The talk about the Philippine movie industry last year was not about the films themselves. It was about the power they wield in local society. Fernando Poe, Jr, the acknowledged "King of Philippine Movies," challenged the incumbent Gloria Macapagal Arroyo in the presidential elections in May. Poe was supported by his best friend and fellow actor, former President Joseph Estrada, who is currently on trial for corruption. Poe had no previous political experience or academic training, but these things hardly mattered to the moviegoing masses, who adored him. When they looked at him, they saw the hero he had portrayed on-screen for four decades.
In nearly every one of his movies, Poe played the quiet, humble man who keeps his composure even when he is goaded by evil, powerful men. Inevitably the villains go too far, and he is forced to fight on the side of the oppressed. It’s the classic Hollywood western formula transposed to the tropics, and Poe was the master of the form. He made the sight of grown men in cowboy hats and boots riding among the banana trees seem perfectly normal to the Filipino audience. Poe may not have finished high school, but he understood the power of image better than anyone. He always played the honourable defender of the downtrodden. His screen persona, aided by specific camera angles and lighting, some patented fight moves, and a rigid coiffure, was zealously stage-managed over the years. His private life never contradicted his public image: one might argue that he had been preparing to run for president for 40 years.
Poe seemed to be leading the presidential race for months, but in the end it was the incumbent Arroyo who won the election. Arroyo herself capitalized on her show business connection - her vice president is a television anchorman and her party’s senatorial line-up included two action stars. Joining them in the Senate is another action star, a son of former president Estrada.
Why have actors and other showbiz personalities been so successful in Philippine elections? There are many possible explanations ranging from the flaws in the Philippine political system to the simple belief that actors and the characters they play are one and the same. Perhaps voters understand that show business and politics are the same thing. The Philippines is not the only country with actor-politicians - even the US has its "Governator." As the global media grows in power and influence, we can expect this phenomenon in other countries.
The saga of Fernando Poe, Jr came to an abrupt end on December 14, 2004, with his death from a stroke. Hundreds of thousands of people attended his wake and funeral. The last time anyone saw such a massive outpouring of grief was in 1983, after the assassination of Senator Benigno Aquino, Jr. The public outrage over Aquino’s death triggered the events that led to Edsa Revolution. Poe’s supporters insisted that he’d been cheated in the election. So would the grief over his death lead to a revolution?
The answer came days later, at the opening of the annual Metro Manila Film Festival. Wags noted that the same people who’d lined up for hours to pay their last respects to "The King of Philippine Movies" now lined up to see the fairy tale adventure, Enteng Kabisote.
Outside of politics, Philippine cinema is alive and well. It’s the Philippine movie industry that’s in its death throes. This is the view of the "independent" film community, anyway. The indies seem to have had a good year, with films like Ang Pamilyang Kumakain ng Lupa (The Family That Ate Earth) by Khavn de la Cruz, Salat (Parched) and Tawid Gutom (Stomach Filler) by John Torres, Romeo Must Rock by Roxlee, Diliman by Mes de Guzman, The Island at the End of the World by Raya Martin, and Bloodbank by Pam Miras. Meanwhile, the documentary filmmaker Ditsi Carolino, who has made incisive, often wrenching films on child labour (Minsan Lang Sila Bata/They’re Only Children Once) and urban poverty (Riles/Life on the Tracks), premiered her latest work, Bunso (Youngest Child).
Jon Red’s Astig, the tale of a hitman with bad eyesight, hinges on a clever stunt: the actor who portrays the hitman carries the camera, so we see everything from his point of view. The protagonist himself only appears onscreen when he sees himself on a reflective surface. Ironically the star and cameraman of the movie is one of the most popular actors in the Philippines. Other big stars turn up in small roles; everyone donated their services.
Filipino-American director Ramona Diaz’s Imelda, a documentary on the former First Lady Imelda Marcos which won the cinematography award at the Sundance Film Festival, had a successful theatrical run in Manila. Imelda Marcos herself gave the film a marketing boost by trying to stop it from being shown. Curious viewers flocked to the cinema to see whatever it was Imelda didn’t want them to see. They didn’t gain new information or insights, but they were entertained nonetheless.
