Results tagged “Michael Mirasol” from Michael Mirasol - The Flipcritic

NAUSICAÄ OF THE VALLEY OF THE WIND (****)

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There is a point in Homer's "The Odyssey" where Odysseus is washed ashore from a shipwreck. In his desperation, a young woman comes to his aid, rescuing him from his end. She was Nausicaa, lover of nature, and eventually serving as a mother of his rebirth.

In Hayao Miyazaki's first masterpiece "Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind" he heralds a protagonist of similar inspiration, whose own odyssey and heroism would also take on Homeric proportions.

The film's story takes place in a dystopian timeline where human civilization appears to be in its last throes. A vast toxic jungle envelops the land, teeming with monstrous insects, hostile to anything that disturbs the expanse. A few kingdoms remain, at war with the jungle and each other. One remaining beacon is the Valley of The Wind, a peaceful and prosperous feudal community, seemingly protected from the jungle by its bordering forest and strong winds.

The Valley's princess, Nausicaa, is a free spirit and genuine "renaissance man." Puzzled by the jungle's nature, she frequents its depths for resources and answers. Aside from mastering flight, she's also a ferocious warrior when need be. But what truly defines her is her uncanny rapport and devotion to all living things.

One day she is visited by Lord Yupa, a noted Valley resident revered for his wisdom and unparalleled swordsmanship. He has returned from his search for a prophesied savior only to return with grim news.

That same evening a massive airship crashes near the valley, attacked by an insect swarm. Having come from the neighboring jungle, it brings spores which threaten the Valley's forest, as well as an uneasy cargo.

The Valley soon learns that its ominous load is a prize sought by warring kingdoms, one of which lays siege to the Valley. This leads to various adventures, escapes, revelations, and locales of staggering creativity. Ranging from underground caverns, to heart of the toxic Jungle, and even to the very stratosphere.

The film is considered to be the first of Miyazaki's works to showcase his strong environmental inclinations. In every film since he has made his case for man to grow closer to nature as a return to the olden days. He does so with positive reinforcement, hardly ever resorting to demonizing, moralizing, or sermonizing. Here, the toxic jungle isn't so much an inhospitable realm as it is a fearsome marvel of nature. It's huge arthropod denizens never come off as oozing grotesques, but wondrous (though scary) creatures. The film's largest creations, the ohmus, are wholly original, and are almost proof that the eyes are the window to the soul.

Miyazaki's refusal to narrow down conflict to two or even three sides is refreshing, and quite admirable considering its target audience. The film's story does concern good versus evil, but they aren't manifested in simplistic ways. Each populace has its own motivations. Each conflict has its reason. Wars exist among man and against nature. Several stakes exist. Even death is hardly out of bounds. For much of the film, there is no one problem/solution. But despite this moral complexity for an animated film, it all fits Miyazaki's big picture, and in the end we see it.

It takes a deep wisdom and understanding of youth to be able to carry out this vision. To know that children will grasp and want to grasp his story and ideas. Miyazaki accomplishes this not only by his storytelling techniques, but also through his visual artistry. Like the very best of Japanese animation, there is a warmth and softness to his illustrations (thanks to his pristine watercolor motifs) that make it almost effortless for viewers to accept and acclimatize to what unfolds on the screen. It allows for his characters and narrative to "breathe" (and breathe deeply), with moments of contemplation and authentic feeling taking hold. Compare this to his contemporaries who have to rely on cutesy gimmicks, frantic pacing, or glitzy style to draw in audience interest.

But its "what" he illustrates that captures our hearts as well as our minds. Much of anime in the past 20 years has concentrated on a utopian future, filled with technological wizardry and innovation, which is abundant in Japanese culture. But Miyazaki tends to look back instead of looking forward, inward instead of outward, looking at treasures of futures past that might have been. Like most of his films, his timeline here isn't technological, but pastoral, with people relying more on each other and the Earth.  He favors gorgeous green panoramas usually near blue bodies of water. He is in love with flight with his heroes soaring through the sky, representing our dreams of breaking through our limitations. We sense his hope in women more than men, believing them to be the key to humanity's progress as opposed to man's history of violence. These creeds and themes are held dearly and instinctively by the young and hopeful, and its Miyazaki's ability to convey these naturalistic ideas through his visual imagination, which makes him unique.

And his imagination. My God is it breathtaking. Only Pixar has been able to rival Miyazaki's creative energies in forming entirely new sights, sounds, and stories with each subsequent film. But Pixar is a collection of talent (all of whom pretty much worship him), while Miyazaki is a singular force. While even the greatest of directors have to rely on cast and crew to carry out their visions, Miyazaki pretty much IS the film. He might be the closest thing to the idea of an "auteur" which filmdom has.

Yes I effuse praise for Hayao Miyazaki, but to write about his films can only lead to discussing the marvel that is the man. No other animator has produced such an admired body of work in the past 30 years, nor has influenced so much of its workings. And in the world of animation "Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind" is one of its brightest stars, giving birth to Studio Ghibli and its priceless body of work. It is the seminal Miyazaki film, breathing wonder, tenderness, and life into worlds where we'd all like to live in.

HUD (****)

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The 60s were a rough transition for America. Major shifts seemed to be occurring in every fabric of society from civil rights to sexual mores. The worsening course of the Vietnam war fueled distrust in political institutions. Women's rights highlighted a breaking from oppressive traditions. The old seemed to be fading away more radically than ever before.

Like the era it was made in, "Hud" was a key shift. As film critic Emmanuel Levy correctly puts it, it is "a transitional film between the naive films of the early 60s and the more cynical ones later in the decade."  Though it plays as a compelling drama of small town life and family tribulation, through its lens of father-son conflict, it also captures the angst in the loss of authority, the gap between of two different generations, and an elegy for the good ole' days.

Based on the novel "Horseman, Pass By" written by that marvelous writer of the contemporary west Larry McMutry (best known for "Lonesome Dove"), "Hud" chronicles the hardships of the O'Bannon family, headed by its elderly patriarch Homer (Melvyn Douglas). He owns a cattle ranch and runs it with the help of his son Hud (Paul Newman), and Hud's wide-eyed nephew Lonnie (Brandon De Wilde).  While the O'Bannon boys run the ranch, their housekeeper Alma Brown (Patricia Neal) runs the household.

The film draws much of its power from its relationships, told mainly through Hud's exploits and conversations. A drunk and a womanizer, he can't help but switch from ranch hand to ladies man any chance he gets. Though he is weak with vice he possesses a certainty and a bravery that doesn't quite cross into foolishness. He's sly and not shy.

His father Homer is almost always on his case, and a model of calm unrelenting virtue, which might not be a virtue itself. He harbors a disappointment and bitterness in his son, which may seem apparent to Hud and to us, but goes deeper. Lonnie on the other hand is a true innocent who likes being with Hud because he's the closest thing to being a father figure and a big brother rolled up into one.

One day Homer finds one of his cattle dead, leaving both he and Hud puzzled as to the cause. Both find out soon enough that it is the worst thing that could happen to their way of life. It only brings out the ugliest in both their bitterness towards each other and ethical questions on how to cope with what is to come.

These doubts along with the animosity between father and son reflected the uncertainty of the times "Hud" existed in. Though the story seems to be set in the 50s with its careful attention to rural Americana, it only enhances an elegiac mood of a passing era, which Homer fully embodies. And as his soul seems to wither, his ranch transforms slowly and sadly in step, from buzzing to barren (pictured in gorgeous black and white by legendary cinematographer James Wong Howe).  Melvyn Douglas plays him with a authentic dignity that is felt throughout his performance, regardless of how simplistic or vague his characterization is. Even with a simple sing-along moment, he finds away to bring out his heart.

Though Homer might be the counterpoint which Hud plays against, but it's his relationship with Lonnie which helps us sympathize with him. Brandon De Wilde completely conveys a guilelessness which we can't help but reminisce on and care for. We relate to how he admires his grandfather, as it reflects our own hopes in acquiring the wisdom of our elders. But we also understand why he gravitates to Hud as he seeks a fellow exuberant spirit. When we see Hud take Lonnie under his wing, hesitantly revealing secrets, we understand him. Without Lonnie, Hud would be nothing but an ingrate.

Another one of the film's treasures is Alma Brown who arouses desire. Ideal in Lonnie, carnal in Hud. Played by the late Patricia Neal, she provided a refreshing change from the primped up cowboy beauties of the 50s (e.g. Angie Dickinson in "Rio Bravo") and provided a glimpse of the earthier female personas yet to come (e.g. Claudia Cardinale in "Once Upon A Time In The West"). But before or since, has there ever been a tougher or more memorable female character in a contemporary Western than Alma? She shows sensuality without trying to be sexy. She marks interest in Hud without revealing weakness, and her no-nonsense approach was ahead of its time. She more than held her own against Paul Newman, which only adds to her and the film's appeal.

And of course we have the inimitable Paul Newman whose role here would cement his place in the Hollywood firmament (and supply him pretty much a dry run for his most famous role of "Cool Hand Luke"). It should be said the novel portrayed Hud as a man without merit. But here, with grace and gravitas, he supplies Hud with inklings of a soul. We understand why he went wrong, find an hint of where he may have gone wrong, and realize that inflexible nobility can produce its equivalent opposite.

Paul Newman was said to have been shocked that so many viewers felt for Hud O'Bannon instead of viewing him as a villain. Though many people see him as Alma rightly called him, "a cold-hearted bastard," he's more than that. "Hud" as a character of his time embodied a new ethos (right or wrong) longing to break free from old norms and seeking acceptance. As a film, it marked the entry of a new type of Western, one that was more intimate, more cynical, and more authentic than those before it.

Ebertfest: Day 5

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Note: Based on draft written on April 26, 2010.

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It was quarter to 8 yesterday morning. I had just sent an email to the FFC inviting everyone for "brunch" at Steak N' Shake since Wael was the only one who had yet to go. It was Ebertfest's last day, the last screening was at noon, and some of us would be leaving as soon as it was over. It was now or never.

I put my sad thoughts off for a moment as I headed to Steak N' Shake for one last time. Wael, Seongyong, Grace, and Tom are were there to meet me at the hotel entrance. Jerry (Gerardo) wasn't able to get the email while Omer needed his rest. Omar met us there later on.

Wael enjoyed his meal greatly as we all shot the shit so to speak. Mostly commenting on how it was all ending. Once we finished we headed to Virginia theatre for the Festival's finale in SONG SUNG BLUE, a documentary about Mike and Claire Sardina, song revivalists famous for performing the works of Neil Diamond and Patsy Cline respectively.

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The movie reminded me of HOOP DREAMS but for singing impersonators. It shows this loving couple and their passion for music and performing. We see the tragedies that befall Mike and Claire's family in ways only life can supply. We see them at their most irresponsible, their most fragile, their bravest, and their best. Does the film have a happy ending? Does any life have a happy ending? All that is to be said is that they lived life on their terms for good or bad. Whether they triumphed or not is up for debate. What is undeniable is that they persevered.

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I remember when Roger introduced Claire Sardina at the Festival's opening gala. She was the last person on his roll call of guests. She confirmed her attendance by shouting out way in the back that "I'm right here!" As Chaz asked her to come up to the podium, Claire made her way very slowly. I was unaware of her background, not knowing if she was injured or sick. Roger, he himself a bit frail, went and walked to receive her. As they hugged midway, applause.

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And what a marvelous reception Claire received after her film's screening. Though OKURIBITO might have been the festival's best show-stopper, SONG SUNG BLUE was the appropriate climax, as the crowd showed their appreciation. Tom Dark was right, Rodge sure knows how to pick 'em. After thanking her well-wishers, Claire said she would perform three songs, and the crowd was on its feet through all of them.

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The film's Q&A with the film's director Greg Kohs was remarkable, as Claire noted of his persistence and concern as he started out as a fan and ended up pretty much as family, becoming the proverbial "fly on the wall" witnessing everything good, bad, and ugly. He spent more than 10 years detailing their story. Some of the great documentaries of our time, such as HOOP DREAMS and the 7 YEAR UP files have required as much if not more. It was time well spent.

After the close, Carol Iwata came up to us and mentioned that Roger and Chaz wanted to meet with us, particularly those who wouldn't be in Chicago for the next few days, to spend a fond farewell together. Where else? Steak N' Shake (D'oh!).

