ellewritesph

[ellewritesph]

‘Apocalypse Child’ and Living Under the Specter of Someone Else’s Identity

Originally published on January 8, 2021 at Sine Liwanag.

By Elle Yap

Apocalypse Child is a 2015 film directed and co-written by Mario Cornejo, and it tells the story of Ford (Sid Lucero), a surfing champion from Baler who might be the bastard child of Francis Ford Coppola. This happy-go-lucky surfer goes through a reckoning of his past actions—and inactions—when his childhood friend Rich (RK Bagatsing) comes back to town with resentment and a new fiancée, Serena (Gwen Zamora). They evade talking about their problems by focusing on the simple pleasures of Baler: surfing, alcohol, weed, and sex. Things start to heat up when Ford teaches Serena how to surf and they spend more time together.

It’s not really a plot-centric affair. Even with the early introduction of Rich and Serena, the film itself takes a long time to get going, satisfied with a slower, leisurely pace that seems to match the scenery Baler provides. They mostly tell stories about their lives while drinking or smoking weed, the enjoyment never feeling real as the undercurrent of resentment pulses through even the smallest of interactions.

When it does finally boil over, a lot of it feels unsatisfying, possibly by design. It does seem in-character that Ford, as someone who never had to take responsibility for his own actions, wouldn’t know how to apologize for mistakes he made. Still, while his apology to Rich feels sincere enough, Ford never gets called out for how he treats the women in his life or how little he seems to care about their emotional well-being.

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As compelling as the drama can get, the film does work better as an allegory on colonialism. Many things have been written about the themes of this film, which seems to allude to how Filipino culture has been created from different leftovers of former colonizers (Spaniards and Americans, primarily). There is a lot to see here about that, yet the best way that the film shows this is in how the citizens of Baler (Ford and Chona especially) are still living under the specter of Apocalypse Now decades after the filming wrapped. It’s a subtle yet damning indictment of how little Baler’s culture has progressed, since a lot of it seems like it’s stuck in the 1970s. This set-up provides the framework for any reading of the film as a post-colonial study.

As a film that lives and dies by its acting, it is good to note that the performances are all great. Ana Abad Santos’ Chona is a stand-out because of how she never lets up on the forced cheer that her character seems accustomed to having, even in moments where we see the cracks of her inner pain and turmoil. However, the most excellent of this talented cast is Annicka Dolonius’ portrayal of Fiona. She is all spunk and confidence, and her feelings of betrayal as Ford pushes her away and replaces her with Serena is fascinating to watch. Dolonius embodies the fears and anxieties of the character without resorting to over-the-top histrionics.

The film is gorgeous to watch, with the film’s cinematographer Ike Avellana capturing Baler like a town lost in time, stuck in the outskirts of society’s modernization, filled with the breathtaking natural beauty of trees and mountains and beaches for miles and miles. In conjunction with the sound design by Corinne de san Jose, the film creates this immersive experience that makes you feel like you are in Baler, swimming in those waters and feeling the heat-soaked exhaustion that the main characters must be feeling. Shooting on location really did wonders for the look of the film.

Stories about people (whether they are adolescent or just in a state of perpetual adolescence) growing up and learning to take responsibility for their actions are plentiful in the history of cinema, but the way Apocalypse Child approaches the subject allows for a broader, more interesting reading of the film as an allegory about Filipino culture and society. Regardless of how you might read the film and its themes, it is an attractive and intriguing experience that comes off as both grand and personal in its scale. However you might take the story, there is an impeccable craft in the acting and filmmaking that seems to dig up something raw and real behind the subterfuge that the characters of the film hide behind.

Apocalypse Child is streaming on Netflix.

[ellewritesph]

‘West Side Story (2021)’: The Dazzled and the Damned

Originally published on November 2, 2022 in Sine Liwanag.

By Elle Yap

The original West Side Story, as a musical film and a cultural touchstone, is strangely both tied to the time period it was made in (seen by the fact that many of the actors were white folks in brownface), and also progressive and timeless and provocative in its message, craft, and presentation. 

