Latak (English Title: Residue)

From the opening lines of this trailer alone, I can tell that this movie is going to rock my world. The main character goes “How could you do this to me? My God! I trusted you. How could you do this to me?” For me, the delivery is just so powerful it closely competes with Mark Lapid’s delivery of “Oo! Inaamin ko! Saging lang kami! Pero maghanap ka ng puno sa buong Pilipinas, saging lang ang may puso! Saging lang ang may puso!” (“Yes, I admit it! We’re but bananas! But you can search all the trees in the entire Philippines, only the banana has a heart! Only the banana has a heart!”) in the movie Apoy sa Dibdib ng Samar (Flame at the Heart of Samar). I can just prophesize that Latak will offer this century a new addition to classic movie lines, like “You’re nothing but a second-rate, trying-hard copycat!” and “Here’s looking at you, kid.” Yes, even through the trailer alone, I can tell that Latak is going to be a classic in Casablanca magnitude.

And don’t even get me started with the synopsis. On the movie’s Multiply site, it poses you the question: “What if your nightmare faces you?” Immediately after reading that single line, I asked myself, “What if indeed?” And what I got were chills down my spine. I do not ever want to find out. This movie is just so profound and I’ve only seen the trailer! The site goes on with the following:

When a young director Andrew Locsin discovers the cruel betrayal of his lover and friends, his vice triggers a destructive entanglement of his dark past.

An ordeal that was haunting his unconsciousness and
 graphic memories, surfaces. Thrown into a mix of
 spine-chilling hallucinations and paranoia he comes face to face with the mysterious ghosts of a mother and a girl. With no one
to
trust, the demons in his nightmares appear in his fight for survival in a horrifying doomed reality.

Extracted from a tumultuous true to life events, the film
will take you into the dark side of grim reality.

I don’t know about you, guys, but that just screams Fellini to me. I mean, wow. This might even be better than a Fellini as I slept through 8 1/2. But this one, Latak. . .even the trailer moves me so deeply that whenever someone does something wrong to me, say, a Starbucks barista gives me my chai latte grande instead of venti, I'd want to tell him/her: "How could you do this to me? My God! I trusted you! How could you do this to me?"

Birthday Dinner

short fiction

MICHEL SETS A plateful of spaghetti on the table. He made it just the way Alfonso likes it: Pinoy-style—sweet and spicy. He next arranges a loaf of bread in a circle on a large plate, with a bar of unsalted butter at the center. His plan is to have them toasted later, buttered, and then sprinkled with McCormick Garlic Bread Sprinkle. Just the way Alfonso likes it.

This is going to be one delightful birthday dinner for Alfonso.

Michel’s relationship with Alfonso is complicated beyond words. This is probably because Michel is a Leo, and he can get pretty cranky at times. When they fight, Michel craves for an argument, an exchange of words, so they can settle their issues in one sitting. Alfonso is Aquarian, and he can be such a pushover, a doormat. It pains Michel each time Alfonso caves with an apology immediately, regardless of whoever’s at fault. No matter how you look at it, it’s always Michel who ends up feeling defeated.

The clock strikes seven. Alfonso should be home any minute. Michel walks over to the fridge and takes out a 1.5-liter bottle of Coke then places it on the table. He leaves the bottle of rum inside the fridge for now. He’s sure Alfonso will want to have a drink later, foreseeably rum-and-Coke, as Alfonso doesn’t really drink anything else. Thankfully, though, Alfonso is not totally a drinker. He simply enjoys a nightcap once in a while. Usually Alfonso comes home too exhausted from work he only has time for dinner, a drink, and the first ten minutes of a Hollywood movie that he falls asleep to.

Alfonso is quite fond of Hollywood movies. He is drawn to the glamorous look of the celebrities that star in them. Alfonso’ss favorite movie, as far as Michel knows, is Heathers, a 1989 film starring Wynona Rider and Christian Slater. The movie, if Michel remembers correctly, circles around the topic of teen suicide, and it amuses him that Alfonso is so into it, even if Alfonso is the least suicidal person he knows.

