The Market Monitor Minding the Nation's Business
Conclusion
(For the second part of this column, click here)
Like in Mercury is Mine, a bond also plays a central part in Roderick Cabrido’s splendidly shot and deliberately paced Tuos (Pact). This bond is different, though: it’s deeper and tighter, spans generations, and is marked by memory and myth, as well as by blood.
On one level, this bond is between Pina-ilog (Nora Aunor), the revered binukot princess of Antique province’s Panay Bukidnon tribe whose sole duty is to preserve the culture and traditions of her secluded upland community, and her teenage granddaughter Dowokan (Barbie Forteza), who’s being groomed to succeed her in the privileged but isolating position.
On another level, it’s between the Panay Bukidnon people and the spirits with whom their ancestors made a pact—one that the binukot princess is bound to keep—after the foolish Datu Paiburong cut down the prized bamboo of the monster Makabagting. It’s a story told in the tribe’s Tikum Kadlum (Black Dog) epic that’s rendered in the film in an absorbing mix of animation and shadow play while passages from the work are chanted in its original Kinaray-a.
On both levels, that bond—or bondage, as some might term it— is threatened by Dowokan’s resistance in accepting her appointed role and her desire to live life on her own terms, which naturally clash with Pina-ilog’s insistence in following tradition. And when the teenager takes her resistance a step too far, it brings serious consequences to her frail grandmother, who, for both their sakes, is forced to confront not just centuries of tradition, but what lies at its core.
Much has been said about Tuos in its depiction of the conflict between tradition and modernity, between the old and the young; its thorough and respectful exploration of a Philippine indigenous culture; and the glowing performances of its lead actors. What hasn’t been discussed as much, however, is its take on the power of stories (and their different forms), which, for me, stands out the most in the film.
In Tuos, we see how great the power of the narrative of Paiburong, his dog Tikum Kaldum, and Makabagting is in the Panay Bukidnon tribe, how it restricts Pina-ilog and requires her to maintain it. We also see how Dowokan refuses to be dictated by it, prompted by her yearning to lead her own life—to write her own story, so to speak. And we also see how Pina-ilog seems to confront that power more as a matter of survival than of freedom.
The tension that this power can generate can be seen in other narrative forms and their creators. The fact Tuos ends in what is, perhaps, the most accessible and wide-reaching venue for sharing stories today drives home the point that stories need not always be written or maintained in the usual way, that they need to be rendered in new ways. That old myths perpetuated in one form or anoother can be broken as much as new ones can be created. It’s an ambitious statement for Cabrido and screenwriter Denise O’Hara to make, given the material and the medium through which they chose to express it, but they did so quite effectively.
Most satisfying
It may not be as ambitious as Tuos, but Eduardo Roy Jr.’s Pamilya Ordinaryo (Ordinary Family) is, to me, the most satisfying of the nine full-length entries to this year’s Cinemalaya. Members of the festival jury thought so, too, for they awarded it with five Balanghai trophies, including for best film, two weeks ago.
Those who have a distaste for or grown tired of what’s called “poverty porn” may find Pamilya Ordinaryo off-putting, for it’s set in the unforgiving world of Manila’s homeless and petty criminals. That would be a shame, for this riveting film tells the story of Aries (Ronwaldo Martin) and Jane (Hasmine Killip), a teenage couple living in one corner of the closed Metropolitan Theater who survive on dole-outs and by stealing from pedestrians, who experience every parent’s worst nightmare when their newborn son Arjan is stolen.
Aries and Jane ask for help at every turn as they search for their child—from security guards, sidewalk vendors, pedestrians, law enforcers, local community officials, members of the media, seemingly well-meaning strangers—but their efforts yield nothing. To reinforce the sense of their helplessness, the movie occasionally cuts to closed-circuit television (CCTV) footages that show crimes being committed and the perpetrators getting away with it.
For me, Pamilya Ordinaryo’s greatest accomplishment is that it goes beyond its unattractive milieu, however important it is to the story, and draws viewers in to the heartbreaking plight of its protagonists, who most of us probably wouldn’t even give a second look or the time of day in the real world. Beneath their tough and vulgar exterior, they remain human and, thus, vulnerable.
With this film, his third feature after Bahay Bata (Baby Factory) (2011) and Quick Change (2013), Roy is turning out to be the Filipino counterpart of the Palme d’Or-winning Belgian filmmakers Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne, with his unmistakable compassion for people on the margins of society and the authenticity of the challenging environment in which they live.
Of course, Pamilya Ordinaryo wouldn’t turn out the way it is without its leads, and Roy is fortunate to have Martin and Killip (in her full-length feature debut), who deliver completely believable performances. Their immersion into their roles, particularly Killip’s, is astounding.
Even before its run at Cinemalaya ended, Pamilya Ordinaryo has been tapped to compete in the Venice Days section of the prestigious Venice Film Festival next month. Also, it appears that it is scheduled to be screened at local cineplexes on Wednesday. When it does, moviegoers should go and watch it; it’s arguably one of the finest films of the year.