critiques-of-a-sophomoric

[critiques-of-a-sophomoric]

Film Review #2: "Babygirl"

The sound of moaning. That’s what greeted me even before the A24 logo flashed on the screen. I had to lower the volume on my phone quickly and do some damage control. “Damn, this newly-released movie I’m watching is definitely going for shock value right from the get-go!” I nervously laughed as I glanced at the person sitting beside me at the sofa, apparently oblivious to the suspicious noises that just emanated from my mobile device. Better to clear things up ahead than have someone think I was shamelessly lurking on a sketchy website in broad daylight.

Softcore porn, I see. Alright, bet. Except, I’m not really into watching a 50-year-old woman being dominated by a man half her age. I don’t subscribe to that perverse genre. I would much prefer a 25-year-old man, dressed in cat ears, collars, handcuffs, and a skimpy maid outfit, to be dominated by a woman the same age as him. I’m vanilla like that. I’m a fan of the ice cream flavor, the perfume scent, as well as the kink (or lack thereof). Certified zero freak, seven days a week.

Yet, we persist. When the main character, Romy, who’s played by Nicole Kidman, felt horny upon hearing a random dog on the street get called a “good girl”, I knew she was fucked up. A sex life so vapid could only elicit such a response. Also, drinking an entire glass of warm milk at a fancy dinner party in exchange for being called a “good girl” by a humble intern you just hired at your company a couple of weeks ago should be valid grounds for the FBI to add your name on their watchlist. Call me a puritan, but that was just pathetic, if not borderline psychotic (google: “The Evil Symbolism of Milk”). I am not usually one to judge kinks, but if you’re going to cheat on your unrealistically perfect husband and risk the successful corporate career you built for a few words of affirmation, at least don’t be embarrassing about it.

The night they met at a two-star hotel to begin the ultimate roleplay fantasies of their dreams was excruciating to witness. First, they wrestled on the floor like a bunch of idiots. I couldn’t even tell if they were play-fighting or genuinely throwing hands at each other cause their expressions were unreadable. The guy named Samuel put Romy on timeout and forced her to face a wall corner. She stood there silently for like a minute. He then suggested she do some things except he sounded so unsure about his own instructions. The scene was so unsexy it was giving me the opposite of a boner. I could sense my libido levels rapidly dropping to an all time low.

Samuel demanded Romy to act like a dog on all fours while he gave her a piece of candy to chew. It would have seemed so cute if they didn’t look so dead serious while doing it. Honestly, can’t they at least commit to the bit for a minute? It’s an unspoken rule that when you’re addressing a dog, whether it’s an actual animal or an aspiring one, you must adopt a high-pitched overly-sweet voice while giving it some scratchies. And if you’re trying to audition for the role of a dog, you must be unafraid to wag your imaginary tail, stick your tongue out, and bark like you haven’t been fed in weeks. Is pet play really becoming a lost art among the younger generation?

The guy then proceeded to finger Romy while she laid flat on her stomach against the carpet, which I bet hasn’t been vacuumed in a while. After he finished, she burst into tears, either out of guilt or because she pissed herself from the pleasure. Perhaps it was both. They continued their affair inbetween office hours, but it didn’t seem to me to be of any excitement. It lacked spice. I’ve conjured up better scenes in my head reading One Direction smut on Wattpad as a teenager.

The drama began when Romy found that Samuel had invited himself to her house unannounced in the guise of returning a laptop she left from the office. Turns out, her family is susceptible to his nonchalant charm as well. An argument between them ensued, revealing that they have never bothered to discuss the rules and regulations of their unwritten contract, and whatever relationship they have going on is more confusing than your average present-day online long-distance situationship.

