Krip's Critical Comments
Alfred Yuson’s thoughts on the National Artist for Literature deliberations for this year, which he wrote down in his Philippine Star column last Monday, has irked quite a number of (mostly UP-based) creative writers in Filipino. Some of them, most notably Joi Barrios, even wrote him (or the newspaper) letters criticizing his criticism of Bienvenido Lumbera, who’s currently enjoying the lead over Cirilo Bautista in the deliberations. Clearly, here’s another mini-controversy in the making.
I only know Bautista and Lumbera by reputation, so I really can’t judge which one deserves the National Artist title more. But from what I've heard I can say that both men have accomplished much for Philippine literature. That said, Bautista is better known as a poet (his The Trilogy of Saint Lazarus has been praised as a landmark work) while people know Lumbera, an icon for his scholarly work in Philippine literature in Filipino, more as a literary critic.
In any case, politicking has always been present in these deliberations.
FYI, the following are the rest of the National Artist for Literature nominees for this year: Antonio Realce Berango, Linda Ty Casper, Clodualdo del Mundo Sr., Ophelia Alcantara Dimalanta, Gilda Cordero Fernando, Lazaro Francisco, Juan S.P. Hidalgo, Jr., Lucila Hosillos, Magdalena Jalandoni, Genoveva Edroza Matute, Buenaventura Medina, Jr., Carmen Guerrero Nakpil, Kerima Polotan, Francisco "Soc" Rodrigo, Rogelio Sicat, Azucena Grajo Uranza, and Rene Villanueva.
My first reaction after seeing this list: Where is Gregorio Brillantes?
Personally, I would love to see Villanueva become a National Artist, but I know that will not happen this year. That being the case, I would be very pleased if the Holy Trinity of Postwar Philippine Short Fiction in English—Brillantes, Fernando and Polotan—get that honor. And if they were still alive, Bienvenido N. Santos, Estrella D. Alfon, and Rogelio Sicat would surely be National Artists by now.(Muchos gracias to the Decongestant owner for the links. Ü)
Breaking the Blogging Break
Yes, it's been two weeks since my last post, but academic responsibilities obliged me to take a break from blogging for two weeks. Here's what happened during that time:
The Cuts on Her Wrist, my first flash-fiction piece, finally saw print in this month's issue of Homelife Magazine. Much as I'm glad it got published, I can't help but be amused by the fact a magazine run by a religious order (Society of St. Paul) printed a story that places a priest in a not-so-flattering light.
The PHSA staged First Snow of November two weekends ago at the CCP, and I'm sooooo happy with the results. I'm very happy that my faith in director Herbie Go (and his teenage co-director) didn't fail me; the little changes he made in the text benefitted the play considerably. And the talented teenage actors who played the middle-aged Fil and Tony just blew me away.
And yesterday, I finally finished writing the first draft of my second short story for Chari's class. It's actually my first stab at writing speculative fiction, and it took me a month to form it in my head before I wrote it down in longhand. The actual writing took me more than a week. I won't tell what it's about, but what I can say is that Gregorio Brillantes' The Cries of Children on an April Afternoon in the Year 1957 (the more I read this story, the more it impresses me; no wonder Butch Dalisay says it's his favorite Brillantes story), Lina Flor's Five Snapshots and Tara Sering's Reconaissance influenced me during the writing process. Now I have to encode the story for class on Thursday.
I'll be very, very happy once March is over.
Crushed About "Crash"
Maybe Robert Altman, a master of the ensemble drama, winning an honorary Oscar should have been a sign. Or maybe the film’s win for Best Film Editing should have been a clue. Or the fact that the Best Picture presenter, Jack Nicholson, embodies Los Angeles in a way (hell, everyone knows he’s a rabid Lakers fan), or that many members of the Academy live there.
Crash winning Best Picture crushed me. Shock and awe? Try shocking and awful.
I can imagine the ferocious aftershow debate building up now. I feel so bad, not just for Brokeback Mountain, but for the rest of the Best Picture losers; they’re much better than Crash, in my opinion--and I've watched all five. Shit, this upset is upsetting me.
What a major letdown. Stupid Academy.
Five Plays from the PHSA
Dulaang Sipat Lawin, the official theater company of the Philippine High School for the Arts, will be staging the grand theater recital of Batch Ang Kiukok-NVM Gonzalez titled “Kung Pa’no Masiraan ng Bait.” It will show two sets of plays scheduled to be performed from March 9 to 12.
The first set features the following plays: Progress, an adaptation of National Artist for Literature F. Sionil Jose’s short story; First Snow of November, Alfonso I. Dacanay’s Palanca-winning adaptation of the short story The Day the Dancers Came; and Rody Vera’s Ang Unang Aswang. (March 9 and 11 at 7:30 p.m. and March 12 at 3 p.m.)
The second set features two plays: Lihis, a translation of Martin Sherman’s Bent, and Makikitawag Lang Ako, an adaptation of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s short story I Only Came to Use the Phone. (March 10 and 12 at 7:30 p.m. and March 11 at 3 p.m.)
These plays will be presented at the CCP Tanghalang Huseng Batute and are directed by Herbie Go and co-directed by the six senior recitalists.
Call 0927-3276610, 8323678 (Pie), 0921-3544432 (Lakhi) or (049) 5362862.
