Sa Ngalan ng Ina (In the Name of the Mother, Mario O'Hara, Jon Red, 2011) fourth week

Some last thoughts on Sa Ngalan Ng Ina

(With revisions in the 12th, 13th and final paragraphs)

Been a week since Sa Ngalan ng Ina has closed, and have written many an article on the series, but have yet to fully digest the total experience. 

Won't stop me from trying. 

Did it achieve all that it set out to do? I don't think so. I think it set out to be a groundbreaking teleserye that married recent political mythology (the fall of the Marcos clan and rise of the Aquino clan) to full-blown Filipino melodrama. Along the way the political thread was dropped (at about the time both prodigal children (Alfonso (Alwyn Uytingco) and Andrea (Nadine Samonte)) Deogracias reconciled with their stepmother Elena (Nora Aunor)); villainness Lucia Ilustre (Rosanna Roces) started to focus on extralegal means to exact revenge on Elena; and political figures Apo (Leo Rialp) and Dorinda (Raquel Villavicencio) faded into the background. 

It was a pity, I thought; the political element grounded the melodrama, kept it linked not just to everyday reality, but to familiar everyday reality, freshly taken from headlines (the financial scandals; the leaked tape recordings; the deliveries and collection activities of drug gangs). I thought Elena--a naif when it came to political reality and proudly so--was starting to come into her own when she collaborated with her drug-lord stepson. Yes she was making arrests right and left, but this was at the expense of the empire Alfonso had carefully built; if he was to give all that up, he had to have demanded some kind of price, and I would have loved to have known just what (A sum of cash? Concessions to various lucrative but legal activities?). 

The reconciliation between Alfonso and Elena was beautifully done, and I as much as said so; I even hoped that despite the noble sentiments expressed Alfonso would struggle with temptation and perhaps experience a relapse, and Elena struggle with the prospect of arresting her son yet another time. But Alfonso's turned out to be a genuine change of heart, even a lasting one; Uytingco remained a consistently fine actor for the rest of the series but didn't ignite the screen the way he did the previous four weeks.

Elena's character suggested bits of ambivalence especially during the third and fourth week; besides running to Alfonso she delivered a particularly menacing threat to an underperforming police officer ("Remember I had my own son arrested--think what I'd do to someone outside my family!"); beyond that, the only indication that she was a less than perfect woman was when she admitted to fathering a child with Pepe Ilustre, played by Christopher De Leon (but then apparently half the women in the Philippines seem to want to do that--why should she be any different?).

Then there was the way Elena broke up Andrea's marriage to Ramoncito--I thought then that that was a masterstroke of hidden puppeteering, the loveliest touch being that Elena meant well, and acted exactly like a concerned, caring mother. But nothing more was made out of it, and Andrea never suspected, apparently; she became and remained till the end of the series a staunch Elena Deogracias supporter (here's to hoping she doesn't read this blog).

It wasn't quite (as I'd hoped at first) the Filipino equivalent of Robert Altman's Tanner '88: too many opportunities missed, too many plot threads simplified instead of rendered more complicated. Elena started out humble, ends up heroic at worst; Alfonso has the dramatic heart ripped out of him when he realized he wasn't eating his Aunt Pacita's humba. 

 Likewise Lucia--I would have loved to have seen her develop as a character, but then she decides to take the for me least interesting route: jealous housewife gone totally insane. Pretty much tossed her sometimes ingenious manipulation of media and law to the side when she decided to kidnap Elena; after that, her options were strictly limited, more of the Norma Desmond After Shooting Joe Gillis variety ("I'm ready for my closeup, Mr. DeMille!").  

The series' great theme, I thought, dealt with establishing boundaries: how one separates politics from family relationships, and vice versa. I had hoped the series would delve deeper into this issue, show how the various figures (Elena, Andrea, Pepe, Lucia, and in retrospect Amang) negotiated this division within their work, within themselves. 

Not really; in the final weeks the series devolved into a  struggle between two women (Elena and Lucia) for the love of a good man (Pepe Ilustre). Not a bad struggle to depict, but--it could have been something more (see paragraphs above).

