SARI-SARING SINENG PINOY

     There was a time when most people didn’t know men sold sex and didn’t want to know. Now the cruising underworld is the stuff of movies and fashion ads that are easy to decode. Writer-director Petersen Vargas' Some Nights I Feel Like Walking (Daluyong Studios, Origin8 Media, Giraffe Pictures, TEN17P, Black Cap Productions, Momo Film Co., Volos Films Italia, 2024) dramatizes the lifestyle where the audience gets to meet the locals while keeping a safe distance. That’s because the hustling world is sentimentalized here, filtered through a lens of romanticism. Although the central characters are prostitutes, the movie is not really about sex. Vargas does a good job of capturing the unsprung rhythm of the street. Some Nights I Feel Like Walking offers a gritty, darkly comical peek inside the lives of these young men as they try to hustle their way off the streets. While the films' overall portrayal of the hustler milieu mixes surface realism with an undercurrent of romanticization, the tale’s early parts are winningly spiced with humorous moments. Things grow gloomy as circumstances begin to close in on Uno (Jomari Angeles) and Zion (Miguel Odron) and the latter sections lack the spark of what came before, largely because the story’s tragic arc plays out what the viewer has already learned. Still, the central figures remain compelling throughout, due to two exceptionally strong and well-meshed performances. Newcomer Odron brings a sweetness and skittish vulnerability to Zion. He holds our sympathies even at his most petulant. As for Angeles, it’s remarkable to note that this is one of his most confident performances, who commands attention with his charismatic yet subtle and searching incarnation of a strong-willed loner undone by his life’s contradictions. The performance is both appealing and authoritative, Uno doesn't expect much out of life and his low expectations aren't disappointed. 

     Vargas' adroit work with his cast is matched by an assured visual sense and Some Nights I Feel Like Walking benefits enormously from the richly textured images that cinematographer Russell Adam Morton achieved on a low-budget, location-heavy shoot. As much as Vargas wanted to heighten the utopian thrill of Uno's circle and the environment in which they’re free to be themselves, there is also enough of a reservoir of restraint to keep things solidly clad in social realism. While Vargas' film lacks depth and well-paced narrative, Some Nights I Feel Like Walking does offer characters whose only salvation is a world in which trust and tolerance are absent. In trying to run away from the trappings of a tragic queer story, the movie ends up running right into some of its own tropes. Zion is shown to be rather isolated, very much in his own head and keeping others – as well as the audience – at bay. When he’s left alone, he is at his most vulnerable, sometimes crying but we’re not entirely sure why. What Zion wants is love and by love what he really means is someone to hold him and care for him. They have fallen into a lifestyle that offers them up during every waking moment for any passing stranger. Minor appearances by solid performers such as Argel Saycon as Bayani, Tommy Alejandrino who plays Rush and Gold Aceron’s Miguel round out the film. With varying effectiveness, Some Nights I Feel Like Walking chronicles changes to individuals who wander the streets of Manila. In the end, however, the film gets caught up in trying to tell a grandly melodramatic tale, when a simple, down-to-earth story of broken dreams and lonely characters would have been more engrossing. Too often, the naturally-effective elements of Some Nights I Feel Like Walking are swamped by the forced, scripted ones that curtails the movie's power and appeal.

Music: Alyana Cabral, Moe Cabral

Sound Design: Eddie Huang (Nien Yung)

