Hitchcock (Sacha Gervasi)

Here's lookin' at you.

Alright, before anything else, I just want to express my utter disappointment on this film for not even hinting at Hitch's Ovophobia (fear of eggs). There I said it. Moving on…

Biography films are not given enough credit for being trickier to execute than how it looks. For them to be successful, they must highlight the life of the man/woman they're focusing on with sheer definitiveness and completeness that people would not look for any further films. This has been the very problem that has plagued seemingly incomplete biopics such as "Ali", the Will Smith-starrer which has chronicled the boxer's life only until his fight in Zaire with George Foreman; hardly the best way to end a story about one of the great icons of modern sports history. And hell, even "Capote", a great Oscar attention-grabber during its time, was deemed not perfect enough that a second-tier film about the exact same subject, entitled "Infamous", was conceived. What I mean is that for a biopic to be effective, one must begin and end it at a certain highlight of the person's life which we can all deem as his greatest (or worst) moment. I think you will all agree with me: "Ali" should have ended somewhere in Manila. Even if your knowledge of boxing history is at the slightest, you know what certain pay-per-view I'm talking about. To this day, I'm still slightly disappointed as to how Michael Mann never saw the emotional potential of ending the said film at that particular segment of Ali's life. 

But on a more positive note, that biopic lesson, which was often ignored by some films of the genre, was finely heeded by "Hitchcock", a highly-polished biography of perhaps the most influential filmmaker in history. 

Yes I know, perhaps everyone's quite infuriated about the fact that the film was entitled "Hitchcock" simply because it is not, in any way, a proper chronicling of the man's life. But before we go all ruckus-minded about the matter, please be reminded that the original title is supposed to be "Alfred Hitchcock and the Making of Psycho"; sounds more like a routine special feature from a newly-remastered DVD rather than an actual film, doesn't it? Well, we should at least thank the makers for at least doing that last-minute title change.

For a supposed biopic of arguably the greatest icon of modern cinema, "Hitchcock" runs for a mere 98 minutes, which is really quite puzzling because Alfred Hitchcock is such a complex and interesting character to explore. Even his well-known 'blonde' obsession, which is a fine thing to focus upon on its own, was merely hinted at but was not given much attention. But then again, the film, based on what I have seen, merely guns for something that is playfully Hitchcockian in style (the Ed Gein scenes, the "Alfred Hitchcock Presents-esque" opening) but is also very light and, sadly, quite disposable a fare. 

Anthony Hopkins, the only actor that I believe can convincingly pull of Hitch, shines as the titular filmmaker. Although scenes of a superfluously dark-humored Hitchcock overshadow those of a more psychologically tortured one, his interpretation of the 'Master of Suspense' is, for a lack of a better term, masterful. While Helen Mirren, who's as scene-stealing as Hopkins, is effortless as Hitch's wife, Alma Reville. Because of this film, I therefore conclude that without Ms. Reville, Hitchcock could not have pulled off the horror mammoth that is "Psycho" and a whole bunch of his other masterpieces too. This then brings me again to this very tired but truthful adage: "Behind every great man is a woman". In Hitchcock's case, it sure is an icy blonde. Or that's what he has been hoping for all his life, at least.

In terms of execution, "Hitchcock" is, by and large, very conventional and ordinary. Even the insights into Hitchcock's character and the certain happenings on the set of "Psycho" I have already read on the Internet. But what makes this film quite special is its substantial inclusion of Ed Gein, the real-life serial killer who has inspired the source novel by Robert Bloch; a sort of creative liberty that has proved to be a very nice touch. Although I would have preferred it if it was Norman Bates himself (because I want to see more of James D'Arcy as Anthony Perkins/Norman Bates) and not Ed Gein who Hitchcock tries to find and identify himself to in the film's certain, dream-like scenes, it is still a flavorful extra garnish to an otherwise standard biopic. And Scarlett Johansson, despite some eager protests from fans prior to the film's release, nails Janet Leigh convincingly in a way that is sweet, safe and non-controversial.