But on that other complementary major theme--that the demands of politics and demands of family are often similar and easy to confuse, even interchange--I have to say the series is a howling success. Andrea and Lucia often personalize politics (Andrea by using her wedding as a promotional gimmick, Lucia by using her husband's emotional infidelity to justify her campaign against Elena), and I suppose it's to the credit of the writers (Dinno Erece, Jerry Gracio, Benedict Mique, Pamela Miras) that you see their gradual influence on Elena, on her eventual personalization of her politics (she bends the rules to forgive Alfonso, she learns to hate Lucia and call her a demon). Should the series have explored this further, shown how Elena may have changed her moral principles? Should there be a scene where someone tells her that she has changed her moral principles? At least one scene of self-examination, where she looks back and ruthlessly criticizes her brief career? Alas, we may never have that scene...

I might add that O'Hara adopted a similar approach in Bagong Hari, where the hero remained mostly heroic despite the darkness and corruption surrounding him. Possibly O'Hara didn't feel this was needed, then or now; that the plot was complex enough without adding complexities in the protagonist's nature. That the politician slowly corrupted by politics is too familiar a story, and what was needed was the story of someone fully engaged in politics but was not corrupted (as Marcos was), nor rendered ineffective by eventual circumstances (as Aquino eventually was). A middle way, if you like, with some necessary compromises made.

While the series largely dropped the politics in favor of melodrama, you had to admit it was superbly told melodrama--fast-paced, mostly understated, in its own observant way truthful. Lucia may have gone nuts, but she never devolves into anything less than human--she constantly touches on her primary motivation for doing what she does, her love of Pepe and daughter Carmela (Karel Marquez), her hatred of Elena (I keep thinking the hate tends to overshadow the love--or is it one face of the same coin?). When Lucia  surrenders to the police, director Jon Red gives her a magnificent send-off scene worthy of (inspired by?) Gloria Swanson's similar scene in Sunset Boulevard. No--this is better; writer-director Billy Wilder had frozen Norma Desmond's face into a Kabuki mask of insanity, with little human left in her (the mask cracks only towards  the end, and only to deliver a final childish cry of totally irrelevant, if passingly poignant, delight). 

Rosanna Roces starts out the opposite of frozen, her Lucia broken and alone, utterly defenseless, totally devastated; she looks into the mirror (her only witness) and--this is the magnificent part--somehow finds it in herself to slowly pick up a brush and start building up her face, slowly (in effect) pick up the shattered shards of her life, slowly piece together the ever formidable, endlessly invincible persona she had created for herself: Lucia Ilustre, daughter of a storied political family, wife of the region's former governor, leader of a major drug cartel,  powerful political force.

That's the drama, and excellent drama it is, too. What Mario O'Hara achieves with the Deogracias household (in contrast with the anguish in the Ilustre household) is, if possible even more impressive: he makes everyday happiness seem special. Kidnappings, killings and tortures; hair-pulling, shouting matches and confrontations--that's the very lifeblood of soap operas, what they thrive on. More difficult to do well are scenes of everyday life where nothing more dramatic is happening than, well, eating a meal. If, say, Lucia's surrender is the teleserye equivalent of an episode out of Victor Hugo or Dostoevsky, you might call the scenes in the Deogracias household--especially at this point in the series--the teleserye equivalent of Tolstoy, whose most unique achievement was the depiction of ordinary domestic life.

Nowhere is this better seen than in the shot where the Deogracias' manang (Lilia Cuntapay) is serving lunch. She pauses with the food, looks up, touches the arm of stepson Angelo (Edgar Allan Guzman); he looks in the same direction, touches Alfonso's arm; he looks in turn, touches Andrea's arm; she looks and smiles. The camera, which has been shifting from face to face to face, finally glides past all the faces to find Elena standing at one side of the room dressed in white, easily the first time she has done so in the series. The meaning is never spoken aloud but couldn't be more clear; she has stopped mourning the murder of her husband Amang (Bembol Roco) by Lucia; she's ready to move on. 

If Lucia's surrender moves us to pity (for her despair) and admiration (for her strength and dignity), Elena's (which isn't even a scene really, more like a brief shot) moves us ineffably with its simplicity and grace. After all she's been through--after the death of her husband, the stress of election, the strain of running a province, the sharp sting of her stepchildren's ingratitude; after being kidnapped and beaten and tortured in various imaginative ways; after all that, it's almost painful to see Elena in white, smiling her shy Aunor smile, her incomparable eyes twinkling with wordless joy. It's not just happiness it's hard-earned happiness, it's sunshine after what seemed like a month of neverending tears. After going through all that to finally arrive at this we can, perhaps, allow ourselves to respond with a few tears of our own.