Editor: Daniel Hui

Production Designer: Remton Siega Zuasola

Director of Photography: Russell Adam Morton

Written and Directed By: Petersen Vargas 

     It’s a testament to director Chito S. Roño’s Ang mga Kaibigan ni Mama Susan (Regal Entertainment, Inc., Black Sheep, CSR Films.Ph, 2023) that it manages to incorporate so many of the visual and storytelling elements from lesser movies to create something compelling. Roño has executed the most effective, most rewarding horror film by exploring a demanding scenario that is all the scarier because he has constructed a dramatically tense situation to draw our emotional involvement. What’s more, the experience is grueling because the imposing imagery employed is truly the stuff of nightmares. There’s an emotional cause behind every horrible turn. Joshua Garcia plays Galo Manansala with amazing intensity—the kind that makes you wonder how the filmmakers incited the volatile performance, making his character's state so believable. Garcia’s slow transformation leaves room for Bob Ong’s screenplay to find new ways of highlighting Galo’s uneasiness to relinquish the past. Most viewers, if they’re honest with themselves, will probably hate Mama Susan (Angie Ferro) and they’ll be uncomfortable with the extent of their hatred and what that says about their capacity for empathy. This discomfort is conditioned by the shrill soundtrack dreading Mama Susan’s whimpering or all-around act of invasion. Roño's treatment is masterful in how he uses our imaginations to build up Mama Susan's "friends" and delivers them in expert cinematic reality. 

     Moreover, he creates a highly stylized mise-en-scène constructed as a contained environment from which Galo, Niko (Yñigo Delen) and Jezel (Jewel Milag) are exposed to a frightening blend of psychological and real horror. Equally vital are cinematographer Eli Balce’s shadowy interiors, as well as Roño’s enveloping sense of mood and attention to detail. Every piece of furniture has a deliberate placement, best of all, the treatment avoids strict adherence to genre rules; he refuses to make this a typical supernatural yarn and instead uses his supporting cast—Aling Delia, played by Vangie Labalan and church caretaker Mang Narcing (Soliman Cruz), to deepen his central characters. Ang mga Kaibigan ni Mama Susan takes great care to sharpen the details in Galo’s life so that when trouble comes along, it magnifies his anxiety. Perhaps the only elements that compare to Roño’s approach are Ferro and Garcia’s performances, especially the latter, since the young actor fully commits to his role with a mercurial presence, sending us further into the story. But it’s how Roño balances the film’s unnerving quality, genuine scares and its deep-rooted psychological impetus that leave us in full awe of how well Ang mga Kaibigan ni Mama Susan has been assembled and how it walks the fine line between reality and nightmares with skilled footing. The unexpected ending finds a rare emotional realism in what could have been a run-of-the-mill creepshow.

Directed By: Chito S. Roño

Screenplay: Bob Ong

Director of Photography: Eli Balce

Production Design: Jerann Ordinario

Editing: Carlo Francisco Manatad

Music: Andrew Florentino

Sound Design: Albert Michael Idioma, Jannina Mikaela Minglanilla

     There's the type of being familiar with a body other than your own in a cramped space in Jay Altarejos' Sa Panahong Walang Katiyakan (2076 Kolektib, Studio X, Full Post Asia, 2025). They wake up. They are a couple at peace. And yet they are not. Mark (CJ Barinaga) is reticent, stuffing all those uncomfortable emotions as far down as they will go. His lover Joaquin, played by Jonathan Ivan Rivera is all levity. These two have more chemistry with each other within the first five minutes than most other acting duos have in their entire run times. With such an intimate and voyeuristic look at the two men, the film instantly begins with an unsurpassable amount of restraint. Storytelling and narrative are somewhat secondary, with little to no drawback in favor of giving the audience the privilege to just spend time with Mark and Joaquin. We have a sense of where the lovers have come from, but not too much. Their interactions carry anxious, even bitter, overtones at times. Their exchanges are so natural that they seem able to read each other’s thoughts just through small movements and changes in body language. Because the events of the plot are so mundane, there is an authenticity to this world and those who occupy it that only enhance the emotion woven into the text and subtext. Altarejos' formally stripped back direction suits the material perfectly, which feels rather like a play at times. Sa Panahong Walang Katiyakan is a reminder that we aren't merely watching a series of random urban scenes but entering a densely imagined cinematic city filled with subterranean connections. 