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It was probably my 4th or 5th time there (I've lost track). I even got tweets criticizing me for destroying my diet as I have a "Twibbon" supporting Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution. Hey even Jamie indulges himself sometimes, and I'm never going to have burgers like these when I get back to Malaysia (heck, I won't be having any at all). So for all those naysayers, spare me.

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It was time to say goodbye to some of those that spent time with us at the Festival. Those Oregon kids who went to every screening made us proud. Yes, I'm talking about you Dana Henson, Bret Bynum, Mike Millan, and Tyler Henson of Marshfield High School. If there's any right way to play hooky, you guys did it. Two other youngsters who we came across often were Sean Kelley and Danielle Williamson. They were both very nice and polite. Whenever you see kids like this with a genuine interest in film, good films at that, our hearts can't help but feel there is hope for the moviegoing future.

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Jackson Savage, my newfound fan of the FFC, is astoundingly intelligent and astute for a 15-year old. When Omer, Grace, and I heard that he found SYNECDOCHE, NEW YORK good for his "emotional evolution," we were, as Roger would likely call it, gobsmacked. His mom brought him to Urbana-Champaign from their hometown of New Mexico. He might be going to Europe for vacation. Two life-shaping experiences which can only do him good. She did a good job.

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Evan Cohen was another great help to us FFC. A very energetic volunteer for the entire week, he was one of many who helped shuttle our butts all over the campus. A pretty funny guy with a passion for performing himself. I kept on thinking of a young Conan O'Brien (not the hair!). Hey, that's how he started!

Grace and Ali had to go to the local airstrip to catch their return flights. So it was a round of hugs for them. The rest of us headed to Steak N' Shake. Roger and Chaz soon followed as we took our sweet time savoring the moment. It would only get sweeter as Grace came through the door saying that her flight was delayed. So I consumed my first Guacamole Double Steak burger with a Banocolate (banana and chocolate) milkshake, as if it were my last meal. Seongyong had to go as his flight was leaving. Grace had to go back to the airport to check her rescheduled flight. As it ended, hugs all around. Picture poses all over. Trips back to the hotel.

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Grace came back to the Union as her flight was delayed until the next day. Tom and Omer had said their goodbyes driving back to their cities. Wael, Grace, Jackson Savage and me had one last dinner together at the worst Chinese restaurant in college town existence (I blame their indecisiveness!). But at least as Jackson headed home, we three had some final stories together. As I bid them farewell, I head to Chicago the next day with Jerry and Monica for my private moments. One last one in Champaign-Urbana.

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Last. That's the word that strafes my heart. My newfound friends echoed my sentiments: We don't want this to be over. We can't believe it's over. This incredible gift that Roger gave us, not just the opportunity to meet him, be with him, see great movies, and attend parties for free. That's just icing. The feast was having this foreign family which spoke the same language: our mother tongue of film. 

I have never been able to speak with such eloquence and abandon about my love of movies and all that comes with it, to people who understand and intuit what I mean, without having to clarify. I have never felt this way with my best friends or my dearest family members. In film ideas, I connect to Seongyong, who has trouble with his English, even more so than with my wife.

This is one of the best gifts Roger has given me, and I cling to it feverishly. Those close to me sometimes ask why I tweet so much. I tell them it's my link to the world of film, and my new friends who I have been searching for all my life. Those twitter followings and followers might as well be fishhooks into my psyche, for which I am gladly a masochist. I don't know when I'll ever get the chance to experience this treasure again, but now that I've tasted it, I won't let it go.

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Roger, thank you in many ways for bringing me home. I'll be back.

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Note: Next Ebertfest-related post will be the last: Epilogue and Remembrances.

Ebertfest: Day 4

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Got up around 8 to get ready for a breakfast get-together at an apartment Roger and Chaz were staying at. We FFC were told to meet at the front of The Illini Union before getting there. And who did I see there? Lo and behold my dear friend Wael Khairy.

How odd it is to say that. I had met him just last night, but feel that I've known him all my life. I gave him a big brotherly hug, exclaiming, "You made it!" All week each of us kept on mentioning with each memorable moment, "If only Wael were here to see this." But everyday we would here from Chaz that there was still a chance he could make it. Last night we were told he would, and we were really happy that the far flung correspondents would all be here.

At last night's party, I asked him if he had gotten any sleep, as my own journey to get here involved 19 hours of travel time and 10 hours of stop over time. He told me that he hadn't slept in more than 24 hours and was exhausted. But it didn't show. I'm sure he was happy, but he looked more in stunned disbelief. I could only smile knowing how much happier it was going to get for him.

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Only a select few were invited for breakfast, but it felt just as packed as last night's party. Though there were people all around, it felt a lot more intimate. Something about mornings seem to bring out the warmest among us during Ebertfest. Probably because we had our rest.

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Grace and I would chat more about Asian cinema with David Bordwell. Two other Michaels, Barker and Tolkin, seemed to be wheeling and dealing. Two Kims, Morgan and Voynar, both immensely readable film bloggers, were seen chatting it up (the former showcasing one of her beautiful coats). Tom Dark got a chance to mix it up with Charlie Kaufman, and told me a very nice story revealing just how nice a man Mr. Kaufman really is. Carol Iwata, Roger and Chaz's, personal assistant, got to showcase her "Midwestern Japanese" with Mr. and Mrs. Takita and their translator, with funny results.

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I got to meet AP film critic Christy Lemire for the first time, and told her how very much I admired her moviegoing efforts involving her very first three month old son Nicholas. We compared notes, noting that when me and my wife had our first born, we stopped going to the movies completely for 2 years. I also got to meet Betsy Hendrick, Roger's very close friend and one of the major patrons of his film festival. She's very a warm and kind lady, frequently chatting with us whenever she had the chance. I'd say her enthusiasm for the FFC was as deep as Roger's. Without her, none of this would would have been possible.

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It was nice seeing my fellow FFC mingling around. Picture-taking abounded. Vincent P. Falk's wordplay even more so. Ali Arikan was working the room like a pro, making a naughty photo-op remark that left me in stitches. Roger introduced his sketching prowess by showing his illustration for this year's Ebertfest logo as well as another used in for the Hawaii Film Festival. But the highlight of the morning was seeing Wael finally meeting Roger. I felt so much for him.

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So it was time to go for the day's first of four screenings. Four. All I could think was whether I would be able to get through all of them. I was intent on doing so, since tomorrow only had one screening and I could get my rest then. As Chaz started the day's proceedings we knew what would come next. Wael got introduced to the audience who knew of his quest to attend Ebertfest. The crowd roared, Wael was enraptured, the circle was complete.

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We started off with I CAPTURE THE CASTLE, an adaptation of Dodie Smith's novel of the same name, which tells the tale of an eccentric family, struggling with 1930s life in an old English Castle, as seen through the eyes of its protagonist, Cassandra.

It didn't work for me. I consider myself an anglophile, but something within me just kept on seeing it as contrived, a quality that kept me from fully buying into its emotional conflicts. It isn't a bad picture, and many times it can be entertaining and even touching, but I couldn't fully accept it having seen many works of the same nature yet better telling. Perhaps it would have worked better for me if I had read the novel.

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Fortunately, the film's Q&A gave me some hope. IndieWire film critic Lisa Rosman mentioned how much she loved the film, noting that it shows a teenager actually dealing with love for the first time. So many film these days tend to show young people knowing exactly how to deal with this important moment (or not knowing how to deal with it all), but very few try and show those who are unsure, and how they navigate its questions. Listening to her, I think I need to see CASTLE once more.

Nell Minow, also known as Beliefnet's Movie Mom, moderated the panel. She's another wonderful movie soul that I've met here. For the past day or so she has sat in the same row that me, Omer, Omar, and Seongyong sit at, and she's always been game when we all start sharing our opinions. She's also a real blast when she really dislikes a film. Don't get her started on LOVE HAPPENS.

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The next film shown was VINCENT: A LIFE IN COLOR which chronicles the life of Vincent P. Falk, Chicago's literally "colorful" character known for his striking suits, stealing the spotlight from TV shows to the Chicago marathon.

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I saw Vincent at the Illini Union a day before the festival started. I recognized him right away and told the hotel manager, "That's the suit guy!" When I was introduced to him at our Meet N' Greet two days ago, I have to admit that I was a bit uncomfortable. He was always popping corny jokes and shouting "Oooooooh!" with some witty retort. But then I had already pre-judged him, thinking he was mentally challenged.

Then I saw the film, which completely changed the way I feel about him now. The film's director Jennifer Burns goes to remarkable lengths to show his background, profiling his upbringing, family, friends, work, and love of showmanship, revealing someone who has found, as Billy Crystal would say, "that one thing" to being happy. Despite being totally blind in one eye, and near as much with the other, he made his living comfortably as a programmer, which explains how he can afford all of his suits.

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I was quite moved by the movie and mentioned to Jennifer afterwards that I thought her film was such a gift. I also told her I was guilty of the very biases which the film brings up, and greatly appreciated what she and Vincent did. When I got the chance to see Vincent, I told him the same, said that I was sorry, and that I'd never pre-judge anyone like that again. We chatted a bit and he told me that he specialized in COBOL. I told him I used to program in that language too. What are the chances of two COBOL VIPs at Ebertfest?

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Two down, two to go. The third film was James Mottern's TRUCKER, which tells the story of Diane, a lady truck driver, played Michelle Monaghan, who hauls sixteen-wheelers for a living. She prefers to live a solitary life, with responsibility solely to herself, which clashes with the realities of her dying ex-husband, her estranged son, and a blossoming relationship with a longtime friend. Next to Tilda Swinton's portrayal of JULIA, Michelle's performance was the most fearless of last year.

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There are a lot of pretty girls in Hollywood who need to play the same tired old roles mainstream Hollywood expects of them. Very few are willing to take on challenging parts which can possibly spoil their marketability and eventual financial success. Which makes Michelle Monaghan's turn here all the more remarkable. One of Hollywood's loveliest ladies, most people remember her for roles in MISSION IMPOSSIBLE 3 or MADE OF HONOR, yet miss out on her work in NORTH COUNTRY and GONE BABY GONE. Though she has done impressive work in the last two I mentioned, they both give no inkling of her range and depth which she displays in TRUCKER. She's earned one more fan in me.

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Finally a dinner break, but no food for me just yet. I've just been informed that there'll be a "Post-fest" party, so I might as well eat there instead. I get to interact with Omar Moore a bit more and realize how much energy he has. Before Roger named him one of the FFCs, he was already blogging movie reviews at his website The Popcorn Reel, while maintaining law and photography practices. I find him a valuable resource when it comes to the inner workings of Hollywood since he has the insider access. Did I mention that though he works in L.A., he resides in S.F.? Which means his daily air-commute takes more time than it has to. Yet, talking with him reveals no such weariness. His accent is James Bond suave but his gestures are demonstrative. This is one dude I'll miss once this event is over.

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Ah, the final screening of the night: BARFLY. A semi-autobiographical film about a few days in the life of poet/author Charles Bukowski. It's a truly American film in that it captures the grungy, booze-filled aura of seedy bar towns of Los Angeles, a subculture of America that I am quite unfamiliar with. The sunken, desperate air which permeates the film cannot sink Mickey Rourke's character of Henry (the Bukowski persona), whose intoxicated outlook feels strangely blissful.

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The film has to be seen to be believed, as most films about alcoholics I've seen tend to be depressing. And to some extent BARFLY is depressing, but not in Henry's company. Its director Barbet Schroeder, who thankfully made it to Ebertfest, was a great admirer and eventual friend of Charles Bukowski, and it shows in his loving yet unflattering light of his protagonist. Henry is bloodied, intoxicated, and sometimes lost, but at the same time, wistful, content, and yes, happy.

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After the Q&A it's one final stop to Betsy Hendrick's home for the final Ebertfest party, and of all the gatherings we've had, it was the most packed. And the throng was of course nearest the dining table, where those small burgers were heavenly (Angus beef!).

