'Helium': The unbearable lightness of streaming

To many, it came to pass like flatulence — like a group of inconsiderate kids had let their anuses rip with a lot of bad air. Across message windows, online entries, and computer screens accommodating their huddling public, it wafted quickly, as most things do in the small world that is Manila and the smaller world that is Facebook. Within a month, the “first online reality drama series” introduced as

The Helium Club

had earned the discussion-worthy significance of a cult show — even before the airing of its first episode.   

TRAILER TRASH?

Not too shabby for a show whose trailer claims the “5 faces” that make up its cast will “take you to the edge” and “change Manila forever.” Such lines elicited a lot of “What the #%@!” responses to the hot air they circulated, especially with the rest of the absurdity that emerges in the trailer’s five minutes and 42 seconds. Under the flimsy umbrella statement of “Live side by side, the excess of our society’s newest youth powerhouse” was a voyeuristic montage of kids at work and play, engaging in “real conversations” that are supposed to urge passersby on Helium’s Facebook page to await the pilot.

All too real, maybe, with compelling scenarios that fall under flash words like “fashion,” “fame” and “fun”: two The Hills hopefuls by a bar, soberly discussing the pressures of having to “look good every single day”; an aspiring rapper-type signifying career pressure by flubbing rhymes during a studio recording; and a girl’s riveting account of having to hoard an entire inventory of Prada shoes at Rustan’s so as to ridicule a teacher’s strict shoe regulation (that’s as much as I could gather since her mile-per-minute rambling leaves little to comprehend).

For good measure, real relationship issues are also covered, thanks to some dude flirt-confronting — between spoonfuls of North Park soup — his girlfriend for “snooping on” his planner (God knows guys still rely on those things for Valentine’s plans), not to mention a sass-holy line by fashion blogger/bag muse Braynboy on how “cats are better than men.” All this amid rolling footage of city lights and club nights, a couple of cam-whoring moments, and a not-too-subtle song like Akon’s Troublemaker playing in the background. Basically, we’ve got a Laguna Beach-seasoned cast working the cameras for “reality,” so why are people getting all worked up over it? 

‘AIRHEADS’ WILL ROLL…

“I would understand (that) for such a fresh concept in the Philippines, (people) would be critical about every single aspect of it, but I feel like, give it a chance,” says Quinito Villarosa, the 19-year-old “creator and developer” of The Helium Club. “It’s hard dealing with a lot of bashings this early. How can you say so much from just five minutes that make up some of the scenes and not the entire full-length season?”

When the tossed ‘n’ turned 3 a.m. idea of matching up to MTV’s reality programming dawned on Quinito last August, he didn’t think the mission statement he’d scrawled on a table napkin would lead to such a mess of misunderstanding. Just when Chikatime’s scorched earth had become a far-off wasteland and Brian Gorrell had moved on to more pressing matters, a bunch of 18- to 21-year-old nobodies declaring somebody stature, a bit of hasty label-dropping, and some grammatical missteps had turned Helium into laughing gas the blog mob wanted a hit off of. “If this is satire, then it’s fricking brilliant!” Manila’s tour-de-force operator Carlos Celdran posted on his blog. Others wagged their finger at ever-reliable Filipino mimicry, while one Twitter update proclaimed the show evidence that the “apocalypse has begun.” And there was hitman-of-“high”-society Gorrell, of course, pointing pitchforks towards what his followers may swiftly dub Make Me a Gucci Gangster. 

“To set the record straight, the show is not about high society per se. I think it got branded an elite show ‘cause under five minutes, four luxury brands were name-dropped. No other show like that can be so real,” says Villarosa, whose desire to disperse Helium is simple: show the white man that despite the Philippines’ “terrorism-corruption-poverty” shtick in international media, some kids here are all right — and can purchase themselves a pretty good time as well. “They make such a big deal of the Philippines as a third-world nation. All I want is for the world to see that there is another side — people who can buy this stuff, have fun at these places, yung sinasabi nilang socialites of Manila. It may not be as good as people think, but we put these five as moral compasses. So if I’m a bitch you love to hate then don’t emulate my life, but don’t pretend you don’t know it. Everyone’s so afraid to tackle this socially-sensitive issue and for the first time, it’s there already.”    

Along with a lot of skin, bitch fights, and extravagance, Villarosa promises a spectrum of emotions exhibited by the show’s “5 faces” — or more, considering characters could be added or ditched as a season progresses. The trailer’s reckless buzz-phrases were to grab attention, the ad management undergrad admits. But what he’d like to direct everyone’s attention to now is each 10-minute webisode portraying “five different, radioactive, very erratic lives,” the ultra-light element helium representing how “special” each character is. JV, the resident Fil-Am has his own Making the Band-like drama to deal with as he records an R&B album; as opposed to Martin, who attempts to stray from the stereotypical douche-baggery of being an Alabang-bred jock. Kristine, on the other hand, has to thwart the “hoochie” reputation she gets as a club promoter, while Bianca’s just dandy juggling her party routine, diplomatic affairs course, and radio DJ-ing gig — a contrast to her small-town Cagayan de Oro roots.

Though surnames are omitted in the show, the only cast member defined by hers is Tara Tambunting. Accompanying the boldfaced pawnshop heritage is the extra-bold attitude: skipping college over for rock ‘n’ roll mic duties, eagerly asserting exclamation-point cleavage at events, and brazenly regaling both camera and company (Bryanboy included) with lines like, “Remember in ninth grade, you had the LV and I had the Chanel?”   

“Sa akin naka-direct most of the flak, di ba? There’s the fact na maarte ako — inaamin ko naman na maarte ako eh. The fact na feeling ako, inaamin ko naman na feeling ako eh, pero carry ko ang pagka-feeling ko,” Tara says, responding to online vultures who are quick to feed on her foibles but who’ll be the first to perch at their screens when the show airs. “Hindi naman sila manonood kung boring kami eh — people need an escape. Why do people watch mindless shit, right? But I feel worse for the other members ‘cause I remember how it was like in the beginning for me… but then reality check, what the hell did you expect from doing this?”    

It’s the right attitude to have in an online arena where absolutely nothing is sacred. Where a middle class kid “fascinated with the upper class” can go ahead and churn a web series out with the birthday cash his mom gave him, using Facebook to promote it. Even with deluded marketing and dialogue, shaky camerawork, and the presumption of being “in the scene,” Quinito represents the Net’s undying free-for-all spirit. And while everyone can most certainly be a critic when his show launches in May, the white man he speaks of might just be watching — and may even be entertained.

Search for The Helium Club on Facebook or log on to www.theheliumclub.com.