Mario O’Hara’s Babae sa Breakwater (Woman on the Breakwater) was screened at the Directors’ Fortnight during the Cannes Film Festival in 2004. Breakwater is an independently-produced low-budget movie with no big-name stars. O’Hara has written or directed some of the most important Filipino films (Lino Brocka’s Insiang, his own Tatlong Taong Walang Diyos/Three Years Without God). With Breakwater he demonstrates what the indie community has been saying all along - that good movies can be made without big budgets and big-name stars. However, intelligent filmmaking must be accompanied by a modicum of marketing savvy if the movie is to find an audience. This is not about selling out. It’s about bringing the cinema to the people whose lives it can enrich.
Acclaimed director Lav Diaz finally unveiled his Ebolusyon ng Isang Pamilyang Pilipino (Evolution of a Filipino Family), which took many years to complete. Ebolusyon traces the fortunes of one family from the Edsa Revolution in 1986 to the present day, in a film that lasts almost as long. No doubt Diaz makes thought-provoking statements about Philippine society in his new film, but at eleven hours and counting, it is not likely to be screened in Manila multiplexes. Diaz’s previous film Batang West Side was named Best Film in the Gawad Urian critics’ awards, but it has not been commercially exhibited in Manila either, despite a running time of only five hours.
The highest-grossing Filipino movie of 2004 was the fantasy-adventure Enteng Kabisote, the big-screen version of a popular TV series from the Eighties, the local version of Bewitched. Enteng Kabisote starred Vic Sotto, a comedian and host of the longest-running afternoon variety show in the country, and Kristine Hermosa, a TV soap opera star and endorser of skin-whitening products. The movie made more than P100 million pesos, much of it during the annual Metro Manila Film Festival.
Star Cinema’s Feng Shui, an entertaining compendium of horror movie clichés, made more than P70 million during its run. Part of the fun of watching Feng Shui was identifying the sources of its scary bits (The Ring movies, Final Destination, and so on). Chito S. Roño is a canny director, and his film not only comments on the current feng shui (geomancy) craze, but on the horror genre itself. Feng Shui also offers a crash course in how to finance movies through product placement: at one point the family re-enacts a TV commercial for canned corned beef. The same formula was deftly applied to Star Cinema’s next product, BCUZ OF U. This three-episode romantic comedy was apparently brought to us by a local mobile phone company - the title itself is a text message.
Feng Shui star Kris Aquino, daughter of a former president, had another hit in Happy Together, a romantic comedy about a woman and her gay best friend. Happy Together was the second highest grosser at the Metro filmfest, earning P70 million. Director Laurice Guillen’s career has ranged from the Rashomon-like sex-drama Salome to the wholesome domestic drama Tanging Yaman. Last year she made Santa-Santita, the story of a willful young woman who suddenly starts making miracles. Despite point-of-view problems, Santa-Santita boasts of strong performances from its leads, and excellent cinematography by Lee Meily. The film was shot on high-definition digital video.
Erik Matti, whose Prosti and Gagamboy were screened in the FEFF, made his first foray into digital cinema with Pa-Siyam, an unsettling horror movie that relies on mood rather than shock tactics. Maryo J. de los Reyes followed up his much-praised Magnifico with Naglalayag, in which Filipino superstar Nora Aunor plays a judge who becomes involved with a taxi driver much younger than herself.
Jeffrey Jeturian’s follow-up to the sex-comedy Bridal Shower was Minsan Pa (Again), a quietly moving love story that shuns the conventions of movie melodrama. The characters are real people with real, mundane concerns - keeping a family together, holding down a job, building a house. Jeturian and screenwriter Armando Lao find the poetry in ordinary life. Everyone dreams of a grand passion, but it’s just not possible for everybody.
The annual Metro Manila Film Festival - two weeks of Filipino movies without Hollywood competition - remained the largest showcase for Filipino movies. If the 2003 filmfest offered a surprising variety of genres and subjects, 2004 marked the return to safer material. There were two fantasy-adventures, two World War II dramas, two horror movies, one romantic comedy, and the latest entry in the Mano Po series about Chinese-Filipino families. Ironically for a festival that is supposed to involve the entire industry, four of the movies were produced by the same studio, and one director had three movies showing simultaneously.