A loose adaptation of Romeo and Juliet in modern-day New York City, West Side Story was made as a stage musical by Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Sondheim (with groundbreaking choreography by Jerome Robbins) in the 1950s. It was their way of experimenting with new musical modes while adding class and social consciousness in the stories that premiered on Broadway. It permeated the public imagination as a musical film in 1961, winning ten Academy Awards and cementing itself as an instant classic. 

And when you watch the movie, it’s understandable why so. The camera slides and swoons over these propulsive dances that feel almost primal and guttural in its ferocity and anger. The musical numbers can feel almost otherworldly in its appeal—the scene where Maria and Tony see each other in the dance and literally everything fades away is still breathtaking to behold. Robert Wise’s direction and Jerome Robbins’ choreography find a way to make the musical so much larger than life; so cinematic in its approach that it’s no wonder the movie is still considered a classic even with all the problematic and racist things about its production. 

Hearing about a remake in the 21st century feels almost sacrilegious because of how good the 1961 movie is. How in the hell are you supposed to modernize a story that’s very much tied to the time period from which it came? West Side Story is the bedrock that influenced many of the important directors of the last 60 years. Michael Bay, for example, cites the movie as the foundation of his style. There probably isn’t any way you can remake the movie without it being disappointing in comparison.

And yet, somehow, it happened. The new West Side Story is, against all odds, not only a great film, but possibly a better film than the foundational 1961 classic. The new film improves on the original on pretty much all fronts, from the themes and message to the propulsive filmmaking that made the original so electrifying to watch. It successfully updates the material to a more-fractured and less hegemonic political world without losing the timeless appeal the source material has. It has done the impossible, and it has done so without breaking a sweat. 

But then again, this shouldn’t be a surprise. The director of the remake is Steven Spielberg, who needs no introduction. The way he directs West Side Story is incomparable to any other director working today: each camera swoop, each precisely-measured frame of the film, is evocatively his style and his alone, and the artistry of his approach shows just how much of a master he is at turning films into an experience, breathlessly anticipating each scene. 

With screenwriter and frequent collaborator Tony Kushner, Spielberg recrafts West Side Story into a more potent film, starting with the social commentary. The most inspired bit of the film is reframing the fight between the Jets and the Sharks in a place where both groups are being kicked out as the area is gentrified. This puts the racial harmony message of the original in stark focus, as it shows the futility of the territory fight between the Jets and the Sharks against the bigger, faceless, insidious powers that control them, and the intersectionality of their struggles in the racist and classist America that they live in. 

The intersectionality is the point, too, because Spielberg does a lot of little scenes where the homogeneity of American society battles with the identities of these marginalized individuals: the Puerto Rican Sharks are told to speak English many times in the company of white people, and they are seen as lesser people by the white society in general. The Jets’ poverty and criminal history are used against them by authorities–and their whiteness is only acknowledged when being compared to the Puerto Ricans. The women are forced to the sidelines as the men indulge in their worst patriarchal instincts in an attempt to dominate each other. And there’s even a transgender character whose identity is invalidated repeatedly throughout the story as he tries to be useful to the Jets.

These small touches and characterizations build towards that larger theme of racial harmony that the original had, but the new film also has this undercurrent that the cultural and material dominance of the hegemonic capitalist powers of American society renders everyone powerless, pushing them to find control and power in the arms of antiquated hierarchies that society perpetuates. 

Spielberg and Kushner understand the original message of the film, and they also understand how it’s relevant in today’s society, where we see the previously-marginalized people push back against society’s hierarchy and how the powers-that-be, from the government to the elites, attempt to keep the structure strong by encouraging many of the marginalized to dip into their worst instincts and humor their worst beliefs as a way of keeping the infighting between the groups going whilst the powers-that-be continue to strengthen their own power and hegemonic wealth. 

