by Louie Pelingen | Dec 23, 2025
Written by Louis Pelingen
Note: Spoilers Ahead.
Back in 2023, the lauded praise of Gitling was a sight to behold. The sort of film whose attention is gradually spread around, winning awards and applause from critics and audience alike. Creating so much hype that just by looking at the local film circles shouting for theatrical screenings or digital streaming releases, such demands just never stop, only creating more ripples as time goes on. Thus, 2 years have passed, and now, through Juanflix, Gitling has finally been pushed. The anticipation has finally met with a glowing reward.
The film’s emphasis on language and communication is immediately introduced within the very first seconds, showcasing the multiple languages that will be utilized throughout the film. Their own assigned colors reflect through Mycko David’s grounded cinematography. Still shots always permeate, with color palettes that firmly add tasteful beauty to the conversations between the Filipino translator, Jamie Lazaro (Gabby Padilla), and the Japanese filmmaker, Makoto Kanno (Ken Yamamura), being displayed onscreen. Observing how these two characters slowly bond, adjusting their languages from time to time as a means of knowing one another.
Interactions between Jamie and Makoto are understated; barriers between their conversations are riddled with subtitles, allowing the audience to pay more attention to the experiences these two have gone through in their lives as they remain alone within the hushed fields of Bacolod. The past romance that is crushed through their very circumstances, questions in their lives that they still haven’t answered, and conflicts in their current happenings that they always discuss… Yet brushed aside when it starts to get closer to their purview.
At first glance, there is an intention to this characteristic of silent distance. Even going so far as add meta-text to how it is not just these two characters trying to understand their dilemmas within understanding the conflicts within their past relationships, but it echoes towards the audience and critics that may have more than one interpretation of how they might understand the messaging and framing of the scenes being played out in films, and the intent of the director that can obfuscate or invite them to what they want to exactly reveal. It’s why, on the surface, the blunt subtlety becomes a purpose, especially in terms of making Gitling’s overall messaging become clear-cut to one message that everybody can understand.
Yet, all over the film, there is this constant frustration in how Jopy Arnaldo’s screenplay becomes emotionally and thematically more dull the more time these conversations fly by. Language in this case becomes a device that paradoxically does not serve more of what these characters or the plot try to express. Heavily reliant on the dialogue to the point that the visual storytelling is subsided to a fault, where even if the ‘tell not show’ format becomes an argument to the barrier that comes in Jamie and Makoto understanding each other, it also ends up being a distancing effect to the viewer themselves. Always stationary and grounded, where there’s only so much that this dialogue-heavy approach can offer when there’s not much in the way of imagery or emotion being built up in all the nuance being laid down.
The film also runs into the problem of dropping crumbs of interesting ideas, but never exactly focusing on them. The balancing act between the examination of tension that underscores Jamie and Makoto’s lives and the reasonable yet shallow literary and film reference points to accentuate the meta-text becomes disjointed. The made-up language that gets introduced later in the film as a way for these characters to bond over language never takes over, just placed down as a cute add-on. And the sense of yearning that the film aims to showcase never blooms at all, relying so much on the stale scriptwriting that Gabby Padilla and Ken Yamamura’s potent performances try so hard to uplift, yet when the blunt direction doesn’t allow the emotions to manifest on screen, even their acting just couldn’t inform the yearning being placed on its literal text.
It does not help matters that the film constantly creates nods and references to this specific brand of subtle and dreamlike asian filmmaking sensibilities that others before it have done more effectively (Wong Kar Wai and Hirokazu Kore-Eda come to mind), something that the extremely kitschy score and the overtly tasteful cinematography end up being a flagrant sin. Chamber instrumentation forces itself into the scenes that do not amplify its feelings and ends up becoming infuriatingly needless, and vibrant colors and still shots that may look pretty, but when paired with the script itself, they become headscratchingly tacky. Easily made for creating a moodboard for aesthetic consumption, and never adding impact to the plot itself.
There is a point in the film where Makoto Kanno explains why he let his film become silent on its last leg, explaining how the insertion of subtitles internalizes the thoughts of his characters, the need for exact understanding is there to bear. It’s a moment of needing to have clarity on what his characters express, a reflection of his own identity whose overwhelming thoughts wander and land elsewhere. A moment of meta-text that, while intriguing, becomes underwhelming when applied to Gitling itself. Not just through introducing it late in the film, but also sparingly placing them within scenes that don’t really benefit them.