When her husband once again tried to initiate sex one night, Romy got so frustrated she exposed his inability to make her orgasm for the 19 years they’ve been together. Imagine marrying and producing two children with someone who doesn’t know how to make you cum. Some people say that marriage can survive without a passionate and fulfilling sex life, and while that can be true in some cases, it is unfair for only one party to find pleasure from it while the other has to cry themselves to sleep thinking there’s something wrong about their body’s lack of positive response to external stimuli. As much as it is a skill issue on the husband’s part, it is also Romy’s responsibility to properly communicate her problem with his performance instead of harboring resentment for something that could be easily resolved by a heart-to-heart talk.

Her lack of communication skills also made her relationship with Samuel more difficult than it actually is. The dude had to teach her Consent 101 and the basics of BDSM. I get it, she’s stuck between wanting to follow her moral compass and wanting to have a nightly fix of euphoria, but if I were Samuel, I wouldn’t have the patience to deal with someone who doesn’t know exactly what they want. Hot one minute and cold the next. It would be like assuming the role of an unpaid sex therapist.

Fortunately, they worked it out in the remix, and things actually got a bit titillating to watch. The two also engaged in a wholesome and intimate conversation after the standard bonking, which everyone knows is the ultimate reason for why humans partake in such an activity. What do you mean you’re not gonna reveal to me your deepest darkest secret after we blow each other’s backs out? Am I really just a whore to you? The guy then requested Romy to hold him gently in her arms as they both went to sleep. Finally! A sign of vulnerability! That’s how these men eventually get you.

Romy didn’t understand the concept of casual, however. During her daughter’s birthday party, she got jealous and possessive upon learning that Samuel is dating another coworker. She projected her own apprehensions onto Romy’s girlfriend (her secretary), reminding the young girl of appropriate workplace behavior, but the secretary pulled an uno reverse card and confronted Romy about their indiscretion. She then proceeded to give her superior a patronizing lecture, saying there aren’t so many girlbosses in the world, so the few established girlbosses should strive to girlboss better.

Romy then confessed to her husband that she’s been having dark, disgusting thoughts ever since she was a child growing up in a cult. I would’ve empathized with her struggles if it weren’t for the fact that the dark, disgusting thoughts in question are literally just the two middle letters in BDSM. Not cuckolding, not electrostimulation, not Japanese rope bondage. Nothing involving tentacles or fursuits or diapers or hot waxes or orgy memberships. Not even the classic water sports. Just plain, old dominance-submission. Seriously, it pissed me the fuck off. Why are they acting like practicing a dom-sub dynamic is synonymous to committing a federal crime? I could list a number of worse kinks out there that I would be more than happy to shame. Dom-sub is practically a two on the freak scale (with vanilla being one), unless you incorporate a curious twist such as prey-hunter or slave-master. So far, Romy had only tried roleplaying a canine and being treated like a little (although calling an older woman ‘babygirl’ one time hardly counts as full-fledged age play). Aside from the cheating situation and the lapses in professionalism, she had nothing to feel guilty about.

Her husband was valid in his subsequent crashout, of course. Sexually incompetent or not, betrayal is still betrayal. His wife had not only told him that he sucked big time in bed, but she also surprised him with the news that she’s been fooling around with someone who’s much better at the sport behind his back. It’s like getting hit with a double whammy to the face. Hell, that’s enough to make me pull a Sylvia Plath if I were in his shoes.

But that was not enough, no. The husband, Jacob, eventually caught Romy and Samuel lounging together in the family’s vacation house and rightfully had another meltdown after unsuccessfully attacking the latter. In between tears, he called the mildest form of BDSM I’ve seen on the big screen neuroticism. It doesn’t make any sense to me. Jacob is literally a theater director–a creative. One research stated that the more creative a person is, the more open-minded they are to queerness in terms of gender and sexuality. The fact that the husband is a cisheterosexual monogamist with an aversion to kinks basically makes him some sort of deviant in the context of his chosen field.