Beyond the framing, themes, and messaging, Spielberg also litters the movie with some of the most breathtaking musical scenes ever put to film. Knowing that film has less constraints than stage musicals have, Spielberg goes all-out bonkers on the way he shoots the numbers, from “America” becoming a neighborhood-spanning number that makes up for the less-guttural dance moves, with cinematic touches that energize the number; to the way he introduces the school dance as this one-shot scene that seamlessly floats and glides through the dancers and actors like a god.

My favorite change in the movie is the “Cool” sequence, where Spielberg and Kushner reimagine the number as a tension-filled scene where Tony (Ansel Elgort) attempts to dissuade his friend and the Jets’ leader Riff (Mike Faist) from fighting with the Sharks. Goddamn—I was at the edge of my seat as Tony and Riff battled for the gun in this ballet-inspired dance that feels closer to a fight than anything in the original 1961 movie. At any moment, it felt like anyone in the Jets would blow up, and it really helped set the stage for the actual fight that Tony and the Jets have with the Sharks later on.

Spielberg is a filmmaking legend at this point, and West Side Story basically reaffirms his legacy. He shows through this film that he is very much the same master of tension and suspense who made Jaws and War of the Worlds (2005), and that he is very much still, present tense, one of the most exciting directors currently working today. After watching this movie, it’s hard not to use superlatives when describing Spielberg, because he blows many of his contemporary filmmakers out of the water. Then again, it’s always been hard not to use superlatives to describe a talent like his. 

The acting in front of the camera is top-class, too. Ansel Elgort, despite being a mediocre singer, is really good in bringing out the darkness inherent in a character like Tony, and you can see his appeal and why Maria would fall in love with him so quickly. Rachel Zegler, in her onscreen debut, embodies the innocence of Maria without letting it slip into naivety. She gives Maria a conviction and strength of will that is important in the role. 

The way that Mike Faist put so much charm into his portrayal of Riff really makes him more sympathetic than he ought to be, and I love the cockiness that David Alvarez gives Bernardo, and how easily he can switch from cocky to caring in the same scene. 

The star-making performance, however, is Ariana DeBose as Anita, who feels just as lived-in and assured in her approach to the role as Rita Moreno did decades ago. She’s also the best performer of the bunch when it comes to the musical sequences, the “America” sequence especially as she anchors the whizzing panoramic approach that Spielberg chose; something that would render a lesser actor lost in the wizardry. 

West Side Story (2021) is an incredible achievement in filmmaking, like the 1961 movie decades before. Its precision of intent and execution is amazing to behold, and it showcases not just the unparalleled talents of Spielberg and its cast, but also just how timeless the original musical is. There’s really no way of predicting which film released today will be remembered in the future, but in the moment, as you watch the spectacle and vision unfold in, it’s easy to surmise that Spielberg’s West Side Story will be a classic, canonized film for the future generations.

[ellewritesph]

'Biyernes Santos' review

Originally published for Penlab as part of their GRAILREADS partnership with UP GRAIL.

By Elle Yap

Fear is a powerful weapon, possibly the most powerful weapon any person could have. Though it is imperceptible, what it lacks in physical form it more than makes up on the psychological front. The thing about fear is that it creates holes in our logic which forces us to make bad decisions that affect our life in a way that reverberates through our lifetimes and beyond.  Fear pulls people back, keeps them compliant, and allows them to make up their own monsters to battle as a distraction to the real troubles and monsters that stand in the way. 

In the history of fiction, a lot of the most effective monsters are not always all-powerful murderous psychopaths: sometimes they just strike the right kind of fear to enough people. The monster in Biyernes Santo does not harm the children in any way, and yet the atmosphere of dread looms with the potential for inescapable carnage and death, one that allows its readers to flutter about with the implicit knowledge that nobody might come out of this alive.

Written by JP Palabon with the Art done by Chocnut-san, Biyernes Santo is a one-shot comic about a group of kids being terrorized by a particularly evil yet unknown entity on Good Friday, a day which lives in infamy as the day Jesus Christ died. There is a belief that since a god died that day, evil lurks around freely looking to wreak havoc, and this comic provides an example of how that could work in a more modern context.

