Movie Days

It's around 3 am. I just woke up and made myself a cup of coffee. It's sitting beside me, the teaspoon jutting out of its mouth like a metal tongue. It's a reminder that I must think and type fast because I got up to work on my civil society paper and blogging is a luxury of time that must be curtailed. I must type fast or suffer a lukewarm cup.

The last movie I saw at the FC was "Death in Venice" last Wednesday when I got my ID taken at the Registrar's. I'm really glad I caught it though it felt weird watching it alone. Or rather, walking home at the dead of night alone with no one else's film experience to hear of. Good thing someone called and told me how freaked she was about the "Maalala mo Kaya" episode.

The last free movie I saw was "Born in Absurdistan" last Saturday at the Shang-ri La. Good thing I had lovely company this time! It's one thing to walk home alone reflective and disturbed and quite another to laugh alone in a public setting. The former gives you a pensive, brooding quality, and that may even be fashionable. The latter is just plain nuts and will freak the other people having their snacks at the food court. A way out would be to meet their questioning stares with your own questioning stare. Then point at your salad.

Let's pause for a public service reminder. Yes, the European filmfest is still on and they won't go till after September 29.

I'm looking forward to watching "Y Tu Mama Tambien" with my sisters at the UP Film Center later, after work. I must see if the Mexican film is worth all the fuss that got me crazy everytime I missed it (Cinemanila, last week at UP Film Center, et cetera). The last Mexican offering I partook of was "Amores Perros" and it mortally impressed me.

Above that, I'm looking forward to just watching with my sisters. The last time we did that was around the beginning of the semester, also at the FC, my second viewing of "Amelie". We had a nice time at the Likha-Diwa afterwards. Mae talked about her ideas about her literary project in class while Ate vented her anxieties about the upcoming licensure examinations. I told them the people there kept a nice little restroom.

Mae already submitted her short story and Ate has new anxieties about jobs and residencies. Then there's the movie and the fact that they're my sisters so we won't run out of conversation. Yes, I'm looking forward to coffee tonight! My current cup just got cold on me.

Martial

I bought yet another pair of arnis sticks last Saturday. It's made of anahaw. Good thing I ventured to this fair of products from Bohol and Leyte.

I rummaged from the stock to get myself the heavier ones, those made of older wood. These are much heavier than the usual yantok of course. When I compared it at home with the kamagong pairs, I noticed the anahaw were even heavier. But then again, the kamagong were 'mura', that is, made of young wood.

Besides the aesthetic charms of the anahaw wood, a definite plus to practitioners is the shape of the pair. Unlike the rounded ends of the usual arnis stick, the pair had a more rectangular grip with edges rounded off. This provides a better simulation of sword and gulok handles.

I had a faint feeling I would find myself some sticks, knives, or larger blades at that fair. Maybe it was because of that play. A few hours before attending the fair, I watched the Rep's staging of "Much Ado About Nothing" at the Shaw Theater. I guess it was because of all those characters toting their sabers, making their "point" with it, and swearing by it. They did everything except actually fight with it. A disappointment, really. I just had a nice laugh instead. Well, that was what I came for in the first place.

Or so I thought.

I have been notified of the arnis tournament beforehand. The Hatawan 2002 will be held in the UP Gym this year during the anniversary of Martial Law, September 21. I haven't had practice for over a year now and I would probably hurt myself more than I would anyone else. I would also probably compete under a new weight class.

It's a shame really. The combatants usually come from schools but the upper weight classes are mostly attended by police and military practitioners. I've seen these monsters beat and wince. You know they can feel the pounding despite the padding. It's really a nice, comfortable event to get oneself a beating. Maybe that's what I'm looking for right now, an honest-to-goodness bashing.

The first time I heard of the tournament, I thought I really desired that state again, the calculated frenzy. It was an expression of the body, of a love-hate relationship with the world, of a commingling of the instinct to protect and the inclination to destroy. But I was caught in a dark web at that time. I didn't consider it a healthy reason to pursue training. Unbridled passion would get the better of me. I would give the discipline a bad name.