That final meeting between Elena and Pepe--I know it's a concession to their fans, to see Nora Aunor and Christopher De Leon at least act out their fantasy of coming back together; it's also the playing out of an even unlikelier fantasy, where two rival political families (the Aquinos and the Marcoses) settle their differences and come together in a harmonious marriage. But I see a third interpretation: of a filmmaker and his acting muse coming together after decades apart, marveling at how they have survived all these years, marveling even more at being given the chance to work together again, and at such a high (if not the highest) level. No, this may not be the ending of our dreams--it doesn't have the teeth, in my book, or the tragic grandeur (I would have liked very much to have some tragic grandeur)--but it is ending enough, a capstone to one of the most memorable collaborations in Philippine cinema...

11.11.11 (revised 11.14.11)

Sa Ngalan ng Ina (In the Name of the Mother, Mario O'Hara, Jon Red), Week 4

Love in a Tupperware

Continued from Part 3

On wondering how Mario O'Hara and Jon Red's Sa Ngalan ng Ina (In the Name of the Mother, 2011) is unique to Philippine television--or to Filipino cinema, for that matter--one thinks of the expansive format (an hour every weekday, for one month, roughly twenty hours' running time), and the set limit (one month exactly, though recently there has been word that the series will run for an extra week). The format guarantees us complex storylines, rounded characters, a royal flush of grand performances, confrontations, dramatic climaxes; the limit assures us that the series will not go on and on recycling story plot points, stretching running time with pointless or repetitious dialogue, adding climax after climax after climax till the series has worn out its carefully cultivated sheen of credibility. If the series ends as originally envisioned, it should crescendo at the proper time, swiftly wrap everything up in a grand and intricate knot, leave us wishing for an extension however limited, not its swift and painless death. 

Easier said than done.

I've talked about how the series took recent political history (Marcos' powerful wife Imelda; Ninoy Aquino's martyrdom and his wife's rise to power) and used this as a jumping-off point to weave its own unique mythology: that of Elena Deogracias (Nora Aunor), widowed wife of Amang Deogracias (Bembol Roco), running against incumbent Pepe Ilustre (Christopher de Leon) for the office of governor of the province of Verano and somehow winning, the Cinderella of the ballot box. 

I've noted how for all its patriarchal trappings and show of Filipino machismo (the brothers Alfonso (Alwyn Uytingco) and Angelo (Edgar Allan Guzman) Deogracias, the shadowy Zaldy Sanchez (Ian De Leon, Aunor's real-life son), the show has really been a struggle for domination between two diametrically opposed women: Elena Deogracias and Lucia Ilustre (Rosanna Roces), wife of Pepe and true instigator of Amang's death. That this is really a duel between two actors with differing styles--Aunor with grim mouth and lustrous eyes, Roces with feline growl and eloquent body language. 

Aunor is the more experienced actress but cannot act in a vacuum; Roces, faced with a formidable opponent, steps up her game, proving time and time again to be a worthy adversary--one only has to cite their various confrontations, from the free-for-all on muddy fields to the catty remarks during a ribbon-cutting ceremony. More impressive are the various fulminating soliloquies Lucia delivers with regards to her diminutive foe. "I'm the hero of this story," she insists at one point, making explicitly metaphysical what she has been implicitly suggesting for the past fifteen or so episodes; Aunor replies with one of her eloquently intense glares.


Word has it that Aunor's vocal cords were damaged in a surgical accident, and that's a shame; you can hear the damage in the occasional hoarseness of her voice. But the directors of her scenes (mostly O'Hara, I hear) uses that hoarseness to her advantage--at times the voice suggests a woman tired beyond endurance, having lost a husband and gained an entire province to care for; at other times the voice suggests a woman so choked up by emotion it comes out rough, grated, as if torn from her throat. 

The voice problem also suggests how the director can handle her in large crowd scenes--by posing her against a background of heightened emotion (a sea of wailing faces, say) against which she often serves as dramatically still center (see Amang's death, or Alfonso's surrender). This also shapes her approach to her character--that Elena is a woman constantly suppressing her feelings, biting her tongue, the classic stereotypical Filipina with superhuman self-control, who often lulls other into off-balanced complacency thinking she won't fight back (see Apo (Leo Rialp), the party leader; Dorinda (Raquel Villavicencio) the vice-governor; later Lucia herself). Her Elena delivers few soliloquies, but her actions time and time again (her handling of the tape-recording scandal; her response to the death of Pacita (Eugene Domingo), her sister and close adviser) speak pages of a political challenger willing and able to match Lucia's veteran chess master.
   