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I met a couple who were trying to get their documentary film made about a World War 2 veteran who served in the Pacific. I offered them my contact details in case they needed any help finding resources in the Philippines. A met Troylene Ladner and her husband Aaron who also helped sponsor the Festival. But mostly I hung around my FFC friends, feeling most comfortable around them. I had a nice long chat once more with Tom Dark about family, kids, and his horses. Yes, he raises horses on his ranch (he's got the hay in his 4x4 to prove it).

I got the chance to catch Betsy and thank her for her hospitality, before I headed back to the hotel at around 3am. God bless her for helping this day become a reality.

Ebertfest: Day 3

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Note: Based on draft written on April 24, 2010.

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Another 4 hour night of sleep, and I barely get up in time for this morning's panels. I could have slept in longer, but decided to attend the morning's first, entitled: "Do Film Students Need to Know Much About Classic Films?" I really didn't need to attend it, knowing the answer to that question. But I was anxious to see the audience turnout, hoping to somehow participate in enlightening students.

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Sadly, most of the audience members weren't students. Their heads were a sea of grey and white (not a criticism but an observation), which I found kind of depressing, not because of who were there, but who weren't. It was interesting though to listen to what the panelists (David Bordwell, Richard Neupert, Howie Movshovitz, etc.) think young filmmakers might be missing out on, possibly "reinventing the wheel" so to speak without exposure to classic film canon. But there was also acknowledgement that the canon itself has to be sort of flexible as to what filmmakers are trying to achieve, as not all kids are trying to make another CITIZEN KANE.

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What made the morning a delight was getting to meet and speak to Tom Dark for the first time. He cuts quite a first impression, which startled me when I first saw him at the Q&A panel for PINK FLOYD'S THE WALL. With his relaxed demeanor, Banana Republic Jungle Vest, old sandals, and Sam Elliott mustache, his look practically screams old codger. But when he speaks, his voice has a soft poetic flow that just draws you in. There is nothing trite in his words, and his insights and experiences when conveyed can feel like a daydream. I wasn't kidding when I tweeted that Tom Dark is a conversational joy.

After chatting with Tom, I got ready for the next panel: "The Global Web of Film Lovers", which I was to participate in. The last panel I remember doing was something back in college (or perhaps high school), and I don't even remember what it was for. But strangely, I felt relaxed this time, and my comments just flowed out of me. I kind of hogged the mic when it came to the issue of film piracy and the lack of access to quality films from the third world, but it has been an issue long on my mind, and I wasn't going to let the opportunity pass.

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Speaking of which, I had prepared for that moment a few minutes before by speaking with one of my film critic heroes: Former New York Times film critic Elvis Mitchell. I was able to catch him in the hallway and told him how much I admired his writing. He probably felt the same way I did when I met my first fan yesterday, complete disbelief. He was very gracious with his time and offered suggestions when I mentioned what I wanted to talk about. I kept on calling him sir, and he told me (good-naturedly) never to call him that. "Please call me Elvis." he said. I told him that I blogged, "I just had to listen to Elvis again." He actually got a good laugh out of that. Yes!

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Roger took our pictures before we started, and I took a picture of the audience, as I didn't know when I'd ever get to do something like this again. The big guy Omer was a damn good moderator, as he wouldn't let me take the mic too much (I couldn't help myself!), and tried to save Seongyong's commentary on his home country. He managed to have a number of questions to be answered despite us starting late and having very little time left.

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After lunch we proceeded to the first screening of the day: Yojiro Takita's OKURIBITO (DEPARTURES). David Bordwell introduced the film saying that it is a very "Japanese" movie, meaning that understanding the country's cultural attitudes towards death, honor, nature, and even food can give a deeper appreciation for the film. Spot-on observation as usual. It was definitely the festival's show stopper, drawing a standing ovation at its end credits, and at the introduction of its director during its Q&A.

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I had seen OKURIBITO previously on DVD and thought it was a wonderful film. But seeing it in the Virginia Theater, carefully heeding David's advice in paying attention to the sound, I was overwhelmed by the emotion carried by the movie's astounding use of music. I had mentioned how I loved its use of Beethoven's Ninth, and the director noted how it was purposely used to show an ironic high-and-low moment for the lead character. Though we can debate if it was deserving, it's easy to see how this film won last year's Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film. I haven't shed that much tears or shared that much laughs at a theater in quite some time.

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After the film's screening, Grace and I had gathered with David Bordwell back stage for some chit chat about film and such. Once more, he was so generous with his time. The only person I've seen with as much energy in talking about movies is Martin Scorsese, as David sometimes sways from side to side just keeping it all in. He also suggested to Grace and I to continue our interest in covering film festivals, pointing out that Grace could do Toronto (TIFF) and I could do Hong Kong (HKIFF). He even said that if we needed credentials, we could get in touch with him. Like I said, he's one of the nicest men I've ever met.

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The next screening was the Russian Dziga Vertov's CHELOVEK S KINO-APPARATOM (MAN WITH THE MOVIE CAMERA), a searing black and white of documentary footage of life in the Soviet Union in the 1920s. Though the film shows scenes of the old, it is more alive and vibrant than most movies shown today, serving as time machine and as laboratory experiment on the possibilities of film. Fellow FFC Ali Arikan noted that he could easily imagine Leni Riefenstahl easily being inspired by this film's energy and imagery, and who knows if it did?

What made the screening of MAN WITH THE MOVIE CAMERA especially worth seeing at Ebertfest was the performance of the Alloy Orchestra, a three-man ensemble performing live music to complement (in this case enhancing) the silent film. Their unorthodox instruments and energetic improvisations raise this piece to something more than just a movie. I would have loved to experience in a music hall in front of orchestral aficionados.

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I must admit however that in the middle of this screening, I was attacked by exhaustion, repeatedly dozing in the middle. I decided to skip dinner and the last screening of the night: Charlie Kaufman's SYNECDOCHE, NEW YORK, which I kind of regret. I had seen SYNECDOCHE before, but wanted the chance to see it once more to perhaps catch or appreciate what I may have missed before. It's an uncompromising but insightful film about how man lives his life and his futile and humorous attempts to grasp its immensity. I hope one day to see it again, but oh what a sight it could have been in the Virginia Theatre!

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There was a "Mid-fest Party" for select guests after the SYNECDOCHE screening at 11pm, and I had gotten the rest I needed. it was pretty lively and entertaining getting to hang around film organizers, guests, and fellow panelists. Some of my FFC friends were chatting with Charlie Kaufmann. I got the chance to chat with Howie Movshovitz, film critic for Colorado public radio and director of film education at the University of Colorado. I wanted to chat with him about film preservation as many of my Filipino film critics told me to bring it up (our film archives are non-existent or near death). He gave me a list of Film companies/studios that do it in the US, and they don't just do it for American films. He also confirmed what David Bordwell told me: it's really expensive (at least $80,000 per film).

He also told me some great film restoration stories, and I think he was genuinely glad that here I was, a young person incredibly interested in not just movies, but in their importance. He's the only guy I've ever discussed Charles Burnett with. Elvis Mitchell once again walked by and greeted Howie, and I told Howie that I loved Elvis's work. Elvis said, "See. I told you I had one." I called Elvis "sir" again, and yes, he warned me, "If you call me that one more time..."

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I finally got around to eat past midnight. Caught up with my FFC buddies and Tom Dark (he's pretty much FFC to us as far as we're concerned). Another 3am arrival at my hotel room. Another 4 hours of sleep. At least I, along with the rest of my dear Far Flung Correspondents, will remember this forever.

Ebertfest: Day 2

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Note: Though the post is late, the initial draft was made April 23, 2010

Today kicked off with a "Meet and Greet" at the Illini Union, where Roger, his wife Chaz, the Festival's Guests along with members of "The Ebert Club" came together for breakfast before the day's festivities began. It was a family type affair; relaxed and casual. Chaz introduced us Far Flung Correspondents once more, with my brow less crumpled by shyness than before.

I met a man who had been a long time "correspondent" of Roger Ebert, back in the day when Compuserv was a dominant online service provider, and when Roger was one of its most active participants. He told me that Roger really hadn't changed that much since then, and that he was always inviting members to discuss film and its ideas with just as much energy as he does today on his blogs. In the middle of our discussion, Roger had walked in the door, and gave a nod of recognition to the man who had spoken so highly of him. After all of the countless people he has known and met, he remembers.

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Gerardo and Monica Valero decided to give their very special gifts to Roger this morning, and they were stunning. The first was a signature of Orson Welles enframed with his black and white photo from THE THIRD MAN. Monica said that it was given by Mr. Welles to her aunt during his visit to Mexico.

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The second gift was even more remarkable, a hand-drawn illustration (by Monica, an accomplished artist in her own right) of a very young Roger and his father. The picture was inspired by Roger's own eloquent memories of his dad, and of all the moments we Correspondents had together, I believe this one moved him the most.

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I met a father and son who had been coming to Ebertfest for the past 3 or so years, the father being supportive of his son's love for films. We saw film critc/journalist David Poland introduce his lovely 3-month old (most likely conceived during last year's Ebertfest?) to Roger and Chaz. Grace Wang took pictures of our feet (Guess who's who!) and I was able to get a surprisingly private moment with Roger. What he told me I will forever hold in my heart.

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Off to the films we went. The first showing being MUNYURANGABO, the story of two Rwandas of different ethnicities. Both on a journey of revenge, but life happens along the way, affecting them in ways no one will expect. If any word describes this film, it is contemplative, seeming infinitely more in tune with the rhythms of life than the pace of a mainstream movie. To the uninitiated it will feel slow and even meandering, but it comes together brilliantly and poignantly in many genuinely heartbreaking moments. None more so than in a poem that hits you like a lightning bolt.

I had met with the film's director Lee Isaac Chung the day before, and the first thing that struck me was how young he was. At the festival's opening gala, I sincerely thought he was one of the student volunteers! Upon realizing who I was talking to, I tried to gather myself, noting what a remarkable film he made. He was without affectation or pretense, looking like a regular (yet smart) guy just happy to be here. Perhaps he was.

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His participation in the Q&A with his fellow producers Sam Anderson and Jenny Lund revealed many surprises. Their film took only 11 days to make, when I was almost certain that it could have taken much longer. His project didn't arise out of any need to preach racial acceptance, but as a means to teach film to locals while his wife was participating in humanitarian efforts in Rwanda. Lee himself originally intended to pursue being a doctor, but got sidetracked into filmmaking in his senior year at Yale. And the film's most crucial scene was delivered impromptu by a local actor. Such fortunate circumstances, such a cinematic blessing.

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Being deprived of sleep for the past few days (averaging 4 hours a day), I decided to skip the next screening of Michael Tolkin's THE NEW AGE, which I had already seen before. I wish I didn't have to, knowing that this was the same guy who penned Robert Altman's THE PLAYER, but it was either that or miss APOCALYPSE NOW: REDUX, which I had never seen on the big screen. Sorry sir!

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Thus came Francis Ford Coppola's masterpiece. Since Walter Murch, the film's editor and sound designer could not attend due to the Icelandic volcano's rampage on European airspace, David Bordwell introduced the film, and gave me a moviegoing tip that will stick with me forever. He told the audience to played close attention to use of sound, noting that Mr. Murch was one of the very few geniuses working in film today. He cited his careful modulation of mosquito buzzings in the film's opening hotel room scene. Anyone paying that much attention to detail deserves to be noticed.

And Mr. Bordwell was dead-on. I have seen films that have had much larger action pieces, or more frenzied scenes of devastation (e.g. SAVING PRIVATE RYAN), but somehow, Walter Murch's use of sound in APOCALYPSE NOW enlarges the film even further. Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries" has never been used better, or been imagined so much more terrifying. Vietnamese jungles have never felt deeper. And Brando's last whispers truly magnify, "The horror. The horror."

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What a terrific night it was. And it only got better, as Carol (The Eberts' personal assistant) invited us out for a Steak N' Shake session (my second). That was four meals available to us today (1. Meet N' Greet; 2. Lunch; 3. Dinner; 4: Steak N' Shake). Carol welcomed some Oregon students who were planning to attend the whole week. She also showed how tall she was next to Omer. Grace finally got her Steakburger and Milkshake fix. And I got to hang out with my first and probably only fan (I'll blog about him later). Thank God I skipped dinner.

