fresh start

After all the ranting, heaven has answered my prayers. 2012 ushers in a new film project Qiyamah. In the film, residents of a rural village in Maguindanao are horrified when the sun rises in the West. According to Islamic belief, this phenomenon signals the Apocalypse. As village folk react differently to the situation, a tragedy strikes when one of the residents is raped and her brother brutally murdered as he tries to avenge her. Steep in superstition, the villagers attribute these to the Devil himself. Told from the point of view of six-year-old Musali, Qiyamah reflects on our humanity, what we hold hear and what it means to be alive.

This means I'll be so busy during the first half of the year. I'm on my fourth revision of the script and my work is not done yet. 

affliction

I have been busy lately, lying in bed for hours on end, afflicted with some strange catatonia, contemplating on “What could have been…”

What started out as a very positive year is winding out into what I would swear as the worst year of my life. This is not overstating some facts. I died twice this year. My mother was my world to me. I died with her in September. Two month later, as cinema is life to me, I died again after making a catastrophic film that was, at the very start, a journey on a long road to perdition. All the signs pointed to these directions – my mother’s long stays in the hospital and my constant indecisions in making Cartas de la Soledad – but full of optimism and hope as I always have, well, with the help of mood stabilizers and antidepressants I tried to ignore them. Now they have taken their toll on me. So here I am, still in bed, at five in the afternoon. Thanks to a Bluetooth enabled keyboard I don’t need to walk to my iMac across the room. In the kitchen I could hear some utensils falling on the floor. My cats are having a field day. Captivated by the juicy redness of the fruits of the curacao (tambis) tree, some kids took turns the whole afternoon climbing the tree at the gate. On normal days I would have shouted at them, but now, who cares. Let them have it. The house is a mess. A pigsty would smell so much better. But who’s complaining.

As I’ve said everything was not this grey. The year rolled out to be promising. I traveled around Mindanao as a facilitator for a workshop to help kids in crisis (talk about irony). I went to two international film festivals. I revived this blog and wrote on a constant basis during the first quarter of the year. When I got the grant to make my disastrous sophomore film my entries became infrequent as I busied myself with preparations on the film. I would update my five readers about these preparations every now and then. I shot my film. But the initial shoot was problematic. I dropped some of my crewmembers, made enemies of friends (all my relationships are crumbling anyway, so again, who cares?) and changed location. My mother was in and out of the hospital during this time. She would constantly ask where I was. “Tell your brother to visit me,” my sister would recall, “and perhaps he can bring me a box of prunes.” When she died I was paralyzed. I was already in post-production then. I was editing my film but all creative energies evaporated into thin air. Finally I had to be rescued by “my knight in shining grey MacBook Pro.” Unlike my first film, Cartas de la Soledad was technically problematic. Sound was the greatest problem. I was supposed to have it sound designed by my past designer but when he told me about this film on a drug mule where he was asked to sound design the film for less than a week but he declined, I took it as a hint and went to other people. That proved to be a fatal mistake.  Lacking in discipline and creative solutions, the new sound designer always wanted short cuts. So problematic scenes were dubbed even if simple snipping would have done the trick. I instructed cast members not to deliver lines if they hear any distraction like a passing vehicle or airplane. So unnecessary noise could easily be taken away. Nah! He chose ambient sound that was flat and too generic. As one viewer commented during the gala, the images of the film were gorgeous. The sound, “never mind.” I was almost sued because of this film but I will not talk about it lest I invite a lawsuit again. If there’s anything that I was able to prove in this film, it is that I’m a writer first and foremost. Jury members were impressed with my screenplay. The delegate generale of the Cannes Film Festival who sat in the jury gave his vote for best screenplay to the film. But this would not change the fact that I’m not happy with this film. It’s one of those things that you would want to sweep under the rug, or hide in your closet along with XXX porn magazines and DVDs. What could have been a nice addition to my filmography is now shitty pants in an MRT during rush hour for everybody to smell and judge.

I have been busy lately alright, lying in bed for hours on end, afflicted with some strange catatonia, contemplating on “What a shitty year this has been.” I hope 2012 would be more generous and kind. 

ten, again

Every experience teaches you a lot of lessons. Doing Cartas de la Soledad surely was an excruciating journey but one with tons of valuable lessons. So in the tradition of Limbunan where I listed ten lessons learned, I'm listing not-so-new things that I've realized while doing my latest film.

1. Location is key.
2. Sound will make or break your film.
3. You are bound to make a lot of bad decisions. Blame nobody but yourself. Treat it as an opportunity for growth.
4. Do not cut corners, especially on very crucial matters (like sound).
5. Trust people to do their job well.
6. DSLR is not a magic wand. If it is, it means that the sorcerer is still the master.
7. Sleep is important.
8. Relegate tasks.
9. There should be life outside film.
10. Be realistic when it comes to finances.

gala

I'm inviting everyone to the gala presentation of Cartas de la Soledad on November 12, 9pm at the Shangrila Cineplex in Mandaluyong City. If anyone wants a free ticket, just leave a message before Friday. Here's a sneak peek of the film.


Trailer - Cartas de la Soledad from Bidadali House on Vimeo.

cartas desde el infierno

The past few weeks have been hell. As the Cinema One Originals 2011 Digital Film Festival draws closer, I feel my entry Cartas de la Soledad is falling apart, slowly, bit by bit. There have been a lot of last-minute decisions. Not that I regret any of them, but they are agonizing to say the least. Heaven must be punishing me for my sacrilege. My film is transforming into Cartas desde el infierno. 