I quote Jacob, who quoted Jacques Lacan: “Female masochism is nothing but a male fantasy.” Now, if it isn’t that the wokest thing I’ve heard this year since the Republicans took office. Personally, I have conflicting feelings with Lacan’s psychoanalytic proposition since I would consider myself more on the sadistic side, and would even argue that the idea of female masochism seems to me borderline heteronormative. But how dare a man have an opinion regarding women’s sexual preferences? As much as I detest choice feminism for its shallowness and lack of nuances, I say just let them be. It all boils down to consent, anyway. The worst thing a woman could be is a pick-me, not a pain enthusiast.

Infidelity is never justifiable–that is a universal truth. But god damn, if you’re going to dismiss your wife’s sexual needs because of your liberal belief that it’s wrong to hurt a woman even if they’re practically begging for it, then you have only yourself to blame when they start using the “late night work meetings” excuse on a regular basis. Defending Romy’s immoral decisions was originally not part of the plan, but Jacob’s response to her confession of being into degradation just rubbed me the wrong way. God forbid women have hobbies!

After the scene where Jacob discovered the affair and suffered a panic attack in the process, Samuel left their house and their lives forever, never to be seen again by the pair. Husband and wife reconciled and forgave each other’s shortcomings. To start anew, Romy had Jacob reenact with her the earliest dom-sub position she had with Samuel. Finally, for the first time in 19 years, her husband was finally able to accomplish what he should’ve done a long time ago: make Romy cum. The end.

Honestly, with how disappointed I was with the movie, I don’t think it deserves to be a subject for further psychoanalytic dissection. I could rant for another paragraph more about the irony of Romy’s assertion that she needed danger in order to feel pleasure and how fingering is probably the safest sex act you could do in terms of STD transmission risk, but I’m certain it’s apparent by now that the movie is an absolute letdown. One could even say, “Damn… so this is how Romy felt these past 19 years, huh?”

Moreover, I understand that Romy’s abusive upbringing in a cult is a tremendous factor to her repressing her self-proclaimed masochistic desires, and perhaps that is what the director wanted to highlight all along, but since they did not hold up their end of the bargain, I’m not really inclined to conduct an in-depth character study of the protagonist using Lacanian theory. I was promised an erotic thriller, yet there was neither eroticism nor was I particularly thrilled.

Ultimately, it felt like the point of the movie is just to threaten bland, boring husbands into being more concerned about whether their wives are actually satisfied with their performance in the bedroom, lest they cheat on them with a much younger and hotter coworker. And quite frankly, I have to applaud the director for that initiative. This is what modern feminism is all about, folks: making sure no woman gets left behind in our collective quest to reach the climax.

Watched: February 12, 2025 Published: February 14, 2025

[critiques-of-a-sophomoric]

"kung alam n'yo lang" book review

i haven't read a filipino novel / short story collection in so long. i had no choice but to read this so i could provide better counsel to my poor undergraduate thesis advisees, who were so unfortunate as to have me assigned as their adviser. what do i know of postmodern theory? only the surface-level basics. i have never actually conducted a postmodern analysis of any literary work, so i was praying that these students better know what they are doing so i could not be blamed if they otherwise fail to defend their study.

anyway, here are my thoughts on two of the four short stories:

ang nawawalang diyos

the premise of searching for the christian god whose physical invisibility justifies his omnipotent existence is something i find quite interesting. i'm pretty sure every christian growing up has questioned whether the primary subject of the book club that they were forced to join since birth is actually real or not. how can he be real if he cannot be seen? unsurprisingly, a veteran christian would have a poetic answer for that. but the main character of the story is just like me; he's cynical and not so easily convinced. he used to believe in god, until his search attempt one summer proved to be futile. after that, he no longer cared about his two talking pets, whose favorite hobby is to start pointless arguments with one another.

ever since he failed to find physical evidence that god indeed exists, his faith eventually began to wane, following a series of misfortunes which includes the death of his two pets, the divorce of his parents, and his own marriage proving to be a disaster. he did succeed in his career, but there was no indication of him ever being happy and fulfilled with what he accomplished. when he reached old age, he decided to seek god again, traveling in distant places only to come home disappointed just like the first time around. if god is not in the philippines where zealots keep divorce from being legalized, i doubt you'll catch him in europe.

