the devil, where is prada?
The Blacklist as a film. A capsule of playfulness in retro-stylized meta-memories. There is a strong Ishmael Bernal-esque reverence to its behind-the-scenes and Leonor as a woman and as a creative has spun colorful vignettes of what she is to her family. What no one clocked yet is how Ang Pagbabalik ng Kwago is a recreation of Lino Brocka's Jaguar. And what a fantastic feat overall. It takes genius to insert artistic abstraction without failing a studio gambit. A-
This review may contain spoilers. I can handle the truth.
Monteras II had great mise en scène. But I was angered by its treatment of a fairly problematic appropriation on the conventions of the hip-hop scene that in itself is anti-gay and anti-women. You have an anti-hero at its center whose determination skewed schematic moments of character development (i.e. his idea of cypher would be to vilify a woman about her weight; he let a woman be raped and in his introspection, just cried! ("i can't do anything," he wailed,…
George Orwell stated it well, that the most effective way to destroy people is to deny and obliterate their own understanding of their history. This is destructive cinema. This is reconstruction. This is colonialism. This is Philippine cinema under this president. This is not a film by Khavn. A