Graceland (2012)

The overpowering effect of the Sean Ellis film "Metro Manila" (2013) had barely faded, when this reviewer had the pleasure of coming across another grim tale set in the heartland of the Philippines. "Graceland" (2012), written and directed by Ron Morales also takes the viewer on a gut-wrenching tour of the debased, sleazy and squalid side of Metro Manila. While Ellis's film showcased the plight of a gullible country farmer ravaged by a greedy and corrupt urban environment, "Graceland" is a complex kidnap drama which revolves around two fathers in a similar predicament, albeit separated in their socioeconomic status and stand in society.

Moving at an unrelenting pace, Ron Morales cooks up a heady broth rich with ingredients such as corruption, scandal, kidnapping and murder. Changho (Menggie Cobarrubias) is a top politician in Manila, a congressman with a sordid secret life. Almost regularly, he picks up girls from the illicit red light district that is involved in the sex trade of underage girls, drugs them and has sexual relations with them. Changho is a powerful man who knows how to buy his way out of a backlash on his career, because inherently, everyone is willing to sell out and submit to his power.

His faithful driver Marlon (Arnold Reyes) has been in his service for 8 years. Apart from being a regular chauffeur for him, he is also the clean-up guy. He clears the mess left by his boss, and drops the girls to their respective homes. Ironically both men have daughters the age of the girls who are exploited by Changho. Marlon clearly doesn't like this, but he is under an emotional and financial pressure.

He has an ailing wife in the hospital with a prolonged illness that can be cured only by an organ transplant. Despite his reservations about his boss' filthy acts, it is the salary and the extra buck as the assistant that he can't seem to pass up. Marlon's daughter Elvie (Ella Guevara) and Changho's daughter Sophia (Patricia Gayod) are great friends, much to the chagrin of Mrs. Marcy Changho (Marife Necesito). But the girls are barely at an age where they can understand the inherent class divide between them.

A twist of fate disturbs the status quo, and Changho's little sex secret makes headlines in the form of yet unproved allegations. This is followed by Marlon's dismissal from his job. Things couldn't get any worse, when in their final trip home, the kidnapping of the girls occurs, part of which goes horribly wrong. And yet the kidnapper assigns Marlon the task of delivering the ransom message to his boss. A panic-stricken Marlon finds himself in a big soup as he becomes a potential suspect, being the only witness and having just been fired from his job. The scene gets murkier and twistier as it begins to appear that ransom isn't the only motive for the kidnapping.

Morales' story may seem to be a routine kidnap and hostage drama on the surface, but there's a lot more going on in this elaborate scheme of things. He first sets the stage by introducing his audiences to the system which is the universe in which the film is set. All the squalor, the protagonists' dingy abode and humble living conditions, the sicknesses, the corrupt officials and the shady state of affairs, the seedy red light areas, little children begging for food outside posh clubs, all give a pretty clear image of how such surroundings may influence the people living in it and how almost everything that transpires could be a systemic effect.

The gap between the rich and the poor, and the weak and the powerful is huge. The powerful have it way too easy, while the weak have no option but to be submissive. There is also a disturbingly close and realistically uncompromising look at child prostitution that could make you lose faith in humanity. Morales sometimes uses the handheld camera technique, especially in moments brimming with urgency that are filmed in a style that makes it look like a docudrama. The colouration gives off a dreary air, almost highlighting the hopelessness of some of the characters.

As the plot thickens and more characters make their way into the story, including Detective Ramos (Dido De La Paz), it is realized that there is hardly any grace in this land! There is nary a soul around who is completely pure. And given the architecture of this system, it doesn't come as a shock to see morals being compromised and rules being bent by almost everyone as they exhibit their respective shades of grey.

No one seems to play it totally straight and everyone has an ulterior motive. But as strange as it may seem, we tend to find empathy with some of these characters and it isn't entirely difficult to understand their motivations. The plot itself centers around a kidnapping gone wrong, and while we are more or less certain that it is headed for a definite doom, there are some very intriguing, aptly timed, game-changing twists that catch you unawares. It is the narrative trajectory that keeps us on the edge as a turn of events sees all three men involved, Ramos, Changho and Marlon make the case their personal agenda.

As the distinction between victim and perpetrator gradually becomes invisible, we find ourselves rooting for Marlon as he gets suffocatingly cornered into a quagmire from which there seems to be no escape. It is Reyes' towering performance that makes Marlon's pain and anguish palpable. This is one spectacular turn of a lead act that is applause-worthy. He is very well supported by Menggie Cobarrubias as the seedy politician, Dido De La Paz as the not-so-straight cop and Leon Miguel as the kidnapper. Little Ella Guevara excels as Elvie with her heartbreakingly sincere performance.