It's no good. I was in a state of black hate. I marvelled at how capable I am of very vicious thoughts. I both reviled and entertained these dark spirits. I tried to offer them good cheer, maybe so I can tame them into something more literary, something less potent. That is, in the short term.

But I failed miserably at every attempt. Neither mind nor body could exert any power. I grew so sick, migraine, fever, the works. I adopted an isolationist policy. And, to a certain extent, I continue to do so.

You'll find no warrior ethos here. New weapons are no better than old ones when the spirit is the same. One engages in acquisition to stave off some hunger. So that I did.

These blunt and bladed things will remain here, unmoved, gathering their layers of impotent, disfiguring dust. Even in my mind, they will gather no blood. Save mine.

Kahapon

Pinalad ako't nagkapanahon nuong nakaraang linggo. Inaantabayanan ko talaga itong Eiga Sai 2002, ang libreng pagpapalabas ng mga kontemporaryong pelikulang Hapon sa EDSA Shangri-La. (Mula Set. 3 hanggang 9 lamang sa Mandaluyong e. Katatapos rin lang sa Makati. Sakaling interesado ang mambabasa, maaring humabol pa sa Tanghalang Manuel Conde ng CCP sa Pasay mula Set. 17 hanggang Set. 20.)

Sa anim na pelikula, tatlo ang napanood ko. Kasama ko sina Jessel at Jol nuong nakaraang Huwebes. Unang pinalabas ang "Adorenarin Doraibu" (Adrenaline Drive) at sumunod ang "Nabbie No Koi" (Nabbie's Love). Lubos ang pananalig ko sa pagkakarebyu ni Jessel sa dalawang ito.

Sa pagbalik-tanaw, sa anim na pelikula, mga dalawa't kalahati lamang pala ang napanood ko. Nahuli kami ni Mon sa palabas ng "Ashita" (Tomorrow) dahil masyado kaming naaliw sa mga librong nakahandusay en masse sa Philippine Bookfair sa Megatrade Hall. Medyo maulan pa pero hala't sumige pa rin kami, patakbong tumawid patungong Shangri-La.

Life, Love, and Laughter ang tema ng Eiga Sai. Sawa-sawa ka naman talaga sa dalawang huling elemento duon sa unang dalawang pelikula. Masaya talaga. Pero para sa akin pinakamatingkad ang tema ng buhay sa "Ashita". Kung wala na kayong balak manood, hayaan nyong ikwento ko ha?

Mga pira-pirasong sulyap sa iba't ibang buhay ang ipinamahagi sa mga manonood. Nariyan ang isang salusalo, kompleto rekados ang mga handa, todo satsatan, at may kuhanan pa ng litrato! May isang pares na bagong kasal. Sa kalaliman ng gabi ng kanilang pulot-gata, nababagabag ang isipan ng lalaki. May lihim na hindi makuhang ibunyag sa kanyang bagong kabiyak.

Gayun din naman ang estado ng pag-iisip ng dalawa pang binata. Nasa tahanan ng puta ang isa, lugmok sa pagsisisi sa pag-iwan niya sa kanyang kaibigan sa maiitim na kamay ng peligro. Sa saglit ng magkasanib na kahinaan, nagbahagi rin ang babae sa kanyang kliyente.

Naghihintay naman ang isa pang binata sa kanyang sinisinta. Masiglang tumakas ang dalaga mula sa bahay upang makarating sa kanilang luntiang tagpuan. Masaya pa niyang isinalaysay ang kanyang pagtakas habang habol-hiningang sinasalubong ang katagpo. Subalit mabigat ang balita ng binata. Dumating na ang draft. Isasama siya sa pwersang susugod sa pagpapatuloy ng Ikalawang Digmaang Pandaigdig.

At sa isang bahay, dinadaluhan ng kumadrona ang isang babaeng ipit sa isang mahirap na panganganak.

Itinapon ng lahat ng karakter ang kanilang mga panaginip, pagbubunyag-lihim, pag-aalala, pagkabahala, at kaligayahan sa isang hinaharap. Bagamat balisa buhat ng mga suliranin at ligalig na kaakibat ng giyera, hinarap ng mga tauhan ang kanilang kinabukasan.