Ebertfest: Day 1

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Like the day before, I couldn't sleep much this morning. I had slept at 11pm last night and woke up around 3am thinking about what I should blog. After posting "A Campus Tour and a Pizza Party," I freshened up for an interview for the local radio program "Penny For Your Thoughts" at the NewsTalk 1400 WDWS-AM station. Nate Kohn invited me to come along and assist him in filling him for Walter Hirsch, the sound & film editor of APOCALYPSE NOW who couldn't make it to the festival due to being stranded in Europe (Volcanic Ash).

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It was there that Nate and I were met and interviewed by Jim Turpin who has hosted the program for over 30 years. Nate and I supplied info about ourselves and Ebertfest to help promote it. It was my first ever radio interview and Jim really eased us into it. He makes it look effortless. What a real pleasure talking to him.

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After the interview Nate was kind enough to suggest we drive through the town where he and Roger Ebert grew up (pretty close!). He took me through my idealized notions of the Midwest middle class neighborhood, were it looked as if nobody locked their doors. I walked up to Roger's house and was amazed how small it is. All I can say is that I grew up in a poor household, and Roger's place was smaller than ours. I don't think anyone can accuse roger of being rich and out of touch after seeing his childhood home.

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After driving back to The Union, I rested up for a bit and waited for lunchtime, where the Foreign Correspondents who were present agreed that we'd have lunch at Steak N' Shake. Our excitement was palpable.

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It was here I met Ali Arikan in person for the first time. I expected someone physically larger due to Roger's claims of Ali's prodigious consumption capabilities. Don't let his size fool you. He has an unshakeable confidence that is by no means cocky. His presence is respected and felt. I also think it's cool that he looks like Steve Nash.

So Seongyong, Gerardo, Mrs. (Monica) Gerardo, Ali and me were picked up by my "host" Spencer Turkin, who for some reason was the only one available at the time to take us out for lunch (a guy you can depend on). We got to Steak N' Shake and made our orders.

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It was the best burger I've ever had. Not too soft, not tough, not too big, not just simply beef. It had a rich and varied flavor with a size I can only describe as perfect. I have been on a successful diet for the last month and half and have lost 7kg in that time, so I did not order a "Chocolate Fudge Milkshake" that would decimate my efforts. It was so good that I had one to go. Ali liked it so much he had another one right there and then (but he's a runner, so his metabolism takes care of it).

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And as if our trip wasn't amazing enough, Spencer noticed that a camera crew from the local ABC News Channel 15 had staked us out. Apparently, they must've picked up on Roger's tweet of us heading to Steak N' Shake. Reporter Ryann Monahan asked to interview several of us and film us conversing over lunch. I found it surreal and was stunned (I still don't know how I should have reacted). Ali was a pro and took care of it. You can see the results.

Never before have I been asked for a broadcast interview, let alone twice in one day. Even Spencer thought it was a blast. Thanks Rog! :)

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We headed back to the Union for some rest, to get ready for the Opening Night gala and film showings. I wanted to come off looking professional, but I think I came across more as a Secret Service Agent.

Too late to dress down, we proceeded to the University President's residence, which was elegant and picturesque. It was there I met the rest of the Correspondents: Grace Wang, Omer Mozaffar, and Omar Moore.

It was truly wonderful being in each other's company. Roger's patronage of our passion for movies didn't only move our hearts, but it also gave us a whole new set of friends, those I personally can talk to in the language of film which I am not able to share with even those dearest to me. I finally have these cinephiles I can relate to.

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As the gala went on, the University President, his wife, and other dignitaries praised him, his festival, and those who helped make it happen. I thought that was that, and then mingle time (something I'm kind of dreadful at). But Roger, through Chaz, highlighted us correspondents once more, asking us to come up front, soak the applause, and sit near him (I don't think I've ever received that kind of reception in my entire life). He then introduced the rest of the festival guests who were present, with the great film writers/directors Charlie Kaufman and Michael Tolkin, amount others. His introduction of Claire Sardina, was especially touching.

Time flew, and before you knew it, everyone was headed towards the Virginia Theater. I used my VIP pass, an object I am totally unfamiliar with, and headed into the theater. Its rustic ruby-lit atmosphere, along with its large size (for 35-70mm projections) was beautiful. The tireless Chaz Ebert once again addressed the audience. And though I thought my bouts of shyness would be over, she highlighted us again, one by one, to an even larger, warmer applause. That's twice in one day, that I've experienced something surreal and immensely special, twice more.

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After Roger was honored by Illinois Governor Pat Quinn with today being honored as "Ebertfest Day," the first film showd was Pink Floyd's THE WALL. I had heard about the film before as a child, but nothing could have prepared me for its power, its creativity, its grotesqueness, its music, and its unbridled passion. Roger is right when he considers it a "Great" Movie.

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Ali Arikan takes the stage as a panelist, conversing with the splendid AP film critic Christy Lemire and musician Tom Dark, and he is absolutely in his element, bringing up interesting points of view and analysis. Yes I sound like a play-by-play announcer, but I can't help but root for my fellow FC! We have to represent! Ok I'll stop.

The next showing was that of DU LEVANDE (YOU, THE LIVING), A Swedish film that can be both depressing and joyful, and definitely unforgettable. The film was moderated by Michael Phillips, co-host of Roger's former show "At The Movies," the great film critic Elvis Mitchell, a professor from the University of Georgia whose name I have forgotten, fellow correspondent Gerardo Valero, and Roger Ebert. I found it wonderful to listen to Elvis once again (I just had to), as I miss his reviews at the New York Times, and was lucky and honored to interact with both he and Mr. Phillips. If only we could do it once more at length.

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Who knows there are 4 more days to go. The night ended with tired movie lovers, but replenished souls. Here's to Day 2.

A Campus Tour and a Pizza Party

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The day before Ebertfest was fairly uneventful, with the whole morning spent touring the campus grounds, which was quite something for me since I haven't walked that much since my previous University days (has it really been 15 years?).

For those new to the festival, it is held at Urbana, Illinois, right on the outskirts of the campus of the University of Illinois in neighboring Champaign. I've been to large campus grounds before, but UIUC is in a league of its own. Spanning over 3 zip codes and holding 40,000 students, it's a virtual city of youth with sprinklings of small town flavor and historic America. I don't think I've ever been in a city with such dominant and varied shades of rustic brown and mahogany. Even new buildings are purposely built to fit in with the old.

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P1000861My campus guide is Spencer Turkin, who does play-by-play announcing for major sporting events. I find it remarkable that despite being an out-of-state sophomore, he knows more about his campus than most University seniors I have known all my life. He tells me he just has a real love for his school, and that it helps him a lot during his broadcasts when he has to "fill in" lulls with information.

We walked and we walked and we walked. Over two zip codes I believe. There were fascinating science and research buildings (first time I've ever been to one doing Nuclear Engineering), including a facility that houses Blue Water, which might be the most powerful supercomputer in the world (HAL!). And old style campus buildings with glorious green scenery (the main quadrangle is a student's dream).

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But the highlight of my tour was being able to visit Memorial Stadium, my only experience to step into a real life football field (Yes, I had my RUDY moment walking out into the stands). It's a unique thing stepping into a facility that can house over 60,000 people, which is still considered small compared to its rivals.

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I walked to the field across to the 50-yard line on the 'I' of the Illini initial, the first time I grasped the vastness of the playing field, and further appreciated the speed which football players are able to traverse what I wouldn't even be able to sprint full length. Spencer said I was lucky that the facility wasn't locked as it usually is (Heavens be praised!).

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And what an honor to see the World War 2 tributes outside the stadium, and especially see Grange Rock, a huge slab of Indiana quarry used to build the stadium dedicated to Red Grange, one of American football's icons. 

I've been to the US many times before, on both coasts and around the Midwest, but visiting these campus landmarks was really special; definitely unique.

I headed back to my quarters to prepare for last night's Pizza Party at Cowboy Monkey, which was held for the Festival's volunteers. I met Clare Margiotta, a teacher who said she had been volunteering for years now. I met Nate Kohn the Festival director who was with there with Roger Ebert from its inception. Nate asked me to participate in a radio interview the next morning, which will be a first for me. I also met Mary Susan Britt, who is Nate's right hand in getting the festival to fruition.

I happily was able to meet Seongyong Cho (South Korea) and Gerardo Valero with his lovely wife Monica (Mexico). We recognized each other immediately from seeing our video reviews. Their love of films was clearly evident, as we talked about it often through the night. We kept asking how did we get here, and they were interesting stories with a lot in common, Roger of course.

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Speaking of which, Roger Ebert, his wife Chaz, and their assistant Carol arrived later that evening as they had driven into town that very day. Though you wouldn't call the Bar crowd a throng, it certainly did gravitate his way. It was the first time I got to see him in person (Seongyong that lucky devil got to meet them while he was sightseeing in Chicago), and the moment I spotted him, something knotted up in me. It wasn't the pizza.

Call it a mix of disbelief, immense gratitude, deep realization, and just a plain case of being starstruck, My eyes welled up. Seongyong, Gerardo, Monica and I were at the end of the bar, and the night's couple were making their way in our direction. My eyes met Roger's and we knew each other right away. He reached out to hug me, patted me on the back. I patted my left hand on my heart, showing him it was a very special moment. He knew.

Inner voice to self: Too many cameras! No crying! Must maintain dignity!

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Chaz then took the mic and took the time to thank everyone who had attended, Including Vincent P. Falk, the subject of the documentary VINCENT: A LIFE IN COLOR. Names were mentioned, gratitude was sincerely given, and if you've never seen anybody smile with their eyes, you should've seen Roger that night. His peepers lit up with joy seeing everyone's efforts bear fruit. Personally I wanted to pull him aside take a picture, but hell, everybody there wanted to. So did Entertainment Tonight (which was there to interview him and Chaz).

But he did take our picture in a group photo. He sent us a copy when the night was over (the man never rests!). By the way, I gave the flowers!

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Roger and Me

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I rarely mark down memorable dates on my email inbox. But Jan 13, 2010 is one I'll never forget. It's when I received this email from Roger Ebert: 

Dear Michael,

Do you think it would be possible for you to come to Urbana-Champaign to attend Ebertfest 2010? ...

We would like you to appear on a panel discussion, "Film lovers in the age of the internet," on the morning of April 23. ...

I hope you can accept. Your writing on films and other subjects has greatly impressed me. ...

Here was my panicked reply:

My jaw dropped. My heart stopped. I'll have to think about this very carefully. But if I am given the go signal, I'll go in a heartbeat. ...

I was living at the time in Saudi Arabia. In the first quarter of 2009 my company in Malaysia let me go because of the global economic crisis (it's not just Americans who have a beef with the buffoons of Wall Street). My wife became the breadwinner at that point, but our income was not the same, and our savings were at risk of being hit. After looking for two months, every scarce job opening was fought for tooth and nail, and opportunities for expats were next to nil. An opportunity opened up in Saudi Arabia, one of the few places not affected by the financial crisis.

I would have been a fool not to accept. I did and off I went by myself.

Being in Saudi Arabia was... interesting (that's another blog entry). It pays incredibly well, but if money's all you want, that's all you'll get. I dealt with a culture and norms that went against my very principles, but you do what have to do to survive.

Living there was a blow to my movie-going habits. The only film I saw in my time there was AVATAR (and I had to go all the way to Bahrain to see it). My film awareness was on life support, and Roger's film reviews and commentary were my IV. I came to know Roger a bit better after he mentioned my blog among "The blogs of his blogs", which stunned me. I'm a regular on his, and never did I think he would take the time to really delve into my interests. It shows how open-minded and generous he really is.

Then came my traffic accident (which I blogged about here and here), one of the worst experiences of my life. It took me about a month to fully recuperate. When Roger learned of it, I was touched by his concern.

So imagine my succeeding astonishment when he asked me to be one of his foreign correspondents:

December 21, 2009

By the way, what do you think about the Foreign Correspondents? Do you want to be in or out?

As usual, my scaredy cat reply:

O man, I would love to be in, But if I need to be on video, I think I'd crap all over myself.

What would I need to be in that doesn't involve my double chin?