I've also mentioned how the writers (Dinno Erece, Jerry Gracio, Benedict Mique, Pamela Miras) have cleverly weaved into the storyline allusions from series' star Nora Aunor's own film career, from the classic tandem of Bembol, Christopher, and Nora (the same casting used in O'Hara's own Tatlong Taong Walang Diyos (Three Years without God, 1976)) to her own uncomfortable yet affectionate dealings with De Leon's Pepe Ilustre (a sly nod to the actors' own failed marriage and complicated shared past).

I love how the characters actually undergo change over the course of the series, perhaps the most dramatic being Uytingco's Alfonso Deogracias, Elena's drug-kingpin stepson. What makes his narrative arc so satisfying is that he makes both a convincingly defiant prodigal son and an equally passionate repentant sinner. Nadine Samonte's Mayor Andrea Deogracias hasn't been able to make her villainous mayor all that distinctive in her villainy, but the young woman does hurt and vulnerability very well--when she calls out for her stepmother, it sounds and feels like a true crie de coeur.

Perhaps a subtler metamorphosis can be found in Christopher De Leon's Pepe Ilustre. His wheel-chair bound political veteran at first seemed meant to allude to everything from the sinister Dr. Strangelove to the heroic Ron Kovic, but the figure he eventually resembles is Carlito Brigante--like Carlito he finds himself nose-deep in politics; like Carlito he seeks a way out, here finding it embodied in his political opponent. 

One can do a psychological case study on the man: from energetic campaigning as electoral contestant to hurt sullenness as defeated candidate to quietly heartfelt supporter of his nemesis the character of Pepe Ilustre feels many-faceted, patiently drawn, complete. Every time he gives Elena help it's made explicit what the consequences will be to his own political power and long-amassed family fortune, and he dismisses the issue with casual cheer; he has a heavy debt to pay. De Leon manages to suggest a man fully aware of the burden imposed by his many sins in a too-long political career; one senses in his introverted, understated performance a man who has felt trapped in the maze-like hallways of power, and has finally sniffed a way out--not easy, not quickly realized, but something he can work on with patience and determination. 

Then there's the notion of food--in particular Filipino comfort food (we like Hobbits do love our meals--from agahan (breakfast) to tanghalian (lunch) to merienda (afternoon snack) to hapunan (dinner)). I've complained since time immemorial that food is one major aspect of Filipino culture that has been sadly ignored by our films; at most the scriptwriter throws in a few lines: "Eat that, I prepared that, it should be delicious," or a mother will say: "have you eaten, child? I've prepared your favorite dish..." not of course bothering to mention what dish has been prepared and how, and what relevance all this could have on the film's story. 

Not quite so with Sa Ngalan ng Ina. Almost every major scene has either the Deogracias or Ilustres talking over a meal; a crucial scene has Alfonso bonding with Pacita over a meal of humba (pork in pineapple sauce)--one major reason Alfonso is so fond of her (as opposed to his stepmother Elena) is that she makes the humble yet delicious comfort meal exactly the way he likes it. Later, when Pacita is killed and he goes into hiding in defiance of his stepmother, his young brother brings him a small Tupperware container from Elena. Alfonso plucks out a piece of pork and tastes it. "Ah," he says, "so she's learned to cook like her sister. This is just like Pacita's cooking." 

Angelo laughs. "Elena has been cooking this for you all along. Pacita is allergic to pineapple." Alfonso looks down on the container of pork and--love this gesture--whips off his sunglasses to take a better look. He has this brief twisted expression--as if the piece of pork he had just eaten had turned into a lump of live coal in his belly--and informs Angelo that he wants to surrender. 

So there you have it--a major turning point has just occurred, and over a piece of pork! Crazy? Nonsensical? When you think about it, aren't we Filipinos driven not so much by our hearts but by our stomachs, the strongest emotional call being from our favorite childhood dishes? Isn't a mother's care most clearly expressed through her cooking, and isn't her most secret, most powerful ingredient the love she puts into her dishes? And isn't this sentiment the kind found--unspoken, unremarked, but nevertheless securely, unmistakably there--at the heart of every Filipino?