"Hitchcock", if I am to treat the 'biopic' rules that I have mentioned above as canon, is quite a success and a failure. A success because the film was able to start and begin at perhaps Hitchcock's greatest moment (the creation of "Psycho"); a failure because some of the characters were reduced to mere caricatures. The film nailed the dark humor, the unrelenting obsession and the murderous vibe that comprise a Hitchcock film, but it lacks a more thorough psychological dimension that most biopics often tread. Ultimately, "Hitchcock" lacks the extra courage to dig through Hitch's tailored suit to look right at his heart; we were promised a quite incisive treatment of Hitchcock's persona, and we were left hanging. What we chanced upon is a film that shows us things that we've all heard, seen and read about before, and there seems to have been no effort to pick up from that and go further. Alas, there were no corpses to discover.

FINAL RATING

Ang Babae sa Septic Tank (Marlon Rivera)

On the way to Mr. Smithberger.

It might initially appear that this latest Cinemalaya triumph is particularly a well-tread filmic practice of traditional Philippine neorealism. But as it unravels in a fashion only a knowingly self-conscious deconstructive film can do, what it appeared to be was a creative blend of fantastical quasi-realism and full-fledged, jargon-filled nuances between the independent film scene and the commercial movie industry highlighted and fueled by Eugene Domingo’s eagerly commanding “Being John Malkovich-like” parody of herself.

But do not be misled, although Ms. Domingo and her much-hyped (thanks to well-played news columns by gossip writers) ‘plunge’ into the titular brown hole is the highlight of the film from a moviegoer’s viewpoint, “Ang Babae sa Septic Tank” is essentially more about the film’s two visionary and free-spirited characters’ episodic adventures and whatnot. One a director (played by Kean Cipirano) and the other, a producer (JM De Guzman) who both display a certain raw energy typically steaming out from fresh grads, they are both struggling, amidst a cover of coffee-drinking comforts and ‘higher than anything else’ aspirations (they really much prefer Oscars than Cannes) to take a daringly unconventional independent film into fruition.

“Ang Babae sa Septic Tank”, directed by Marlon Rivera and written by Chris Martinez who clearly shows both his humorous outlook and comic disdain towards cinematic nuisances (such as product placements and the industry’s nauseating ‘diva’ culture), is not necessarily about the technicalities, logistics or the pressuring deadlines of making movies. Hell, there’s barely a scene involving movie crews, cameras and stuff. Unlike, say, Truffaut’s “Day for Night” which is purely about the ups and downs of such, this film is more about the endlessly playful landscapes of the mind going colorfully amok in the middle of a mind-boggling series of script conceptualizations and cerebral storyboarding. If countless ‘movies-within-movies’ dissect the fascinating days of principal photography, “Ang Babae sa Septic Tank” is inclined towards the fragility of pre-production.

The posters, the cast, the performances, even the overall treatment of the film within the film (which is entitled “Walang-wala”). These were taken into the open. Through a surprisingly muted character played by Cai Cortez, “Walang-wala” shifts through the different parallel realities of ‘what if’ movie scenarios via her daydreams and nap musings. For a film of immense creativity that caters its refreshingly postmodernist feel with exuberance and humor for a wider audience, using a non-speaking role as a medium to transcend the lucidly brittle “Walang-wala” film ideas is inexcusably lazy. But considering that the film is overwhelmed by endless modern Filipino vernaculars coming from Kean Cipriano and JM de Guzman’s mouths sugar-coated as loudly superfluous tirades and ‘two-cent’ dialogues and the parody Eugene Domingo sounding, acting and demanding like the real-life Kris Aquino, it’s a balancing tonic to see someone whose mouth is completely shut.

Normal to many independent films, “Ang Babae sa Septic Tank” is also filled with inspired performances from its cast, specifically Eugene Domingo as her alternative reality self, whose scene of her accepting the script from the two maverick filmmakers may have been mirroring her genuine real-life reaction in accepting this film. A true breath of fresh air for her considering the formulaic haze of mainstream movies that she has previously starred in. But the best performance in the film, which I never have foreseen even from the farthest of distance (maybe me being unaware of him helped) is the bit role of Arthur Poongbato, a satiric character that pokes fun of award-conscious indie directors, played effortlessly by Tad Tadioan.

But then again, “Ang Babae sa Septic Tank” is never a full-blown satire either nor a distinct celebration of the independent film spirit. Though the film can be a small-dosed mix of both, it’s mainly a subtly unnerving little film that highlights the forgotten urban plight of the impoverished that merely serve as harrowing textures of countless filmmakers’ attempt for superficial cinematic social commentaries.