Until last Thursday, there was no opening sequence to speak of. We shot and re-shot various opening sequences. But none satisfied my producer Sherad for most part and ball-less as I have become, myself too. Or is it because I cannot defend my earlier choice for an opening sequence? I'm not sure if the opening sequence that we have now is even it. The sound design is something. We have to dub a lot of scenes because of the noise, bus tracks and screaming children mostly. Color grading is yet to start. The closing sequence. It's another problem. Is it too contrived? Or too artsy-fartsy? I  don't know. My balls are stuck in my throat right now. I cannot breathe.

The gala presentation is five days away. We're not done yet. I'm writing this as my sound designer figures out what termite sounds like. I'm slowly dying inside and I'm pretty sure I'm going straight to hell. 

cartas de la soledad teaser

My new film Cartas de la Soledad is almost done. Here's a teaser.

goodbye, mommy

My mom passed away during the early hours of September 22. She had been in and out of the hospital this year - the longest hospitalization lasted 75 days. At that time everything pointed to her eventual demise. Aside from the Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease or COPD that she had been battling for the past nine years, there were seizures and infections to contend with, not to mention a life-threatening inflammation of the gall bladder. The inflammation miraculously disappeared after the mystic Apo Bito visited my mother. One of my mother's attending doctors could not offer any logical explanation to the phenomenon. "Thank God it's gone, she is through a lot already," Dr. Nikki said.

My father and sister Coco flew in from Manila to be at Mommy's side. The world stood still for us. Everything focused on Mommy. My father had an extended leave from office. Travel became problematic. I had to cancel several trips including one to an international film festival. Being away would be too much of a hassle so everybody stayed put. The hospital became an extension of the house. The nurses, especially the ones assigned in the ICU, became part of the family. 

"This isn't the end yet," soothsayers comforted us. True enough my mom was discharged from the hospital.

But twenty nine days later, she would again be brought to the hospital. This time I was worried. I am ridiculously superstitious. I believe in powers no science could explain. You see, aside from the comforting words that the soothsayers left us, there was also a warning. "The next time she gets hospitalized, and I hope we are wrong on this, but that would be the end."

Three weeks after my mother's death, I'm still grappling with a new reality. A sad reality that the words "She's resting now" or "Sympathies and Condolences" hardly bring comfort and ease. A reality that I could still not comprehend nor grasp the extend of its power. But one thing is sure now. I'm going to miss you, Mommy. 

flow

Tired of learning about U.S. foreign policy the long way, try this one. A brilliant, concise, truthful, encompassing illustration by Andy Singer.

two suns riseth

NASA reported on Thursday the discovery of Kepler 16b, a planet with two suns that evokes images of Luke Skywalker's home planet, Tatooine, from the "Star Wars" franchise.

The planet, which is 200 light years away and roughly the size of Saturn, is the first circumbinary planet -- meaning that it orbits two suns -- ever discovered, according to NASA.

"[T]oday science fiction has become science fact, and that galaxy far, far away has become our own galaxy. A whole new kind of planetary system has been shown to exist and -- like Luke in the story -- the adventure is just getting started," remarked Dr. Laurance Doyle of the SETI Institute.  

the medusa stare

What do Madonna and Medusa have in common? You cannot stare at them lest you be transformed into stone.

In a Toronto International Film Festival press conference, Madonna has specifically asked that festival volunteers to look away when she walks down the hallway. One volunteer told the Globe they all dutifully stood with their backs to her as she passed.

national zomba day

Last Monday I saw Zombadings 1: Patayin sa Shokot si Remington at SM Cinema Davao. It was hilarious! There was one scene in the film in which you couldn't hear the dialogue anymore because the audience was screaming and laughing out loud.

Mart Escudero did a very good job with the lead role of Remington. The indefatigable Roderick Paulate had me floored. Kerbie Zamora was so natural. John Regala was a revelation. You should all catch the movie in the theater nearest you starting August 31. Awward!

A Newsweek study of health, economy, education and politics ranked the Philippines the 63rd Best Country in The World. 

edith tiempo, 92

altophobic

I'm extremely altophobic. I don't enjoy being on top of tall buildings. I get dizzy. My hands and feet get cold. Sometimes I throw up. Once I was in Kuala Lumpur, I met an executive working at the Petronas Towers (it was then the world's tallest building). He had access to the topmost level of the building so he invited me to go up with him. I declined. I made up lame excuses and darted out the door as soon as we finished lunching in one of the restaurants at Suria KLCC.

I don't remember being altophobic as a child. My sister has a theory. "Your altophobia started in 1991. You must have been traumatized by the earthquake a year earlier that flattened tall buildings in Baguio," she said.

"We were in Manila, remember?" I answered.

"But the television news always flashed images of the rubble," she explained. "You only fear heights in tall buildings, but not necessarily mountains."

"Well, I freaked out when we passed a narrow stretch of highway in Ifugao and Benguet. The thought of falling into the deep ravine was nauseating," I retorted.

"Conquer your fear," my friends advised me. I tried not once but four times. At Cosmo Clock 21 and Landmark Tower in Yokohama. At the Empire State Building in New York. Even at the not so high Reichstag dome in Berlin. To no avail. In Cebu my friends surprised me with a ticket to the Sky Experience Adventure. They had to drag me to the edge coaster because I won't have any of it. I almost peed my pants. I sat there with my teeth clenched, my body stiffer than rigor mortis, my eyes shut the whole time. I managed to take a shot. This photo is the only "view" I have. 

So far my fear of heights has not impeded my work. When I travel I always request that I be booked on the first five levels of the hotel. If that could not be arranged, I just lie down facing the wall. If it's room sharing I request my roommate that I occupy the bed farthest from the window. At times I jump out of bed if the building starts moving. I calm myself with the thought, "It's just the rollers." I go back to bed. 