Nangyayari ang lahat ng ito sa Nagasaki, ikawalong araw ng Agosto, 1945. Hindi lahat ng kwento ay magkakaugnay, ngunit pinagtagni-tagni ang mga ito sa mantel ng digma. Kinaumagahan, nadebelop ang litrato at nailuwal ang isang magandang sanggol. At buong-loob na tumingala sa bagong umaga ang ating mga bida.

Pagsapit ng tanghali, ibinagsak ang bomba.

Arts of Darkness

We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people, clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

-T.S. Eliot, "The Journey of the Magi"

I read Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness" to gain a better reading of Chinua Achebe's "No Longer At Ease". Achebe is an excellent Nigerian representative of African postcolonial literature. He was born in 1930, six years after Conrad's death. Conrad had Polish roots but he took to a seafaring life rising to the post of Master Mariner at the British Merchant Navy.

Achebe initially engaged Conrad's novel with the acclaimed "Things Fall Apart". Here, Achebe drew fiction around the exposition of African culture that existed and flourished in its own manner, belying Conrad's representation of brutes bereft of 'the light of civilization'. However, I chose "No Longer At Ease" as intertext because of it's comparable and, in a sense, parallel movement.

Conrad based his novel on his own troubling experiences in the Congo. I found his language initially difficult. Marlow, his narrator, used a hybrid of the British 'eloquent writer' variant of the time (replete those magnificent adjectives) and sailor-talk. If by any chance the contemporary reader gets used to it, it's an enjoyable read.

Conrad chronicled a sailor's journey into the depths of the Congo in search of Mr. Kurtz, a product of genteel education and paragon of European civilization. Kurtz set a high benchmark of ivory trade in the region. Superiors and equals either praised or envied him for his mysterious yet productive methods among the dark 'brutes' in his remote station. Kurtz had not reported for months and management got news of his illness.

Marlow would later unravel a 'disease' beyond physical ailment. It grew from the perceived moral burden of a white man to bring the light of reason and culture to a savage land. It was worsened by the chosen method of Kurtz. To become, unto them, a god.

Achebe, on the other end of the time line, shows Nigeria on the verge of independence from English administration. Obi Okonkwo is the grandson of the willful Okonkwo, patriarch in "Things Fall Apart". Obi makes his way back from studies in England to take an administrative post in a scholarship office.

The story is drawn along two major lines. Fresh from the university, Obi seeks to bring the light of his idealism to the dark byways of the corrupt bureaucracy. Obi struggles to marry Clara (an osu or untouchable) despite warnings from his family and community.

Akin to Kurtz, the pride of the rational man swells in his Europe-cultivated mind. He wins various skirmishes in both love and finances, rejecting bribes and keeping his 'intended' close despite mounting criticism.

Achebe succeeds in social realism, his language bringing into play elements from Ibo and Nigerian English unified by his somewhat terse narrative style. The language is unintimidating and much of the foreign elements are used in sentences and paragraphs where the reader can easily infer meaning from context.

Achebe brings the Okonkwo line to crisis at the verge of the 'incipient dawn' of independence, at the very point that is supposed to be hopeful. Obi is heir to the best of both worlds. His diasporic but tightly-knit community taxed themselves mercilessly to send its most promising son to Europe, the seat of power. He came back to occupy his high niche and pay his debt.

But through deft storytelling, Achebe shows how Obi Okonkwo grows doubly alienated from the modern and the traditional. Like Kurtz but in his own manner, he forsakes the love of his 'Intended' and sheds the reputation and dignity woven around him. He is engulfed in the black grease of the bureaucracy.

Like Kurtz, he succumbs to the worst of both worlds. They both identified their respective darkness with the light of their vision. Their fate is to have called home the very darkness they despised.

I will take, from the yarn spun by Conrad's Marlow, their common epilogue. We find them in an 'exalted and incredible degradation':

There was nothing either above or below him. He had kicked himself loose of the earth. Confound the man! he had kicked the very earth to pieces. He was alone, and I before him did not know whether I stood on the ground or floated in the air.