The film does fumble a bit with one fatal flaw and some heavy-handed approach to storytelling, especially in the final frames that spoonfeed the audience with flashbacks. For an otherwise mature approach, such a device wasn't necessary. But these problems need to be overlooked, for "Graceland" is an edgy, morally complex tale with a sharp script that certainly accomplishes what it sets out to achieve, and leaves us stunned, as we are left gathering our thoughts and regaining composure.

Score: 8/10

 

Metro Manila (2013)

Despite a premise not too unfamiliar, British filmmaker Sean Ellis, with his "Metro Manila" (2013), packs a mighty solid punch in a genre-bending work of cinema that combines elements of neorealist cinema, noir crime thrillers, social dramas and family melodramas.

So when Oscar (Jake Macapagal), a poor farmer from the rural Philippines, struggles to feed his family of four with meager returns from the year's crops, he decides to move to the capital city of Manila in order to try and make ends meet. Not surprisingly, it isn't all meant to be hunky dory, as the naive, gullible village-folk begin to experience the big bad urban world in all its ugly glory. The film chronicles the hardships of the family as they become victims of swindling and exploitation in the ruthless new environment they get pushed into.

Ellis shoots the film in a territory foreign to him, with actors foreign to him and in a language foreign to him. Yet he appears to be quite comfortable at the helm and it doesn't seem like he is working with foreign material or that we are watching a motion picture that isn't a native Filipino production. The film unfolds in a gritty style with camerawork that gives off a very realistic feel to the proceedings. 

It is noteworthy how Ellis presents a striking contrast as he moves the action from the country to the city. While the first few minutes in the village are soothingly serene to look at and to feel, the family's migration to the city is followed by a jarring din of vehicular traffic and the bustling life of the city exploding with people. This distinction in the quality of life in both settings is also juxtaposed against a tremendous gap between the rich and the poor in the city, caused due to rapid urbanization, economic globalization and uncontrolled immigration. This huge divide and the resulting insensitivity, cut-throat competition, selfishness and an overall dog-eat-dog atmosphere is very accurately portrayed in some minor but memorable sequences.

So while the urbanized viewer may know that Oscar might be falling for a trap when something comes alarmingly easy to him, it is very much believable why Oscar himself may not be aware that he is being taken for a ride. He is from the country, after all. In his experience, the very few people that they come across out there, stand up for each other, and are friends. But then little does he know that the guys who he helps get jobs, would refuse to even recognize him when their time comes to help him, for everyone is out there to fend for themselves.

It is interesting how, in a couple of scenes depicting Oscar taking a step that could be a gamble that may or may not pay off, there are messages on walls or hoardings that speak of submission of one's fate to higher powers. So in a way the script itself is praying for Oscar as he makes that phone call and a big sign that reads "God Bless" is seen right above him. In another scene, a glow sign screams "In God we Trust"!

Setbacks follow and even a hand-to-mouth existence becomes increasingly difficult. Driven to the edge, Oscar's beautiful wife Mai (Althea Vega) ends up working in a seedy nightclub as an exotic dancer, while Oscar secures himself a job as a security personnel in an armored vehicle company for transporting valuables. He becomes a protege of, and befriends Ong (John Arcilla), a man who showers a great deal of kindness on Oscar, but not without a hint of dubious intentions. 

By this time, Ellis' strong narration and characterization has ensured full emotional involvement from the audiences. The viewer watches with bated breath and awaits any moment of respite or a ray of hope for the Ramirez family, as every setback that befalls them doesn't fail to make one feel an emotional surge. Part of the gripping nature of the screenplay stems from how much we find ourselves rooting for these characters. Moreover, Ellis keeps everything under control and doesn't veer into extreme melodramatic territory.

This social drama blends seamlessly into the crime thriller domain while retaining the inherent moral conflicts, in an almost invisible transition, and culminates into its crushing but clever finale. The narrative is taut and tense with its fair share of twists, some predictable ones while others shockingly unpredictable, holding the audiences on tenterhooks.

One wishes that the occasionally stagey and stilted dialog and acting was restrained a little. Some repetitive interchange, which is almost hammered into the audience, also does disservice to the film by making at least one event quite predictable in the film. A couple of more intense moments, especially, important flashback sequences come off as heavy-handed and over-the-top, thereby taking away from the otherwise naturalistic look of the film.

However, Ellis does a commendable job of capturing the murky, sleazy underbelly of the city and the moral corruption of ordinary individuals that comes with it as they attempt to shape their existence. He infuses the right kind of emotional quotient that resonates well with the viewers, enough to demand their complete attention. This is accentuated, of course, thanks to a strong performance from Jake Macapagal, who delivers an incredibly balanced act that makes one instantly connect to his situation.

Do take a trip to this "Metro Manila". It is well worth your time, not only as an engrossing and powerful film experience but also as a thought-provoking social commentary, a cautionary tale and a heartbreaking account of struggle and sacrifice.