I'm extremely altophobic alright. So better deal with it.

century of birthing in venezia 68

Lav Diaz's film Century of Birthing (Siglo ng Pagluluwal) has been added to the Orrizonti section of the 68th Venice Film Festival, where it will have its world premiere.

The six-hour film is a "grand meditation on the various roles of the artist, and tells two seemingly unrelated tales: one focusing on a filmmaker who has spent years working on his latest opus; the other about a Christian cult leader in a rural region."

In previous editions of the Festival, Diaz's films won prizes (Orrizonti Prize for Melancholia in 2008; and a Special Mention for Death in the Land of Encantos in 2007). Last year he was a member of the jury of the Orrizonti section. 

howl if you're different

Great atmospheric short animation on being different.

designing a film

I juggle the roles of director and production designer in my films. In Cartas de la Soledad, I will recreate a decrepit villa caught in a time warp. To be shot in Davao City, the house is a typical 1950s style. The interior design is a hodgepodge of styles ranging from the 1950s to the middle 1990s. I'm looking for pieces that will complete the look of the film. I hope you can help me with certain items.

Wall art and furnishing from the 1970s.

Lampshades from the 1970s to the 1980s.

A classic turntable. Turning but not necessarily playing.

A Viewmaster. 

Decorative art of the 1960s to 1980s.

Barcelona, Spain souvenirs from the 1980s to 1990s.

An old cellphone. The larger, the better.

Email me at bidadalihouse@yahoo.com 

happy birthday, madonna!

Madonna is 53.

Three years ago I had the privilege of being in the Madgesty's presence during the Chicago leg of the Sticky and Sweet Tour. I wrote a five-page essay entitled The Pilgrim on the experience. Here's an excerpt.

I scrambled off the bus as soon as it reached the station on Harrison. Chicago was cold all right. I inhaled the dry air.  I walked towards Halsted Street. My hostel was two blocks away, occupying the second and third floors of an old building in the Greek part of the city, above a restaurant called Parthenon. I reached it in five minutes, thanks to my impeccable sense of direction, an ability my friends are jealous of —“What are you a walking compass?” A friend once remarked— because I can be more precise than a GPS.  

The innkeeper was an old Greek guy, presumably in his 70s, who looked like Anthony Quinn on the heavy side. After collecting payment, he escorted me to the second floor. “Put this in key hole when you leave. Check out time is ten in the morning,” he said, and went back downstairs. My room was spartan. There was a small bed and desk, a square mirror on the wall next to a framed charcoal drawing of what looked an impression of a Grecian urn. No cabinet. The window had a view of the street. The bathroom was located at the end of the hallway. I would only be staying for the night. 

The concert would start at eight, and, anticipating a long queue, there was no time to rest. I walked to the bathroom and washed my face. Back in my room I preened myself in front of the mirror. I couldn’t face the Queen looking like a hobo. I pulled out my belt bag from the backpack. I stuffed it with my wallet, concert ticket, cell phone, maps, lip balm, gum, and after deciding what the heck, my camera. I would think of a plan to sneak it in.   

All roads lead to United Center. Pilgrims of all ages, ethnic origins, religions, and sexual persuasions would congregate that night. I set off on Halsted Street, walking three blocks until I reached the corner of Madison Avenue, and took a left turn. I could hear my heart racing, unable to hide my excitement. This was a journey that took me twenty-four years to make, traversing different time zones, the expanse of the great Pacific Ocean, a voyage of 8,000 miles, and nearly 9,000 days since the first time I saw Madonna in the Borderline video when I was still in third grade. In the intervening years I’ve slipped in and out of faith and nonbelief, moved across the terrains of lucidity and melancholia, even navigate the sexual topography from being top to bottom to versa, but all throughout this constant movement, my devotion to Madonna never faltered. And now I would see her in person, this woman that I called my Icon. I walked closer to United Center, the sky slowly turning into the color of gunpowder, my hands sweating despite the cold. I rubbed my eyes to clear my vision, and got a big surprise. There was nobody outside United Center. Except for the security guards. I checked my watch. It was only five twenty. I proceeded to the box office. “What time will the gates open?” I asked. “Not until six thirty.” I was early. I was way too early. But there was no turning back. I would just have to wait. I walked to the other side of the arena, took out my camera, and started snapping photos. Ten minutes later I saw a group of teenagers taking a video of themselves, talking to the camera about how excited they were about the concert. They were planning to do a documentary. But how would they sneak in the camera? At that point I had thought of a way to sneak in my camera. I would tuck it in my brief. The guards would check my bag, I was sure of that. But it was most unlikely that they would ask me to strip, unless they really have some very kinky fetish. 

time travel

battle of the samosa

Remember the time when a lady Muslim legislator slapped a caterer during a dinner break at the House because she was served a noodle dish containing pork? Well, something of that nature has spawned a lawsuit in New Jersey after Hindu vegetarians were served samosas containing meat.

Recently, in Gupta v. Asha Enterprises, No. A-3059-09T2 (N.J. Ct. App. July 18, 2011), the Appellate Division of the New Jersey Superior Court affirmed in part and reversed in part a trial court’s grant of summary judgment in favor of an Edison, New Jersey restaurant that allegedly served meat-filled samosas to sixteen Hindu vegetarians.

 As part of an India Day celebration in 2009, the plaintiffs placed an order at the Indo-Pak restaurant for vegetarian samosas, informing the restaurant that the food was being purchased for a group of strict vegetarians. The restaurant filled the order and assured the plaintiffs that the food did not contain meat. After consuming some of the samosas, the plaintiffs returned the remaining samosas to the restaurant and were advised that the food was, in fact, filled with meat. As a result, the plaintiffs claimed spiritual damage and asserted a number of causes of action against the restaurant, including product liability and breach of express warranty.