The comic’s writing builds its terror slowly and economically, with the monster in the story repeating the same words over and over again as a way to escalate the tension of the moment. The repetitiveness comes off as a single-minded focus on its goal to bring chaos and destruction upon this family. Whatever this creature is, it is not human and it will not stop until it gets what it wants. It effectively raises the tension of the situation without sacrificing the quality or the pacing of the story.

The art of the comic is also exquisite. There’s a lot of emotions to be found in the well-drawn faces of the children, and especially on the main character Nicole, whose youthful determination and despair come across well throughout the panels. There’s also this detail by the artist where the eyelids of the characters are all shaded which brings to mind both shadows and eye bags that accumulate when unable to sleep. 

Even when it is presumably day-time and they presumably have neighbors nearby, the artist creates enough of a shadowy look across the house that it seems to become this lonely and isolated realm straight out of a Gothic narrative. It’s some terrifying and immersive stuff, and it also allows the reader to feel as trapped and threatened by the situation as the kids are in this scenario.

The comic ends openly, the danger still lurking around the corner. We never know if these kids survive, or what kind of monster is waiting just downstairs from the house, or why it wants them in the first place. 

Biyernes Santo is a terrifying comic, one that pries into our deepest fears of the unknown and the desperation that it creates within us. The anxiety never lets up as the monster grows more powerful and vengeful as we continue to read it. It is a truly nightmarish situation, one that lingers in our minds and hearts long after the conclusion of the story. 

[ellewritesph]

‘Crimes of the Future’ and the Evolution of the Divide Between Natural and Unnatural

Originally published on February 23, 2023 at Sine Liwanag.

By Elle Yap

Crimes of the Future is a 2022 science-fiction drama written and directed by David Cronenberg about a performance artist in the future, Saul Tenser (Viggo Mortensen). His main ability is the growth of new organs, with his partner Caprice (Léa Seydoux) taking them out to a crowd to emphasize their unnaturalness. Eventually, he gets entangled with evolutionists who believe the next stage of humanity involves the ability to consume synthetic materials; the government, of course, wants to maintain a status quo on what it means to be human. 

Right off the bat, Crimes of the Future finds itself in familiar Cronenberg territory. The legendary Canadian director made a name for himself with films like Crash, The Fly, and Videodrome, which dissect the difference between depravity and decency, beauty and ugliness—and show the tendency for the lines themselves to be blurry.

Crimes of the Future traverses through a lot of the same themes, whether it’s body modification and mutation (The Fly); questions of what the culture we consume means for society, and how far we are willing to go for art even in its most depraved (Videodrome); and finding sexual pleasure in unconventional and often allegedly-inhuman ways (Crash). 

His return to these previous thematic grounds, however, comes with a brand-new macro perspective informed by the changes that the world has experienced, allowing him to go to places and interrogate ideas that he might otherwise not have gone through had he made it earlier in his career. There’s certainly a larger societal show in how Cronenberg goes about this film, and it feels like a culmination of his previous work while trodding toward the future and what that could mean for humanity as a whole. 

Crimes of the Future is very loaded, and there is a lot to talk about in it in terms of what it tackles as themes and concerns throughout the film. 

At first, the body mutations and mutilations are presented as a metaphor for art, and it’s very effective albeit unsubtle in connecting the literal taking out of organs to how artists take out part of themselves to create personal artwork. 

They talk about what the art of Saul means to him, as a way of taking out what he believes to be inorganic growth in his body. Compared to many of his peers—one of which is a  dancer with nonfunctional ears all over their body—Saul’s performance art has a personal relationship and purpose. 

It’s a nice, simple analogy, and the film makes it feel like the normal progression of how humanity views entertainment: we currently have bodybuilding competitions and wrestling, and Marina Abramović and David Blaine and Tom Cruise. Why wouldn’t we turn an ability to grow organs into performance art? A simple enough metaphor, and one that Cronenberg does explore the consequences of: from the idea of an Inner Beauty Pageant to judge these growths and mutations, to a government bureau ensuring that these things are regulated. 

