MANILA, Philippines - He was laughing. It was an infectious, almost breathless laughter reminiscent of someone with asthma. He took a moment to compose himself before taking another drag from his cigarette and a quick sip from his tall Americano. For someone whose schedule is as hectic as his, Chris Martinez certainly did not look fazed or tired. Lax behind his nerdy glasses, purple v-neck, and black cardigan, he blended right in with the yuppies hanging out at the coffee shop. “Inabutan mo ba ang Betamax?” he jokingly asked me from across the table. It was a question very telling of his age.
Already in his late thirties, Chris can still be considered a newbie filmmaker with only three titles under his belt. But that’s only considering the ones he directed, namely 100, Here Comes the Bride, and the post-apocalyptic sex comedy Gunaw, the third part of My Valentine Girls. He’s been writing movies since 2004 for big time directors like Chito Roño (Sukob, Caregiver), Joyce Bernal (Kimmy Dora), and Jeffrey Jeturian (Bridal Shower, Bikini Open). He’s also been churning out stage plays since his days in the UP Repertory, three of which have been honored with the illustrious Palanca award. On top of these impressive resume entries, he also directs TV commercials and does some production work on the side. All of these seem overwhelming considering that, a few years ago, he spent his days doing absolutely nothing.
“I worked for production houses at marami kaming directors... I would cry… seryoso, umiiyak ako kasi wala akong projects. Wala akong ginawa kung hindi mag-gym at manood ng Project Runway at Top Chef sa TV. It was frustrating because I really wanted to direct. I was trying to break in.”
That big break finally came in 2008 when he and friend Marlon Rivera decided to enter Cinemalaya with the film 100, a story about a dying woman and her bucket list. The movie became an instant crowd favorite and was given the Audience Choice award, besides winning Best Screenplay and Best Director. The same year it also took home trophies from the Vesoul Asian and Pusan Film Festivals.
“100 changed everything,” he said. Not only did the movie open doors for him as a director, it also opened his eyes to how people saw us a country. “2009 became a year of traveling and going to film festivals. When we toured the film abroad, nagulat sila. Foreigners aren’t used to seeing Filipinos living in condos. Akala nila nakatira tayo sa basura.” Again, Chris laughed, finding something funny in the absurd. This is apparently a family trait.
“We’re a noisy bunch… It’s always a lively occasion when we get together. Everything becomes a joke lalo na over the dinner table. Even my grandparents always had punch lines. Everything becomes light. Even if we talk about heavy stuff, we always find humor in it. Siguro kaya ako nahilig sa comedy, because I’ve been surrounded by these people all my life?” Perhaps it was this inherited hilarity of his that attracted more humor into his life, humor in the form of a woman Chris lovingly calls “Uge.”
It was during sophomore year when he met her. He was already an actor for the UP Repertory, and she was a young applicant named Eugene Domingo. As most applicants usually to do to get in, she started buttering him up by buying him food and taking care of his props and costumes until she became a member who would eventually overshadow Chris. Her acting prowess made her ascend the ranks rather quick. Soon enough, it was he who was stitching sequins on her shoes. Yes, these were the beginnings of a beautiful non-abusive lifelong friendship.
It now comes as no surprise that most of Chris’s projects have Eugene in them. “She’s my muse, my Mia Farrow. Most of the plays and films I’ve written, I wrote for her or sometimes with her in mind.” Chris said that she’ll also be starring in his Cinemalaya entry this year, Ang Babae sa Septic Tank, a satire on the independent film industry in the Philippines.
Now it shouldn’t be misconstrued that he’s taking sides between the unending indie vs. mainstream debate. He isn’t. Having experienced the best and worst of both worlds in local cinema has taught him that it’s all about aspirations. What he sets his mind on he tries his best to achieve. And so far, he’s doing really well in making other people laugh.
Looking at Chris’s briskly growing repertoire, it’s easy to dismiss him as just “the funny guy.” His brand of comedy strikes that perfect balance between camp and sarcasm, that it’s almost impossible not to leave the theater in knots. But once you get past the initial ha-ha-has, you’ll see that there’s more to his stories than mere entertainment. Bikini Open exposed our trivial quests for success. 100 made us face our own mortality. Here Comes the Bride revealed our dissatisfactions with our own lives. Comedy in Chris’s hands becomes the vehicle to inject insight, making you think as you laugh. For him, “comedy is a serious matter that shouldn’t be taken lightly, but should be treated with respect.”
As our conversation came to a close, he finished his final stick, and emptied his paper cup. Though he still had things to rush and deadlines to meet, he still greeted me with the same smile he had when we met. Despite the slumps he’s had in life, he still carries on with that same infectious laugh. Chris Martinez is indeed a man of humor.