Alfonso's spectacular surrender--a major setpiece by Jon Red--has all of the series's major dramatic guns firing. Dozens of extras; a fleet of police vehicles with flashing lights; TV vans and reporters; a brief statement from the fugitive as he is handcuffed; a heartfelt hug of reconciliation with his mother. What makes the scene, however, is a throwaway gesture from Elena where she turns away and mostly unnoticed by everyone (except us) wipes away a tear. Again Aunor, doing what she does best--with all the turmoil around her she performs a quiet little gesture and simply but surely steals our hearts.

Later is a scene almost as moving--and Aunor doesn't even do a thing. Andrea has had a miscarriage; a series of dissolves (faultlessly timed by O'Hara, I'm told) shows Elena faithfully watching over her as she sleeps in a hospital bed. She wakes up and finds Elena, exhausted, asleep by her side. Simplest of gestures, really, for Andrea to lift up her hand and stroke Elena's sleeping head--but it's easily Nadine Samonte's finest, most tender moment as an actress.

Then there's the confrontation between the incarcerated Alfonso and Elena, sitting together in a near-bare set (one wonders if it is a set--looks like an everyday room dressed at the last moment to stand in for the city jail's visiting area). The scene starts simply enough, with just ambient sound in the background (none of that teleserye music they're so fond of pouring over almost every scene): Alfonso, standing, tells her that one of his men will keep feeding her office information. They both act shyly, unable to look at each other; unnoticed by Alfonso, Elena lays out a Tupperware container. 

Alfonso asks about Angelo (he had shot his younger brother by accident, while aiming for Pepe Ilustre); Elena says he's fine. You hear the krikk! of Tupperware lids being fussed with. Alfonso turns at the sound and for the first time looks at Elena "You're ruining my reputation," he tells her, referring to the way he's being pampered in prison. At this point Red (with the help of composer Carmina Cuya) introduces music with a few hesitant notes from a piano (a welcome change, that--using actual instruments instead of a generic synthesizer). 

Alfonso informs Elena that he knows Pacita was allergic to pineapple. She seems to accept the full implication of this (that he knows she's been cooking his humba all along). Red (with diabolical timing) starts the theme proper when she says the line 'it's your favorite dish"--a cliche thing to say, but here somehow perfectly appropriate (she's earned the right, so to speak, to use the line). When Elena tells him she loves all her children including him, Alfonso's face twists and he asks in an agonized whisper: "Why?"

Two things come to mind when viewing this scene. One thinks of the voluptuous sense of dread a torturer creates in his victim--sometimes it's the anticipation of pain rather than actual application  that feels not just agonizing, but exquisite (pain so intense it's perceived as pleasure). I'd have sworn O'Hara directed this, but Red--well, my respect for his abilities has multiplied, tenfold, after  this. 

One also thinks of the moment in Akira Kurosawa's High and Low, where the kidnapper (Tsutomu Yamazaki) declares himself unafraid of the possibility of hell--but is terrified at the prospect of heaven. Uytingco's Alfonso is in a similar bind; he's perfectly willing to go to hell for his sins, but the possibility of being loved unconditionally churns inside him like a knife in the gut. Aunor's dark eyes accept what he expresses absolutely and without judgment--they are a vast bottomless lake, as awesome (and frankly terrifying) a vision of mother's love as anything I've ever seen. 

I say 'terrifying' because this love while pure, isn't purely goodness. Alfonso has many crimes under his belt, crimes that Elena seems perfectly willing to overlook in her zeal to welcome him back (he's responsible for the torture and death of Amang's bomb-thrower for example--and later we learn that the man wasn't as guilty as we first thought). There are implications to Aunor's heroic motherhood, some of them not as saintly in nature as we might initially assume--her capacity for inspiring fanaticism, for one (particularly in Alfonso, the most violent member of her clan); her insistence on professionalism in governance being another, of separating family ties from government affiliation (said principle having apparently been watered down or compromised, if not fallen by the wayside).

