Edgy and belligerent, De Leon is constrained but fully believable. She can slay you with a look and complements her co-star in truthful ways. O'Hara's character perhaps goes on the longest journey in the movie. Testy and judgmental, Officer Ventura has to deal with the sharpest and most toxic human emotion, the one that eventually kills you; hope. Jose, played with modest simplicity by Jimenez is a dedicated, somewhat guilt-ridden young man whose optimism is unshakable. Isidro perfectly captures Helen's internal strife as her world comes tumbling down. She holds truth to be at the heart of faith. Lorenzo is superior as a man facing up to issues he never wanted to confront personally. Ang Duyan ng Magiting has no room for revenge plots or of any other kind of simple gratification. Helen and Victor learn that their own instincts were right and they overcome imposing obstacles to learn what they need to learn, but it's hard to imagine any scenario where such validation could taste more sour. Uneven and a little pre-packaged, Ang Duyan ng Magiting is still a haunting film and it ignites a sharp desire for civic engagement, for public accountability, for knowledge that matters instead of knowledge that distracts. It earns your admiration, even as you wish it were a little better and that the world were much, much better. By following two individuals who learn to ask tough questions, to confront their fears, to insist on the highest standards, it's as good a movie as I can think of at demonstrating what you can do during a time of crisis. As a superbly acted political drama, Ang Duyan ng Magiting is also well worth your time.

Sound Engineers: Andrea Teresa T. Idioma, Nicole Rosacay

Musical Composer: Pao Protacio

Editor: Janel Gutierrez

Production Designer: Josiah Hiponia

Director of Photohraphy: Kara Moreno

Writer & Director: Dustin Celestino

     Other characters, such as Manu (Wilbert Ross), Jamie's sister Jo's (Bea Binene) boyfriend and Tito Jun (Ku Aquino), are undeveloped. As such, the viewer is given few reasons to emotionally invest in any of them, before they are caught up in a series of supernatural events beyond their control. Some sections can be tedious as Red keeps secrets about the curse for a long time instead of revealing them early on as an inciting incident. The use of Filipino religion and folklore lends a sense of authenticity. Nokturno explores something old and folkloric by exploiting the technology of cinema, making it immediate and visceral. Lustre is a compelling presence capable of displaying vulnerability without ever seeming naive, a derivative screenplay that can’t stick the landing doesn’t so much fail her gifts, she outshines it. The way this story unfolds and how it unpeels its protagonist is too predictable to be scary, despite a striking tableaux involving Jamie in moments of terror. It would be wrong to say that Red squandered any potentially intriguing ideas because there is nothing here that would indicate this rote and painfully unoriginal exercise could’ve ever been more than it is. Nokturno might offer some surprises for non-horror fans looking for a quick and simple scare, but everyone else is likely to be profoundly underwhelmed.

Directed By: Mikhail Red

Sound Designers: Emilio Bien Sparks, Michaela Docena, Michael Keanu Cruz

Scorer: Paul Sigua, Myka Magsaysay-Sigua

Editor: Nikolas Red

Co-Editor: Timothy Axibal

Production Designer: Ana Lou Sanchez

Director of Photography: Ian Alexander Guevara, LPS

Screenplay: Rae Red, Nikolas Red

     Lamangan gives his heroines love and sympathy, pointing his finger at the repressive patriarchal society for allowing the exploitation of women and for reflecting society’s hypocritical attitude towards them. It’s a polished, poignant and unsentimental account of the women who resiliently live in the streets awaiting a better future. There is no doubt whose side Lamangan is on. One by one, in interwoven detail, he shows us how each of the women live. His attention to the trials of womanhood is sustained over his career and yet its meaning is less obvious—and perhaps less laudable —than many would like to believe. The psycho-biographical interpretation of Lamangan—rhymes nicely with the Western conception of a feminist filmmaker. But his attitude toward women is more of an aestheticizer of female suffering, extolling and reveling in the strength and resilience of women, than one who fights against the causes of their hardship. But in watching Walker, there is little doubt where Lamangan's sympathies lie. The film is at once politically engaged and emotionally subtle. Although it puts forth a particularly complex understanding of gender politics, it never seems to relate to any immediate context. The film closes on a note of hope and heartbreak. The brief final scene in which a man takes his first step into a life that has ruined him, evoking a heartbreaking vision of hell is a mark of Lamangan’s genius. Walker is inscribed with a rare urgency that is nonetheless balanced by humanist understanding, an understanding that is remarkable even for him.