And then came my "What the hell are you doing? Are you crazy?" reply:

On 2nd thought. I'll give it a shot. I'm just nervous, but what the hell. :)

So far I've done 6 pieces for the Foreign Correspondents page, all of which I put a lot of work in and am very proud of (rehearsal is king). Because of Roger's belief in me, I've rediscovered my passion for movies again (the classics especially). I hadn't written about film for what seemed to be the longest time, because it wasn't what put food on the table. I found my voice again, which I thought I had lost for good. Though it's not my day job, I'm trying to bring back film criticism back into my life again. I understand now fully what A.O. Scott told me: Criticism is a way of life. Without it, I'm not whole.

As for Roger's invitation to attend Ebertfest, as of now, I have been writing this piece since 3am in the morning at The Illini Union where I will be staying until the festival ends, too giddy to sleep, with too many thoughts running through me. I have left my job in Saudi Arabia, and will be working again in Malaysia next month. I'll be serving as a panelist and getting a chance to discuss a film with the great film critic David Bordwell (Yes, I'm OMG-ing in anticipation and mostly fright). I'll also be blogging about Roger Ebert's Film Festival from here on.

This is the first time I've written an entry like this. I was immensely concerned that this would come across as arrogant, "tooting" my horn so to speak. It's not my style to be write so much about myself, as I like to keep low key.

Asking for advice, fellow Filipino film critic Francis "Oggs" Cruz (among others) told me to just do it, and not to be too modest. "You worked hard for it."

In my own way, yes I did. But I'll never forget Roger's kindness in helping me get here. From a near-death event, I'm now seeing my dream come true. He has become in his own way, a dear friend to me.

Roger wrote me after my accident:

December 10, 2009

Heal. Calm. Rededicate your life which has been given back to you.

Thanks to you Roger, I will.

HIMALA (***)

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This week is Holy Week, a time when Christians around the world are encouraged to be introspective and repentant in observation of Jesus Christ's self-sacrifice for the sins of man. In light of this, the most important period of the Catholic calendar, are the Church's controversies. The most recent of which are the child abuse sex scandals in Europe and America.

Regardless of how one feels about the Vatican and its handling of its recent crises, one cannot help but doubt how much we feel let down. Religion of any sort has long been regarded as our moral authority. Some today will think it is outdated, others still necessary. Everyone should be able to believe what they want to, but there is no doubt that when it comes to belief, there is nothing quite as dangerous as blind faith.

If there was ever a film about the evils of blind faith, it is Ishmael Bernal's Filipino film HIMALA (meaning "miracle" in Tagalog). And among films involving religion, it is unique in its brave stand against it, long before the last 25 years or so, where it has become fashionable enough to do so.

The film is set in a provincial town, beset by poverty, disease, and harsh climate. Elsa (Nora Aunor), one of its residents, claims to have seen the Blessed Virgin Mary atop a barren hill at the town's outskirts. Soon she is associated with healing the sick. Several visitors become dozens, dozens become hundreds, and before you can say hallelujah, she becomes a news sensation.

Good publicity brings good business. Her fame even brings tourists. Orly (Spanky Manikan), an out-of-town filmmaker, comes to film Elsa's exploits, more skeptical than curious. Another significant arrival is Nimia (Gigi Dueñas), Elsa's close childhood friend, who has returned from the big city (Manila) where she fled prostitution. With the number of people visiting the town, she puts up a cabaret, which surely serves more than song and dance.

Then something befalls Elsa and her confidante Chayong (Laura Centeno) which portends the end of their good fortune. It is followed by a cholera outbreak which Elsa cannot heal. The deaths that result elicit the town's blame. Tourists stop coming, a wealthy patron is murdered, a cherished friend commits suicide. Elsa blames herself for everything. And that's not the end of it.

Many essays that have cited the film note Elsa's healings, but is there really anyone in the film who is directly healed as a result of her? We are told of her miracles, we see her devotees, we even see her go through the motions. But there is not one scene where an ailment disappears or where a suffering is lifted. It cannot be coincidental. Bernal emphasizes that seeing is believing, at least to himself.

The film likes to focus at the seemingly illogical decisions impoverished people make for the sake of being devout. The town is almost desperately poor. Makeshift hostels are put up to cater for foreigners and their indiscretions, but personal fortunes are sacrificed to stay holy.  Nimia gets criticized for putting up what is essentially a strip joint, but in a desolate area where nothing seems to grow, it puts food on the table for those who work there.

Though the film may seem against religion, it doesn't take pot shots at the Church. Remarkably, one of the film's most sane characters is the town's priest (Joel Lamangan who is today a successful Filipino director), who is also skeptical of Elsa's gifts. Whatever his reasons are for doing so, the words he imparts to his flock are restrained and thoughtful.

Nora Aunor is an actress of legendary proportions in the Philippines, whose reputation was most likely canonized by this film. Though she can act with the best of them, what draws Philippines audiences to her is her commonality. She truly looks like an ordinary Filipina, but her acting instincts are at par with the best in knowing how to draw mass sympathy. Here she is, as Filipino film critic Noel Vera best puts it, Bernal's "enigma," dousing any suspicions or presumptions we have of her. Whatever Elma's reasons are, they remain her own, right down to the end.

The film is has many weaknesses. For Filipinos, the dialogue though smartly written is far from genuine. With characters always speaking sequentially, at times it feels like a radio drama play. (but compared to mainstream Philippine cinema, it will feel like a breath of fresh air). Apart from Nora Aunor, the acting is almost completely restrained, with hardly any emotional exclamations of any kind, until the end that is (perhaps it is meant that way to serve a genuine horror at the film's climax). Several events serve no genuine purpose than plot points (Why did Elsa do what she did at the beginning? Why did Orly not act? How could the outrage at Elsa towards the end happen so quickly?), and the explanations behind them, if any, are unbelievable.

Yet these failings fail to derail Ishmael Bernal's mission, which is to show how we disgrace ourselves once we fail to question our most cherished beliefs. We are shown people sacrificing their livelihood, families, and futures, all for the belief that God will help those who do not help themselves. We hear about this in industrialized nations such as the US, but it happens all too often in third world countries as well. And the films mass gatherings, especially in the film's final sequence, are more horrifying than any mass zombie attack. The desperate hope these people display hold a mesmerizing power of hopelessness.

The Philippines is a country where the Catholic Church rules. Divorce and abortion are illegal. Clergymen interfere in politics routinely. Sex education is labelled as a work of the devil. Forgiveness is as easy as sin (Wiki "Imelda" and "Erap"). Ishmael Bernal's HIMALA truly was our cinematic miracle. It confronted our diseased culture of blind faith and asks us to question what is right, and not to be one of the mindless zombies crawling up a hill on its knees.

BRIEF ENCOUNTER (****)

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This review is also posted at Roger Ebert's Foreign Correspondents page.


Marital infidelity is a favorite subject in films. It's one of many taboos which audiences can explore without having to live through its challenges nor worry about its consequences. The emotional and social tumult that comes with it always provides filmmakers and actors with complex and often fiery material to work with. But because it is a social ill, it tends to be viewed through an illicit lens.

The very way these kinds of love affairs are defined speak for themselves. Adultery. Infidelity. Cheating. Marriage is a sacrament, hence anything that goes against it is cast as sinful and wanton; and so go its movie portrayals. But there are many people who don't seek to be unfaithful. A need may not be met; a mistake may have been made; a devoted partner may be far far away. The heart has its reasons.

I can think of only a handful of movies which thoughtfully look into these matters of the heart. Pictures like Bud Yorkin's Twice in a Lifetime, Clint Eastwood's The Bridges of Madison County, Adrian Lyne's Unfaithful, and Sofia Coppola's Lost In Translation are some of the most recent. But one pioneer stands out as the archetype of the extramarital love affair: David Lean's Brief Encounter.

Warning: Spoilers follow.

When one thinks of David Lean, small scale and simplicity are not what come to mind, but his vision here is as simple as its title implies. A housewife and a doctor, both married to their partners, meet at a train station by chance. And somehow, they meet again. And again. And again. Their relationship unfolds as a recollection by Laura (Celia Johnson), the housewife, as she narrates how she and Dr. Alec Harvey (Trevor Howard of The Third Man) came to be, and came to an end.

Though it seems to be set in Britain circa World War II, the film's time and place can readily be interchanged with any time period, preferably in the "noir-ish" world where trench-coats and dimly lit street lights were the norm. The decision to film at a train station is a masterstroke, as the fleeting time to catch the last train heightens the immediacy of their longings, as well as the satisfaction of their meetings. It also doesn't hurt when steam and light projects a heavenly dream-like state in key emotional moments.

Though black and white was a standard filmmaking style during World War II, its importance here film cannot be overstated. The film's thematic simplicity, combined with its genius locale, and brave pioneering, requires it to be immortalized, which B&W readily provides. And to call the picture brave is an understatement, considering its conservative context. The film was controversial enough that it was initially banned in Ireland, since it portrayed adultery in a sympathetic light. Laura's final decision to stay with her family can seemed contrived or convenient for some, but it surely might have been a relief for those in its day.

With Celia Johnson anchoring the film we listen to her plight, seeing how ordinary occurrences impossible to protect against could lead to her to love a handsome doctor. Coinciding train schedules. A busy restaurant with one seat left. A bad musician. A love for the movies. Both tied to routine. Both with the responsibilities of parenthood. A grit in her eye. Right places. Right times.

Though Alec and Laura are the film's focus, Lean also shows his gift of presenting unforgettable characters, most notably the naughty but affectionate stationmaster Albert (Stanley Holloway), and genteel shop lady Myrtle (Joyce Carey). They counterbalance Alec and Laura's pair in two notable ways; as comic relief to the serious considerations that surround the main pair; and as a shift in class consciousness. The author Frances Gray argues that the film shows this disparity in that the working class (Albert and Myrtle) is bereft of scrutiny when it comes to adultery as compared to the middle class (Alec and Laura), which in British society of the time, was considered to its moral backbone. It shows how Albert and Myrtle readily enjoy each other's company, and are more comfortable in their skins, whereas Alec and Laura have to find ways to explain themselves.

What I love about the film is that its "cheaters" aren't portrayed as malicious or salacious. Their feelings are real and important to them and they attempt to deal with its dilemmas. Marriage takes a lot of work, and works better when its principals are happy. Alec and Laura may have thought they were happy, but if they were, why are they seeking what is missing in each other? You have to admire a film daring to take that on, when common wisdom dictated being content with the status quo was healthy and enough.

There are however some aspects to the movie that can feel awkward for today's viewers. The acting is expertly done, but pre-Brando, which can feel mannered. Its narration can seem thick and over-explanatory, though this could be due to budget constraints in wartime. Kissing can be distracting (but cute) because of its build-up and sudden completion, but that's how sexual tension was released on film in those days. Its dialogue is brisk, making it easy to miss at times (you could say the same for CASABLANCA, but if you get into its rhythms, it works). Star-crossed conversations can sound quite unrealistic compared to today's writing. Yet, they are still serious, heartfelt, and never done for laughs, as if the words were written to reach out to the audience as a cry for help. Celia Johnson and Trevor Howard deliver these lines without doubt nor hesitation, Johnson particularly (the role earned her an Oscar nomination) earning our sympathy and respect with every closeup.

It's refreshing to find a classic romance without meet-cutes and pathetic attempts to be clever, with two adults who know what is happening to them, feeling passion which they may have thought was lost for good. Both know their undertaking is unwise and know, within their realities, what needs to be done. But that doesn't mean what they feel isn't shared, precious, and true. With Brief Encounter, David Lean (who earned his first Oscar nomination for this picture) shows his growing directorial gifts on route to his epic mastery of the movies and bravely deals with love that is frowned upon. It is courageous, sincere, and incredibly romantic.

BLACK NARCISSUS (****)

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Post World War II British Cinema was one of the richest periods in film history. Finally free from budget and stylistic constraints saddled during wartime, some of the greatest filmmaking talent the filmdom had arisen. John and Roy Boulting, David Lean, Laurence Olivier, and Carol Reed were just a few of the notables whose directorial prowess had struck the scene. But a pair which was the period's most prolific was Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger; The Archers.

Their imprint on British Cinema is almost without peer, and their influence on filmmakers around the world is felt even today, inspiring such directors as George Romero, Francis Ford Coppola, and Martin Scorsese. Though both Powell and Pressburger were credited with the direction of their films, it was Powell who was truly at the helm. In his later years, he and Scorsese became quite close, with Scorsese becoming his most ardent enthusiast and eventual protégé (It was Powell who advised Scorsese why RAGING BULL ought to be in Black & White).