 The Court found prima facie evidence of an express warranty by the restaurant employees and reversed the grant of summary judgment as to that claim. However, the Court affirmed summary judgment on the product liability claim, holding that, while the plaintiffs were supplied the wrong product, the food was safe, edible, and fit for human consumption. Alas, religion and products liability remain divided.

As practitioners of the Swaminarayan principles of Hinduism, the plaintiffs believe that by eating meat they “become involved in the sinful cycle of pain, injury and death on God’s creatures, and that it affects the karma and dharma, or purity of the soul.”

i browse

A little over a week ago I updated my software and applications, including my browser Safari. Since then my internet life became a mess.

Safari hangs most of the time. It has become slow.

"Perhaps the update is only compatible with the new Lion OS," my friend Haneke advises me.

"I'm waiting for a comprehensive review of the new OS before I switch," I tell him. "It has to work favorably for an editing suite. I cannot compromise my Finalcut." Years ago film editors had a problem with OS updates. With a film coming up, I cannot take the risk.

Before I switch to the Lion OS, the urgent matter is for my Safari to work at an optimum level. Then I'll decide if Lion is truly for me.  

repeat (with feelings)

Somebody is not satisfied (actually there's two of them: the executive producer and supervising producer) so I'm reshooting the first half of Cartas de la Soledad. I will start from scratch, which includes rewriting portions of the screenplay and trimming it down from 112 sequences to 85. The photo still here is now void.

The bottomline of my producers' criticism: the rushes have... "no unified (critical) vision." Yes, the rushes. Uncut, unedited, raw clips. The rushes. My producers think like gods. They can see right through an unfinished film. I didn't even submit to them rushes of the 50 sequences shot. I only gave 12 sequences. They made the judgment and sent me, my production, my film in cinematic purgatory. Half of me wants to understand them. As my SP told me, "I'm challenging you to surpass your earlier achievements." I can do more, he says. But half of me, the louder and more vicious part of me just wants to shout, "WTF?!%$&*^"

It's not easy, considering I already spent almost half a million pesos (that's 50 percent of the grant). I cannot afford the entire team when I resume the shoot. Some people must go. I cannot afford the little comforts that I usually give my team, like the extra rice, flowing coffee 24/7, Coca-Cola during lunch, or the Red Horse after the wrap. Every cent has to go into the production, more importantly the production design of the study room as it is the central location of the film. My production manager always doodles hearts right next to the word STUDY ROOM in the PD breakdown written on a manila paper. The production design must be able to pronounce "faded opulence" in visual terms.

I cannot afford the slightest mistake. I'm making a storyboard of every sequence. This is the first time I'm doing this. I cannot rely on gut feel anymore. The wardrobe should have no crease. The two boys must shed their urban looks in favor of the peasantry that the screenplay calls for. The DSLR must go. There must be no shadow where there should be no shadow. No unmotivated lighting. No camera movement unless I deem it necessary. No artistic interpretation of scenes outside my own. No improvised acting unless the scenes require it. Everybody must work to achieve no other vision but mine and mine alone.

So there, I will start from scratch. I will overhaul the entire thing and come out of it unscathed, happy and hopefully not in debt.

half

I've just finished shooting half of my film Cartas de la Soledad. It was a gruelling six-day shoot, with lots of drama and suspense both offscreen and onscreen. Lessons learned, too.

For instance, I will never shoot with a DSLR camera ever again. Unless Canon pays me gazillions of money. DSLR is not for those who love doing long takes. The rendition of blacks is bad. I will never shoot near the beach. I was trying to avoid a live sound recording nightmare by not shooting in the middle of the city. The beach can be as problematic. I will never work with people who does not understand my vision and aesthetics. It will just turn out to be an exercise in futility. I will never work beyond 16 hours a day. It's exhausting physically and creatively.

I shoot again in two weeks. I resolve to be more prepared than the first half of the shoot. I am thankful for a supportive, patient and creative team: Coicoi Nacario, Elreen Bendisula, John Barredo, Madz Alang and Yam Palma. They were part of the team behind Limbunan.

The cast is equally brilliant and talented. Perry Dizon, Mayka Lintongan, Alexis Libres, Ma. Victoria Beltran, Rashid Alvarez and Bein Ali Unayan.

For now I leave you with a photo still from the film.

sing!

I was in Singapore on two occasions in a span of a month this summer. The first one was for the inaugural Southeast Asian Film Festival where Limbunan was invited as its closing film. I flew in four weeks later for the Asia On The Edge Conference.

Wall graffiti along Queen Street.

An inflatable bunny in front of the Singapore Art Museum on Bras Basah Road.

Esplanade.

A sumptuous bowl of laksa. Yummy!

An old Peranakan window.

Pinoy filmmaker Sherad Anthony Sanchez and film programmer Philip Cheah of Singapore crossing the street.

my new idol

Time and again, heroes emerge in our midst. People who do the daring. People who go against the odds (sometimes even against the law) to do the right thing.  In my city, we have found a new hero. It's none other than our own mayor Sara Duterte who in a moment of boldness berated and punched a court sheriff who could not even extend her the courtesy of waiting as she had requested. Shanties were about to be demolished, but she was still in another part of town to give relief goods to flood-stricken families. She requested that the demolition should not proceed without her. That way she could assure the affected families that the city government would take care of them. But when she arrived in the area, there was already a ruckus because the court sheriff, armed with a court order, would not wait.

Now public opinion is divided. We are always told not to put the law in our own hands. Mayor Duterte, a public official and also a lawyer, just did that. Some quarters are calling for her head to roll. A large section of her constituency see her as a hero. Aside from suspension, she might also face disbarment.

