MANILA, Philippines - Nora Aunor is carrying her cross of water containers at the Künstlerhaus (Bona). Amy Austria dances sultrily while Phillip Salvador sits as the watcher in the dark at Gartenbaukino and Stadtkino (Jaguar). Lolita Rodriguez’s Kuala falls in love with the leper Berto played by Mario O’Hara at the Künstlerhaus (Tinimbang Ka Ngunit Kulang). Hilda Koronel becomes the Madonna of the slums (Insiang), and Bembol Roco looks with mounting horror at the mob that has cornered him in an alleyway (Maynila: Sa Mga Kuko Ng Liwanag). Meet the doomed: They are the protagonists in some of the best Filipino films ever made, all created by Lino Brocka. And they are being screened in Vienna, Austria as part of a tribute to the Filipino filmmaker by the Vienna International Film Festival or the Viennale.
“You would expect a Lino Brocka retrospective in Cannes or San Francisco, but probably not in Vienna,” says festival director Hans Hurch. “After we came up with the Brocka program, many people approached me and asked, ‘How were you able to do it?’ They want to do the same in Greece and in the States. What we did was put the spotlight on Lino Brocka. We did what we could. Maybe one day it will be possible to do a bigger retrospective — with restored films, with a wider selection.”
Quite a paradox: It would take cineastes from Vienna to bestow upon a Filipino filmmaker what he so richly deserves.
Brocka is our national treasure. Lav Diaz (uncompromising filmmaker who creates these massive contemporary epics) considers him the “most influential Filipino filmmaker, the most recognized name in Philippine cinema.” Khavn dela Cruz (fearless filmmaker who fronts a band called The Brockas, and is one of the curators in the Viennale tribute) explains, “The Brocka influence is more a subconscious thing. I’m not a hardcore Brocka-ist. I don’t watch his films before I sleep, pero bahagi siya ng psyche ko bilang Pilipino, bilang filmmaker.”
Well-said. To Brocka non-believers who say there is a lack of timelessness in his films, that they are “dated,” Lino Brocka created his films during a time when the country was ruled by an infernally corrupt, debauched regime that wanted to rule till the Last Judgment; when urban squalor, dislocation and diaspora were the way of life; when the masses were zombie-fied by innocuous TV shows. Well, that sounds like the year of our Lord 2009. You could put Julia Clarete and Coco Martin in a remake of Bona and it would still stun. Imelda Marcos once asked Lino, “Why do you have such ugly people in your movies? Since we have all these tourist spots, we have so many places.” Lino answered, “But I’m not out to make movies for the Department of Tourism. My job is not to photograph those walls that you put up. My job as a director is to go through the wall.”
Brocka died in a car accident in 1991. Life is fleeting, but film is forever. Or so we thought.
The Backstory
Hurch relates, “I was in Buenos Aires and I watched one film by Lino Brocka. It was Bayan Ko: Kapit Sa Patalim. I liked it very much. It’s not just an art film; it deals with the country’s political situation. It was realistic and melodramatic at the same time, a very strong film.”
After the screening, he was sitting next to Khavn and got into a discussion with the Filipino filmmaker about the extent of Brocka’s fame in the West. They played a little game.
“We asked the people around the table, mainly filmmakers such as Miguel Gomez from Portugal and Maren Ade from Germany, if they knew Lino Brocka. They were aware of him, but unfortunately haven’t seen any of his films, although they want to. I told Khavn, ‘I’m going to make a program (at the Viennale), but you have to help me because it’s going to be difficult with the prints, with the rights, with everything.’”
Back in the Philippines, Khavn asked fellow filmmakers as to what their favorite Brocka films are, and they made a selection of 12 films.
Katharina Sekulic, head of the Viennale Press Department, says they got help from people such as Olaf Moeller, a German film journalist who is a Brocka specialist. “Also, our colleagues from the Torino Film Festival, especially Caterina Renzi,” she adds. “We have various sources — mostly archives in Germany, the UK, and Australia. Most of the archives that were so kind to make prints available to us wish to remain uncredited.”
But Sekulic and the rest of the team couldn’t get all the films they wanted. She says they didn’t get support from the Philippine cultural agency in charge of archiving important Filipino films. The friendly exchange of e-mails at the onset resulted in nothing, leaving the organizers no choice but to show three of Brocka’s films on video.
Inexcusable. Lino Brocka — one of our finest filmmakers (along with Mike de Leon and Kidlat Tahimik) — is being honored in Europe by a very illustrious film festival (past figures feted with a retrospective include Jean-Luc Godard, for crying out loud), and the Viennale didn’t get any assistance from our end. Nothing’s shocking, though. Here in Manila, our only experience of Brocka films is occasional screenings of grainy prints in dire need of restoration, TV airings spliced with incessant station plugs (scheduled before J-horror rip-offs featuring Jolina or Judy Ann), and shoddy DVDs with even shoddier packaging. Depressing.
“This happens in other countries also,” Hurch says magnanimously. “They don’t take good care of their filmmakers.”
But it is essential to take care of the most important of Brocka’s films, he reiterates. “I guarantee that for the next few years, those films will be shown all over the world.”
This reminds him of how Brazilian filmmaker Glauber Rocha was suddenly rediscovered by the West, becoming an important figure in Latin American cinema. “This will be the perfect moment to really do something for Brocka. There is a lot of interest in Philippine cinema right now, what with all the young filmmakers around — Brillante Mendoza, Lav Diaz. Many are asking what else is out there. Your national archive probably doesn’t get a lot of funding, but they could do something in collaboration with Western agencies. But maybe it’s not just a question of money, but a question of interest as well.”
What makes the films of the current wave of Filipino filmmakers idiosyncratic?
“I know that Lav’s movies are not popular in your country but it does not mean that it is not ‘popular’ cinema, because these movies still have some connection with the population. That’s what special about films from the Philippines — their closeness to reality.”
And these young filmmakers have their own way of telling stories. Hurch describes Khavn as more of a punk, a tough-as-nails filmmaker. “Lav, Brillante and Raya — each is different, everyone has his own way, his own sensibility.”
The paradox is, according to Hurch, Filipino cinema is one of the richest cinemas in the world, but it’s also the poorest.
“I found out from filmmakers such as Khavn that they get no money to do their movies. I know the situation is terrible. But under these conditions, they still manage to make these kinds of films. That's when you know (Filipino cinema) is very strong.”
Although the turnout for the Brocka screenings is a bit of a letdown, the response from the international film critics is encouraging.
“I love Maynila: Sa Mga Kuko Ng Liwanag — everyone who watches this movie will be gripped by the story of the loneliness in the big city. It’s more than just a Filipino experience; it is universal.”
And Brocka doesn’t deal with the story metaphorically; he deals with it in all its physicality.
Hurch concludes, “It’s not just ego cinema. It serves a deeper purpose. Another thing I like about Lino Brocka is that he is not ashamed of melodrama, of sentimentality. Sometimes it may come across as kitsch, but in a good sense. Because all feelings are kitsch.”