Swedish film historian Fredrik Gustafsson describes Powell's work in post-WW2 as having a quality of "extravagant dreamlike passion." One such example is their 1947 production of BLACK NARCISSUS, a movie which propelled Deborah Kerr to stardom and featured a burgeoning Jean Simmons. Watching it for the first time made me understand the techniques and inspirations imprinted in many of Scorsese's own masterpieces.

The film tells the story of a group of Anglican nuns who assigned to a remote palace near the Himalayas. Once there, they are tasked to form a school and hospital to develop and convert the indigenous Indian township. The group is headed by Sister Clodagh (Deborah Kerr), the youngest Sister Superior of her order. There, she is to work with the handsome local British agent named Dean (David Farrar), who has lived with the locals for some time and is skeptical of any efforts to 'modernize' them. Dean's charms seem to have some effect on Sister Clodagh, but they also ignite the buried passions of Sister Ruth (Kathleen Byron) who becomes increasingly jealous of her superior.

This emotional conflict is one of many that eats away at nearly all of the film's characters. Clodagh's relationship with Dean reminds her of her ill-fated longings for a former friend. Ruth, who was emotionally disturbed even before joining the expedition seems to become completely unhinged once Dean shows her an act of kindness which she might have been seeking for so long. And Dean himself, a charming cynic who has seen-it-all, appears to surprise himself with how much he grows to care and admire Sister Clodagh's resolve, however misplaced it may be.

The other nuns aren't free of doubt. Local practices and beliefs undermine their deeds. Acts of compassion are misinterpreted and distrusted. Goals aren't met and pressures grow. Their inner turmoil is exacerbated by extreme conditions and isolation. The world seems against them all, symbolized by a budding seduction: a vain young General(Sabu) eager to learn the "learned" Christian ways, tempted by the lower caste beauty Kanchi (Jean Simmons). It's holiness against the libido, civility against the wild, control vs. desire.

This burning, fervent, internal strife, builds continuously towards the film's almost gothic climax. To see the film progress from cold and indifferent to brooding and almost supernatural shows Powell's mastery of tone. He depicts the nuns' mountain enclave as an ashen and distant; colorless as the sisterhood's singular devotion to their vocation. The local Indian populace is backdropped with vibrant color, looking more natural and lively. But it is in the second half of the film where Powell's use of Technicolor is stunning. The introduction of the more vibrant hues dominate the film. The use of red is feverish and is as effective and foreboding as Nicholas Roeg's DON'T LOOK NOW. Even the absence of color and use of shadows serves a purpose that would make any horror movie lover proud, once Sister Clodagh and Sister Ruth have their final face-off.

It is Clodagh and Ruth who come to embody the film's mesmerizing conflict, becoming mirror images; extremes of human nature. Powell uses close-ups of both players to reveal Clodagh's uncertainty and Ruth's blind wantonness. Many have noted Kathleen Byron's portrayal of Ruth as over the top, but it never seems out of line with the film's mood, perhaps because her hostility feel right in sync with that of her environment's. The story's feel is remarkably consistent if not completely realistic.

These traits are the very essence of many of Martin Scorsese's masterpieces: the emotional if not physical violence which drives his characters to do what they do. To see them in Michael Powell's work provides a moment of clarity. Film critic Dave Kehr suggests that BLACK NARCISSUS should be taken with the historical context of Britain bidding farewell to their fading empire, and indeed that is an interesting point of view. But I like to view it as a film ahead of its time, daring enough to look puritanical figures that are in truth as frail as anyone; confronting their demons and the burdens of reality. It has all of the three central conflicts every story should have, man against the world, man against man, and man against himself.

P.S. The film's title comes from a British perfume which the young General uses. It's scent taken from a flower, named after a Greek mythological youth of the same name, who died of his own vanity.

Why wasn't PONYO nominated?

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I question why PONYO wasn't nominated at Roger Ebert's foreign correspondents page, you can read my written review there. My video review (also on that page) is as follows:


Revisiting STRANGE DAYS

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My Kathryn Bigelow Retrospective of STRANGE DAYS is up at Roger Ebert's foreign correspondents page. You can read my full review there. My video review (also on that page) is as follows:

Why I care about Malaysia

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Before I started my stint in Saudi Arabia, I had lived and worked in Malaysia for 4 years as an I.T. Consultant. When I first arrived there, I didn't make too much of it at first. I had just gotten married for a little less than a year, with the intention to save up my family life later on.

After 3 months, my wife came to visit me. The company I was working for was willing to hire her since she had skill-sets which suited them. We had our first child here, and in that time, Malaysia had transformed from a strange place to a comfortable home.

Malaysia is a wonderful country. It's not as cosmopolitan or flashy as New York, not as sprawling as Los Angeles, and not as urban as Singapore, and not as vibrant or bustling as Manila. But it has a very distinct Asian character, a laid back melting pot where everyone seems welcome (and where the food is great!). Malaysians aren't very outgoing or demonstrative, but they aren't judgmental or cynical. Some foreigners find them plain, I find them pleasant.

My first experiences with Malaysians were when I was studying in Australia. During University life, I stayed in a dorm filled with Malaysians, and they welcomed me with open arms, which was so reassuring since I was the only Filipino there at that time. They spoke in English whenever I was around and never teased me behind my back (as far as I could tell). They would invite me out and have my back if things got nasty. They were my Asian family away from family.

I could feel this acceptance and multiculturalism during my working days. The country is comprised of three major groups, the Malays (the Muslim majority), the Chinese, and the Indians. Any foreigner visiting for the first time will always note how remarkable the country seems to be with all of these people truly living side by side without much fuss. I go to Malay restaurants and see everybody, even Westerners eating by hand. I eat at Curry houses and see Chinese ordering enthusiastically. I go to Chinese markets and see Indians among the first there. There were no cliques (at least where I went). Everybody did seem to get along.

Now of course not everything is perfect. Many non-Malaysians do not know of the May 13 incident and its resulting laws which enforce affirmative action policies that favor the Malay majority. I have many Malay and non-Malay friends who have criticized this issue, citing that it is the source of friction against the government which is still overwhelmingly Malay (though not as much as before). I really can't cite any form of discrimination that I've seen against anybody in Malaysia, but again, I haven't lived here long enough. Plus I am an expatriate, and the government encourages foreign workers to come and help build the economy, as long as times are good. From the minority's standpoint, Malays and foreigners get special treatment because of these policies, and it really is unfair.

But this inequality hasn't caused any major disruption in the Malaysian way of life, unless you count the complacency in government. The last major elections held here resulted in major losses for Barisan Nasional (BN), the country's largest political coalition, which is dominated mostly by the United Malays National Organization (UMNO). From more than 80%, its constituency has shrunk to between 60%-65%, giving the opposition more power in opposing legislation the Malay government wishes to implement.

With the latest furor in Malaysia now, against complaints of using the word 'Allah' by a Catholic newspaper, and accusations of trying to convert muslims by confusing them, I find it absolutely heartbreaking to see this rending of cultural and religious harmony. The use of 'Allah' has been used by Christians in Malaysia for over half a century, and now it's an issue? Conversion from Islam is considered an insult to the religion, a criminal offense in several states, and gravely looked down upon. From what I've known, it very rarely happens. If people for more than 50 years have known about the gravity of conversions, how could they be possibly confused over this word now as compared to back then?

Everybody who has lived in Malaysia knows that this is being done for political gains (it's been done in every country where religion is culturally ingrained). The majority has to hold on tight to whoever they can. That's why Anwar Ibrahim, the charismatic, outspoken, and Western leaning opposition leader, is in the trouble he's in (but that's another story). I never thought I'd see the day where Malay extremists would start burning churches, an image unimaginable during my stay.

I am an agnostic. I believe in God but not in religion. But that doesn't mean I don't believe in the essence of Malaysia. It is still a rarity in South East Asia, how it can accept others. It mustn't accept this.

A Filipino 'Rotten Tomatoes' is long overdue

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Several years ago, when I started contributing reviews for the Manila Times, I thought of starting a Philippine version of Rotten Tomatoes, that famed movie review aggregation site. I bought a domain and tried to map out how to get it done.

Through my editor (Dennis Ladaw), I had gotten in touch with several film critics from established broadsheets (e.g. Malaya, Manila Standard, Manila Bulletin, etc.) trying to establish relationships, with the intent of having their views eventually shared on that website. I had no idea of what considerations to take, especially in dealing with major newspapers. But because of budget restraints at the Times, I lost the opportunity to further this enterprise and my writing.

Things have changed since then. Any serious Filipino movie lover knows that the best film critique doesn't lie in broadsheets anymore. There have been several wonderful film blogs/sites which have enlightened those who have found them, that dwarf most (if not all) discourse from the dailies. Some eloquent examples are Francis 'Oggs' Cruz, Noel Vera, Eboy Donato, the fellows at Pelikula Tumblr and Criticine, and many many others. The decline in the balanced substance of newspaper reviews is sad but understandable, since most of them (like The Inquirer) are owned by the same conglomerates that are involved in the entertainment industry, not to mention rife with debilitating internal politics, not limited to the Entertainment section.

The amount of bribery in printed film reviews is astounding. Many (not all) of the film critics I knew back then were inclined to give favorable reviews. If they didn't "mail them in," film studios would no longer give them free invites to major local releases (heck, even the US releases which local film distributors were handling), along with other perks. As I've said before, film journalism in the Philippines is not something that will feed your family, so anything that helps cut costs, or creates networking access, is something film journalists will take just to survive.

For all the fellow Filipino film bloggers out there: We keep on complaining about the quality churned out by our film studios, decrying the lack and hypocrisy of coverage when it comes our independent scene. We need to stop bitching and do something about it.

So I propose this: to setup an aggregate film review website to make our thoughts known on particular films. That way, we can do something no daily can do. If we were able to reach each other through our writings on the web, doing this will reach others who are hungry for something better (I can help with the technical setup). Let's do it for Alexis Tioseco, whose love for movies went without question. Get the ball rolling and see how it goes!

Now. What do we call it?

WALL-E: The best film of the last decade

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Note: I wrote this before I made my WALL-E video review. Most of you who have seen it may notice some of the overlap. I've posted this for those who feel I should elaborate further on why I think this film is the best of the last decade. I hope this is helpful.

Ever since I first saw 2001: A Space Odyssey, films that dwell on man and his place in the universe, are of great importance to me. I've always admired films that dealt with the human condition, but Stanley Kubrick's science fiction masterpiece, made me realize how insignificant human matters are in the face of creation. Dr. Manhattan describes it best in WATCHMEN, "... the existence of life is a highly overrated phenomenon."

Yet here we are, trying to survive in a speck of a solar system, with only a few who are aware of our inconsequence. It's those people who ask, will we continue to move on, and become more conscious of reality's workings? Will our creations, which are now beginning to achieve the first semblances or representations of human logic, further us or outlive us? These are questions that fascinate me most.

The noughties were a decade that seemed to focus on our decline. War, terrorism, environmental degradation, oppressive governance, and economic decline seemed to define the first 10 years of the 21st century, hardly close to what we were thinking of when the word 'future' was mentioned a few decades ago. This regression in human progress, has resulted in the focus of human regression in film. Vengeance was a major theme. Comedies which focused on male arrested development flourished, while those that dealt with women were further pushed into the background. And every so often a documentary would come out showing the consequences of man's dismissiveness towards his environment.

There were of course exceptions to the rule, but none more exceptional than WALL-E; a film marketed as a cute children's film, but with ambitions that couldn't have been more ground-breaking. It has a generosity and spirit that is rarely found among its contemporaries. It is futuristic, but relies on a classical style of filmmaking. Its prime characters are completely artificial, yet they achieve an emotional purity that New York Times film critic A.O. Scott perfectly describes as "Chaplinesque." It criticizes our mass consumerism, without telegraphing emotions, being cynical, or lecturing. And it stares fearlessly into the abyss of our near extinction, but leaves us feeling awash in powerful emotions of sweetness, warmth, and most importantly hope. It is one of the great cinematic achievements.