A Cinematic Cenaculo for the Converted
To mark Ash Wednesday today, I'm posting my review of Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ, which was first published in the Philippine Graphic on May 3, 2004. Incidentally, the film was released in the United States two years ago on Ash Wednesday.Title: The Passion of the Christ
Distributor: 20th Century-Fox Pictures
Director: Mel Gibson
Screenwriters: Benedict Fitzgerald and Mel Gibson
Cast: Jim Caviezel, Maia Morgenstern, Monica Bellucci, Hristo Jivkov, Mattia Sbragia, Hristo Naumov Shopov, Claudia Gerini, Rosalinda Celentano, Francesco De Vito, Luca Lionello
Rating: PG-13 for sequences of graphic violence
No other movie this year has captured as much attention or provoked as much debate than Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ. From the earliest stages of its production to the staggering impact of its release, people just can’t seem to stop talking about it. Is it really anti-Semitic? Is it really that violent? Have you heard about that lady who had a fatal heart attack while watching the film? Or about that remorseful man who had confessed to killing his girlfriend after viewing the movie? Or the hundreds of millions of dollars it has grossed at the US box-office?
Clearly, the film is more than a blockbuster; it has turned into a phenomenon. The fact that it’s a traditional retelling of a specific religious subject makes its success all the more mind-boggling. And that subject is as much based on the Sorrowful Mysteries, the Stations of the Cross, and our local cenaculos as it is on Gospel accounts. Many consider the movie more as a work of faith than a work of art. That’s fine, but I choose to see it as the latter. Much as it seems to try to exempt itself from them, the film remains subject to the medium’s conventions and rules.
As a work of art, The Passion of the Christ has several problems. Gibson’s decision to concentrate squarely on Jesus’s journey to Calvary (with a handful of regrettably short flashbacks, strategically placed throughout the movie) contributes to some of them—like the lack of psychological depth, of a historical dimension. All throughout the film I kept asking myself: What drove the High Priest Caiaphas (Mattia Sbragia) to have Jesus (a noble, perfectly cast Jim Caviezel) put to death? What motivated Judas (Luca Lionello) to betray Christ? What prompted the citizens of Jerusalem (other than being bribed) to turn against a man they have welcomed like a king just a few days ago? I may suspect the answers, but the movie doesn’t suggest them.
The result? The players in this passion play never become three-dimensional, never become totally human. Not Judas or Caiaphas. Not Peter (Francesco De Vito) or John (Hristo Jivkov). Certainly not Caiaphas’s cohorts or the Roman soldiers torturing Jesus. Not Magdalen (Monica Bellucci, lovely as always but nothing more) or even Christ, despite Caviezel’s best efforts. Only Pilate (Hristo Naumov Shopov) shows some semblance of humanity, partly because the film manages to show, however brief, how his mind works. But strangely, Maia Morgenstern, who plays Mary, gives the movie’s best performance. There’s something about her presence—the way she looks and carries herself, the way she follows Jesus—that’s so quiet yet so strong. And every facial gesture she makes speaks volumes as to what she thinks, what she feels.
Some have accused The Passion of the Christ for its alleged anti-Semitic sentiment. Maybe it’s just me, but I didn’t find any trace of it. True, Caiaphas and his allies are Jewish, but so are Jesus and his disciples. The film even portrays two of Caiaphas’s fellow priests quite sympathetically, though they appear only briefly. And then there are the Romans: some, like Pilate and his wife Claudia (Claudia Gerini) come off as sympathetic; others, like Jesus’s sadistic torturers, certainly do not. Still, they’re not that balanced: they’re still without dimension, without texture.
Others have raised the issue about the film’s violence. Yes, it’s graphic and it’s gruesome. Every time the soldiers flog Jesus senseless with their lashes and whips, tearing slivers of skin from his already bloodied and bruised body; every time they push and shove him towards Calvary—one couldn’t help but look away or wince. That’s how violent it is. Yet I couldn’t help but ask: Is his spirit similarly tortured? What is he really thinking? Is he tempted to give up, or is he really determined to persevere through it all? Does he try to numb himself from the unimaginable pain? His sacrifice would have been much more meaningful had Gibson paid attention to his spiritual and mental anguish as well. Unfortunately, he didn’t show it at all.
Then there’s the problem of Satan (Rosalinda Celentano) being in the film. I don’t mind him looking androgynous, but I do mind why is he in the movie at all. As a character, he’s not only distracting but also pointless. All he does is sneer or slither in and out in some scenes or both. And as for those face-morphing, terrible-looking children haunting Judas, their presence not only appears ineffective, even unimaginative, but also—dare I say it?—cheap.
But that does not mean The Passion of the Christ is without any saving grace; it has some, actually. Caleb Deschanel’s sterling camerawork is one: he shoots the film in hard, harsh tones, in colors from beige and dark yellow to brown and black, reflecting the miserable condition of the time and the severity in which the Passion unfolds. Francesco Frigeri’s top-notch production design and Maurizio Millenotti’s fine costumes add authenticity to the movie, as did Gibson’s admittedly inspired decision to use Aramaic and Latin dialogue instead of English.
As a work of faith, the movie impresses; but as a work of art, it’s far from impressive. Still, The Passion of the Christ is filmmaking at its boldest. How else would you describe a director who professes his faith by making an uncompromisingly religious film in a not-so-religious time, using his own money to finance and release it against imaginable odds, and then seeing it pay off beyond all expectations? Such courage is commendable. And however sharply divided people’s opinions are about The Passion of the Christ, there’s no doubt that this cinematic cenaculo for the converted has already become this year’s most talked-about film. (Copyright © 2004 by A.I.D.)