It’s a headscratcher having to put on those frustrations, because there is no denying that Gitling carries a well of charged potential that comes from its essential ideas. The meta-commentary surrounding mutual understanding is paralleled within its subtitles and silence that’s deliberate in showcasing what Jamie and Makoto really feel. An observation of their reserved reality that is still presented with a semblance of colors, where, despite the muted tension that these characters carry in their relationships, their simple exchanges surrounding their interest in film, literature, and language share more meaning in the world than any sort of visual symbolism that can be placed elsewhere. There is something worth looking for here, a gateway film for those who are still new to this brand of low-key, moody Asian filmmaking that mentions other adjacent films, which can further deepen their appreciation for them. And given that it is streaming on Juanflix, at the very least, that accessibility can lead them to more films worth checking out as well.
But in short, personally, Gitling is a film whose initially fascinating concept runs so long, yet it doesn’t do much to further capitalize on its essence. Language within dialogue is blunt yet also limiting; emphasis on the emotions inhabiting Jamie and Makoto doesn’t come off as enrapturing, and replication of Asian filmmaking aesthetics becomes less effective, more inert. It might sound and look pretty in the distance, but look even closer, and the mood it nurtures unfortunately just falls flat. Its language is completely understood, but it speaks without feeling. That itself hurts more.
by Sami Salazar | Sep 19, 2025
Written by Louis Pelingen
Note: Spoilers Ahead.
‘Some Nights I Feel Like Walking’, the recently screened film by Petersen Vargas, is inhabited by queer street hustlers who’ll do anything to survive. Cruising in whatever establishments are available for them and participating in paid dates to earn their keep, situations rife with ecstasy where drugs are in high supply and naked bodies are vulnerably exposed, a heightened risk that shunned and isolated queer men have to accept. It is the reality that these lost souls undergo within the shadowy place of Manila, always engaging in other men’s lust despite acknowledging how temporary it all is. After all, lust can be easily felt, but intimacy is a gradual process that needs to be earned.
This general setup is tested when one of Uno’s (Jomari Angeles) closest friends, Miguelito (Gold Aceron), dies due to a drug overdose given by a reckless male client. A sudden incident that requires being faced under pressure. Uno, his other friends, and his newfound companion, Zion (Miguel Odron), now have to travel to the province to accomplish Miguelito’s final wish: to take him back to his home.
Across the film, it is within the performances of the main cast that harness the essence of queer bond. From Uno’s deliberate leadership, Bayani’s (Argel Saycon) protective demeanor, Rush’s (Tommy Alejandrino) emotive essence, and Zion’s shy yet methodical assistance are a dynamic that bounces off with another. They are the connective tissues that keep the film together, where moments of trust, disruption, and intimacy amongst one another unfold in insightful ways.
Of course, the technical aspects also add to the film’s overall beauty. Gorgeously lit lighting adds gloss to Russel Morton’s shots of the bodies and the faces sighted under the nocturnal settings of Manila and beyond; bursts of jaunty budots, darkly tinged beats, and shimmering electronica by Aly and Moe Cabral add a spectral flair to the intimate and the emotional; Eddie Huang’s focused sound design can be heard across subtle splashes of water, sharp footsteps, and crackles of fire that simultaneously soothes and snares the relationships between the cast.
Yet, for as much as the film is enraptured by the performances and all that technical detail, it’s diluted by how the film progresses. The road trip to Miguelito’s province becomes a bump to the first half’s gutwrenching grief. Dreamy sequences that are pretty to look at become diffused from the overall structure. The third act’s bold long take finds Zion and Uno in the space of the metaphysical and the physical, yet certain set pieces are engrossing when they tie into the film’s emotional thesis. Parsing through multiple stripes of amorphous backdrops that it never capitalizes on creating stronger connections to the characters themselves. An aspect that’s chained bit by bit, yet only clicks the most with the ending, where finally, the main ensemble lets go of their deceased friend in both the literal and the metaphorical sense. Their bonds become ever closer through the warm hug that they huddle into. Within this moment, their bodies are theirs to cherish, yet still willing to extend their tenderness to the bonds they’ve made with one another.