Then the film uses this future world to discuss the politics of pollution and the effects it might have on how the human body evolves. At some point in the story, Saul meets a group of revolutionary evolutionists who plan to grow organs that can eat and digest synthetic, toxic material, and their experiments on the human body have yielded extraordinary results that could change humanity as a whole. 

With the news recently talking about microplastics being everywhere, this plot point is strangely relevant. It poses questions about whether there is an ethical way to deal with pollution when governments and corporations have refused to do so, or if it is morally okay to attempt to integrate the ability to consume pollutants naturally and potentially doom the next generation.

It is hard to write about a film like this because of how many layers it has: there’s the art angle at the surface, the political activism angle, the question about what is essentially bioessentialism versus being allowed to own and modify your own body the way that you wish, and the meta-commentary on how we consume art and what we desire from the artists. 

Any focus on one of these would be fine, of course, but the interesting thing about the film is how Cronenberg is able to sew these disparate ideas together—ideas that tend to clash largely because of how varied it is within the world—and find a cathartic way of bringing them together that’s both deeply strange and thought-provoking. 

The actual plot of the film revolves around a young boy (Sozos Sotiris) whose father (Scott Speedman) claims is the first human to have organically grown organs that can eat and digest toxic materials on their own. The father wants Saul and Caprice to do a live autopsy of his body in order to show the world the extent of human evolution. 

It’s a rather provocative idea to do so, both doing an autopsy of a child for art’s sake and the political ramifications of showing the possibilities of human evolution. And it helps tie together these contrasting strains of the film toward what appears to be Cronenberg’s larger point: progress will not be stopped, and it is our choice as to whether to move with the future or stand in its way. 

Throughout the film, Saul always seemed to struggle with the growths in his body, seeing them as inorganic. That’s the point of getting rid of them in a performance, after all; to show that these tumors will not be taking control of his body. But the movement of toxic waste eaters, led by the father, slowly changes Saul’s mind.

It all comes to a head at the boy’s autopsy, and everyone discovers that his body had been ransacked beforehand by the government to cover up the organic growth. It’s Saul’s moment of realization: the growths on his body aren’t tumors or destructive forces. They are organic, his to have, something that can’t be stopped and, more importantly, shouldn’t be stopped.

Artistic breakthrough of the highest level. 

Crimes of the Future is a dark and messy film. It is full of ideas about how human nature works, of how human beings evolve and stay the same even as the world changes. It’s filled with long, philosophical musings about sex, art, evolution, and revolution that seem to ramble on at times with no point. It’s also not as visually provocative or inventive as Cronenberg’s earlier films, with the dated ‘90s industrial look he seemed to have chosen for this film. 

And yet, it is probably one of the best films of 2022, one unafraid to be contrarian in its exploration of humanity. It delves deep into its subject matter and is willing to go to the strange and stupid corners of its world to paint a picture of a society stuck between the hazy, dark future and the false bright nostalgia of the past. It weaves multiple conversations of art and politics in the film, and figures out an ambiguous, yet satisfying way to tie them together. It wallows in the dirt of humanity and is unafraid of what it finds.

[ellewritesph]

Possibly the greatest NPR exchange ever recorded

[ellewritesph]

'Point, Ma'am' review

Originally published for Penlab as part of their GRAILREADS partnership with UP GRAIL.

By Elle Yap

Maria Maranan’s Point, Ma’am is a high school-set comedy about Alex Cruz, a shy high schooler who joins the debate club of her school to get over her public speaking fears. With her partner Angelo Domingo, they are trained by their school debate club president Pau Reyes and her best friend Max Chua. Along the way, she starts falling in love with rival debater Rock Domingo and becomes more determined to become a great debater and public speaker. 

This comic is a very enjoyable read. The art has a very charming early-2000s indie webcomic feel that is very much focused on big, manga-inspired expressions and movement that telegraphs the emotions and feelings of the main characters very clearly. The simple art design lacks polish and sleekness but it helps balance the over-the-top absurdity with the more serious and melodramatic elements of the story. The worldbuilding of the comic would be harder to believe if the art didn’t help in balancing the tone.