It’s seven-thirty. Michel is hungry. He pours himself half a glass of Coke and grabs a slice of bread. He figures he and Alfonso should have dinner together, so a slice of bread shall do for now. He considers lighting some candles for a moment. “Candles… Ha!” he says out loud then shakes his head in amusement. Alfonso would never want a candle-lit dinner. It’s too… bourgeois. That is one thing Michel really likes about Alfonso. Alfonso doesn’t thrive on things that are beyond them. Michel can sum up Alfonso with Pinoy-style spaghetti, quasi-garlic bread, and rum-and-Coke. None too lavish.

Eight-fifteen, the clock says. Michel curls up in the sofa and grabs a book. He’s not really into books, but there’s nothing else to do. Alfonso meanwhile is quite literate. The dork has probably read all of Sidney Sheldon and Tom Clancy and Frederick Forsythe. Michel doesn’t even know squat about any of them. He tries to read a chapter off the book he’s grabbed. “’If Tomorrow Comes.’ Interesting title…” Michel tells himself. A couple of pages into it, he dozes off.

* * *

THERE’S HEAVY POUNDING on the door and Michel jolts right up. Eleven-thirty, the clock tells him. He runs to the door and opens it.

“What the fuck took you—“

Alfonso falls right to the floor.

“Jesus! What happened?” He pulls Alfonso up and finds that his shirt is smeared with blood. Alfonso’s right eye is bruised and swollen and his gums and ears are bleeding.

“Trouble with a client…” Alfonso says, barely audibly.

Michel drags Alfonso to the sofa and lets him lie there. “I’ll go get some water.” He runs to the kitchen.

Alfonso starts to sob. “I want to stop doing this.”

“C’mon, now. Don’t say that.” Michel goes back over to Alfonso and has him take a few gulps of cold water. “What happened?”

“The new client, the middle-aged notary public, that sonofabitch. He wanted to take all ten packets but he could only pay for half of them…” Alfonso can barely finish his sentences. He is sobbing and gasping for air at the same time. “Then he started hitting me, and kicking me, and he took everything, including all the money. I could barely make it here. I had to walk.”

Michel shakes his head. “That motherfucker….” He stares at Alfonso, who is by now crouching on the sofa like a scared caterpillar. He strokes Alfonso’s head. “Are you hungry? I cooked some spaghetti for you, and I can toast you some bread with butter and garlic sprinkle….”

Alfonso doesn’t say anything back.

Michel sighs and starts to stand up. “Just stay there. I’ll bring you the food myself.”

In the kitchen, while toasting bread, Michel hears Alfonso calling out to him.

“What?” he yells back.

Alfonso calls out to him again with that scratchy voice. Michel can barely make out any words.

“I can’t hear you, Alfonso. Just wait for me to get back there, OK?”

Michel goes back to Alfonso with a plateful of spaghetti and toasted bread, now buttered and sprinkled with McCormick Garlic Bread Sprinkle. His heart breaks at the sight of Alfonso, all battered like a crushed worm.

“What were you saying?” he asks.

Alfonso clears his throat and hesitates for a minute. “I…”

“What?” Michel grins. “C’mon, it’s your birthday. You can say anything.”

“I want to stop doing this. I’m serious. It’s too much. Please…” Alfonso begins to sob again.

Michel stares at Alfonso for a minute, heaving deeply. Then he hurls the plate to the wall. “You ungrateful piece of shit!” He grabs Alfonso by the collar. “Do you know how much trouble I’ve been through for you? Do you even have any idea?”

Alfonso looks him in the eye, quaking with fear. “It’s just that—“

He strikes Alfonso across the face. Alfonso sobs harder. Michel drops Alfonso back on the sofa. “Look…” he says, gently, in a consoling tone. “Let’s not get into this, OK?”

Alfonso’s sobbing slowly begins to subside.