Observers called for an overhaul in the festival’s selection procedures - the entries are chosen long before they have been made, on the basis of the scripts submitted to the committee. If no script is yet available, the plot summary will do. One critic noted that with the exception of Yam Laranas’ horror movie Sigaw (Shout), the festival movies might as well have been made for television. But actor Cesar Montano made an impression with his film Panaghoy sa Suba (Call of the River), which he wrote, directed, and starred in. The World War II epic was in Cebuano, one of the many languages used in the Philippine archipelago.
Fifty Filipino movies were produced in 2004, down from the annual average of close to 200 in the Eighties and the first half of the Nineties. There are many theories as to why the Filipino film industry, which had once been so lucrative that producers saw no need to find foreign markets for their products, has been in decline since the mid-Nineties. Industry leaders blame the ongoing economic crisis for the drop in ticket sales. Local moviegoers can’t afford to go to the movies anymore, they say, although one might argue that during periods of economic woe, people are more inclined to go to the cinema to forget their troubles.
Conventional wisdom also blames the government, which gives little support to the industry while leveling high taxes on movies. Roughly 52 percent of the gross goes to taxes, the municipal tax rate is 33 percent, and the money does not go back into the industry. Hollywood is cited as another villain in the industry’s travails. Filipino productions cannot compete with the mega-budget American blockbusters, but neither can other national film industries. The average moviegoer who equates cinematic quality with Hollywood production values will tend to dismiss Filipino movies as poor imitations. Instead of competing head-on with Hollywood, local producers must take a chance on more thoughtful, character-driven projects that are distinctly Filipino. Unfortunately, few producers are willing to take the risk, and they are often disappointed by the results at the box-office.
Film piracy is also mentioned as a cause of the industry’s decline. There is a high-profile government agency tasked to go after manufacturers and dealers of bootleg CDs and DVDs. It conducts frequent raids in places where bootlegs are sold, but few big-time manufacturers have been caught, and even more dealers of pirate goods are operating today. But Conservatives insist that the movie industry’s problems stem more from its "immorality." According to this group, the viewers are disgusted by the lewdness and wanton sexuality exhibited in movies - although it should be noted that in recent years, an X-rating from the government censors was the best advertising tactic for a sex-oriented film.
On a related note, the SM Cinemas - the biggest theatre chain in the country with 132 theatres in 19 malls for a total of 97,180 seats - banned all movies rated R-18 from their theatres. (R-18 means that no one under the age of 18 may be admitted to the movie.) A congressman praised the SM Cinemas for taking a stand against "pornography" and aiding in the "moral regeneration" of the country. It should be noted that many of the greatest Filipino films were rated R-18 when they were first shown. In addition, the ban on R-18 movies means that only movies "suitable for the entire family" can be shown in those theatres. In other words, more people can be allowed into the theatres, thus increasing revenues.
With the slump in film production, the most popular movie stars have migrated to television, which has become the main source of entertainment and information for Filipinos. Viewers can now see their favorite stars for free, in the comfort of their own homes. Why should they pay to watch the same people on the big screen?
Whatever the real reason for the long agony of the Philippine movie industry, it is clear that the producers and filmmakers have lost touch with the audience. Mainstream filmmakers constantly rehash hackneyed old formulas long after they have been rejected by the audience. Independent filmmakers declare themselves too principled, too "anti-commercialism," to even consider what the audience wants. One side panders shamelessly to viewers, the other snubs them completely. The road to reviving the Filipino movie industry lies somewhere between those extremes.
The Philippine movie industry has been on the brink of death for so long, one wishes it would get it over with so we can move on to its reconstruction. But how do we make sure that a reborn movie industry will not be struck down by the same malaise that killed the present industry? The hardest part is learning from the mistakes of the past, because no one will admit having made them. The second hardest part is embracing the future, because no one will admit that their time has come and gone.