     Altarejos' screenplay lays this groundwork nicely, but Barinaga and Rivera take the material to even greater heights. The tenderness and sincerity in their affections and especially for each other is utterly addictive. Stylishness in cinema is definitely alluring, but restraint can be nearly as compelling if made up to high standards. Such is Altarejos' quiet and reflective film. One will find themselves in admiration of the refined splendor of Sa Panahong Walang Katiyakan. This is a film that dwells in scene beats. It’s written with so much trust in the viewer to find the devastation through the glances and quiet moments of words unsaid. Altarejos' direction is both confident and astute, while remaining fervently empathetic to his characters and their plight. This is poised, unhurried filmmaking and all the more affecting as a result. We watch the couple joke, eat, drink, sleep. And it is in the things they don’t say that we find their pain and love. Nevertheless, Altarejos' film does achieve beauty not only through its heartbreakingly anguished dialogue – which feels subtly heightened but never enough to diminish the emotional truth. The desperation to try and be there in every moment, an impossibility for sure, is palpable. Sa Panahong Walang Katiyakan doesn’t try to do anything too ambitious narratively or formally, but tells its story with searing emotional authenticity. The later turns won’t be too surprising to many, but the film handles them with the necessary gravitas without devolving into slushy, saccharine melodrama. Conventional on the surface but uncommonly affecting in approach, Sa Panahong Walang Katiyakan is a low-key, painfully human drama.

Production Design: 2076 Kolektib

Music and Sound: Paulo Estero

Editor: Joselito Altarejos

Director of Photography: Manuel Garcellano

Written and Directed By: Jay Altarejos

     Richard V. Somes' Topakk (Raven Banner, Nathan Studios, Fusee, Strawdogs Studio Production, 2023) is a non-stop crescendo of vicious, mean-spirited brutality. Somes puts his horror background to good use, delivering more gore and splatter than any slasher you’re likely to find. We’re talking bone-breaking, machete-wielding mayhem. And in addition to being the boldest, craziest action movie maybe ever, the story adds up to much more than a delivery system for fight choreography—though there’s plenty of room for that as well. The plot follows Miguel Vergara (Arjo Atayde), an ex-soldier suffering from PTSD after a mission he was leading went horribly wrong. Now employed as a security guard, he encounters Weng (Julia Montes), a young woman on the run, who breaks into the property with her wounded brother, Bogs (Kokoy de Santos). They are hunted by a corrupt police death squad. Miguel can either hand them over or fall back on his soldiering skills and battle them and his demons. But Topakk never feels unbalanced, offering layers of competing interests meshed together to create a much deeper, more nuanced picture than initially expected. Somes, who co-wrote the screenplay with Jimmy Flores and Will Fredo, rarely spells out things in explicit fashion. Instead, they dole out just enough information to propel the narrative. Yet Somes knows how to load different action beats with varying levels of intensity (visually and aurally) so as not to perpetually exhaust the viewer. There is a focus on spatial coherency and a rhytmic ebb and flow punctuated as sequences build and release tension. Somes calibrates each of these beats to execute the desired effect whether it be to establish menace or convey emotion for every moment of bloodlust, there is a recognition of the immense toll this violence takes.

      This toll is internalized by Atayde, his face quaking with dismay and anger, regret and determination until they all erupt outwardly. Atayde's facial acting is phenomenal, recalling silent-era stars as he conveys emotions on a collosal scale. These displays extend to his entire body, as the acts of violence and motion are at their core in all action cinema, the most raw physicalization of these feelings. Topakk packs an emotional punch, as the relatively few dramatic scenes feel relaxed and familial. I was also transfixed by Sid Lucero's Romero, the film's conflicted antagonist. He's a compelling figure just in general. It's truly astounding the way he dials in his intensely physical acting as Romero grows tired, sustain injuries and feels desperation, anger or sadness. He shifts or maintains momentum and externalizes each beat with force. But action is the main draw and it delivers. Somes' visual grammar combines fluid takes of slaughter imbued with the nervous energy of improvisation. Gun fights, knife fights, slabs-of-meat fights — Topakk has it all. Bodies crack and bruise, and the word punishment finds a new visual definition. Indeed, the physical toll is so jaw-dropping it almost completely eviscerates the purpose of the journey. Somes films it all in unique style that showcases the remarkable martial arts talent on screen and creates a raw immediacy that places the viewer smack in the middle of it all. There’s a pulsing, primal sensation that captures the anger, rage and anguish, transmitting it to the audience. As fantastic and over-the-top as the action is, the film maintains a grounded connection between its audience and the players. Somes does an absolutely magnificent job of transforming such moments into kinetic and often shockingly brutal instances of pure cinema. The brutality of these interludes cannot be understated, ultimately and it’s difficult to easily recall a non-horror picture with this much blood and gore. Topakk is a sheer ballet of brutality, the grace of movement in service of grotesque violence.