“It’s your birthday, Alfonso. Just eat. There’s still spaghetti left on the table.”

Alfonso nods, sniffling and wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

Michel sits beside Alfonso, stroking his back. “You’re twelve now. In a few months, you’ll be in high school. Just give it four more years. Just finish high school and then you’re free to go. You do want to finish high school, don’t you?”

Alfonso nods again.

“Besides, once I get to bail Paolo out of prison, your load will get lighter. It’s just difficult right now, what with Mickey’s death and all.”

“OK.”

Michel stands up and yawns. “I’m going to bed. Clean up that mess, will you?” He nods his head towards the broken plate and spilt food across the room. “I haven’t even eaten yet. I waited for you all night. You have to think about other people for once.”

Alfonso starts for the broom and dustpan behind the door. “I’m sorry,” he says under his breath.

“And get something to eat before you go to bed,” Michel says as he opens the door to his room. “I don’t want you to sleep hungry.”

“I will, Tito.”

Michel gives Alfonso one last look before stepping inside his room. It truly breaks his heart, the way Alfonso submits with an apology all the time. He’s a good boy, that Alfonso, considering.

“Good night! I’ll take care of that dickhead tomorrow, don’t worry.” Michel closes the door behind him. He considers buying Alfonso a DVD copy of Heathers in the morning, as a post-birthday gift. “And happy birthday!” he yells from his room.

“Thank you,” Alfonso says as he starts to sweep the floor.

THE END

Waiting

There are minutes, and there are
Hours -- and half of one
Already seems too long
If your hands are empty

Of someone else's skin
To fondle.
He promised me his time, yet
I still feel like a fool, asking for half a day

Of his.
Tongue, lips, heaving chest --
Like minutes they dissolve
Into mere memories. I do not

Recall ever wanting him
This much,
Such that I'd will myself
To sit idle

Waiting for him to show up.
Until minutes clump into a half-hour
And the fool that I make
Myself out of

Flutter off abandoned in the wind
Like a candy wrapper on a
Cold, cold
Morning.

What the Fuck Is the Big Deal With Power?

If I were to have power, I would like it to be supernatural, like the power of flight. The power of flight, most especially, because then I would be able to go to places without worrying about traffic. I’d only have to worry about the sun if I flew during noontime. Hell, this would prevent me from going to work late. Although, come to think of it, since I currently have a home-based job, I do not have to worry about going to work late; all I need to worry about is waking up early. I could then just wish for the power of being able to sleep whenever I need to, as because of my insomnia (or the inability of my mind to shut itself during bedtime) I barely get any sleep on work days. In this case, though, I could just wish for the power to not sleep at all for all eternity. This way, I can do all the things that need to get done in a day. I can even juggle three jobs all at once while working on a novel, a screenplay, and a book of faux love poems dedicated to a hurtful man. Any extra hours I could just spend self-learning French.

Of all the kinds of power one could wish for, I do not see why someone would crave badly for political power. So much so that the massacre of 57 or so people is a necessity if that political power were threatened.

When I found out about the Maguindanao massacre, which is now aptly called the Ampatuan massacre (after the name of the town where the crime took place, which is also named after the very family suspected of being responsible for this horrific turn of human events), I could not help but well up. The very idea of mass killing just to protect a legacy that does not even predict the ending to “Lost” (one of the most important things on the planet) is just too confusing for me.

Photo taken from the Facebook group
"JUSTICE FOR THE VICTIMS OF
MAGUINDANAO MASSACRE, PHILIPPINES"

Why the fuck kill?

Why the fuck kill 57 or so people?

This whole thing reminded me of my friend’s father, who was shot a couple of years ago today (I will never forget because it happened during Thanksgiving Day in the U.S.) just because he ran for mayor in a town where the last mayor at the time was killed as backlash for his own oppressive ways. Even with the mayor killed, the area was pretty much still run by his family, which made my friend’s father decide to run to end the oppression once and for all. My friend’s father lost the election, but even after that, his car was sprayed with bullets on his way home from work. He lived, thank goodness, but so did injustice, because the shooters were never apprehended, and the people who masterminded the shooting would always remain suspects.

