Shock Value play, reaction paper: Confusion brought about by a Roller Coaster Ride (September 22, 2010, Ken Jamandre)

“Television is an invention that permits you to be entertained in your living room by people you wouldn’t have in your home.” All I can say is, “BULL’S EYE, DAVID FROST! YOU’RE THE MAN!”

            After encountering Shock Value, I find that quotation absolutely soul-piercing. No exaggeration there. Seeing how “sweet” Little Tweety Girl is, my territorialism overcomes my ethics. There is totally no way I’d be under the same roof as her!

            Majority of the people I know have clues of how actors, hosts, producers, and other TV personalities act behind the scenes. Rumors circulate about this “wholesome” couple being victims to vaginismus and this talk show host dating a politician. Turns out, those gossips aren’t enough. Shock Value gave the people a shock indeed by revealing the intensity of drama and trauma being experienced by TV personalities. We were pulled into this black hole also known as backstage the moment we stepped inside the hall. Whether we liked it or not, we met Little Tweety Girl.

            I didn’t read any synopsis of Shock Value before watching because I anticipated the highest value the play promised to offer. I was disappointed. I liked some performers and a few scenes, but overall, this play wasn’t able to grasp my entire attention.

            Until this point, I am still confused of the real starting point of the play. We were greeted by one of the gay characters who introduced himself as the “Floor Producer of Shock Value”. I was like, “What? Floor producer of Shock Value, the TV show? Or Floor Producer of Shock Value, the 160-peso play?” Setting that confusion aside, I was able to admire him. Certainly not because of his appearance for he didn’t exactly appeal to me. I prefer gays fashionable from head to toe. I cannot also give him that much credit regarding his varying tones. I find that tone usual for a lot of gays I know speak that way. What really got into me was his confidence. While I was listening to him blab energetically about clapping our hands and looking pleased, I did nothing but think if he was feeling even a teeny-weeny bit nervous. Surely the presence of a huge crowd made his heart skip even just a bit? But I never saw a hint of rib-breaking event happening inside him. He sounded like an expert. A true performer. A great entertainer. He managed to bring out real laugh from the audience, not just the polite-and-obliged type of laugh which I have heard every so often. I thought he was meant to be the eye-catcher of the show. The one assigned to hold our breaths captive in anticipation of the play. I was wrong. The moment he walked off the stage, Jojit Lorenzo or Kuya Matt as I prefer to call him, took his place. Literally and figuratively!

As I was watching Kuya Matt took center stage where he belongs and engulfed by spotlights that are his friends, my heart was being eaten by jealousy. I adore the power of his voice. I don’t know why but his voice sounded nostalgic to my ears. That was the voice storytellers use to tell the story of princesses, witches, wizards, and frogs to children. That was the voice magicians use in order to get their audience’s attention. That was the voice used by bad guys in movies when they lure a child into their van to kidnap. Weird. I thought of storytellers, magicians, and goons when I heard him speak. Let me tell you, I was having goose bumps and I kept smiling without effort. His hand gestures appeared natural, even though I know those little things were practiced a hundred times before being presented. I dreaded the time when he would finally leave my mouth hanging open and go behind the black curtains designed to keep the audience’s prying eyes out of their performers who were probably scrambling and wiggling and trashing around trying to get into their costumes. Well, he did after the introduction. And the dancers, who are incomparable to Orosman at Zafira’s appeared.

Kuya Matt left an impressive impression that’s why it was only natural to expect something greater. I thought the dancers would be remarkable given that Shock Value is about show business. I was mistaken. Yes, they were good in dancing but the choreography didn’t meet my standards. Perhaps my amazement with the choreography of the previous play left me hungry for better performances. What I liked about the dancers were their enthusiasm and devotion. I could see their smiles were practiced but in no way striking. Effort seen, though. They managed stiff smiles. I just hope their facial muscles weren’t strained too badly. I could see everything. I was in front.

I am disappointed with Faust Peneyra, the one who portrayed the role of Elbert Gomez. I was hoping for an eye candy on stage in order to keep my attention focused. Yes, he’s kind of good looking and he looks rich. Those are the factors that affected my opinion of him. The jejemon-turned-conyo role that he was depicting didn’t match his English-speaking-since-birth look. I liked his energy when he first came up. He danced as if there were really cameras and that he was on ASAP. One point for him. BUT, his pants were damaged and it was so distracting! Minus one point for him. I don’t like the colors of his attires throughout the whole play, and the ripped pants did nothing to ease my irritation. I felt like I was wasting my time.

            I have to admit, thought, that once in a while, I had forgotten this play was filled with horrible characters. I was momentarily in awe of the one who always wanted to showcase her chest. I can’t recall her name but never the way had she played her part. She was awesome. When she first entered I was actually laughing not because I find her funny, it’s because I liked her character! When she was dancing provocatively, I thought I was really watching a sexual worker! She was just great. She managed to pull off the seducing façade very accurately, as if she had seduced men all her life. She cursed like there’s no tomorrow and that only added up to her essence as an actress. Because of her role, I cannot imagine her show up a nun next time.

            Another character whose acting I love was Rina. Her accent and voice told us that she really was somebody in the play. That she was educated, and really intelligent. Her voice was still soft even under stress and that was so female. Despite being feminine, she stood up with dignity as if she owned the world. I only see that posture in successful career women. I can’t help but admire her even though she is another wretched character.

I loathe Little Tweety Girl. Come on, is it really possible for a little girl to sexually harass her co-star?I don’t believe that the Philippines has reached that point of modernization yet. I don’t understand the point of getting an obviously pre-teen actress to represent Little Tweety Girl. Was it because of the sexually-harassing-Elbert scene? Then why did she have to speak that way even when there were no cameras? Everybody backstage knows she’s a bitch, I don’t think keeping up the act is necessary. Her little voice didn’t sound sweet. It sounded forced. Her costume was not funny, I find it very stupid. Who would call that girl sweet? Because of her costume, I get the trying-hard-Lolita impression.