If the series ended here or not long after (and in the next episode there were indications of where the series might have been headed prior to concluding), this could easily have been declared a major work not just of Filipino entertainment, but of art; politics and family fused into a popular art form, one illuminating its complex, corrupting influence on the other--that, it seemed, was this teleserye's grand theme. Elena's kidnapping and subsequent torture by Zaldy and Lucia seems to derail all that--suddenly Lucia isn't as plausible a monster anymore; suddenly the episodes are saddled with scenes of Elena's children weeping and gnashing teeth, praying for her safety. Were the writers caught off-guard when the extension was announced? Did they have to inject some makeshift work, add filler to meet deadlines? I don't know; all I know is if the series ends as is, capped with this  inconsistent hiccup, it'll merely be one of the better teleserye yet produced, when I'm hoping it's the best thing--on TV or on the big screen--I'd seen all year.


Well, they have another week to recover. Here's hoping for the best. 


11.3.11

Sa Ngalan ng Ina (In the Name of the Mother, Mario O'Hara, Jon Red, 2011) Part 2 of 2

Best of the year, arguably (Part 2)

Cont'd from previous part:

Then Alfonso accidentally wounds Angelo, and is wracked with guilt; Andrea is abandoned at her wedding, and the mayor's steely facade suddenly shatters; Lucia berates Pepe for his secret trysts. The villains show different sides to themselves, are suddenly made more human to us. It's not magic; we are merely shown their hidden reasons for being who they are. Alfonso (the volatile, intensely watchable Alwyn Uytingco) does what he does partly because he hates Elena for supplanting his mother; Andrea (Nadine Samonte, who as an actress seemed dull and inadquate, but ever since her failed wedding has stepped the intensity up considerably) is all about ambition, but is not beyond being hurt. Lucia (a variation on 'Lucrezia,' not to mention having some assonant resemblance with the name 'Imelda') for all her venom and hate genuinely loves Pepe, and will do almost anything to keep him and her daughter. An especially lovely scene has her and her lover--a trusted flunky in the Deogracias family--asking him for details: is Elena a good person? Do the children love her? Was she happy with her husband? We realize that she's trying to compare notes, trying to find out just how much better the homelife of the competition is, just how utterly she has failed as wife and mother.

We learn that those who fight on the side of angels have their own warts. Angelo the dully perfect police officer hero seems to be playing Carmela against Elsa, and refusing to entertain only one girl. Pepe--possibly the most richly written and ambiguous of characters--is emotionally unfaithful to his wife (who to be fair can hardly be considered the model for marital fidelity). Pacita shows a bit of temper (Alfonso who loves Pacita and not Elena, who treats the younger sister as his adopted mother, seems to have inherited this trait, though the two are not blood relatives). Even mild-mannered Elsa shows fangs, as when a death in the family causes her to assault an innocent visitor--to Deogracias or Ilustre family is all, though Elena the elected official may insist otherwise.

One cannot entirely escape one's instincts, however; in the final minutes of the final episode of this week Elena, backed into a metaphorical corner, decides: “We need Alfonso.” Even if he's a refugee from the law guilty of any number of crimes she can't ignore family, not always, not entirely.

Saint Elena has her less-than-saintly moments, and a good thing too--adds dimension to her character. She can seem insufferably self-righteous, constantly demanding that people live up to her high standards, and it rubs others the wrong way. She doesn't seem at all familiar with the idea that politics is the art of compromise (a crucial survival skill). And there's this: just before Andrea gets married, Elena is visited by Ramoncito. Not a long visit, but long enough for Elena to have a heart-to-heart talk with him. He abandons Andrea at the wedding aisle shortly after.

Did Elena poison Andrea for her future husband? The question she asked--if Andrea really loved him--wasn't she aware of the possible effect those words would have on him? Granted we saw the exchange, and we could clearly see that Elena was talking out of sincere concern--isn't that the best, most unimpeachable way to strike at one's enemy, from a position of moral superiority? Suddenly Elena doesn't seem all that innocent; suddenly she seems more capable, more believable as governor, and you wonder if maybe not all the accusations Andrea, Alfonso, and Lucia have leveled against her are blatant lies.

Directors Mario O'Hara and Jon Red, working on scripts by Dinno Erece, Jerry Gracio, Benedict Mique, and Pamela Miras, have in effect re-told Philippine history of the past thirty years. The Deogracias and the Ilustres, like the Aquinos and Marcoses in real life, come to represent Filipino society at its worst and finest, a trick of perspective O'Hara has used before in his noir masterpiece Bagong Hari (The New King, 1986), where an alternate-history province stood in for the real Manila, its classy governess for Ms. Marcos (who at one point was governess of Metro Manila),  its often baroque and at times unwatchable violence lifted directly from anecdotes of the era.