But she can be assured that, because of her act of gallantry, her people will rally behind her.

sophomore jinx

It's barely a month before the scheduled shoot of my second film Cartas de la Soledad, but everything is still a blur. One, we haven't found the right location yet. A concrete house (circa 1950s) with a large garden and patio bordered by high walls like the one below from Shirin Neshat's Women Without Men.

Two, we don't have a sound man/ editor yet with a high level of skill, discipline and artistry that the film requires. Three, we haven't found the two boys in the supporting role. I'm wary about the third one because I'm not really fond of working with children as they need special attention. I am overly dependent on my assistant director to make this work.

For now my main concern is the house. It is the most crucial, determining factor in the film. I'm scouring Davao, Cotabato and Marawi cities for possible options. The houses that I've seen so far, those that fit the visual requirements of the film, pose a live sound recording nightmare.

I'm trying to get in touch with the artist who did the sound of my first film Limbunan, who eventually got the Urian nod for best sound, but he has not replied to my messages yet. (Mansur, I'm so sorry for being an asshole.)

So far, the only accomplishments that I'm proud of are coming up with a good script (eight revisions) with 90 percent of the dialogue in Maguindanaon, deciding not to shoot with a Canon Mark II 5D, and casting local actors Perry Dizon, Alexis Libres, Bambi Beltran and Mayka Lintongan.

My cousin Philip says that this is called sophomore jinx although I'm inclined to believe that anything sophomore works fine to me. I did great on my second year in high school. But I'm ridiculously superstitious and freaked out by this suggestion.

God, aliens, anyone out there, please show me the way.

spongebob found

Spongebob finally found his way into the annals of science with the discovery of a spongy mushroom in Sarawak, Malaysia. Scientists named it Spongiforma squarepantsii.

Spot the similarity.

happy fathers day

One of the best animated shorts I've ever seen to commemorate Fathers Day.
Cheers to all the daddies in the world.

i'm undead and you are?

The Geek Zodiac was conceived by James Wright and designed by his friend Josh Eckert.

pink dot 2011

Beautiful video for a more inclusive Singapore.

casting call

I am in need of cast members for my new film Cartas de la Soledad (Letters of Solitude) which is a finalist of Cinema One Originals 2011.

The lead role of Rashid must be an actor in his late 40s to early 50s, has a regal bearing, with little dancing skills, comfortable being physically close to somebody of the same sex (no sex or kissing though) and willing to learn Maguindanaon and a little Spanish.

Supporting role of Sakina, Rashid's elder sister, must be an actress who exudes the same royal air, must know how to smoke a cigarette, and speaks confidently in English.

Juan must be Spaniard-looking, in his late 20s to early 30s, with rugged good looks, and could speak very good Catalan Spanish.

For interested parties, please email letter of intent with photo to bidadalihouse@yahoo.com no later than May 31, 2011.

it's a ferris wheel

How can I describe the past month except that it had been one heck of a giant Ferris wheel ride. Twenty eight days ago, my mother was admitted to the Intensive Care Unit for lung congestion. Her oxygen level was very low while her carbon dioxide rose to a toxic level. Later we found out that that she also had several infections, both bacterial and fungal in her lungs, and gastrointestinal tract. Because of the build up of phlegm and fluid in her lungs, she was intubated. One night she had two seizures that puzzled her doctors. The only explanation (so far) that they could offer was that it was a reaction of the body to very low oxygen level in the brain. Her neurologist suggested a CT scan in the future. "It's not urgent," the neurologist said. My mother was conscious alright but she was incoherent. "She has lots of problems already, least of it is the brain," he added.

One day she showed  signs of the end, and we were already making plans should the inevitable time of death comes. But two weeks later, she managed to snap out of the infections. Her oxygen level became stable, and, on her 20th day in the hospital, because of the improvements, she was moved to a private room. We were jubilant. I even managed to travel on two occasions: to Singapore for the Southeast Asian Film Festival, and Manila to attend the Gawad Urian where my film Limbunan won Best Sound for Dempster Samarista. I also met with my staff to prepare for the production of my second film Cartas de la Soledad.

But two days ago, my mother's condition made another turn for the worse and she was moved to the ICU again where she has been staying as of this writing. She is stable for now, but until when only the Great, Infinite One knows for sure. 

busong in cannes

Filipino director Auraeus Solito goes to the Cannes Film Festival this year with his film Busong (Palawan Fate). His fifth full-length feature film to date, it is officially part of the Directors Fortnight section of the Festival.

five

I live with cats. When I told friends that I was going to get myself a cat –a longhaired Persian at that—they were concerned because it was not the best pet choice for somebody asthmatic like myself. “But I want a cat, I always liked cats.” I was adamant. According to them, there were simpler ways to aggravate my lung condition that won’t cost me an arm and a leg. “Like standing on EDSA eight hours a day for a week, inhaling toxic fumes from passing vehicles,” they suggested. But I persisted. A few days later I took home a male and ginger fur ball. I named him Natarajan Beckham.

Natarajan was derived from a character in Amulya Malladi’s novel The Mango Season, which I was reading at that time, and, to commemorate the 2006 World Cup, I gave my cat the last name of my favorite soccer player.