I just hope this time, with 57 or so people shot to death like they were mere plastic ducks in some transient fair that pops up during town fiestas, justice will be served.

Or I will surely wish for the power to cause torturous guilt. And those murderous horsefuckers will be so sorry they’ll end up chewing on shards of glass, and even that won’t be enough to atone for their shit.

Just for Kicks

7MBCBZXM3GCN

"V"

A blogger that I’m sort of following cites that “V” inspires nothing but eye-rolls. A couple of Facebook contacts of mine state in their status that they do not know what to think about “V” yet, but would gladly give it another chance. Maybe I do not have any taste at all, especially that I am not exactly a Sci-Fi fanatic, but I thought “V” inspired nothing but goosebumps. I thought it had the best pilot for a TV show this year, or probably even this decade (next to “Lost,” of course).

What I like most about “V,” despite some of its characters being worn-out clichés, is that it does not pose this huge mystery that is supposed to unravel in too many years to come. After “Lost,” too many TV shows have tried to put us in this exhausting position of forever waiting for answers. I think one show is enough. “Fringe” started out well enough, but in the long run it got terribly benign I had to stop watching it. Just like “Vanished,” “Prison Break,” and “Jericho,” off the top of my head.

But with “V,” we are treated to the usual fare of good versus evil, of some epic battle that is clearly going to be the show’s finale—whenever that will be, I hope not too soon.

I wish I could write more about the show, but I’ve already been criticized for my entries being too long, that they are not blog-hopper-friendly. The criticisms mostly come from myself, when I blog-hop into my own blog.

So here’s to hoping this entry is of blog-hopper-friendly length.

And oh, by the way. . .oh wait, this has gotten too long. Nevermind.

The Art of Teleparablizing

Season 2 Episode 01


Teleparablizing: Morals used in everyday life that derive from TV sitcom plots: “That’s just like the episode where Jan lost her glasses!”
- Douglas Coupland, Generation X: Tales for an Accelerated Culture

Lead Character and another one of his close friends, Becky, are exhausted, even if all they did all day was sit in a coffee shop somewhere along Osmeña Blvd. Now they’re sitting again, outside the coffee shop this time, having their last cigarettes before heading on home.

Becky: Yeah, so that’s pretty much it. He’s acting somewhat like my friend again, despite our history together.

Ah, Becky and her history with whatsisname. To make the long story short, it was a love affair that involved a reckless betrayal of trust. And that was almost two years ago. Two years, and the wound still stings fresh for Becky. And now whatsisname texts her like the good old days—days before the love affair started, way long before the reckless betrayal of trust happened.

Lead Character: Maybe he wants more than friendship again, Beck. Why else would he ask you out to watch In My Life? And why would you watch it with him, anyway? You’ve already seen it....

Becky: I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m pretty sure I’m over him. I don’t understand why I want to undo that.

Lead Character: Didn’t Samantha Jones (Sex and the City) have a man in her life who broke her heart once, and when they were given a second chance at it, she let him break her heart again? Maybe you want to go Samantha Jones on him.

Becky (heavy sigh): I don’t want to go Samantha Jones on him; I want to go Carrie Bradshaw on him. At the end of the day, it’s safe to say he’s my Mr. Big.

Lead Character: He’s actually more like your Carrie Bradshaw, and you his Aidan Shaw.

Becky: Whatever, Lead Character.

Lead Character: Whatever, Becky.

Long silence.

Becky: Hey, in case I die, will you tell my parents that I want to be cremated? I really think I’m going to die late next year.

Lead Character (eye-roll): Is this about your suspected tumor again? You really have to see a doctor about that so you can stop guessing.

Becky: Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure I have a tumor.

Lead Character (shifts weight in his seat): Oh, so you already saw an oncologist for that?

Becky: No, female intuition.