the story wrapped up with a revelation that seemed unsatisfyingly cliche. surprise! he has been an atheist all this time (and that's why he's always been miserable). but so what? i'm aware that religion is the ultimate coping mechanism for tons of people, but if it doesn't work for you then either get over it and start exploring camus' philosophical works, or join a cult and get manipulated by a narcissist into thinking he's the next messiah who will save us all from the meaninglessness of existence. it's honestly not that difficult.

ang sayaw ng mga letra

uh oh! we have a schizophrenic patient over here. no, seriously, the main character hallucinates letters of the english alphabet to be dancing and prancing around his room. his delusions got so severe to the point that the words that stand for the names of objects eventually replaced the objects themselves, like that one cartoon shown on disney channel called word world where the entire world was made up of spelt words. even the people in his surroundings became faceless, their physical appearances substituted for the written spelling of their names. strangely enough, the protagonist didn't find any reason to be alarmed by these peculiar visions.

although the letters seemed nice and harmless at first, they began to attack the young boy one night completely unprovoked. since he was locked alone in his room with no one to provide immediate help, the letters almost succeeded in killing him, a metaphor for how the young boy's mental illness drove him to have an intense psychotic episode it nearly broke his mind. it was then revealed after that the older brother he mentioned before with much affection has been dead for some time now, which pretty much explains why the poor kid has been isolating himself from everyone and, thus, found comfort in the company of his imaginary letter friends. his strained relationship with his uptight mother also contributed to his worsening depression.

inside the hospital room where the main character was recovering from his psychosis, the letters reappeared to convince him to put a stop to his suffering and follow them to freedom, implying that he either went out to jump off the building or run into incoming traffic. so much for being a reliable support system.

the story concluded with a tragic end that warns about the consequences of bad parenting and letting your mental disorders stay untreated. don't forget to contact your local therapists now, folks. avoid becoming a statistic today.

[critiques-of-a-sophomoric]

Film Review #1: Late Night With The Devil

My first entry for my ‘Movies I’ve Watched in 2025' list: a supernatural horror film about the dangers of joining elite cults and selling your soul to the devil in exchange for fame. It was supposed to be a supernatural horror film about the dangers of signing divorce contracts written in an ancient language you cannot read and selling property to a centuries-old vampire in exchange for gold, but it was only after I had invited my unpaid therapist, Sushi, to a Google Meet session so we could watch Nosferatu together (because we are both cowards who do not dare to watch supernatural horror films alone) that I realized the 2024 remake of the 1922 illegal adaptation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula had not been officially released on digital sites yet. I was not going to watch the non-HD camera-recorded version, obviously, so I suggested to Sushi that we watch other films in the same genre instead. Somehow, we ended up choosing this one.

The concept seems quite interesting: a famous late-night talk show host desperate to revive his declining career features a literal demonic entity as his special guest and unwittingly unleashes infernal chaos on live television. It is a postmodern take on the classic demonic possession trope that simultaneously warns about the pitfalls of extreme clout-chasing and excessive TV screen time.

The film frames itself to be presenting a found footage of the final episode of the top-rated show “Nights Owls with Jack Delroy”, which premiered on the night of Halloween in 1977. Since the story was set in the 1970s, the visuals of the film reflected the aesthetic dominant at that time, down to the muted earthy color palette and the intentionally reduced video resolution. I personally love the 1970s obsession with warm autumnal shades, so the film’s visuals was a delight to behold. It felt like opening a time-capsule from the past, the sets and costumes perfectly retro in design.

Aside from the visually vintage vibes, the show feels almost authentic as it incorporates pop culture elements accurate to the time period. Situated between the late 1960s New Age spiritual revolution and the early 1980s Satanic Panic, the 1970s is notorious for producing the iconic punk counterculture, as well as breeding several religious groups led by charismatic narcissists that later revealed themselves as cults guilty of committing mass suicides and murder sprees for fun. The protagonist, Jack, unfortunately, associates himself more with the latter, which is not very punk of him.

