is the human ontology. At times, audiences and filmmakers today tend to forget the altruism of the human being that can be as genuine as the social ills and the personal sins they committed. Possibly, the worst part is how this longstanding, black-and-white arbitration of right and wrong has blinded us from the greyness in between due to the propagation of the hero-villain dynamic of media and literature.

Kore-eda’s Shoplifters (2018) offers this neutral sense of realism against a cultural zeitgeist marred by excessive pessimism and standards.

He takes inspiration from an unlikely source: an impoverished family residing in a home incongruous to one of Asia’s most advanced societies. By premise alone, the film’s wise intentions are starting to be made clear; first, through the narrative methodology and then, through introspective reflection.

Its methods, when delved into by diligent film connoisseurs, provide an equitable and cohesive witnessing of the family’s personal and interrelated lives that may be more saccharine and cathartic than our own. The film sensually invites its viewers to assimilate themselves in this seemingly pacific family against the backdrop of a dilapidated residence made nostalgic and pleasant to the eyes with a soothing color palette.

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But behind the Studio Ghibli-like atmosphere, there is reason to step into their world cautiously. After all, the title “Shoplifters” ensures one thing. This family is not entirely saintly or is their poverty romanticized to show faux resilience. And when such gradual exposition of their secluded sinister nature eventually builds up to a shocking revelation, audiences may be overwhelmed by an unfathomable mix of emotions.

You were frustrated by the family’s deplorable faults, yet you were also angry for the way society subsequently demonizes them.

You wish to be contemptuous at their fallibility, yet you also acknowledge their corrigibility.

And most of all, you may be disappointed at this false illusion of a family, but you may also feel remorse and helplessness for this unison torn asunder.

Such emotional responses are elicited by a gut-wrenching use of situational irony onscreen. By the time we return to our worldly realities, the pondering on our perceptions begins.

Since time immemorial, our humanity is in quest of the perfect moral compass. We rationalized then dichotomized acts of good and evil, often so swiftly. Yet such pursuits have yielded this unwarranted stringency that society has upheld since. A film like Shoplifters is long overdue. In a milieu quick to embrace the upright and castigate the lowly, Kore-eda dares to challenge these pretenses by creating a piece that duly recognizes what is authentic: the moral ambiguity of the human conscience.