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.