It is this conflicting dichotomy of the presentation and the structure that leaves ‘Some Nights I Feel Like Walking’ colder than it should be. Carried by eye-capturing performances, alongside scintillating visual and auditory design, but is held back by plot choices that distance the emotional resonance from themes of queer camaraderie and naked embrace of closeness that these queer men have with one another. It’s a flame whose heat should go bigger and brighter, but instead, its warmth only frustratingly stagnates till the very end.
by Sami Salazar | Sep 14, 2025
Written by: Louis Pelingen
Note: Spoilers Ahead.
DK and Hugh Welchman made a big name for themselves when they released Loving Vincent back in 2017, a technical marvel in animation due to how it achieved the daunting task: turning the meticulous process of oil painting into a feature-length animated piece. Going so far as replicating Vincent Van Gogh’s style and utilizing it to narrate the artist’s essential parts of his life. A unique wonder that seemed impossible to create in the first place, but the couple managed to make that impossible happen.
The thought of making animation this grand is fortunately not a one-off. ‘The Peasants’ continues to ramp the stakes even further. This time, adapting Władysław Reymont’s novel of the same name, narrating the story of Jagna, a young female peasant whose life is intertwined with the circumstances of other families. It’s a peek into what happens in the village of Lipce, separated across four seasons that open up the stories of these residents.
Right from the jump, the film makes use of that visual spectacle in all of its glory. The familiar use of rotoscope alongside curation of a realistic, rural art style allows the village of Lipce to be filled with spirit; every painted detail across its vivid and hasty sequences all make for gorgeous visual eye candy. With the film set in all four seasons, no color or tone is left unused. Everything is maximized to great effect.
The greatest aspect of pulling an encompassing display of animation is how it elevates the culture of this village, as well as the underlying tension that is shown through specific scenes. The Polish folk song and dance become mesmerizing to see until you witness the adultery that occurs behind the scenes. The fight between the villagers and the nobles is destructive, laying the perfect setting for a potential assassination in plain sight. A wedding ritual between a widowed man and a young woman that should be moving, but the somber expression that dawns on that young woman’s face changes the overall picture. Moments such as these are what make the film stirring.
The pairing of such stylistic ambition with evocative sequences uplifts the overall story. A display of how a spunky and spirited young Jagna becomes entangled in the interconnected relationships and dramas that persist within the village. Not to mention, a dose of religious traditionalism that she tries to break out of, but can’t. Throughout the span of all these seasons, we also witness not only Jagna’s struggles, but also the other pivotal characters as well. Constantly changing their own trust and faith towards one another.
It all builds off to this devastatingly grounded, and also succumbing, display of Jagna’s experiences in Lipce. Every time she is close to getting out of patriarchal control, she is being pulled back and continues to be harmed by their hands. Every moment she refuses to sit down in the village’s religious and social norms, she only receives a scolding. It is these constant moments – paired with the drama shown through Antok, Hanka, and Barciej – that might create this dynamic social conflict that’s engaging in its seriousness, but it never leaves space for Jagna to breathe freely. Always treated horribly by a village that used her for her youthful beauty and then disposed of her when she’s suspected of unjust shame.
It is within the final stretch of the film that it involves its rivetingly striking, but immensely tough scenes. Everyone is now rallying towards Jagna’s house, beating her down and stripping her naked. They put her in a cart and threw her into a field of dirt. Everyone leaves, and Jagna is left lying down as the rain comes pouring down on her. For once, the film finally exhales and gives a gratifying ending for Jagna. The rain washes the dirt that the village has thrown at her; her body is now made anew. Perhaps, in this act of cleansing, the peasant can finally walk away to new horizons, never looking back at the village that shunned her away.
by Sami Salazar | Sep 12, 2025
Written by: Sami Salazar
When I turned ten, I only have one wish: to turn eleven. I remember my parents lying about my age just so I could sneak into an R-13 film at the mall. In high school, I envied classmates who were allowed to drink. At some point in our early years, we all wish for the clock to turn faster. That cycle never really stops for we crave freedom as kids, until the moment we begin to understand what aging truly means. And now, writing this at an age where I am old enough to be free to do whatever I want, I’ve realized that age was never the only thing keeping the youth from feeling free. The adults who shape the foundations of our lives hold an even greater responsibility: to ensure that the young, not only dream of freedom, but actually live it.
Being a filmmaker and as someone with a deep empathy for children, it only felt natural that I felt a need to see this year’s batch of young filmmakers who intend to shine light for the youth. This September 5-7, 2025, 10 youth-centered films were showcased for the 8th Edition of Sine Kabataan.