Lead Character: This just reminds me of Kitty Walker (Brothers & Sisters). She has cancer now, do you know that?

Becky (shakes head): I don’t really watch Brothers & Sisters.

Lead Character: Oh, well, this is like In My Life then. Luis Manzano’s character had cancer, you know....

Becky: I know. Hey, what happened to your Mr. Big? Any update on the whole unfriending hullabaloo?

Lead Character (laughing): Oh, he is so not my Mr. Big. He’s just plain-old unfriender. No character on TV’s ever unfriended another character on TV, anyway.

Becky: Probably because it’s a lame thing to do. (With conviction) And TV’s never lame!

Lead Character: Right on. I was even tempted to go Blair Waldorf on him, but only for a second. I realized I should just move past it.

Becky: Blair Waldorf...?

Lead Character: Gossip Girl, my dear friend. (Cocking his head) What the hell are you watching these days?

Becky: Uh... So You Think You Can Dance?

Lead Character: Oh, right. Well, we can’t really apply that in real life.

Becky (nodding): I guess we can’t.

Becky and Lead Character put off their final sticks of cigarette and left the coffee shop, calling it a highly productive day.

---

Note to my blog-viewers:

If you have problems you feel you cannot solve on your own, place them in the Comments section here and Lead Character will come up with solutions for you through teleparablizing.

Are you crazy about someone who does not even know you exist? Find out why going Sketch on the person is the best way to go.

Are you getting expelled from school and you have no idea how to handle it? Learn which TV show has proven that the only way past that is to say “Fuck it,” and get into real estate instead.
Looking forward to hearing from you all!

Antichrist (2009)

Photo taken from http://en.wikipedia.org

Things that came into my mind while watching Lars von Trier’s Antichrist for the third time:

1. You cannot call a Lars von Trier movie with just its title. It has to include his name possessively. E.g., I only skimmed through Lars von Trier’s The Idiots, hated the middle part but loved the ending to Lars von Trier’s Dancer in the Dark, and I got bored with the first hour of Lars von Trier’s Antichrist, but I thought the remaining half-hour or so kicked major ass. This is somewhat ironic for a Dogme 95 filmmaker, as when they make Dogme films, they are not supposed to be credited at all. However, Lars von Trier’s Antichrist is not a Dogme film.
2. It would have been fun if Lars von Trier’s Antichrist were a Dogme film. I would not have been subjected to hearing the aria played during the Prologue of the movie, as well as the Epilogue. I do not like arias. I am not cultured enough to tell arias apart. Arias are like Michael Learns to Rock songs; they all sound alike.
3. If Lars von Trier’s Antichrist were a Dogme film, it would have truly been a horror movie. We would have most likely seen Willem Defoe’s turgid penis, and not his porn double’s.
4. It’s difficult to classify Lars von Trier’s Antichrist as a horror movie. When horror movies are brought up, I think Shake, Rattle, and Roll, or those Freddy Kruger movies I only saw some clips of. Lars von Trier’s Antichrist for me, despite all the gore and violence and profundity (so much profundity, in fact, that I didn’t get several intellectual layers of it), is more of a romantic comedy.
5. Lars von Trier’s Antichrist contains a few scenes that are too gruesome to watch. Before watching the movie, I already knew of accounts of moviegoers fainting during its screening at the Cannes Film Festival, and even more recently at the New York Film Festival. When I finally saw those scenes, I thought they were indeed shocking, but only on an amusing level. The third time I watched it with a couple of friends, I could not help but laugh. Hence, I got the comedy part.
6. How I got the romantic part, you would all have to watch the movie to find out.
7. The cinematography is so beautiful it made me want to be a cinematographer. But only for a few minutes because I had to stop myself. I cannot want more things in life. I cannot allow that. It would only make me more miserable. I want to be a monk.
8. I think I’m drunk. Tanduay Ice barely has any alcohol content, but it’s easier to magnify inebriation when one hasn’t had enough sleep.
9. I need to get some sleep. Will probably watch Lars von Trier’s Antichrist for the fourth time when I wake up.
10. zzz
11. Contrary to popular belief, I am not the Antichrist!