One of the film's obvious assets is its incredible use of special effects. The lighting, texture, and depth evident in the film's first few scenes of an abandoned city are breathtaking and strikingly realistic, thanks to famed cinematographers Roger Deakins (favorite of the Coen Brothers) and Dennis Muren (a collaborator of George Lucas, James Cameron, and Steven Spielberg). The level of detail is overwhelming but its display is restrained and disciplined. Different story locales aren't just shiny colorful new places as other animated films would practice. Each setting has a distinctive feel. 

Notice the depth of the deserted empty streets, colored in different shades of yellow and brown, only to show the distinctiveness of a plant Wall-e discovers for the first time. The shipyard where Wall-e and Eve introduce each other, which feels inhospitable, rusty and radioactive. Wall-e's home which has an affectionate Christmas-like decorative feel. The light, breezy atmosphere within the Axiom which seems to be perpetually clean, but not clinical. With this level of technical mastery, one could even argue that WALL-E was the best CGI film of its kind before AVATAR came along.

For a film set in the future, the film is a loving celebration of things past. It uses film clips from the 1969 musical "Hello Dolly!" Though considered a passable film by most, WALL-E uses it to touching effect. Through Dolly's songs and images, Wall-e realizes his solitary existence, and learns a very innocent notion of love. The film also uses Louis Armstrong's rendition of La Vie en Rose and an 80s pop-themed score to lovingly lens Wall-e's attempts to woo Eve.

In terms of style, pretty much the entire portion of the film where WALL-E is on screen could be treated as a silent film. Its filmmakers were required to watch Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin clips (and a little bit of Harry Lloyd) everyday for almost a year during film production. One can credit this mastery of body language to those films of old, but it's another thing entirely to translate narrative and human emotions to what are technically mechanical and electronic objects.

How would you make a trash compactor cute, nervous, or startled? Let alone curious, plucky, innocent and hopelessly in love? How would you make a shiny Apple-like egg-shaped robot seem excitable, irritable, brave, and sweetly amused? Wall-e and Eve have no lower limbs, no elbows, no mouths, no eyebrows to communicate what the story needs to say, and yet the film expresses their traits and feelings, effortlessly. Pixar seems to be saying you only need the eyes, maybe just one if you count MONSTERS, INC.

And when it comes to the embodiment of human qualities, their portrayal here achieves a basic yet powerful emotional integrity. How strangely wonderful that two machines, one a rust-bucket with tank treads for feet and binoculars for eyes, the other as shiny slick as an iPod, would convey such unique personalities, such unforced, unaffected nobility, and feel so perfect for each other. I can't tell you how amazed I was when I was praying for Eve to revive Wall-e after a seemingly hopeless situation. And even more amazed by how I was moved to tears when the final love song was played, seeing both of them finally hold hands. Despite WALL-E's obvious themes of ecological destruction and mass consumerism, its distinguishing human characteristics allow it to be one of the sweetest love stories of the past few years.

What I found even more poignant was Wall-e's apparent fascination with the remnants of humanity's creations. He collects different objects and devices, puzzled by their functions and purpose. Whether or not he is aware that he himself is a product of human ingenuity, it is touching nonetheless to know that he values what we have created, since we ourselves have lost sight of what we have achieved, how far we've come, and what potentials we still have unrealized.

The film also has moments of stylistic brilliance worth mentioning. It's opening sequence of the vast majesty of space, played alongside Michael's Crawford's "Put on Your Sunday Clothes" inspires a sense of discovery and wonder. And yet when panning to the bleak and filthy desolation of Earth filled with skyscrapers of trash and smoggy mists, the film seems to say, "What a waste we've made, and what a waste we have been." Its moments were Wall-e touches the rings of Saturn, or his "flight dance" with Eve outside the Axiom, provides that rare combination of beauty and emotional satisfaction. The film's musical score, composed by the always excellent Thomas Newman, is alive, distinctive and expressive, providing a sense of futuristic naivete and wonderment.  And the film's end credits, with an inspiring Peter Gabriel, are exquisite, presenting man's future history, working to restore what he destroyed with the help of his sentient creations, all told through Paleolithic, Impressionist, and Video game art styles. It's final image of Wall-e and Eve looking at a shoe-grown tree, speaks on so many levels as to what man can do.

How Andrew Stanton, director of FINDING NEMO (probably the first great CGI animated film of the 21st century) brought all of this together, is nothing short of a miracle. His work here is one of the great feats of film direction.

WALL-E is by no means a perfect movie. At times it becomes too cute and indulgent. But it earns the right to do so, because of how it tells its story, and by how much it cares for its characters. And besides, once you've seen its indulgences, what indulgences they are! I've heard of complaints of scientific accuracy and boredom in the film's first hour. Of the former I can say that some liberties have to be taken at the expense of realism to tell a more effective story (sometimes it works and sometimes not). As for the latter, that worries me. Since the advent of sound in film, many filmmakers tend to rely too much on dialogue for exposition. If audiences do not know how what his happening or cannot hold attention in a movie because nothing is being told to them, then we are losing part of our humanity.

Humanity. You see that word a lot in this review. Even though the film doesn't involve people per se, it has nothing else on its mind. There are other great films that show what we are losing, such as A.I., AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH, CHILDREN OF MEN. But WALL-E, perhaps because of animation's very nature of being able to filter through the very basics of human characteristics and emotion, manages to enhance the significance of our very end. Imagine that. Two human creations, through their own awareness, use the best of human traits, such as bravery, love, and commitment, to save us from ourselves.

When Stanley Kubrick gave his story A.I. for Steven Spielberg to direct. Perhaps he felt there was hope for us yet. Maybe he didn't know how to portray it in a humane sensibility the way Spielberg skillfully does. What I felt Kubrick was implying in that film was that humans won't make it, but our creations will carry the best of humanity forward, somehow being a more perfect blend of intellect and emotion. 

A.I. and WALL-E both involve robots living in a world where man has left the Earth. The former was about the end of man and what comes next. WALL-E is more hopeful saying, we'll be here, and we'll see what comes next.

With that I leave the film's final lyrics. Though they sing about love, because of Wall-E's and Eve's exploits, they turn into something else, as WALL-E ends with final images of a devastated Earth finally growing vegetation, with a returned human race, and the great unknown that lies ahead.

And that is all, that love's about
And we'll recall, when time runs out
That it only, took a moment
To be loved, a whole life long

Do we give a damn about firecracker injuries?

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Is the Philippines the last country in the world which gives a damn about New Year firecracker injuries?

I was pondering this when I came upon a report in the New York Times about New Year celebrations in Times Square and around the world. When it came to reporting injuries, the Philippines was the only nation mentioned. Surely there could have been others.

Then I entered the two words "firecracker" and "injuries" at Google News. Try it out, we're pretty much the only country other than a small region in Indonesia with a high turnout of people getting maimed.

I understand the tradition behind it, involving the Chinese belief that it drives bad spirits away. And yet common sense dictates otherwise. They cause pain, pollution, and nowadays hit you square in the pocket as well. I was watching a report on GMA News, focusing on firecracker vendors in Bocaue, Bulacan. Business was brisk on New Year's Eve. One guy spent 15,000 PHP on fireworks because his relatives had come back from abroad to celebrate.

I can understand celebrating new times in old-school ways. But 15,000? Imagine the food you could have prepared with that money. Interviews with the impoverished in Metro Manila kept on saying that they were saving money because of tough times, and yet there they were letting their children blow stuff up good.

Sure they don't know any better, but the rest of us do and aren't doing anything about it. There are other traditions during new year that are practiced for good luck. Like eating 12 grapes with each one representing a month of the new year. I personally like the practice in Buddhist temples in Japan, where they release thousands of balloons into the air. No fireworks, just joy with simple prayers for better times.



I'm not saying that fireworks should be outlawed completely. They're used for celebration. But let the pros do it. If someone can spend 15K on fireworks, they certainly can afford to drive their family to the nearest fireworks display and enjoy the show with everyone else. Then perhaps we won't have to see news of people losing digits over new calendar numbers.

Car Crash: Epilogue and Reflections

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The car crash which I survived this past December 5, was a day after which my father passed away 11 years ago. Though I don't usually look into such coincidences with much fanfare, I do today with a certain reverie.

As I was on my way to work today, my transport for whatever reason decided to take the same route Ed, Lito, and I used to take during the several months I've been here. It was the first time I had revisited that route since the crash.

Today is my dad's birthday.

The intersection was as I remember it before the accident. How strange it now seems that a common work of concrete and asphalt is now personally imbued with such grim significance. My mother, a devout Catholic (not a religious nut) is a true spiritual follower, focusing on the goodness that thoughtful, soulful reflection can bring to oneself and to others. She'd probably remind me how an intersection is a cross (let's not go there), but it's just a measure of how much she loves and thinks about me I'm sure.

Dad passed away in pain. He suffered an aneurysm just as he was leaving work. Remembering him today surrounded by the memories of my recent accident, I can somehow imagine what he might have been thinking at the time. My sister and I were still finishing college while he was the sole breadwinner. I now have a child and my wife and I work to put food on the table.

It's a horrible thing to worry about how your family will survive without you, so near to the precipice. To feel that you might never see them again. I know that dad must have thought those thoughts. HIs driver and family friend Jun was with him as he rushed him to the nearest hospital. As he was taken into the ICU, Jun told us that his last words were, "Study hard. Study hard."

They could just have easily been my own.

Besides the bus driver who hit us, I was the only one who remembered the entire thing. Ed suffered head injuries, and though thank heavens they weren't really serious, he couldn't remember what happened when it did. Both of us were admitted for 3 days, and in that time, I was the one recounting the entire incident to officemates, friends and family (both Ed's and mine). We both were released the same day, suffering the same aches and pains, receiving the same kind of medication. Ed of course has the worse scars, but if you seem him today (of course with a baseball cap), you wouldn't know anything had happened to him.

It took about two weeks to really get over the pain from my contusion, bruises and neck pains. I've pretty much completely recovered. The only thing I have left is a very small mass (blood clot) around my right pelvis area caused by the seatbelt that is fading by the day. On the day I was released, it was about the size of a small banana. The nurses might have thought I was happy to see them.

I commented to several friends that none of the bystanders seemed to be willing to help. Most of them were gawking at the scene if not getting on their phones. But they along with other expats have told me that there are local considerations to be made. Many of the onlookers were maintenance crew, engineers, and other expats working in surrounding industries. And at the scene of an accident, the local police have free rein in rounding up nearby 'suspects.' Locals are usually spared, but if you're a foreigner, you'll usually be singled out and be brought in for questioning. So there are risks that you could even be accused of causing the accident if you happen to help. Compare that to Good Samaritan laws in France where you are required to help victims at the scene of a serious accident.

Speaking of culpability, the guy who caused our misfortune was a Pakistani driver working his usual bus route rushing to bring a few workers to their office. Many bus services here work several companies on tight schedules, so it's not uncommon to see their vehicles rushing here and there at the expense of 'minor' traffic infractions. Their training here is rushed by their employers, so basic signs, like the one that said STOP on his lane, was most likely an afterthought.

When I exited the smashed car, I noticed three fellows exit their bus. I had no idea which of them was the driver. Now I don't think I want to know. I don't know his name, what he looks like, or how long he'll be in jail, as he already is. The investigation was quick as I was informed there there's a law where if the front of your vehicle is damaged, the accident is ruled automatically against you, regardless of the circumstances. Though I am satisfied that he is behind bars, there is a part of me that pities him. He is most likely from an impoverished background as most drivers here I know are, slaving away to save money for his family, not being able to go home often due to travel costs. Part of me wanted to know if he was given a just sentence; if he'll be treated fairly.

That of course must be of little concern to Lito's family. His full name was Angelito Asperec, and he worked as an administrative assistant in my uncle's procurement division. He is survived by his wife Liezel and his two children. My heart goes out to them. I was told that she learned of accident while at a party. As she was told to go home, her relatives were contacted as well to proceed to her place to help her through what she would be told next.

My mom got that same sort of news when my dad passed away. I cannot describe to you how a mother has to prepare her children for the loss of their father. It's something you wish on no one.

