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.