Great Boobs of Fire!

(Season One Finale)

Lead Character and Tee, girlfriend of his girl friend Dee, are sitting bored out of their wits outside Seattle's Best at the Terraces. Dee is still inside finishing something on her laptop. By the time she catches up with Lead Character and Tee, the two are already talking about the Roman Polanski case, the term "hebephilia," the song "Hands Clean" by Alanis Morissette, which is about hebephilia, and, as brought up by Tee, the movie Great Balls of Fire!, which is based on the true story of '50s musician Jerry Lee Lewis, who married a 13-year-old.

Dee: OMG, Tee. Do you have to be such a know-it-all?

Tee: Huh? Really? Was I being a know-it-all? It just so happens I remember the movie....

Lead Character: Yeah, I never really got that know-it-all vibe from you....

Lead Character stops and checks out the guy passing by. The guy has smooth, probably medically-enhanced, skin, and gigantic, gym-developed pecs.

Lead Character (to Dee and Tee): Man, look at those man-boobs! That guy is hot!

Dee knots her brows at Lead Character, right before taking a bat from her purse and clubbing Lead Character with it on the head.

Dee: You horny bitch! Don't you recognize the girl that he's with?

Lead Character (while massaging his bleeding temples): Huh? Who?

Tee: Oh, yeah! I recognize her.

Lead Character (squints at Recognizable Girl): Oh, yeah!

Dee (teary-eyed): OMG! We have to have our picture taken with her! OMG!

Lead Character: OMG! Let's! Let's!

Tee: Um, hehe, yeah, I'll just pass.

Dee and Lead Character hurry off to Recognizable Girl. Other losers mall customers are already having their pictures taken with her.

Dee and Lead Character: Hi, Recognizable Girl! Can we go next!

Recognizable Girl (with a friendly yet uncomfortable smile): Sure, sure!

After Lead Character takes Dee's picture with Recognizable Girl, Lead Character stands right next to Recognizable Girl, whom he realizes now must play Lead Character in Lead Character Chronicles: The Movie.

Dee raises her Blackberry in front of them.

Dee: Say Cheese!

CLICK!

Lead Character (telling himself): This is sooo going on my blog!

Kinatay (2009)

Photo taken from http://blogs.villagevoice.com

Reviewing a movie like Kinatay (English title: The Execution of P) will prove to be quite a challenge if (a) you watched it in one of the seedy movie houses on Colon Street, (b) the only trailer shown during the screening was this laugh-out-loud-funny sex drama called Salat, (c) you’re not sure if you caught the ending or not, and most importantly since (d), it’s directed by brutal and unsympathetic auteur Brilliante Mendoza, who, just earlier this year, was booed at the Cannes Film Festival for winning Best Director for the movie in question.

For (a), no other movie house in the city chose to screen Kinatay but this old-school movie house somewhere in the Colon area that’s infamous for, well, I’d rather not say. Let’s just put it this way: some moviegoers walked all around the theater the whole time, which made my friends fear for their belongings. I tried to convince them that unless they had a penis, they had nothing to worry about. (They were all female friends, by the way). The one good thing about the movie house being seedy, though, is that since there was no air-conditioning, you’re free to smoke while watching the movie. It actually felt very bourgeois, considering.

(b) Salat is a rare gem. The trailer starts with a naked man and woman who appear to be having sex, but they could very well be just lying down side-by-side caressing each other. I’d like to say it was foreplay, but it seemed too boring to be one. But what makes the movie Salat really stand out from the rest is the acting; it’s hysterical! One scene involves the lead girl pacing around at the beach, in knee-high water, and in a nightgown all mad and distressed, the reason for which is, and I can only guess, she cannot have the man of her dreams. So she paces around crying, screaming, seemingly unsure of what to do next, and then she dives into the water—for an evening swim or to commit suicide, I will never know. Through the trailer alone, I can tell that the screenplay is a winning masterpiece. The lead girl gets consoled by a friend (or a sister) with the following words: “Siya na lang kaya ang pakasalan mo. Total, guapo naman siya at mayaman.” (“Why don’t you marry him instead? He’s handsome and rich, anyway.”) Props to the writer/s for coming up with such a complex character, because apparently, the lead girl does not want to settle for just handsome and rich. Maybe she’s looking for someone no Austen leading man could measure up to? Perhaps, perhaps.