Nate, as I fondly call him, turns 5 years old today. He’s grown large with shiny orange hair. He likes to imitate me. He prefers sleeping flat on his back –legs spread out, tummy exposed— like his human. He spends more and more time in front of the computer. I won’t be surprised that one day he’ll be writing my essays for me. I spoil him silly. I refuse to refer to my cat with the pronoun it, preferring the masculine pronoun he. When I am out of the house and people would ask, “Sinong tao sa bahay mo?” I would assure them that the house is safe because, “Si Nate ang tao doon.” He’s a member of my family.

letting go

I've been stalling a farewell the entire week. This afternoon however I could no longer derail the inevitable. It all started when my friend Wadilkhaery sent me an SMS last Sunday asking if I still have a kitten available for sale or adoption.

"Yes, I have a male kitten, light orange, almost four months old."

An hour later, a deal was struck with a potential buyer. "Can you deliver the kitten tomorrow?" Wadilkhaery asked.

"I'm sorry, I'm going out of town," I answered. The truth was the out-of-town trip was scheduled Tuesday. I just wanted time to be with my little kitty cat.

As soon as I arrived from my trip Tuesday evening, I received a text message from Wadilkhaery. "Are you back?" I didn't reply. The text messages kept arriving Wednesday. I ignored them.

Thursday afternoon, I received a text message from an unregistered number. It came from the potential buyer. It turned out that he was the Starstruck Teen Survivor Chuck Ali. I didn't text him. Wadilkaery sent me messages even until late in the morning. He tried to call me but again, I ignored them.

But when Friday afternoon came I mustered all my strength and courage. I am an honorable man, I know how to keep my word. I decided that it was time to bring the kitty cat to its new owner. Aboard the taxi to the meeting place -Wadilkhaery's Zabadani Cafe- I stroked the kitty cat for the last time. I couldn't help but cry. I was already attached to the playful little cat. I didn't want to let him go. We already named him Rashid, because we thought we wouldn't be parting with him anymore.

He kept meowing during the 15-minute trip, as though he was telling me "I don't want to go." But I told myself it was for his own good. I patted his head. "Be good, kitty cat."

As the taxi slowed down in front of the cafe, I swallowed a big one, suppressed another tear, and told myself to be brave. This is not going to be goodbye.

letters of solitude make me happy

Despite the challenges, my hard work in preparing a convincing pitch has paid off. I got the grant! I'm one of ten filmmakers who will be receiving a 1 million pesos (roughly US$22,000) seed fund from Cinema One Originals. The film entries and their filmmakers are as follows:

Anatomiya ng Korupsiyon by Dennis Marasigan

Big Boy by Shireen Seno

Cartas de la Soledad by Teng Mangansakan

Di Ingon Na'to by Brandon Relucio and Ivan Zaldarriaga

Ka Oryang by Sari Dalena

Mga Anino sa Tanghaling Tapat by Ivy Universe Baldoza

Paranormal Romance by Victor Villanueva

Sa Kanto ng Ulap at Langit by Mes de Guzman

Sa Ilalim ng Tulay by Earl Bontuyan

6 Degrees of Separation from Lilia Cuntapay by Antoinette Jadaone

the pitch

My pitch took eighty minutes. I was distracted, incoherent and way too relaxed it would seem that I was just talking to friends over bottles of beer.

I was two hours early in the venue. "Why don't you go down and have coffee first," the coordinator told me. "I'm good, I'll just wait here," I answered. Then she left. My heart was racing, another cup of coffee would make me a nervous wreck. I thought that by being early I could familiarize myself with the environment. I would be more comfortable. The pitch would be a breeze.

There were six filmmakers scheduled to pitch that day. I was the first on the list. 

I practiced my opening remarks. "Good evening. My name is Gutierrez Mangansakan II from Pagalungan, Maguindanao..." I was stammering. Despite the 15 degree temperature, I was sweating like a dog. 

Every straight guy should have a man's tongue in his mouth at least once.


-Madonna

i cram

I'm cramming (again so what's new?) I'm pitching my script to possible producers on Wednesday. I need to make a 50-slide presentation. But I procrastinated for the past several weeks so I'm rushing to make an impressive Powerpoint. I've managed to make 13 slides so far. I'm still on the first part of the presentation. The presentation has seven parts namely script treatment, technical capability, casting, commercial elements or selling points of the project, production staff, past works, and budget and marketing.

I cannot focus. Except for Albert Martinez, Cesar Montano and Raymond Bagatsing for consideration in the lead role, all my mental notes are gone. Should I have more coffee? Or should I just take a short nap? I called a friend to help me with commercial elements. I have no idea what this is supposed to be. Or, am I just passing the responsibility to others? Clock is ticking.

sicko

I thought that it was an April Fool prank, but this is plain sick. Vendors in China have been selling key chains that consist of either a Brazil turtle or two small kingfish sealed inside a small plastic baggy. Each baggy, seven centimeters in length, is filled with colored liquid and the imprisoned animal(s) of choice. The baggy is supposed to be “nutrient rich” water, which the vendors claim allows the animals to live for several months. After several months is up, however, you’ll just be carrying around a dead animal.

Mary Peng, the co-founder of the International Center for Veterinary Services, says that the animals will run out of oxygen and therefore probably die before the so-called nutrients in the water run out.

These little trinkets, typically sold at subway and train stations, are protected by law and, according to said law, are not considered animal abuse. According to Qin Xiaona, director of the NGO Capital Animal Welfare Association, this is pure animal abuse; sadly, there only exists in China a Wild Animal Protection Law, and therefore these poor animals are not protected.

For some, they’re bought because they think they bring good luck. Others buy them to free them. According to one woman who spoke to the Global Times, “I bought one to free it. It looks so miserable.”

Animal protection groups are voicing their opinion on the matter, so hopefully they can quickly make progress toward getting these keychains made illegal.

come home, yaki

Aside from the nine Persian cats that I keep inside the house, I adopted two domestic shorthair cats. Two years ago I found Yaki and her sister Maui, they were kittens then, outside a bar that I frequent in Matina Town Square called Maui Teriyaki (hence the provenance of the two cats' names). The waiter told me that their mother died a few days earlier after ingesting a poisoned rat. My heart melted.