It feels silly yet larger-than-life, making it easier to create this fully-realized, over-the-top world of competitive debating that is self-aware of the ridiculousness of debating, its beliefs, and its rituals without undermining the struggles of its main characters like Alex or Angelo Domingo. 

An interesting thing about the fleshed-out world of Point, Ma’am is that it avoids the tendency of stories to mythologize or idealize specific subcultures. It does it by poking fun at the absurdity of debating itself and focusing instead on the struggles and training of Alex to get better at the act (and by extension, her own self-confidence). The character writing is especially strong, with all of the characters’ main motivations being easy to understand and continually developing in surprising but logical ways throughout the story. 

A lot of these characters only have one defining trait, yet they don’t come off as one-note because their interactions bounce off each other in interesting and funny ways, like Angelo’s theatricality contrasting nicely with Alex’s studious and shy manner, or Pau’s obsession with winning and redeeming the school debate team’s reputation with the practical, grounded view of debating that Max has. The author seems to be having a lot of fun writing these characters and their interactions down, and it makes the debating community seem a lot more fun and a lot less aggressive.

On a personal note, as a person who was once part of the same community themselves, I do find a lot of joy in the comic’s depiction of the debate community as a whole. While the experience was very rarely positive in retrospect, the comic depicts the happier, more amusing parts of debating rather accurately The comic depicts the wittiness, intensity, commitment, and seriousness that career debaters tend to have without the more toxic and annoying traits that a lot of debaters tend to internalize.

Point, Ma’am is a captivating and delightful read, reminiscent of other high school slice-of-life comics and mangas like K-On! and Haruhi Suzumiya in its art style, humor, and character work while forging forward to tell a joyful, self-aware, and ultimately affectionate love letter to the debating community. The friendships and budding romance are fun to read, and if nothing else, it is an easy and pleasurable read that intrigues with the debate set-up and hooks with the budding romance and friendships between the characters. 

[ellewritesph]

Since the old website which I used to post film stuff on has closed down, I'll be reposting my old reviews here mostly for archiving posterity!

[ellewritesph]

My job, in general, should be pretty cushy and easy to work through. Press conferences and softball interviews and other stuff like that---it really shouldn't be hard.

So the fact that I instead keep trying to pursue stories about the social issues and topics I care really shows that I have lost the plot thoroughly. The readers of this magazine don't care that much about social housing, you dipshit.

[ellewritesph]

Trying to figure out how stopping for a little treat at Target added up to $200...

[ellewritesph]

Gonna start reposting some of my reviews here and maybe a few new reviews in the future.

[ellewritesph]

My review on Loy Arcenas’ new film ‘Elehiya’ finally got released. 

I didn’t like the movie--it’s much too undercooked in the execution of its ideas, and much of it is very unpleasant to watch--but it is very interesting to analyze as text and to see where it failed to reach the ambitions that it had. 

[ellewritesph]

I'm one movie deep in a three-movie cinema marathon, and I think I forget just how solitary watching movies is, even with a crowd. Being alone in the dark, watching the strangest and kinkiest things projected on the big screen, it feels very personal and very sensual despite the size and the crowd.

[ellewritesph]

Return to Seoul review

Anyways, I'm reviewing some of the films coming out of this year's QCinema Film Festival. The first one I got to watch was Davy Chou's Return to Seoul, a provocative, depressing, somewhat-funny exploration of a woman lost between cultures.

It's an interesting watch! You might like it.

[ellewritesph]

Some days, it does feel like the holiest place I can think of is a movie theater. Just something innate in its ability to transport me to a different world.

[ellewritesph]

Hi!

Making this Tumblr as a, what you call, a place where people I'm not friends with can find my film reviews/essays. Trying to build a solid career as a film critic, an essayist, and writer, so I guess I'll start here.

Just so that this post isn't weird, here's my review/analysis of the 2021 West Side Story movie that I recently wrote and published in a haze.

It's a very positive review, and probably one of my favorites from last year.