Score: 8/10

The Man without a Map (1968)

In the 1960s, filmmaker Hiroshi Teshigahara teamed up with novelist and screenwriter Kôbô Abe, cinematographer Hiroshi Segawa and composer Tôru Takemitsu and delivered a trilogy of some of the greatest films ever. "Pitfall" (1962), "Woman in the Dunes" (1964) and "The Face of Another" (1966) were all absolute masterpieces from the much revered Japanese New Wave. Each film was a work of staggering genius, with extraordinary stories revolving around existential themes, and boasted of some of the finest audiovisual atmospherics in cinema.

"The Man Without a Map" (1968) is the final film from the Teshigahara-Abe collaboration and all except cinematographer Hiroshi Segawa are part of this venture, with Segawa being replaced by Akira Uehara. The moodiness of the earlier three films is retained, except this time, the film is shot in colour and in the anamorphic widescreen format.

The opening credits with psychedelic colours and images of burning paper, along with a hypnotically disorienting score that transforms into what appears to be a switching of radio channels, until one piece of music is settled upon, sets the stage for exactly the kind of mystifying experience the film turns out to be. The process of mystification doesn't begin until much later though. A man by the name of Nimuro Hiroshi goes missing. It is close to six months and there is absolutely no news about his whereabouts. Nimuro's wife (Etsuko Ichihara) hires a gruff looking detective (Shintarô Katsu) from an agency to investigate the disappearance.

The investigation is plagued with dead ends, as the handful of clues fail to give any specific direction. The mystery deepens and seems to diverge rather than converge to a definite solution. Certain characters related to Nimuro come and go, make their presence felt, but provide absolutely nothing of value. Although obsessed with finding an answer, very soon the futility of the case starts to affect the detective's psyche and he begins to lose touch with reality.

The screenplay of "The Man without a Map" is a very perplexing one. On the surface it appears to be a hard-boiled detective fiction with a missing persons case at its center. However, these appearances are but only superficial, and what lies at the core of the film are much larger, metaphysical themes of alienation and existential crisis; of a single man's identity and the loss of it in a greater modern universe. The frame in the very beginning shows a strangely coloured bird's eye view of Tokyo. There's a yellowish hue to the shot and a discordant score plays in the background as a voiceover more or less narrates the central plot of the disappearance. Now in this view, Tokyo initially resembles the layout of a computer chip.

And then as normal colours appear, the city appears more like a maze. The choice of such angles and colours for these images are very relevant in the context of the film's themes. The emphasis is on how a single individual is dwarfed in comparison to a large city, and its fast-paced life and technological advances, leading to an inherent social indifference. The detective fiction is a mere facade then, for the message that clearly seems to be embedded within the film is how the individuality of a single person is lost in a sea of myriad souls striving to establish their own identity, and some even end up getting crushed in the process (an idea explored in the film's final, telling scene). In a way, it leads to the individual literally going missing!

The protagonist of this strange story, finds himself pursuing a man who vanishes without rhyme or reason. His bosses won't talk much, neither will his associates. Those who do talk, seem to have problems of their own, and provide information that really doesn't amount to much. Could it be that all these individuals related to Nimuro are all succumbing to a crisis and seeking to give some kind of meaning or usefulness to their lives? The associate who claims to have some knowledge of Nimuro's rather embarrassing activities seems to be one such kind whose clues offer nothing much of substance, yet gives the man some sense of purpose.

The title of the film is very peculiar as well. There is really no mention of a map except in one scene in which the detective asks Nimuro's associate to point out in the map where he was supposed to have met him last. So who really is the man without a map? It is safe to assume given the film's themes that the map signifies meaning, or direction. And hence, the detective is perhaps following the footsteps of Nimuro himself, and losing himself, gradually diminishing as an individual and struggling to make sense of the mystery at hand and also his own existence.

To depict the lack of a clear connection between individuals, or a general sense of detachment, there is an extensive use of faint glass reflections and distorted images of characters. Sometimes the characters are blurred or out of focus, at other times, they are grotesque reflections of themselves. It is possible that these blurs and distortions also aim at hinting that there is something sinister about these individuals or they aren't what they seem to portray to the detective. Part of the visual brilliance of the film comes from the sudden colour shifts. In some scenes the colours shift to saturated hues of vivid red, purple, yellow and orange. The dissonant, unsettling score, clubbed with some surreal, dream-like imagery lend the kind of atmosphere that you would expect from Teshigahara.

In fact, one wishes there was more of such hallucinatory imagery, and a certain, deeper kind of abstractness to the narrative that would enhance the aura of the film as a psychological drama that it actually aspires to be. There is no question that the film has its gloomy, enigmatic quality and it plays out at an aptly controlled pace. Shintarô Katsu's able performance holds things together as well. Only the film plays out more like a straightforward mystery rather than a profound examination of the protagonist's gradually disintegrating psyche. Nevertheless, Teshigahara's and Abe's final film together still delivers as a solid noir, and a visually brilliant, well-crafted psychological drama.

Score: 9/10