Screenplay: Troy Espiritu

Director of Photography: T.M. Malones

Editing: Gilbert Obispo

Production Designer: Jay Custodio

Music: Von de Guzman

Sound: Christopher Mendoza

Direction: Joel C. Lamangan

     Pasahero adds an extra layer through it’s sense of melancholy. Angel’s personal grief gives a stronger emotional link between her and the spirit - she sympathizes with the dead by trying to help solve their issues so they can be at peace. In lesser films, the heroine simply gets frightened and wants to stop the ghost in order to save her own skin. There’s a sense of wrongness throughout Perez’s film. It feels like a race against time as Angel tries to expose the crime before becoming the next victim. While real life violence provides the aura of dread that pervades the movie, the restraint shown by Perez is just as responsible for the effectiveness of the tale. Instead of inundating us with over-the-top hijinks, he bides his time before introducing the ghostly happenings - a weird noise here, a horrifying vision there - which provides a satisfyingly ominous atmosphere. Perez shot Pasahero in a manner that puts the viewer constantly on edge, with lots of odd angles, perspectives and sound design. Extremely stylish in execution, it’s convincing in a way that few ghost stories are — not in the least because the crime at the bottom of the haunting is particularly nasty. The images we create in our heads to explain bumps in the night as well as everything else horrifying are far more frightening than anything a director can put on screen. Even stripped of the ethereal elements, Pasahero would have made for a compelling murder-mystery, but the supernatural sheen only adds to its power and unexpected poignancy. 

Sound Designer: Lamberto Casas Jr., Alex Tomboc

Musical Director: Dek Margaja

Editor: Aaron Alegre

Production Design: JC Catiggay

Director of Photography: Neil Bion

Screenplay: Juvy Galamiton

Directed By: Roman Perez, Jr.

     In fact, Boy Kaldag is less interested in its conceit than it is with what drove Dax to prostitution, the emotional baggage and the questions of morality that accompany the profession, which makes it far more interesting than one about a guy with a tripod plowing his way through lonely and horny women. Dax, faintly reminiscent of Dirk Diggler, Mark Wahlberg's porn star from Boogie Nights (1997), a big, slightly confused man without the slightest trace of self-doubt on board, a temperament that not coincidentally, is absolutely imperative in the man-whore trade. Because, let's face it, most regular, thoughtful men, men of ideas, men with flaws, would have more than a little trouble getting it up and keeping it up. Boy Kaldag gets a lot of elements right, including the baby steps it takes into Dax's new side. It's rather a rueful look at the lengths to which one guy will go to capture a life that has gradually slipped away from him. Director Roman Perez Jr.'s interplay, his willingness to let the story gradually unfold and its disarming sensitivity helps elevate Boy Kaldag well above its gimmicky title.That something, unsurprisingly and as unsubtle as you might expect from Boy Kaldag, is sex. Dax is the meat and potatoes and it’s fascinating to watch him deal with different women. And that’s exactly where Boy Kaldag succeeds; when it stops pretending to be something more than it is, it gets back to guiltlessly pleasuring its audience.

Sound Design: Lamberto Casas Jr., Alex Tomboc

Music: Derek Margaja

Editor: Mai Calapardo

Production Designer: Mikey Red

Director of Photography: Rommel Sales, LPS

Screenplay: Ronald Perez

Directed By: Roman Perez Jr.

     Oebanda's camera ended up getting caught in the maelstrom of violence and what’s surprising is that his approach is so rare. Perhaps all directors secretly enjoy playing God, controlling events, dipping down into the screenplay. They don’t like their movies to give the impression they’re not running things. Oebanda's directorial posture in Balota is, however, frankly that of an observer. He is as surprised by the events in it as we are and he’s at pains to make them seem as random. He doesn’t immediately supply us with connections, but rather makes us work to piece them together and it isn’t until more than half an hour into the film that we realize how these characters’ lives will begin to intersect and create a narrative we can follow. Instead, he uses his opening scenes to establish a climate within which the movie will take place. This sort of direction requires more work from the audience and can offer greater rewards. In the conventional story framework of most movies, the audience can be completely passive, allowing events to unfold as if they made sense. Oebanda's film is one of several movies that knows these things about the movie audience. To understand the way Balota is put together is to understand something about the way events get transferred onto film. Conventional movie plots telegraph themselves because we know all the basic genres and typical characters. Rivera, maintaining her character, rushes through the chaos of the actual conflict, delivering a natural and phenomenal performance as Emmy. The violence becomes part of the story, yet it exists outside of it, as well. That’s Balota's message on the level of story. It can also be seen as Oebanda’s message on the level of technique. Balota is important and absorbing because of the way Oebanda weaves all the elements together. 