Unlike their Persian cousins, the two cats stay outdoor most of the time. Yaki has this habit of visiting neighbors' house, disappearing for hours only to reappear during supper. But lately he has not reappeared. He has been missing his meals. I'm beginning to worry. I haven't seen him in two days. The last time I saw him was in this particular neighbor's house. Today I checked the house and found out that they have placed a piece of wood underneath the gate. Perhaps they have become tired of the unwelcome visitor. If Yaki is in their premises, he has no way of getting out. I knocked at my neighbor's gate, but apparently they are out.

Wherever you are, Yaki. Please come home.

Update:

Yaki came home to have his lunch today. But it was quick, about a minute, and then he disappeared again. Mogley offered me an explanation. Lately a big alpha male cat has been visiting the house. The cat is larger than Yaki and they usually fight. Yaki, according to Mogley, might be trying to avoid the cat. The only way for Yaki to return home is to get rid of this trespasser.

April 2, 2011. I was awakened by Yaki's meow. It was 5:25am. He wanted his brekkie.

fast, faster, fastest

It's the end of March already and I thought the year was just getting started. The first quarter of the year went like a breeze. I haven't even made a checklist of things to accomplish. Let's see. Er, I finished a script which might be made into a film later this year. My film Limbunan had a successful screening in France, Zamboanga and Davao. I was able to finally hold the first Moro Artists and Cultural Leaders Summit which I have been planning since 2006.

The second quarter of 2011 will start in less than 24 hours. I would need to be more proactive to accomplish more things. I'm targeting to do two films this year, and publish a book that should have been out in 2009.

My 3*th birthday falls during this time, two months from now. I came up with a wish list last year.  4 out of 12 wishes came true. Not bad considering that the number corresponds to the big wishes. This year I have a not-so-new set of wishes.

1. Canon EOS 5D Mark II. Yes, I still want this camera.

2. A trip to Venice (I love the city), Barcelona (if I would be given the chance to make my film this year, some of the scenes will be shot here), San Sebastian and Berlin.

3. The house that I have been wanting to build in Pagalungan, Maguindanao.

4. To lose 10 pounds.

5. More honest friends, and those who can keep their promises.

6. Multiple cat beds for my nine cats, in different colors.

6. To meet Tsai Ming Liang, Michael Haneke, Hou Hsiao Tien or Jean Luc Godard.

7. A state of the art kitchen with all the good stuff. I'm considering a new career: restaurateur.

it's not all money

There's a good development in the controversy regarding Willie Revillame  stemming from an episode in his television program when he "made a six year-old boy named Jan-Jan Estrada to repeatedly perform dance moves usually done by male adult dancers in indecent shows."

Janna Ong, daughter of the CDO Karne Norte CEO reported that, "(CDO) already wrote TV5 to tell them we are temporarily withdrawing our sponsorship until they give us something concrete as to how they will handle Willie. The letter sends a very strong message... We are all God-fearing and honorable businessmen and we will not allow our company/brands to be associated with personalities who practice child exploitation."

If only the other sponsors would have the decency and right moral judgment to follow CDO Karne Norte.

let's dance.

Filipino-American dance artist Daniel Cloud Campos, best known for his involvement as dancer in Madonna's Re-Invention and Confessions tours, recently wrote, directed, and edited this dance video called The Music Box. I've been curious about making dance films, and this one is surely inspiring.

i lerve critics

Limbunan is nominated in six categories in the 34th Gawad Urian, including Best Film, Best Direction, Best Screenplay, Best Cinematography for McRobert Nacario, Best Production Design for Paramata Endawan, and Best Sound for Dempster Samarista.

The Gawad Urian is handed out by the Manunuri ng Pelikulang Pilipino or the Philippine Critics Society composed of Dr. Roland Tolentino, Dr. Gigi Alfonso, Mario Hernando, National Artist for Literature Bienvenido Lumbera, Dr. Miguel Rapatan, Benilda Santos, Dr. Nicanor Tiongson, Tito Valiente, Lito Zulueta, and Butch Francisco.

In a blurb written for the film's press kit to the 67th Venice International Film Festival, Zulueta wrote

In lyrically detailing the curious pre-nuptial rituals that a very young Maguindanao woman undergoes in Mindanao in southern Philippines, Limbunan lays the pros and the cons of tradition and change that any society in transition confronts. There’s no hard sell here: only images and stirrings of wisdom that fill the viewer’s heart and mind in one meditative flow of humanity and empowerment. Limbunan is that rarity: a poetic movie with a gadding edge.

crassness

Willie Revillame has overtaken his old record of crassness. This time he "made a six year-old boy named Jan-Jan Estrada to repeatedly perform dance moves usually done by male adult dancers in indecent shows [in his television program.] The poor child was in tears and looked scared the entire time, as Revillame poked fun at him and the audience laughed and cheered."

Public reaction has been diverse. Revillame's fans have accused those who have been complaining of over reacting. Some wrote complaint letters to the Commission on Human Rights and the Department of Social Welfare and Development. In her letter to the chairman of the TV network that airs Revillame's program, Social Welfare Secretary Dinky Soliman asked, "What kind of values are we teaching our children through these shows, especially after Willie Revillame pushed Jan-Jan to do something against his will and then told him that it’s alright because he will receive money in exchange for it?"

What is more appalling than Revillame himself is the reaction of the President. He shrugged the issue. According to his official Facebook page, the President said that "Perhaps you can direct your anger at the bigger issue and not make a mountain out of a mole hill for Willie. Controversy, specially misplaced, may even improve his ratings."