“Sa Tumoy sa Walay Kahumanan [After the (G)rain is Gone]” by Von Jorge Actub
The festival starts with the only Mindanaoan film in the festival. It follows Bitoy (James Sargueza), an 8-year-old son of a housewife and a bruised farmer living in a remote village. His belief that bigas heals all problems drives the story forward into an end that proves him wrong.
The film captures how wounds carried by one generation inevitably shape the next. It suggests that healing cannot come from quick remedies but from a slow and patient struggle against the roots of pain,in this case, the violent farmers overseer. The cinematography by Bagane Fiola drags us into the melancholic, poetic, and unhurried remote plains. It ends on a momentous image: Batoy and his parents staring at each other from meters away as they all freeze in the plains, each of them holding a different phase of the rice crop—from the mud, to what is served on the plate. And slowly, Bitoy mushes the rice in his hand as he grips onto it tightly. The shot becomes a quiet revelation of experiences passed down from harvest, hardship, survival, until the child is the one who must finally eat what was sown before him. The film does not shy away from showing that sometimes, the “solutions” handed down are harsh, even barbaric, yet they still shape the ground the next generation must stand on.
“4 Better or 4 Worse” by Ronjay Mendiola
The film is a heartfelt portrayal of friendship, resilience, and the struggles faced by the LGBTQIA+ community in a society that often denies them proper healthcare and acceptance. The film follows four friends—Jen (Alon Sinag), Tintoy (Ronjae Realubin), Barbara (Pau Gutierrez), and Bianca (Gerson Raven), whose bond is tested by Jen’s health crisis and the weight of financial burdens. With Tintoy, Barbara and Bianca joining beauty pageants to raise money for Jen’s hospital bills, the narrative highlights not just their unwavering love and sacrifice but also the systemic neglect that forces marginalized communities to fight twice as hard for dignity and survival.
What makes the story impactful is how it interweaves personal battles with broader social issues. Tintoy’s powerful statement during the Q&A portion: that there is no safe way for people like them to transition, captures the urgency of inclusive healthcare reform. More than just a film about friendship and love, 4 Better or 4 Worse is a call to action: to respect, protect, and embrace diverse identities. As the film reminds us, “Progress is meaningless if compassion is left behind.”
“Due Date na ni Judith” by Kieth Earl Rebaño
Kieth Rebaño’s surrealist short is about Judith (Jorrybell Agoto), who is hastily getting closer to her due date in her pregnancy and in due bills. We follow Judith in a stylized world with a giant phallus, pregnant mosangs and basketball players.
This film is wide open to interpretation, owing to its nature as a surrealist absurd comedy. It made me contemplate if the meaning I drew was truly what was intended. Its surreal narrative and absurdist treatment of storytelling feel fitting, because reality itself can be just as absurd. Life grows inside young women, so do the expenses they are forced to carry. The clever play in the title, where “due date” refers not only to pregnancy but also to unpaid bills, is also one to be admired. Beneath the humor lies a lonely truth—the isolating weight of early pregnancy, where financial burdens which grow “exponentially” can take up more space in one’s mind than the people who actually matter. Ending on the strange but painful reality that growing up too fast means inheriting responsibilities that strip away the freedom youth should have had.
“Blooming!” by Ronnie Ramos
When Nena (Annika Co), a grade schooler, is asked to identify the different parts of a flower, the lesson takes an unexpected turn, questions shifting from petals and stems to the unfamiliar changes in her own body. A simple classroom task becomes a quiet confrontation with the overwhelming changes in growing up.
Though the transition to womanhood isn’t my own first-hand experience, the film is directed with such tenderness that it feels universal. It reminds us of the overwhelming changes we all endured in grade school. It captures the shift from carefree childhood into the daunting world of womanhood, using flowers as playful yet powerful symbols of growth. I laughed at the small, familiar moments of girlhood it portrayed, memories vivid as I grew up with two sisters. It gave us a gentle reminder that those who care for us most are often those who walk the same path beside us, becoming a vital pillar of support. The influence of Apichatpong can also unmistakenly be felt in its dream-like sequences, reflecting how body changes can feel surreal and disorienting for children, an effect further brought to life by Martika Escobar’s blooming cinematography.