Sound Engineer: Albert Michael M. Idioma, Nicole Rosacay

Musical Composer: Emerzon Texon

Editor: Chuck Gutierrez

Production Designer: Eero Yves S. Francisco, PDCP

Director of Photography: Tey Clamor, LPS

Written and Directed By: Kip F. Oebanda

     A word should also be said for De Leon, here eschewing all his usual tics. Spanky knows Mae too well and the big confrontation scene is affecting because it turns on the heart of the dilemma. A man who loves his wife so much versus a man who exists entirely in the present. While Concepcion has no problem making any man vulnerable, in Sa Ngalan ng Pag-ibig, she easily captures her character giving Donna the demeanor of a free, uncomplicated but somewhat mysterious woman who enjoys the games she plays. Perhaps the most humanistically genuine motion picture Delos Reyes has yet put to celluloid, Sa Ngalan ng Pag-ibig takes an unflinching and emotionally rattling look at the recklessness of infidelity and how it can destroy the lives of all three parties involved, leaving no one satisfied. While thriller elements are introduced into the story over an hour into the proceedings,Delos Reyes resists the temptation of resorting to horror movie cliches. Here, his intentions are set on a notably higher and more thought-provoking wrung. Sex is not just a passing fancy, but profoundly disruptive, not life enhancing but life shattering and what's broken cannot be remade. The fling cannot be unflung. A skipping record is Delos Reyes' transitional element between Mae’s comfort and fear, a Model of the Year trophy, the haunting reminder of nature bringing and tearing lovers apart. Sa Ngalan ng Pag-ibig represents the best of both worlds. It excites the emotions in the way a good melodrama should, but it also stirs the quieter feelings of pity and helplessness we associate with tragedy. It's the rare kind of movie that comes along only a handful of times-- gut-level entertainment that's oddly profound. It is not often that viewers are gifted with a rare adult film that presents a serious view of sex, love and relationships. As a showcase for marvelous actors at the top of their game and a poignant portrait of a family in the midst of unraveling, Sa Ngalan ng Pag-ibig gets it just right. 

Sound Engineer: Joe Climaco

Production Designer: Benjie de Guzman

Director of Photography: Charlie Peralta, FSC

Film Editor: George Jarlego, FEGMP

Musical Director: Jimmy Fabregas

Screenplay: Raquel Villavicencio, Wali Ching

Directed By: Maryo J. delos Reyes

     One could argue that the script’s shortcomings are the actors’ gain since they’re each asked to render the emotional beats authentic despite their convenience. It helps that they all know their failings internally no matter how vehemently they argue against them. Ramsay has the juiciest role. He’s the really dangerous one, when push comes to shove brought home by an inevitable violent climax that features a superb supporting performance by Dido de la Paz as the dreaded Coach Jun. Bacalla is a quiet authentic presence, weighted down with pain and it is touching to watch him loosen up as Jepoy’s bond with Anton deepens. Duane Lucas Pascua gives a fascinating performance as Anton's older brother, Saul. The anxiety is always flickering deep in Pacsua’s eyes, even at his most brash and loud. And though his role is brief, Rolando Inocencio’s Tiyo Noel deftly conveys righteous indignation. Lat's direction is intimate and lived-in, he seems at home in the grungy rooms and streets. He doesn’t glamorize the bloody results of boxing, either. He has a way of showing tenderness and brutality in alternate scenes, with music layered into the basest of scenes. There’s little doubt that Ginhawa improves substantially as it progresses, as the movie’s effectiveness is, in its early stages, undercut by an emphasis on overly familiar plot elements and character types. It has a nice, low-key vibe to it. By the time it reaches its somewhat spellbinding third act and downright powerful finale, Ginhawa has cemented its place as an erratic yet completely rewarding little drama that’s ultimately much better than it has any right to be.