"Remember, you are free not to watch the program."

Others are not content on boycotting Revillame's  program. They have asked people to stop patronizing the show's sponsors.

I am not a fan of Revillame. I've seen him when he was still a striving host or comedian (the side kick of Randy Santiago in GMA 7's Lunch Date). Back then, as he is now, Revillame remains an embodiment of kabastusan, showing no respect for people especially women. For the sake of argument, I wondered if I could survive a boycott of his sponsors.  Here's a list of sponsors followed by my remarks.

CDO Karne Norte. I don't eat meat.

Pepsodent. I use Colgate.

Islander Sandals. I wear Mojo and Sandugo.

Camella Homes -- A Vista Land Company. I didn't vote for Manny Villar. I'm content with whatever land I have, so I don't need to buy a parcel of land in one of his overpriced subdivisions.

Cignal HD. I don't watch TV.

Cebuana Lhuillier. Rosver is the most reliable pawnshop this part of the country.

Pau Liniment. The smell is hideous.

Smart Wireless Telecom. I'm a Globe subscriber.

Belo Medical Group. What for?

Oishi. I love the spicy prawn crackers, but I guess I can live without it.
Vaseline. I use Head and Shoulders. But I was told Head and Shoulders is also a sponsor. Can anyone confirm this?
Bench Daily Scent. Nope.
Bench Wil Cologne. I have been using The Body Shop perfume.
Wil Tower Mall. Where in Mars is this?
Techno Marine. Nope.
Surf. Ariel with Downy.
UFC Ketchup. Yuck! Heinz or Hunt's for me.
Smart C Juice Drink. Huh?

I have surpassed the test. I will surely survive without these products. And without Willie Revillame. Trust me, you can survive too.  Life would be happier without him.

i will be japanese today.

Since I'm on the subject of Japan today, I'll devote my Monday to everything Japanese. I'm going to watch two Japanese themed films. Three if I could manage it. First would be Return of Godzilla.

Godzilla was conceived as a monster created by nuclear detonations and a metaphor for nuclear weapons in general. Godzilla was described as "a cross between a gorilla and a whale", alluding to his size, power and aquatic origin. This brings me to a recent development in the Fukushima Nuclear Plant in which radiation has apparently reached the nearby sea. Could it possibly result to the mutation of some sea creature into a monstrous giant like Godzilla?

The second film in my line up is Norwegian Wood. I've seen it during last year's Venice International Film Festival. I'm a fan of its director, Tran Anh Hung, whose debut film Scent of Green Papaya was one of the inspiration for my own film Limbunan. I have conflicting opinion on his Haruki Murakami adaptation, especially on the style of editing. I guess it's a good reason to watch it again.

You'll have to excuse me now. I have to boil water first for my green tea and some instant Nissin Ramen before playing my DVDs. I'm too lazy to get a proper sushi.

memories of tokyo

Finally I received word from my friends in Tokyo. They're all doing fine, despite news that radiation level in Fukushima have reached new highs. I've never been to Fukushima, which is about 200 miles away from Tokyo. The last time I was in Japan was in the winter of 2007. The trip was confined to the capital and the neighboring Kanagawa Prefecture.

From my hotel window at Prince Tower, I could see the centuries-old Zojoji Temple.

I would find myself straying to its hallowed grounds during my afternoon walks. In the front gate, you would be greeted with a lot of warnings, set in bold kanji, foremost of which is, no (lighting of) cigarettes. The thought of this magnificent temple reduced into smoke and cinder is sacrilegious.

I was curious. What if fire, indeed, happens? My host Yojiro Tanaka of the Japan Foundation told me that like in most of Japan’s important heritage sites, there are rescue volunteers of Zojoji Temple, ordinary citizens who would rush to the site in case of fire. They conduct annual drills to prepare themselves for the job. Perhaps, when the earthquake struck on March 11, the volunteers also made sure that the temple was in good shape.

On Harumi Street in the heart of ultra-chic Ginza sits the Kabuki-za Theater. For three hours, I was enthralled by a kabuki performance. It made me hungry. Good thing there was an intermission.

I had this bento box in one of the cafeterias in the theater. It was so pretty I just had to take a picture being chomping it all down. Before I left Tokyo, I visited Meiji Shrine enveloped in a lush, thick forest. It was serene, a stark contrast to hypnotic Harajuku at the entrance of the shrine.

Japan has a lot to live for. I know, she will rise again.

moving back

I'm moving back here. This morning I was at the mall and a reader walked up to me (Yes, I have a reader. Thank, God!)

"You're Teng, right?" she asked.

I nodded.

"You're not blogging like you used to."

"I'm kinda busy recently, but I wrote something a few days ago."

She was surprised.

"Are you sure you're following my blog?"

She nodded.

"I mean my new blog."

"You have a new blog?"

I said yes.

"Why?" She looked disappointed. "You have your blog for three years already. My husband and I read it."

"Five years actually. Thank you very much for finding my blog worth your time. You can check my new blog. The link is on the right side of my old blog."

"No, no. You're known for Morofilm. It's you. What made you decide to move to a new blog?"

"Change, perhaps."

The woman was unconvinced by my answer. "You can change without abandoning your original blog." She looked straight at me. "Sayang! Okay, I'll try to check your new blog."

While on my way home I realized that she was right. I worked hard to create this blog, nurtured it for the last five years, created friends and enemies through it, honed my writing skills. According to a page ranking system, it has a score of 4/10 which is supposed to be good. I gave in. I would like to say thank you again, to Christine (that's her name), for following this blog.

I'm moving back here. Now it's time to redecorate.