“Sunog sa Sugbo” by Jon Owen Lepiten
Koy (Elj Seth Tababa), whose family is staying in the evacuation center due to a fire, is opened to start the same thing that victimized his family. “Sunog Sa Sugbo” is for me, the most provocative film in the lineup. The collaboration of Jon Lepiten and Kirk Nuñez resulted in a drowning image of a burning issue.
It tackled a dangerous yet relevant truth: how fire becomes an epitome of devastation for the poor, yet a tool of power for those who benefit from clearing communities out. Watching it reminded me of the repeated fires in Addition Hills, Mandaluyong. Allegedly intentional, these fires are displacing hundreds of families while authorities offered fewer and fewer answers. What makes this matter even more painful is how children are forced to grow up in an environment where home is never guaranteed and safety is conditional. Some even partake in these cycles just to keep themselves adequate. I loved how the film ended with the parallelism of water and fire, symbols of birth and death, freedom and destruction. But how can the youth ever feel free, when the very ground they stand on can be taken away in flames?
“City’s Laundry & Taxes” by Diana Galang
Also one of the provocative films in the lineup, takes us to a small town outside Manila in 2017, where the son of a laundromat owner, played by Louise Abuel, discovers his missing classmate’s ID tucked inside a policeman’s dirty uniform. We follow him as he contemplates on publicly publishing the dirty secret that one of their loyal customers keep.
The film echoes a grim reality: children as victims of extrajudicial killings, particularly during an infamous time when the government abused their authority. It shows how some policemen became numb to the very crimes they committed, their loss of conscience spilling into carelessness, turning justice against those it should protect. And yet, even in fear, children know what they see—and they remember. Rare moments of courage, like the one in this film, remind us that silence can be broken, even by the youngest voices. But if we won’t remember them, who will? As the film explicitly says, there are stains that couldn’t be erased, or rather, shouldn’t be.
“Signal Pending” by Lourchielle Hael
The only animation film in the lineup, shares a feelgood story of a desperate graduating med-student named Max the Bunny, searching for usable internet signal to pass their final thesis work. Going all in, no matter how far it brings them.
It was a simple yet relevant, light-hearted addition to the lineup. The film underscored how deeply our community values education, especially in the medical field, but also how access to opportunity remains unequal. Even in a time when Wi-Fi seems everywhere, it reminds us that it is still a privilege, often denied to the very students who need it most. This everyday struggle points to a larger truth that the drive of the youth will always matter, but without the resources to support their learning, that drive risks being left unrealized. Definitely, another creative pride of University of Makati in the field of student animated films.
“Elephant Paths” by Joshua de Vera
In a fading town in Bulacan, four teenage misfits, Lance (Jansen Magpusao), Maya (Ysobel Refulgente), Alon (Air Salazar), and Kidlat (Bon Lentejas), find solace in each other’s company. Together, they carve out a hidden path, a sanctuary built from stolen scraps of belonging. Their quiet rebellion unfolds against the erasure of their hometown, where every step feels both fragile and defiant.
The term “elephant paths” may describe the wear and tear left by constant foot traffic, yet real elephants are said to be gentle with their steps. This paradox mirrors how relocation violently uproots both families and the land that once grew freely, just like the children who are displaced along with it. Stripped of spaces where they can simply exist, the youth are forced to improvise, carving out makeshift grounds where they can still be themselves and continue to dream. It is a quiet reminder that when the foundations of freedom are taken away, young people will find their own paths, even if they must tread them softly against the weight of the world.
“Coding si Papa” by Michael Angelo Pogoy
One of the most hard-hitting films for this year’s Sine Kabataan is a story of Gelo (Zed Martin), as he tries to collect money in hopes to afford a day off his father’s tricycle rounds.
Usually, when I want to write about the films I consume, I jot down notes as the film rolls in order to remember. This film left me without notes—not because it lacked substance, but because I couldn’t stop wiping my tears long enough to write them. On paper, it tells a simple story, yet the direction of the film pulled me fully into Gelo’s world, convincing me that I am Gelo. The film is light, hopeful in tone and filled with good intentions, but my sympathy was left entirely with Gelo. The sad truth is that not every child gets to be like him. Many Filipino breadwinners sacrifice time with their families just to stay afloat, and not all children are given the luxury of presence. It is heartbreaking that so many grow up with loneliness, forced into a call for action too soon, carrying a burden beyond their years. It broke me to think of literal children wishing they could pay their parents’ salary just to buy a day off, a single day of being truly seen. To wish that all children who dreamt to be a wish-granting fairy, become one someday.