Directed By: Christian Paolo Lat

Written By: Christian Paolo Lat, Mia Salisbury, Lester Caacbay, Anju de Vera

Director of Photography: Dominic Lat

Production Design: Melvin Lacerna

Editor: Alec Figuracion

Musical Director: Pau Protacio

Sound Design: Jannina Mikaela Minglanilla, Garem Rosales

     Both Archie del Mundo’s screenplay and Lorca’s direction struggle with aim and avoiding cliche, a pitfall Paquil falls into repeatedly. There are the sappy, predictable moments with Cristina looking stoic and of course, revelations and pontifications on the meaning and fragility of life. Lorca aims high and comes close to his mark on occasion, but the often cringe-inducing near-misses outweigh the hits. The story raises some practical problems. Cristina’s cancer functions primarily as a plot device. Details of her progress and continued treatment are postponed and in general, she seems in good health for a terminal cancer patient. Cristina and Paolo’s time together depends on illness to elevate an ordinary romance into transcendence. Paquil incorporates an ambitious set of events and by the end, some work better than others - while a few are overtly ham-fisted and jammed into the story. However, Del Mundo’s script also evinces touches of real grace by confronting its conflict head-on, often painfully so. Paquil emphasizes to heartbreaking effect the soul-crushing loneliness any cancer sufferer has to deal with. Filled with a cast of such talented players, entertaining moments are sprinkled throughout and you get the feeling that, with a push or a prod in one direction or another and a clearer aim, it might just have hit its mark more often than it does. It’s easy to reinforce the film’s message that having cancer makes you realize how important it is to define and redefine your connections and who means what to you. Paquil is a rare movie—one that is honest. It’s a truly moving story that, despite a tendency toward the facile, never relies on tricks to make us feel something. 

Music: Paulo Almaden

Editing: Lemuel Lorca

Sound Design: Immanuel Verona, Fatima Nerikka Salim

Production Design:Carmela Danao

Director of Photography: Marvin Reyes

Screenplay: Archie del Mundo

Directed By: Lemuel C. Lorca

     In what is either a commendably honest internal critique or more likely, an attempt to head off inevitable complaints about the performance, the film practically assures us, she’s playing someone who’s completely affectless. Either way, we’re left with little more than the pretty surfaces, which those inclined could presumably see at greater expanse in Guinto’s work. It would have been possible, I suppose, for Fajardo to work his way around the collapsed star at the center of his film if the characters in her orbit brought something to the encounters, if she were a mirror held up to their desires and disappointments. But the rest of the cast spends most of their time, like us, marveling at how closed off she is. The movie is short on information about the actual business of being a walker. The filmmakers seems to be supposing that the awfulness of most of these people means there is no high drama to be extracted from their lives. Does Mara's (Stephanie Raz) murder, for example or the fate of the innocent and not-so-innocent individuals, offer no material for tragedy? Is there something fundamentally different about the whoring that Guinto’s character does versus the whoring that everybody else in the film does? Bringing bits and pieces of this unpleasant, narcissistic life in Walker, for example, is not a satisfying substitute for explaining why such a social existence came into being and why it fell apart. No perspective at all, in this instance, means ignoring certain larger realities. Walker proves that a visually striking film can be made on the fly. But grab-and-run is a more fruitful strategy for images than scripts.

Sound Design: Nicole Rosacay

Musical Scorer: Mbella SineScore

Production Design: Ian Traifalgar, Endi "Hai" Balbuena

Editor: Ysabelle Denoga

Cinematographer: Albert Banzon

Screenplay: Jim Flores

Directed By: Lawrence Fajardo

     Lucia has an instinct striving towards the good while Alma has been permanently scarred, both physically and mentally. When Lucia is first recognized for instance, nobody spells out for the viewer what her significance is. Her presence alone and the reaction to it says everything. Much later, we do learn more in a situation where such knowledge would naturally come to the surface. Alma benefits from social change in a way Lucia either cannot or will not. Alix highlights why forgiveness and reconciliation is often a responsibility foisted upon the next generation, while it’s perhaps obviously easier to forgive someone who didn’t try to burn you alive, even if they did it to someone else, Alma explores the world with a cleaner slate than her mother, at least for a while. Aunor's remarkable performance as Lucia reminds us once more of how completely devoted she is to every role. She can do more with a glance, a simple shift in her eyes, than most actors can in an entire film's worth of screen time. She is capable of slowly revealing her vulnerability - another trait that sets her apart from other actors. Umali shines in a convincingly distressing performance, one that hopefully gets her many more offers for other dramatic roles. From the intimate cinematography to the score reminiscent of a creeping, hooded danger following us on a lonely road at night, Mananambal excels at providing a very different level of fright. It’s through this dynamic that Alix examines the reverse perspective as children learn to forgive their parents, be it for beliefs they attempt to pass on. Alix and his editors don’t hold your hand as they guide you through the trickier, stream-of-consciousness final passages of the movie, whose scares are punctuated by moments of transcendent visual poetry. Eventually, Alix miraculously finds a way to make you feel pity and tenderness for Alma, as she rues her life and what she’s destroyed and lost. A harrowing story for Alma emerges that brings us closer to understanding her own trauma and why she’s resigned herself to a life of ritualistic destruction. Mananambal is a decidedly unorthodox type of horror, one that won’t work for those seeking superficial jump scares. But taken on a metaphysical level in tandem with the film’s motifs and themes, it all works together to create a symphony of dread, right up until the moment when it all comes to a head and real blood is shed.