(c) The version of Kinatay that we watched ended abruptly, without the end credits or anything. I felt really uneasy so I turned around to wave at the projectionist in the projection booth behind us. Lo and behold, the projection never came from the projection booth all along as in a regular theater, but rather, at the very front of the balcony, in front of where me and my friends were sitting. So I approached the projectionist and asked him if that was the end of the movie. He said yes. It was too obvious, though, that the movie was not played from a reel, but, I think, from a pirated DVD, so whatever the real ending is, I will only know if and when a legit copy of the movie comes out.

(d) Brilliante Mendoza is brutal and unsympathetic because he does not seem to care what his audience thinks or feels. He just tells the story as it is, with a certain level of detachment that he himself seems like just another spectator. Worse, he’s completely ignored that virtually everyone, even those who claim to be the snobbiest of cinephiles, grew up on Hollywood movies, and would look for proper lighting and scoring. Mendoza might as well be a Dogme filmmaker, because all light and sounds coming from the movie seem to have been shot as they were. No enhancements whatsoever. This does not work all the time. However, in a movie like Kinatay, all the terror is magnified instead. You cannot see much of what’s going on, but you know it’s happening and it gives you chills. This probably contributed to why the movie was walked out on.

See, here’s how the story goes: Peping (Coco Martin) is a newly-wed criminology student who gets invited to run some errand along with other policemen, including Kap (Julio Diaz), the captain of the city’s police force. Unfortunately, they do not go out to do police work but to execute Madonna (Maria Isabel Lopez), a bar girl who owes Kap drug money (Kap, by the way, also happens to be the drug kingpin in the area). When the men start beating Madonna up inside the van, with barely enough light to make anything out, that all you have to make use of primarily is your sense of hearing—you hear Madonna’s pleading for the men to stop, the van running, the dull thuds of the men’s fists and the soles of their shoes stamping all over Madonna—right at that moment, you are placed in Peping’s shoes, who’s too shocked to do anything, too afraid to protest. For Peping, it’s a long night, one horrific nightmare that he wishes to get out of, especially when the situation elevates to the men raping Madonna before chopping up her body parts. The difference between the audience member and Peping is, the audience can easily walk out of that nightmare; Peping has no choice but to play along and stay calm, even to the point of helping out in disposing of Madonna’s body parts. If you’re one of the audience members that sticks to the end (or whatever ending the theater you're watching the movie in offers you), you’re probably sick in the head. That, or you’re in that Colon theater walking around, looking for, well, I’d rather not say.

One of my former bosses pointed out to me that Kinatay seems to be a rip-off of Training Day (Antoine Fuqua). He said that just like Training Day, Kinatay is about a good cop being put in a situation where he is forced to be bad. Well, having seen both movies, I can say that both are just too different to be compared. Next to Kinatay, Training Day seems more like a colorful Disney movie. I can even picture Ethan Hawke now bursting into “Part of Your World,” flipping his fins. This isn’t saying I like one more than the other. I like Kinatay for how different it is, and how real it felt, even at the risk of sounding like a complete psychopath. But I also like Training Day because of great writing, good acting, and top-grade lighting and scoring.

I can totally understand why people hate Kinatay. I even understand why film critic Roger Ebert would deem it unwatchable. But I can also understand why Brilliante Mendoza won Best Director for it. If I were in Cannes that time, watching Brilliante Mendoza accept his award, I would never have booed. I would have probably lit a cigarette, nodding, nodding.