“When it Rained Malunggay Leaves” by Cedrick James Valenzuela
A perfect closing film for the festival, the film shares a picture of Ariel (Gabby Padilla) who returns to her home province which houses her lone mother, Anita (Tanya Gomez), to spend All Saint’s Day together after a long separation. Exploring their wounds inside and out, it is almost as if they take turns in having the role of a ‘mother’.
Anita and Ariel are bound together by something as simple as malunggay leaves. Only Ariel can hand them to her mother, and in turn nourishes and heals her wound. The malunggay transforms into a symbol of a mutual attempt to heal, of how pain and care are passed across generations, and how sometimes the smallest gestures can carry the weight of forgiveness. I believe the director achieved his goal of creating a stylized film that could reach a wide array of audiences without losing its intimacy and sincerity. For me, these further amplify the film’s deserved success in being awarded Best Film and Best Screenplay for this year’s batch, affirming both its craft and the relatability it provides especially to the Filipino audience. It carried the essence of Sine Kabataan, offering us lenses not just to witness the exhausting agencies and scars of today’s youth, but to recognize the child within each of us beings who still aches, yearns, and oftentimes, still regrets.
The ten films of Sine Kabataan 2025 displayed this generation who ought to fight for the youth. The generation that came before, in their love and in their failings, raised children who now carry both the weight of their scars and the strength to stand on their own. These stories reveal not only the struggles of the young but also the imprints left by parents, communities, and institutions which are sometimes tender, sometimes harsh. Sine Kabataan made us talk to our inner child, see our current selves, and persuade us to be one with the next generations of wishers.
by 24Frames.com.ph | Jun 10, 2025
Written by Sami Salazar
Note: Spoilers ahead.
What happens if romance defies the premises of what we know as ‘love’? Director Irene Villamor’s new film explores that very concept—the space ‘Only We Know’. The film follows the story of a retired English teacher, Betty (Charo Santos-Concio), as she develops an unconventional bond with Ryan (Dingdong Dantes) who is wading the tall grasses of grief following the unforeseen passing of his wife. They navigate through the tied struggle of loss and external expectations with companionship of each other.
Director Irene exhibits a relationship that didn’t mold itself to please society. With the addition of the unexpected chemistry of the stars, their portrayal of non-traditional relationship dynamics proved to be one of the film’s strengths—one free from labels, hierarchy, or societal prescription. The film sits us in front of an image reflecting the beauty of relationship anarchy, which seems to be an attempt to challenge the viewers’ acceptance of such connections. It didn’t seek an easy explanation of what love is. And by refusing that, it lets viewers experience a connection without needing a convenient categorization. The ambiguity of their relationship isn’t a gap in the film—it is the point. It is a cordial, if sometimes confusing, take on modern intimacy.
Grief shows as two natures: subtle and visceral. At times, it is a deafening element as seen in Ryan’s engineering work becoming blurred memories of his late wife. A metaphorical terrain showing how he continues building something he has already lost. Also, showing subtly lingering with his environment’s loneliness, silence, and shrouded aches. The interplay of imagery and performance contribute to the idea of grief that when it is silent, it’s unseen but everywhere. But when it is loud, it will echo to places (or people) we don’t expect. Slowly, Ryan and Betty’s emotional bond slowly transforms that grief—not only in joy, but perhaps, in peace.
The original premise and intent of Only We Know is ambitiously beautiful. The message and experience it is trying to convey is essential, but there are moments where the story relies on familiar techniques that counters its uniqueness. The use of montage sequences, while visually lyrical, sometimes substitutes for a deeper narrative progression. Additionally, the backstory involving terminal illnesses, though handled with constraint, echo a familiar trope in local cinema which may feel overly recognizable to some viewers.
Only We Know is a quietly affecting exploration of grief, healing, and the kinds of love that don’t always announce themselves. Its emotional resonance comes not from sweeping gestures, but from the slow build of connection between two people quietly unraveling and slowly stitching themselves back together.