Moreover, the jokes and commentaries made by the hosts to amuse the audience seemed corny and rather outdated, in the perspective of a 21st century zoomer at least. For a seasoned entertainer, Jack spoke in a manner so languid it was testing my fried brain’s patience to avoid clicking the 2x speed option. No wonder why his ratings were on the decline.

In addition, by taking a unique documentary approach, the film gives a bit of a realistic aspect to the story within the story, making the viewers not only suspend their disbelief, but also feel as if they are witnessing events that happened in real life, thus, urging them to question what is true and what is fiction.

Moving on to the plot itself, the film depicts how cutthroat the entertainment industry was back in the day. Growing up, I often heard of famous Western celebrities being accused of having ties to the Illuminati, an ancient secret society of wicked origins with enough power to achieve world domination (depending on who your sources were). According to these conspiracy theorists, to achieve that level of fame and wealth means you have probably signed a one-time deal with Satan himself and paid for it with your soul. Disregard the hard work, exploitation, and nepotism (optional) behind a celebrity’s rise to stardom; the Lord of Evil gets all the acknowledgement.

And that is approximately what happened with Jack: his wife being the inevitable sacrifice in exchange for the promise of a successful career. Unfair, really, that the devil can select an innocent individual as the settlement for someone else’s credit charges.

Due to his inability to foresee the horrible consequences of the bargain he entered into, Jack went on a months-long mass media detox to mourn and reflect on his life decisions. Upon his return, however, Jack fortuitously reunites with the same demonic entity who claimed the soul of his beloved wife. Now inhabiting the body of a poor teenage girl named Lilly, the devil, also known as Mr. Wriggles, taunts Jack and threatens to bring out the skeletons hiding in his closet in front of the whole world watching. Rather than taking this as a sign to cut the broadcast short and send the guests and crew on their way home, Jack proceeded with the show after learning the TV executives’ favorable opinions about the current segment.

It did not go well for them, of course. Moments later, the devil took complete possession of Lilly again even without being summoned and wreaked havoc in the studio, killing the sidekick, the skeptic, and the parapsychologist in the process. It was a total pandemonium, violating numerous TV rules and regulations. I highly doubt they will be getting a renewal for a next season after that unannounced display of R-rated content.

In the midst of the chaos, Jack hallucinated a distorted little trip down memory lane that revealed the truth about his connections with the mysterious demon-worshipping cult The Grove and how his greed was ultimately responsible for his wife’s illness and eventual death. The film concluded with Jack standing over Lilly’s corpse with a ceremonial knife, his hands now twice stained with blood.

When the credits started rolling, the first thing I blurted out to Sushi was, “Wait, that was it? What do you mean the runtime was barely 2 hours?”.

With the ending being vague and ambiguous (failing to explicitly state the true identity of the devil, the reason for the presence of the ghost of Jack’s deceased wife, and the role of the creepy skeleton-costume-wearing dude among the audience), I was left confused about what really transpired. Just as the skeptic tried to convince the audience that the demonic possession was a hoax, I find myself questioning whether Jack manipulated everyone’s perceptions and actually perpetrated the murders himself, considering he was able to survive the devil’s dramatic outburst despite being the primary target. And did he literally stab his wife on her deathbed or was that all metaphorical in the sense that he was able to set her soul free upon vanquishing the malevolent spirit in control of Lilly?

One could only speculate the real answers to those questions, but perhaps the fact that we will never know for certain is the underlying charm of it all.

Overall, I rate the film 3 out of 5 stars. It’s definitely one-of-a-kind in terms of the concept, and I think the whole thing was wonderfully executed, but the plot still left me rather dissatisfied and craving for more. Nothing serious to trade my non-existent lover’s soul to the devil, thankfully.

Watched: January 11, 2025 Published: February 7, 2025