"Majestic". One of them mouthed in ecstasy as they see the layered kingdom of make-shift carton houses and rusty tin-roofed shanties visually asking to be filmed. But what the film turned out to be, ultimately, is a tragicomic exposition of the characters’ internal realization that not everything adheres with their own cinematic vision and artistic conviction. As the film heads into a gob-smacking head-on collision course with reality, there’s this brooding clarity.

And as we see Eugene Domingo visually transform into the titular woman that could have easily been the scene that can elicit the silliest of laughter in the whole film, there’s this great sense that it is more profoundly symbolic than it is immediately graphic. It stared at cinematic apathy strong-eyed while inside a pungent hole of sobering truth.

The film ended with audience’s heartily fading laughter and tender smiles. For that sole reason, the integration of “Ang Babae sa Septic Tank” as a comedy vehicle into mainstream cinemas fully succeeded. But I hope the film left an impression that is much more than that.

FINAL RATING

Burden of Dreams (Les Blank)

A man with a 'mountainous' task. Literally.

Somewhere near the end of "Burden of Dreams", Herzog stated that he 'shouldn't make movies anymore' after the emotional, physical and intellectual drain that is "Fitzcarraldo". Of course, Herzog never stayed true to his words as he still kept on generating great films after great films since. But this documentary, capturing the legendary filmmaker's seemingly inexhaustible grasp to his ambitions in the middle of an Andean disillusionment, provocatively shows Herzog in near surrender (his film career) and without regard to the future.

But ironically, throughout the film, Werner Herzog shows an unusually calm demeanor. Looking at the things he is trying to fend off at the time, the likes of turbulent rapids, malicious rumors and political power struggles (not to mention the almost biblical task of moving a steamboat up a hill), a feeling of despair creeping within is not asking much. But he never snapped, at least not on the verge of suicide. Perhaps that's a consolation.

Herzog, known for his deeply tranquil voice (especially in his numerous films where he incorporates poetic narrations), is quite unsurprising in his display of passiveness in an environment that demands otherwise. Hell, he even got shot in the middle of an interview and could not care less. But what Les Blank's "Burden of Dreams" has captured brilliantly is his internal descent into a void of questions and uncertainties. In many sequences, Herzog navigates through the natives' camps, treacherous terrains and dangerous waters seemingly animated by a mission and even carries a smile once in a while. But along those moments, in the middle of each and every scene and triggered by Blank's questions, we hear him speak out.

It's not one of those pedestrian interviews where answers can be immediate, quick and solid. In these particular scenes, with his thick German accent, his words flow out, eloquent, vibrant, even frightening at times. It's a combination of a poet's uncommon inner articulacy, an everyday glib of a wisdom man and the dark, declarative enunciation of a doomsday prophet. And through that, he exposes his mind and soul. A mind that is pessimistic and unsure. A soul that is anxious and insecure. But a wholeness that is awfully determined and focused.

Yes, he can quite see the finish line, but he can't go into a full run. Budget, time constraints, the force of nature, you name it. He is a man of ambition and larger-than-life aspirations and will stop at nothing to put those into fruition. But he can see, in the distance, the looming presence of the inevitability of failure. And it's quite clear.

"Burden of Dreams", although about the agony of filmmaking, can also be seen as a documentary about the generalized significance of personal dreams. "Without dreams we would be cows in a field, and I don't want to live like that. I live my life or I end my life with this project." Herzog said. From that point on, the idea of finishing the film ceased to be merely just associated with the succeeding post-production. It is his ultimate self-affirming test as a filmmaker and as a dreamer. But on one side, it's also his sense of closure. A sigh of relief, if you can still just call it that.

Now, who would think that Herzog's harsh exploits in the wilderness and a psychological flirt between lunacy and megalomania would root out from his consummate, against all odds passion for his craft? Coppola maybe, with Conrad's "Heart of Darkness" on one hand and a gun on the other.

"...I love it. I love it very much. But I love it against my better judgment." Herzog said regarding on what he thinks of the Andean jungle. Maybe if you ask him regarding his devotion to finish "Fitzcarraldo", it will be the same answer. He just wanted it done, with his visions still intact, and more importantly, his sanity.

FINAL RATING