Production Design: Richard V. Somes

Music: Jose Antonio Buencamino

Sound Design: Albert Michael Idioma, Jannina Mikaela Minglanilla, Andrea Teresa T. Idioma

Director of Photography: Luis Quirino

Editor: Jaime Dumancas

Screenplay: Jimmy Flores, Will Fredo

Written and Directed By: Richard V. Somes

     Like the heroine of a silent movie melodrama, Angel (Aliya Raymundo) suffers more than her share of tragic events. But even if director Roman Perez Jr. is sympathetic to the plight he’s chosen for the protagonist, his film never burrows deep enough under her skin to make the string of miserable scenarios connect in a meaningful way. Kalakal (VMX, Pelikula Indiopendent, 2025) casts its lot with simply, folksy, down-in-the-dirt indie realism. All of this is a ruse. Angel is a young woman whose optimism drives the plot and her own life, into numerous ditches. If this fails to immediately communicate the level of misery porn that the viewer is about to be subjected to, the film makes sure to remind everyone of Angel’s hardships at every turn. She is shaded in the most hyperbolically innocent terms possible. Even when performing sex work, Angel has a kindly, almost uncomprehending nature to her, doing the job almost absentmindedly.The film drills down on the ambiguousness of Angel's ability to conceive the sadness of her life when she is with Dario (Gold Aceron). Her relationship naturally dredges up tension from her brother, Gelo (Jero Flores). Kalakal is a drama that examines how society relegates economically disadvantaged women into sex work to survive. The film generates sympathy for its hard-luck protagonist, however, there aren’t many fresh angles to a familiar story of emotionally wounded loners. Perez takes Angel’s inherent sweetness so far that not even Raymundo's performance can keep this character seeming remotely realistic. As Angel's life falls apart, she allows other people to exploit and demean her rather than speak up for herself and once our empathy slips away, Kalakal is minimized to a show of female suffering rather than a human drama or institutional indictment. 

     That Angel’s quest for self-discovery is obtained primarily through interactions (sexual and otherwise) with men is a tell. She delights in becoming a sex worker, though she only shallowly interacts with women employed at the club. Neither screenplay nor direction illuminates the shape of the patriarchal forces that brought them there and given the detail put into the visual components of their world, the lack of material context is glaring. The film no doubt thinks it has its heart in the right place, it just felt like another opportunity to see a young woman get burned at the stake of ignorance and public opinion. There are fascinating stories to be told, but not when the burning serves as the main draw. Like Angel's clients, everything Perez wants to convey is obtrusively front and center, leaving little room for the viewer to have any interpretation for themselves. Sex scenes aren’t worthwhile merely for existing. They should be sweaty and yearning and intrigued by the flesh as much as the personalities within. Perez's lens is not interested in the sex lives of women as much as the ways in which a young woman’s body can be positioned and used. Which isn’t to say sex scenes need to move a plot along or provide narrative purpose for a story. But in a film like Kalakal, where interiority is subsumed by exhibition and sexual expression, they simply carry more burdens. The stark compositions with which Perez frames Angel's suffering add nothing but the thinnest symbolism at the expense of valorizing her pain. Kalakal certainly doesn’t mock its protagonist, but it does trivialize her, reducing Angel to a passive force who can only react with bafflement to the obvious escalation of her misery.

Screenplay: Quiel dela Cruz

Cinematography: Neil Derrick Bion

Production Design: Junebert Cantila

Music: Dek Margaja

Sound Design: Lamberto Casas, Jr., Alex Tomboc

Editing: Aaron Alegre

A Film By: Roman Perez Jr.