One of the film’s most elegant metaphors is a stray cat that roams Ryan and Betty’s shared space. First rejected, then embraced, then sent away. The cat mirrors how both characters wrestle with love: resisting it, needing it, and ultimately choosing it. In the end, it’s this recurring symbol that underlines the film’s most enduring message: love, even when uninvited or misunderstood, finds its way back.
by 24Frames.com.ph | Jan 22, 2020
A film with an extra as the lead role? You got it. The 9th Cinemalaya Independent Film Festival’s Best Screenplay, Jeffrey Jeturian’s Ekstra, is about Loida Malabanan’s life as an extra in a television show, hoping to get her big break as an actress, as well as to earn enough money to fund her daughter’s tuition. Based on real-life events, this drama-comedy film shows the harsh reality of being in a television production, no matter what position you have: an extra, director, production staff, and the like, using a comedic take to show it.
From left to right: The assistant director (Vincent de Jesus) watching Venus (Tart Carlos) and Loida’s acting chops to get picked as a maid in the show.
Loida’s life throughout the film is very relatable, especially to those who are trying to find their way in the film industry. When asked who they can relate to besides Loida, Graphic Head Joshua Asi answered that he could relate to Marian Rivera because at times, “nakakalimutan ko rin ang linya ng aking sinasabi” when it comes to spilling lines during a scene. Finance Manager Dean Pineda and Media Head Sam De Asis said that they could mostly related to Olga, a newbie in the extras. Dean said that “she’s doing everything in order to excel in her field by taking up acting classes even if it’s expensive. That’s why I see myself in Olga.” Sam added, “because just like her, almost everyone in the film industry would really work a lot for the passion that we have in us.” As for Assistant Secretary Chris Holgado, he states that “I can find a part of myself on the director who takes up on his job without question, even if it burns himself out being a glue that tries to stick everything together because the minute I find something that I know gives me purpose, I’ll pour myself into it, even if it drains me.” Business Manager Zel Salcedo talks about how she could relate to Josie, the talent manager, because of how she really cares about her talents. “Kahit kailangan niya iplease yung mga director by being on time and assigning the perfect people for the role, she puts herself on to her people’s shoes kahit minsan siya na rin na papagalitan.” She added that one of the things she likes the most about Josie is how she takes the blame of the problems instead of putting the blame on her extras. “‘Pag may problema, andiyan na ‘yan. ‘Di kailangan dramahan ‘yan para mawala, inaayos ‘yan.”
Loida and Ms. Amanda (Pilar Pilapil) shooting a scene for the tv show.
For most people, they would think that shooting a show or a film is just simple as showing up, taking the video, editing the show, and premiering it on TV. When, there’s a lot of work behind a show. So, did the film portray what happens in a production? Sam answers, “it portrays how things really go inside a set or a shoot and stressful things could be”. She added that despite the problems, a production team would still push through no matter what happens. Joshua agrees that the film is portrayed realistically. “Hindi maiiwasan ang ano mang uri ng problema at dahil may hinahabol na deadline ay kakailangan talaga magawan at baguhin ang mga nakatalagang plano. Kung sa maliit na set ay may problema na, paano pa kaya sa malalaki?” Chris stated that the film was portrayed perfectly, “from the minor roles up to the major ones, everyone that makes up the set, takes an equal amount of tension on themselves. That means everyone is a victim of the work that they shoved themselves into.” Dean explains that the production in the film is accurate, especially in our country. “They handle their “extras” like livestock. They get paid little money and get treated poorly. The film in the movie looks like a highly budgeted film, even getting a sponsorship from a well-known brand (GSM Blue). But with all that, they still fail to treat their crew right, like how the “extras” was made to ride a packed low budget car.” And lastly, Zel stated that it was accurate by how it portrayed the handling of the budget for the production, deadlines, casting, production design, and even catering. “It was all real when creating a film kahit school stuff lang ang production ko. I experienced all the hassle at hirap sa paghahandle ng lahat na yan, behind the prod palang yan! Mahirap.” Furthermore, she said that the portrayal of the production is accurate, however, she hopes that how they treat people in the film isn’t the case. “May posibilidad na ‘yon ang realidad pero may konting pag-asa ako baka ‘di naman ganon kalala. Lahat naman tayo naghihirap at ‘di mawawala ang mga taong mas naghihirap sa’yo. I just think it’s unfair for being treated poorly from people who are selfish for their own entitlement.”
Overall, being in the film industry is something that almost everyone desires to be in. But with a film like this, showing the struggles of every character in the film, it just goes to show that this industry is not all glitz and glamor. That’s what makes this film worth it to watch.
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