Television is reportedly a writer's medium, and the aforementioned writers did an astonishing job, telling the story of around a dozen characters over a period of several months (not an especially wide scope, but the level of detail involved is intimidating); it helps that O'Hara doesn't attend the story conferences developing the plot lines but does rewrite the script when it arrives on the set, helping keep the dialogue effective and real (or as real as possible within the confines of melodrama). All that said, the two directors helming the project do an amazing job of keeping the series visually distinct. O'Hara's classic style (John Ford by way of Gerardo de Leon) makes for an interesting contrast against Red's young-punk style (Leone by way of Johnny To, I'm guessing, with the occasional homage to Paul Greengrass). Red deals mainly with the younger cast, and his restless, flashy camera reflects their restless, flashy acting style; O'Hara's stoic understatement, on the other hand, perfectly complements Aunor and de Leon--in their scenes together you sense a serenity and quiet intimacy that comes from years of having known each other, worked with each other, at one point even loved one another.

Best television you're likely to see this year? I don't know; I haven't had a chance to watch much Filipino TV (asking around, people do tell me it is). I can say this much: it's the best storytelling I've seen this year to date, and that includes everything released this year on the big screen--Hollywood, independent, international.

The series continues for one more week in October at TV5; the previous episodes are available for online streaming (there are roughly ten episodes to catch up with). If you're at all interested in what Aunor or O'Hara (arguably the two finest Filipino artists alive, in their first major collaboration in over twenty years) are up to, or if you only want some sharp and intelligent storytelling--in this case an imaginatively entertaining re-telling of our history of the past three decades--you could do worse than to watch this. Highly recommended.

Next: Week 4

First published in Businessworld, 10.27.11

Sa Ngalan ng Ina (In the Name of the Mother, Mario O'Hara): third week

Best of the year, arguably

(Cont'd from Part 1)

It had been some time in the making. Nora Aunor, on self-imposed exile for something like eight years, was rumored late last year to be coming home. The rumors persisted for months, to the point that no one quite believed she would be flying back till she actually stood there in August, on Philippine soil.

Things moved fast after that; TV5 had a deal with her to do a miniseries, or in the local jargon a teleserye; Mario O'Hara was rumored to direct. A large cast was assembled; this was TV5's first attempt at such a creature, and they apparently were to spare no expense. About a month before its October broadcast, Jon Red was attached to the project as co-director. Unlike other similar efforts, this apparently was to end after a month--it would come, introduce its storylines, and end. No extensions, no outstaying its welcome (the main reason why quality drops, apparently,).

The series opened October 3 to loud media fanfare; it was to be nothing more and nothing less than a sprawling political melodrama, not unlike--well, it's difficult to think of something, anything, it even remotely resembles. I remember hearing of Peque Gallaga's Cebu back in the '90s and in the mid-2000s--the shows were reportedly memorable for the dialogue, acting, production design (most if not all of Gallaga's films have excellent production design); I heard of Chito Rono's Davao, which does for that southern city what Gallaga's does for Cebu. Both are oft compared to Dallas or Dynasty--well-written potboilers done in high style.

Politics often lightly touches Filipino melodramas, and occasionally there'll be a character running for office, but never to my limited knowledge has an entire series been devoted to an election and its elected official's subsequent administration. One thinks not of Dallas, but of Altman's Tanner '88--sophisticated satire where Altman veteran Michael Murphy poses as a political candidate that, in his deadpan seriousness, comes uncomfortably close to resembling the posture of actual candidates (what's pose and what's real then?). Sa Ngalan ng Ina on the other hand is a full-speed-ahead melodrama, all tears and screaming and hair-pulling mixed with backroom intrigues and lurid affairs, plus the occasional assassination attempt. A garish mix of pathos and the grotesque, the Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus crossed with a small-town fiesta--much like a real Filipino-style election, when you think about it (the series' spirit if not tone connects it to Altman's work more than might be expected).

The series won high praise, but only modest ratings--it didn't pull in the general audience. Watching it, you wonder if it ever could, or was even meant to. Politics despite its tendency to inspire eccentric or even obsessive behavior, has never been popular television fare in the Philippines (or anywhere else, actually); leastwise, people seem to prefer practicing than watching it. For all its plot twists and tearjerking moments, this teleserye does keep a careful eye on the actual politics, the endless fundraising and shifting alliances, the nuts and bolts of administering a local government--one subplot involves the siphoning of provincial treasury funds into a rice stockpile; another traces money meant to buy farm equipment handed over to local mayors.