Sound Design: Jannina Mikaela Minglanilla

Editing: Xila Ofloda, Mark Sucgang, Mark llona

Music: Mikoy Morales

Production Designer: Jhon Paul Sapitula

Director of Photography: Nelson Macababat Jr., LPS

Written and Directed By; Adolfo B. Alix, Jr.

     In His Mother's Eyes has a child whose behavior is unpredictable. With a rich vein of bleak humor, the film is about the healing power of sacrifice. In His Mother’s Eyes has so much star power. The famous faces make it difficult, at first to sink into the story, but eventually we do. The characters become so convincing that even if we’re aware of Soriano and Paulate, it’s as if these events are happening to them. Once Lucy and Bibs are reunited, the material boils down into a series of probing conversations. There is a lot to say and Reyes lets them say it. How do families fall apart? Why do many have one sibling who takes on the responsibilities of maintaining the family home, while others get away as far as they can? Is one the martyr and the other taking advantage? Or does everyone get the role they really desire? What In His Mother's Eyes argues is that Lucy by fleeing the home, may have shortchanged herself and that Bibs might have benefitted. Or perhaps not, perhaps Lucy was better off keeping out of the way. There is a point in the film where such questions inspired parallel questions in my own mind. All families have illness and death, and therefore all families generate such questions. The true depth of In His Mother's Eyes is revealed in the fact that the story is not about these questions. They are incidental. The film focuses instead on the ways Lucy and Bibs deal with their relationship–which they both desperately need to do–and the way Tim learns something, however haphazardly, about the difference between true unhappiness and the complaints of childhood. This emotionally affecting drama makes the point that the love we give to others is the only thing that makes life worth living. In His Mother's Eyes is full of complex, well-observed emotion and gives us the rare satisfaction of respecting its characters, forgiving their flaws and contradictions and celebrating their capacity to love.

A Film By: FM Reyes

Screenplay: Jerry Gracio, Gina Marissa Tagasa

Directors of Photography: Neil Daza, LPS, Rap Ramirez

Production Design: Marxie Maolen F. Fadul

Editor: Vanessa Ubas de Leon

Music Composed By: Carmina Robles-Cuya

Sound Design: Albert Michael M. Idioma, Garem Roi B. Rosales

     Lino Brocka finds the right tone in Dalaga si Misis, Binata si Mister (PLG Films, 1981) and it’s not always very easy because he wants to make his film both true and funny, not sacrificing laughs for the truth. But what was the right tone? Armed with Jose Dalisay Jr.'s screenplay, Brocka delivers an exceedingly (and sometimes excessively) subdued endeavor that benefits from its assortment of first-class performances and there’s little doubt, certainly, that Christopher de Leon handles his character, Dick Navarro quite gracefully, wearing an impenetrable, guarded expression and playing everything very close to the vest. Nora Aunor’s completely captivating work as Dick’s ex standing as a continuing highlight within the proceedings. She is undoubtedly responsible for the picture’s most indelible, show stopping moment, as Doria attempts to win her husband back. The oddest thing about Dalaga si Misis, Binata si Mister is how many small things about it are needlessly thoughtful and complex, even though the film is mainly a very simple if well-made example of what adult entertainment looked like in the 80s. The entire film is spent showing how Doria and Dick navigate both their mixed emotions and strong attraction to one another. Dalaga si Misis, Binata si Mister manages to be fast and funny while it breaks new ground. There's a kernel of truth here. There are a lot of good laughs, too. And there is also an important problem, but it doesn't manifest itself until the story is well under way. It gives us the release we need and sets Aunor’s personality for the movie’s second act with scenes of loneliness and the beginning of emotional recovery. Brocka isn’t afraid to pull out all the romantic stops at the right moment. He wants to record the exact textures and ways of speech and emotional complexities of his characters. 