There was small solace that my great friend and uncle Samir, Lito's boss, had been meeting with the company's chairman that same day of the accident. The chairman rarely gets to visit the company, as he last visited several months before. When someone mentioned to him that Samir had lost a valued friend and employee, the chairman offered a year's worth of Lito's salary as compensation (the usual is 3 months). It was a generous heartfelt gesture considering that the company we work for is going through a tough time.

Lito was a short, quiet kind of guy, but whenever I saw him he was always smiling. All of us Pinoys in the office would get together for lunch (all the nationalities have their own table groups, like cliques at a high school canteen). During Ramadan, where non-Muslims have to scurry away from the majority just to have lunch, we would all gather in the drivers' quarters and, for lack of a better phrase, "shoot the shit," talking about current events and politics, but never anything really personal.

My last memories of Lito are of us sharing emails and chats over Pacquiao's success over Miguel Cotto. Greeting him every morning when Ed picked us up, and wishing him well as left at the same spot. I once walked with him as he went to a nearby remittance center, preparing to send support to his family no doubt. I didn't know him long, but he was a decent man.

When Samir arrived at our accident, he said, "Thank God nothing happened to you." If you were there you would see why. Death was pretty much outside the driver's door. But oddly enough, I can't really say I've been traumatized by the event. Or perhaps I am and don't know it (subconscious denial?). I was lucid when it was all happening, systematically going through what needed to be done (as far as I knew) without giving a seconds notice. I can't say that I've been preparing for this all my life, I can't describe what my thought process was like. It was automatic.

Perhaps it's because from time to time, I intentionally go through my worst fears and think through them. Not as a form of masochism, but just to understand. I consider myself a very empathetic person, trying to comprehend thoroughly what other people go through. There are times where I have gone through what a loved one's loss, what disastrous experience, or even my own demise, would ensue. It can be quite painful at times, but you'll be surprised at what realizations you'd come to. Some consider it morbid, I consider it strangely necessary.

I am grateful that I am still breathing, experiencing pain as it tells me that I am still alive. I definitely thank seat belts. But I am especially thankful for those people (associates, strangers, nurses, doctors, friends and family) who have contacted with genuine concern and care for my safety and well-being. Especially mom and Claire whose feelings for me need not be explained. It is true what they say here in Saudi that relationships are very important. Once you really get to know someone here, they really do care for you, as my circle here has shown.

And dad, Happy Birthday. I hear you loud and clear.

I was in a car crash

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Note: I'm not quite ready to delve deep into my feelings on this event, nor the loss of LIto.  But I will be.  This is a first attempt to deal with it.

About quarter to 7 this past Saturday morning (the start of the workweek here in Saudi Arabia), the car I was riding was hit by a bus.  It was the most violent incident I've ever experienced firsthand; the kind of crash you only see in movies.  I survived with some minor cuts and bruises, while two of those with me suffered different fates.

The three of us (me, Ed and Lito) were on our way to work, approaching the last intersection towards the office.  That intersection had been the scene of an accident before, which morbidly enough, also involved a car and a bus.  It has no traffic lights, save for say a stop sign for vehicles to yield to the main road.  Clearly, that sign had no bearing to the driver that smashed into our car.  Smashed is the right word.

Picture for a minute our car heading north.  Nearing the intersection, a white passenger bus heading in the same direction was ahead of us (think to our left, northwest).  It was slowing down preparing to turn left.  Ed, who was driving, naturally moved aside to pass it.  In perfect yet deadly sequence, a green bus (Mercedes passenger type) was going east on that intersection.

That white bus must have been the catalyst for the crash.  It blocked Ed's view of the green one before he could anticipate, and surely, if for a moment, must have blocked the green bus's view of us.

As  we passed the white bus I saw the oncoming green one.  It must have been 2 full seconds before impact.  And in those miliseconds, I can recall perfectly the simultaneous thoughts raging through my mind.  Succinctly, "Holy Shit!  That green bus is not slowing down!  We are going to get hit!  Ed!"

Just as I was about to utter those very words.  Boom.

The side where I was sitting. on Twitpic   The bus which hit us in the background on Twitpic   The driver's side. on Twitpic

One sees those car crashes in the movies and becomes amazed at the spectacle of it all, but what never occurred to me is how overwhelming the sound is from within the vehicles.  The physical and aural assault was so complete and instantaneous, that for a full second everything seemed black, every sense deadened, and then slowly faded back into focus.

My environment was transformed.    Comfortable seats and clear glass turned to wreckage and debris.  There was silence, and then there was groaning and gasping, my own mostly.  I was totally out of breath, so I wondered, do I have a collapsed lung?  Just keep breathing.  Breathe.  Breathe.

My lungs seemed to be ok, so I started moving my limbs to check if anything was broken.  Nothing was in pain, so I felt myself for blood.  No blood no foul.

I took off my beloved seatbelt and could see bystanders starting to walk in our direction.  I could hear Ed groaning like I was.  His head was streaked with blood pouring down his face but I didn't know what to expect from him at the time.  I exited the car.

I kept on shouting for help, but nobody seemed to understand what I was saying.  As I exited the car, Ed asked me to help him out.  I asked him if anything was broken, but he didn't answer.  Miraculously he had the strength to push himself out of his seat as I gave him a hand.  No one else did despite them surrounding the car.

I went to look in the back to check on Lito, and seeing him will stay with me 'til the end.  He was slumped somewhat facedown on the seat, which was drenched in blood, about a liter's worth.

I saw the side of his face.  I knew right then it was badly fractured.  His left side had a crack in the middle and it was impacted.  There was another on the top of his head, which was as drenched as the seat.  Lito was murmuring; all I could make out was "Tulong..." (Help).

I wanted to get him out, but I was so frightened that moving him would make his condition worse.  All I could do was touch his shoulder and say, "Lito, huwag kang gumalaw.  Huwag kang gumalaw." (Lito, don't move.  Don't move).

Ed and I were screaming for help, but the locals weren't doing anything except gawking at the mess.  I spotted an officemate whom I didn't know, and he started calling the medics.  I called my uncle.  Ed called his wife.  While Ed was on the phone he kept asking me what happened repeatedly.  Each time I told him not to think about it now and just rest.  It worried me that he asked each time as if it were a new question.  He also asked me where the blood was coming from his head.  I pointed it out to him (from the top).

I then started to feel a slight sting near the back of my head, and sure enough it was bleeding, but nowhere near as bad as I thought it was at the time (about half an inch long, and not deep).  It turns out I must have hit my head on the right hand window as I was looking left towards the green bus.  Good thing I was wearing my seatbelt.  Lito was not.

The crash sent the car probably 20 meters into the intersection road heading east.  We could have been sent flying into another vehicle, or barrel rolling several times.  Heavens be praised.  My uncle arrived and told me "Thank God nothing happened to you."  I recognized more people from the office, where there was supposed to be a party that morning celebrating Eid al-Adha.  It was cancelled.

The ambulance must have arrived 15-20 minutes after the crash.  I got in, Ed next, and then Lito was brought in on a stretcher, with his head the most heavily bandaged of all.  The trip must have taken 10 minutes to get there.  Ed and I were facing each other as I was continuing to point out which spot on his head he should keep pressure on.  Lito was groaning the whole trip.  God knows how much agony his head injuries were causing him.  His right hand was fractured, and he kept on using his left to remove his oxygen mask, which must've have been causing him much pain.  The attendant in the ambulance with us was also Filipino, and told Lito that he needed the oxygen.  He also put in tubes to remove blood from Lito's mouth in case it was hindering his breathing.

We got to the hospital which gave us all the prompt attention.  I was attended to last because I was the luckiest.  I was shipped from room to room on a wheelchair, encountering officemates I knew and didn't know, not knowing where Ed and Lito were around the facility.  As I finished having my x-rays taken in the ICU, I saw Lito in his stretcher, and I spotted him blinking and breathing.  Heavens be praised, he looks like he's going to be alright.

In what seemed like an hour later, I was in another room for my ultrasound scans, I overheard some Filipino nurses and technicians speaking.

"May namatay na Pinoy sa ICU kanina."  (A Filipino died in the ICU a while ago).  I asked who it was, it was Lito.

It couldn't have been!  I saw him minutes ago!  He looked like he was going to make it!

It was just what they heard.  I asked them what the cause was as if that mattered; it was a massive car crash.  As the day went on, I got different causes.  Head trauma.  Hemorrhaging.  Cardiac Arrest.  He might have had them all.  The last one was the official cause.

I have some ugly hematomas around my waist and a contusion around my left ribs because of the seatbelt (It's what caused my loss of breath).  I have multiple tiny blood scars on the back of my left hand because of the minute glass debris.  Even after a day after the crash, I accidentally bit on those little shards every time I winced in pain.  When I undressed the first time after the accident, bits of glass fell out of my clothes and shoes.

I was given a neck brace in the first two days mainly for precautionary measures.  I didn't feel pain in my neck for about an hour after the accident, but that's normal because of the shock from whiplash.  Even today I have stiff neck symptoms.

The contusion made it difficult to breathe even after the accident.  It didn't help that my uncle Samir (God bless him) kept on making me laugh even while I was being evaluated.  Comedy is the best medicine.

Ed thank goodness is ok, and was ok even in the hospital, despite the great pain he felt understandably.  I was almost certain that he was seriously injured when the crash happened.  He also feels some back pain while walking, but x-rays revealed no broken bones whatsoever.  His wife Cynthia is one tough cookie, bringing humor and strength for both of us while we were in the hospital.  I would like to have that reservoir of resolve wherever she gets it.  Ed and I were released on the same day.

I'm the only one who remembers the whole thing.  And strangely enough, though I can recall pretty much every detail of what went on, it was only today I relived the whole incident when I was riding in my boss's car today as he came to visit me.  It wasn't that he wasn't driving safely (He was), it's that for whatever reason, I was only ready to process what it felt like.

It was a terrifying day.  A day I thought I was going to die.

Roger wrote about... me?

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So there I was checking up Roger Ebert's blog, being the fan that I am.


"The blogs of my blog" it was titled.  In it, Roger reveals that he likes to roam around his reader's blogs just like anyone else.  Of course, anyone who reads his blog knows what an infinitesimal rarity it is:  One that contains intelligent commentary of the highest order from both its author and its readers (well, with the readers... most of the time)!


Roger's entries usually surround his life's passions, yet this one stood out.  Here, he chooses to recognize his readers by highlighting their blogs.  I don't think it's an exaggeration when I say this is the first time I have witnessed any blogger or writer (a Pulitzer Prize winner at that) recognize his constituency in such a comprehensive and thoughtful way.

The Incredible Hulk (**1/2)

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hulk.jpgI don't think I've ever been as conflicted in choosing whether to recommend a film.  My close friends know how much I admired Ang Lee's Hulk (2003).  I called it, "the most introspective of the Marvel superhero movies that have come out so far."  And it still is.  Yet this latest version, directed by The Transporter's Louis Leterrier, makes up for its lack of insight with its blistering action.  So how should I judge a film that succeeds in what it sets out to do, but is wanting when compared to its predecessor?

THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA: PRINCE CASPIAN (***1/2)

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prince_caspian.jpgA lot has been said about how much darker Prince Caspian is over its predecessor (The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe), and that it is.  But what gets lost within this observation is how much more assured and polished this outing is as well.  As if released from the burden of fitting this material for children, Andrew Adamson has crafted what is essentially a Jacobean fairy tale, managed with clever writing and a few lighthearted moments, and methodically punctuated with a marvelous climax.

SPEED RACER (*1/2)

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speed_racer.jpgWhat on Earth were the Wachowski brothers smoking?  That's pretty much all I could think about after seeing Speed Racer, a film that blows its wad over CGI (the film's budget was $120 million), and yet feels so spectacularly cheap.  Despite its dazzling visual assault and actors' brave (but thankless) performances, the movie is essentially a two hour Hot Wheels commercial.

IRON MAN (***)

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iron_man.jpgIron Man is Marvel's answer to Batman.  Both are gazillionaires who pour their immense fortune (obtained from weaponry) to fund their personal crusades.  Both wield no "super powers".  Both are haunted by loss and are driven by such trauma to save humanity from itself.  But whereas Bruce Wayne's life-mission is to exact vengeance on wrongdoers, Tony Stark aims to have sinful fun while saving the world.  He's not as focused, but he makes up for it with his technological genius.

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