The series is different because it's about something--the struggle between rival political dynasties; how personal life affects public life; so on and so forth. TV audiences possibly aren't used to this much substance and complexity in prime time--it whizzes over their heads. Or rather, I suspect, it doesn't; they know exactly what's going on. They've seen too much of the shenanigans of real dynasties (the Aquinos, the Marcoses, the Macapagals) to want to watch it realized, however brilliantly, on the small screen (call it “The Tanner Effect”--low ratings due to inspired mimicry).

The first week followed a classic story: aspiring gubernatorial candidate Amang Deogracias (Bembol Roco) is assassinated under orders of Lucia Ilustre (Rosanna Roces), wife of incumbent governor Pepe Ilustre (Christopher De Leon); Amang's wife Elena Deogracias (Nora Aunor) runs in her husband's place, and wins the election. The story is fairy-tale fantastic (a housewife for governor?) and by all rights laughable, only it closely follows the actual career of Corazon Aquino, who ran in place of her husband Ninoy against arch-rival and long-time president Ferdinand Marcos (alongside his infamous wife Imelda), and won. Aside from transposing national events to the size and scale of provincial politics (the province of Verano standing in for the Philippines, the town of Salvacion standing in for the country's capital Manila, the office of governor representing that of president)--so far so faithful.

Then the real creativity comes in. Elena has to run her administration the same time she has to administer her four children: stepson Alfonso (Alwyn Uytingo), a hotheaded drug lord; younger stepson Angelo (Edgar Allan Guzman), a police officer; stepdaughter Andrea (Nadine Sarmonte), a local mayor, and Elsa Toribio (Eula Caballero), Elena's daughter out of wedlock. Alfonso is arrested under Elena's orders, and escapes with the help of Andrea; Elena orders a manhunt for Alfonso and an investigation of Andrea, earning their unending enmity.

Angelo and the Ilustre's only daughter Carmela (Karel Marquez) are sweethearts, though Elsa is also in love with Angelo; Andrea plans to marry Ramoncito (Joross Gamboa), who pretty much acts like her heroic manservant / wash rag. Lucia despite being married is conducting an affair--her husband Pepe is paralyzed from waist down, and is confined to a wheelchair, unable to perform his marital duties. Of all the major factions Elena stands alone, with only her daughter Elsa, her younger stepson Angelo and her sister Pacita Toribio (Eugene Domingo) giving moral support and (on Pacita's part) the occasional commonsense advice; against her stand Pepe and Lucia's politically powerful family, two of her own children (Andrea and Alfonso) with their own respective groups and resources, and eventually her own political party (investigating fellow party members for corruption (the farm equipment scandal) did not win her friends). With her is a secret ally--former governor Pepe Ilustre, who as it turns out was Elena's former sweetheart.

The situation is akin to housewife Cory running against the Marcoses' powerful political machinery, only Ferdinand has been harboring a secret crush on her all along. The idea seems to play off on the implausible nature of Filipino politics, where personality counts far more than policy, a man's ties--social, familial, amorous--and not his time or actions in office define him, and theater--a good storyline in particular--is all. Your stepson a drug lord, your other stepson a cop? A former lover your secret ally? Why not? We're taking Filipino politics to the next level: politics  intensified, to the speed and complexity of television melodrama. Call it Filipino hyperpolitics.

Likewise with the characterization. Many of the characters' names are thuddingly obvious--'Angelo' for for what seems to be the province's only good and honest cop; 'Dorinda' (a 'komiks' name if ever there was one, usually a villainess at that) for Elena's vice-mayor; 'Deogracias' meaning 'grace of God' (Elena is only a novena short of sainthood status, it seems). For the first week all the characters play classic types: Alfonso is a hot-headed wild card, Andrea a bitchy manipulator; Lucia is a larger-than-life villainess complete with cunning machinations and chilling monologues (there's a memorable moment where a man is tortured and killed and she sits in her vehicle not a hundred feet away, murmuring lazy sentiments about snakes, and the satisfaction of crushing their skulls underfoot). She's like a cross between Lucrezia Borgia and her immediate inspiration, Imelda Marcos (whose native-style gowns and high-seated hairbuns she deliberately imitates).

Next week: Best of the year arguably, next part 

First published in Businessworld, 10.24.11