     Carmi Martin delivers a particularly sharp characterization during the first part of the story and unconvincing in the second, through no fault of her own. Nervous, demanding, high-strung and nevertheless charming, her Laila is all wrong for Dick — that's what makes their affair so unexpectedly touching and gives the story so much life. When the movie begins to insist that these two were made for each other, it gives the lie to all that has gone before. This feeling is intensified by the fact that neither character changes much during the course of the story. It doesn't help that the only amorous interludes occur very early on. Aunor takes chances here, never concerned about protecting herself and reveals as much in a character as anyone ever has. Doria is out on an emotional limb. New lovers dreading ex-wives must invariably summon someone like Aunor to mind. She is letting us see and experience things that many actresses simply couldn’t reveal. It’s a lesson for critics on the dangers of assessing performance in a movie, a medium in which the actors may be more at the mercy of the other craftspersons than we can readily realize. Rather than solely embodying the strength and confidence of a single protagonist, Dalaga si Misis, Binata si Mister mobilizes Doria’s arc as a signifier of feminist freedom without becoming didactic or trite. De Leon's performance begins very well and very seriously — all the laughs are built around him and he reacts calmly and cannily with an eye toward self-preservation. When Doria and Laila finally turn up in the same place, though, it's time for Dick to show the strain or to show the conflict, or to show something, De Leon lies low. Brocka perfects the ending by de-centering his perspective and the audience-centric satisfaction of a nihilistic open-ended conclusion, allowing the protagonist the final say regarding her personal satisfaction.

Screenplay: Jose Dalisay Jr.

Based on a Story By: Efren Abueg (Serialized in Liwayway Magazine)

Director of Cinematography: Conrado C. Baltazar, F.S.C.

Music: Rey Valera

Film Editor: Efren Jarlego

Production Design: Joey Luna (P.D.G.P)

Sound Supervision: Rolly Ruta

Directed By: Lino Brocka

     These days, if there are enough celluloid assets of a movie, there is no excuse for them to ever become lost. The technology just didn’t exist to digitize them. The time required and cost of these restorations keeps coming down. Before, it could take up to a year to restore a film, now they can be done much, much faster. There’s no reason to think that trending direction is going to change. We’re in a golden age of film restoration, because now we’re able to see these films look better than they ever have. They’re scanning original negatives, if they can be found, at 4K resolution making us see all the little details. Now, it is an incredible time to be discovering older cinema. And that’s actually part of the reason these titles will remain accessible. Studios with major libraries have preservation budgets, but this new impulse toward volume means those budgets aren’t going away as long as the current streaming model exists. Viva Films and FPJ Productions are preserving their entire library. Every title may not get a full restoration, but they are digitally enhanced with a new high definition master. ABS-CBN Film Restoration package archive titles and remaster them while creating new artwork and extras. Today’s drive toward film preservation and restoration has been catalyzed by filmmakers singing the praises of movies that influenced them. And rising filmmakers need to know about the classics to fuel their own visions. There’s a certain amount of rules that come with the craft of filmmaking. Filmmakers won’t know whether or not something has been done before, unless they study Philippine cinema history.

     Isolated with the father-daughter pair freed from worldly concern or by the image of a frustrated Kasko diving into the murky depths of the ocean. The director has a keen eye for blocking, carefully composing some shots so we have to rely on reflections and background figures. Dizon's magnetic performance brings to life one of the greatest depictions of flawed fatherhood in recent memory, as he brims with both an ineffaceable warmth and an endearing ruggedness. Dizon’s Kasko is far from the perfect dad, but we are drawn into his concerted effort to not only be a great parent but a best friend to his daughter. Demaisip’s Arya radiates with an innate curiosity, as her expressive, yet understated performance perfectly captures the sheer multitude of what Kasko means to her—and the profound impact it will have on her. Simply put, it’s one of the strongest performances in recent years. Salum excels off its two dynamic performances, taut direction and lush cinematography. It’s no surprise that it all beautifully coalesces in a cathartic swell of emotions that crash down on its audience with immense power, unearthing all the faint and fleeting images we have of the people who mean the most to us. It truly is an astonishing achievement. Events play out at an unhurried pace, but the film certainly leaves a lasting emotional impression. Salum is left open-ended and that’s a perfect conclusion to this portrait of a father and daughter relationship. Deftly constructed and utterly heartbreaking, Salum announces Malones as an eminent storyteller of prodigious powers.

Director of Photography: TM Malones

Production Designer Kyle Fermindoza

Editor: Tara Illenberger

Sound Design: Fatima Nerikka Salim, Immanuel Verona

Music By: Armor Rapista

Written & Directed By: TM Malones

     Besides preserving decaying film before it disintegrates and tracking down lost movies, archivists have broadened the perception and the scope of the accepted film canon through the discovery of lost treasures. For restorers, preservation too often involves the difficult decision of what can be saved. In the Philippines, the humidity and the lack of funding pose formidable challenges, making restoration of existing work a luxury. Loss is the foundation of archiving. If you’ve experienced the loss of a cinematic gem, the fervent goal is to prevent such casualties. With every lost film, there’s more lost history. And what’s been found and restored opens our eyes. All restoration projects start with research like finding the best elements that still exist whether the original camera negative or the best generation available. The copies are compared, frame by frame and the restorer takes the best essence to make a hybrid . Physical repairs are made frame by frame using digital technology. The original filmmakers, if still available, are always consulted. The film may be restored digitally but it will be preserved on analog. The goal is to restore, not to perfection but to what the film probably looked like when it first came out. Film must be preserved, saved, and above all, shown. The influence of old films on new filmmakers is incalculable. If we’re ever to learn from the past — a big if, but perhaps it’s still too early to surrender to despair then their work matters and in the purest sense, its preservation is of the deepest political consequence. Through films we bear witness to atrocities and wonders, crimes against humanity and everyday joys. We learn where we came from and see what we dream of. 

     It was that heady moment when movies had become cinema and were being recognized as art, with fierce critical battles underway. In the Philippines, critics suddenly had disputes and followings, while serious film books and even collections of reviews were coming out from trade publishers. The URIAN Anthology 1970-1979 landed in 1983 where a number of critics wrote essays on their chosen films, many of them prefacing their essays with a distinction between favorite movies and greatest films. My life stretches back to when we casually went to the movies, walked in at any point, stayed through the coming attractions and left where we came in. The New Frontier Theater in Cubao, in the late ’70s and ’80s, Coronet, Remar and Diamond Theaters on Aurora Boulevard, ACT Theaters and Ocean Cinemas along EDSA, and lost myself at The Manila Film Center of course. But we’ve been writing obituaries for movie theaters almost as long as we’ve been mourning the death of cinema and of cinephiles. The latter two are alive and well and yes we miss the physicality of theaters and audiences, but perhaps we should think of this not as a zero-sum loss but as a transmogrification, a metamorphosis. The where and how is not as important as the what, the thing itself. 

     There was a crusading fervor to the arguments. It was a fanaticism unique to moviegoers born of a conviction that cinema was an art unlike any other: quintessentially modern, distinctively accessible, poetic and mysterious, and erotic and moral. For cinephiles, the movies encapsulated everything. It was the moment when cinema became conscious of itself. There are not enough hours in the day to make a dent in my ever-lengthening watchlist. I pursue whims and passions as I never could have done years ago: I went through an Ishmael Bernal phase and watched Sugat sa Ugat (1980), revisted Pagdating sa Dulo (1971), Nunal sa Tubig (1976), Manila by Night (1980) and Himala (1982). We all have favorite movie years or decades, often having less to do with the quality of the movies than with our own age and susceptibility, who we were and were about to be, at the time. For someone who formed an early addiction to transactions between grown-up men and women, my favorite theaters where my cinema education and my adulthood really began—screens that, in retrospect, seem both smaller and larger than the one in my bedroom. On the latter I watched all or most recent Filipino films. And I began to think about the idea of spectacle being as much in the beholder’s eye as on the screen.     

     When VHS was introduced in 1977 and DVDs burst onto the scene 20 years later, consumers were presented with the first viable alternatives to a movie theater. Though seen as revolutionary then, watching movies at home and bypassing theaters continues to grow. Streaming services have been available since 2005 when YouTube burst on the scene and its pickup continues to increase sharply, particularly in the past few years. Over the last decade, movie theater attendance has declined and the list of streaming services seemingly grows every day. However, COVID-19 devastated theaters due to closures and the apprehension people felt about returning to theaters after the lockdown. Streaming services facilitate the production and distribution of more diverse and niche content. In addition, because they are not as limited by the traditional studio system, streaming services can take more chances on relatively unknown filmmakers and projects, which might have a more challenging time securing funding or distribution through conventional channels. A broader range of voices and perspectives are now represented in film. It is easier for underrepresented groups to find content that echoes their experiences. Streaming services are now challenging traditional studios as prolific producers of films. Should they continue investing in original content production, this could lead to an even greater diversity of voices and perspectives represented in the entertainment industry. As these services grow in popularity, their impact on the film industry will continue to evolve, requiring traditional distribution channels to adapt and find ways to coexist.

     Television certainly proved more lucrative for her, with many of the fans that had flocked to see her movies watching her on the small screen in their homes in episodes of the weekly drama anthology, Ang Makulay na Daigdig ni Nora and her Sunday evening variety show, Superstar. Yet Aunor was struck down by ill health in 2022. Little regard was given to the effects that it might have on Aunor’s now precarious health, career and image. In fact, it couldn’t have been better calculated to jeopardize her recovery and destroy what remained of her career and public persona. Yet, once again, Aunor revealed a remarkable resilience and rather than withdraw from public view, she took whatever work was available to her, often in the full glare of the celebrity spotlight. Earlier the same year, Aunor completed work on one of her most remarkable films, Adolfo Alix's Kontrabida. This touching portrait would have made a fitting end to Aunor's illustrious film career. Aunor and her films have shown no sign of being forgotten. Nora Aunor is remembered as a great actor, an independent spirit and a gay icon. This is partly because she was a huge star and a remarkable actor but also because she maintained her celebrity profile during the troughs of her film career. Although she earned a place in film history during her lifetime, she repeatedly insisted on maintaining her cultural visibility by whatever means she could. Aunor's long and distinguished career demonstrates many of the classic hallmarks of film stardom: the rise to success and the fall from glory; the peaks and the troughs; the adjustments to accommodate age and changes in the nature of the Philippine film industry. Aunor's career illustrates the restrictions of the contract system, while her career delineates the consequences of the break-up of the studio system and the shift undertaken by stars as they were transformed from studio-owned and controlled properties to freelance agents responsible for their own choices and publicity. Her career after 1973, provides a case study for how studio stars survived in the post-studio era by appealing predominantly to marginalized audiences, while continuing to move between mainstream and more marginal productions. Meanwhile, her posthumous career is instructive in terms of how and why some stars are remembered while others are forgotten. At this moment in time, it looks very unlikely that Nora Aunor will ever be forgotten. For there is so much to remember and admire about this woman who subsequently became one of the greatest screen performers and one of the most respected celebrities. It can certainly be claimed that she is one of the most fascinating and accomplished women to have lived and worked on this planet. In short, her’s is a great story that deserves to be told and told again. As I’m sure it will.

REQUIESCAT IN PACE…

NORA AUNOR

May 21, 1953  - April 16, 2025

     It’s the self-knowing and effortfulness of the acting, the moment-to-moment decisions moving it forward, that foreground the song’s seemingly inevitable candor. Aunor played the part with such raw emotion that it was often painful to observe. With Laura's talent as the driving engine for the whole movie, Greatest Performance does trade pretty heavily on Aunor's star power, but it's never just red meat for the fans. The single most obvious gesture in the film is Iisa Pa Lamang.  We catch glimpses of a shift in her acting style that becomes more pronounced. Aunor, the filmmaker, in her detached authorial power, has captured what she needs while Aunor, the performer, is left with all that emotional excess roiling inside her. It’s a brief moment, one that evokes its obsessive chronicling of the singer’s transformations in and out of performance and its cold observation of everyone else’s indifference toward the toll it must be taking on her. Greatest Performance honors the chameleonic dexterity and creative agency of the performer whose constant self-making may exist within another’s vision but is never any less her own. Laura becomes a palimpsest of the actor’s accumulated public self and because we know the beauty of the singing originates from the depths of a life lived, we are led to acknowledge an offscreen Laura who for all we know may have suffered a pain that likewise preceded the camera. Laying her soul bare, Aunor articulates the plight of an addict with such raw agony that it transcends the art form of acting and registers on a level that is inescapably real. The endless days of cheering strangers while harboring private pain remains one of the most powerful stretches of cinema ever conceived. Tirso Cruz III holds his own dramatically with Aunor, but while he pulls off the big scene of a dressing-room breakdown, its effect is inevitably informed by our knowledge that he lived his own life, not the character, Briccio. Aunor's public life sheds light on the places where her character has been granted relative privacy and mystery. For all her personal problems,  Aunor shows on the screen why she’s a star. As a melodrama, this real-life presentation is roaring with intense fierceness.

Sound Supervision: Rolly Ruta

Film Editor: Ike Jarlego, Jr. (FEGP)

Musical Director: Danny Tan

Production Design: Merlito 'Len' Santos

Cinematographer: Johnny Araojo

Written & Directed By: Guy