            Let me tell you the most riveting scene: it was the bed scene. Yes, I find it vulgar and inappropriate to those under the age of 18. But still Kuya Matt and Jayson were amazing actors! That scene was supposed to be awkward for the both of them, what with their hugging each other naked in front of hundreds of judging eyes, but they broke the word vulgar and showcased acting. Jason was able to put on innocence as his mask even though his character was… not so innocent. This irony was actually awesome. It was very funny when John Lapuz arrived together with his cameramen. When that scene was shown, I thought, “Here comes Typhoon Showbiz!”

John Lapuz, as a showbiz reporter was admirable. I cannot think of other actors giving his character a better personality. His hand gestures and facial expressions were outstanding. He showed real professionalism as he tried very hard (and succeeded) in pulling off the I’m-gay-and-I’m-chismosa attitude. Kuya Matt displayed the word panic in bold letters. Right after that scandal, he was back with Rina, and was pretending to be cool about the whole thing by convincing us with “whoop” and “yehey” while he read the ratings. I don’t know how he pulled off the pretending-to-be-happy-while-in-truth-dying-of-utmost-hatred-and-boiling-panic-inside.

            I like the ending. Kuya Matt wasn’t able to let go of his world just like the teachers who couldn’t let go of classrooms and of businessmen who couldn’t let go of their offices.

Aside from the few scenes that I mentioned I liked, the rest was corny for me. The punch lines were thrown effectively but the punch lines themselves weren’t that funny in my opinion.

            Regarding the setting, I thought it was catchy the moment I got inside the hall but that impression was reduced to just okay to when will they change the background to I hope they will change the background SOON. My eyes grew tired of the colors and those seemingly immovable props. Those things looked not so useful because they did nothing but serve as doors, or walls, or doors, or walls, or doors! The sound effects weren’t that magnificent.

            All in all this play was just average and wasn’t able to meet my expectations. But wait. Come to think of it, maybe this show isn’t really that average. After all, the characters that I hated were really supposed to be hated. This play is confusing. Yeah, that’s right. Confusing is the term. Or is it a roller coaster ride? I loved, then hated, then loved, the scenes and the characters. I don’t know. I’m really confused. Kuya Matt actually shook my hand and I will be eternally pleased. So maybe I’d give this play a more than average rating. Thanks to Kuya Matt.

Orosman at Zafira play, reaction paper: Power, Love, Freedom (August 18, 2010, Ken Jamandre)

In search for power, people go berserk. In search for love, people become ugly. In search for freedom, people turn wild. The overflowing determination to grasp power, the obsession to possess another, and the late realization of the true meaning of the word freedom are the main ingredients in Balagtas’ Orosman at Zafira. Using the archaic language that had been picked up in the 1800’s when women wore baro at saya and men, barong tagalog, Balagtas offered his generation’s readers the chance to recognize that not only them see the society with two eyes and hear people’s cries with two ears. He offered our generation’s readers the insight to what had happened and what could have happened without the constant change that occurs to a certain place, thanks to time. Through reading his works, the people from before and people from today heard the characters cried, sighed, whined, whispered, growled, grunted, yelled and groaned.

Dexter Santos challenged himself by putting those already effective words into actions that penetrated deeply into the viewers’ souls. Pushing the limits of narration, he developed ways in order to show the events rather than tell. Jumping to more than a hundred years after one of Balagtas’ masterpieces was written, people now derive pleasure, not from written texts but from the sacredness of which the characters moved.

I congratulate the cast and staff of this play for winning against other distracting stimuli in the first scene. They were able to hold our breaths captive through distinct choreography and artistic costumes and made escape almost impossible when the characters started singing and delivering lines with almost a religious fervor.

            The audience was able to assess the roles of the characters on stage long before they started forming words. The choreography on the first scene was both magnificent and transparent. Magnificent because the three kingdoms danced different movements, everybody graceful and great that it was almost impossible to decide which one to focus on. Transparent, because each movement depicted each of the kingdom’s roles. To how it was made possible, Dexter Santos only knows.

            The first group, the Marueccos, displayed the typical sultan of the ancients, a powerful man with a beautiful woman for a partner and beautiful women for servants. It was not hard to tell which of the ladies possessed the sultan’s hearts. Gulnara, played by Jean Judith Javier, was adorned with the most beautiful clothes and the most stylish ornaments. She danced intimately with the sultan who looked at her with eyes that bore every ounce of love which that man might have possessed during that very presentation. The main character, Zafira (Maita Ponce) was one of the Marueccos. She had been a very effective actress and a very pleasant singer. She delivered lines with varying emotions and she sang with such flexibility as to be expected from someone who acts for the University of the Philippines. If we talk about facial expressions, hers stood out. She had to wear different fronts for different scenes and everybody would agree that she did very well, indeed. When she knew of her father’s death, a daughter’s heart grieved all-out. When she led the war against Tedenst, every inch of her beautiful face pictured bravery. When she was being wooed by one of the men of Tedenst, her face exhibited utmost hatred. When she found out that her lover Orosman was a Tedenst, she wore the mask of greatest disappointment.

The second group, the Tedenst showcased different men. It was very obvious who the leader was. I could point him out from the group that danced with him. Aside from his intimidating stares and majestic movements, the other men from the group cooperated and became the ones who emphasized the actor’s role. It was very much seen that he was respected by his heirs, and feared by his inferiors. Speaking of heirs, one could tell that during the first scene, although they knelt down to Boulasem (the sultan) quite often, they were of higher and nobler ranks than the others. The viewers could tell from the way they stood and the way they acted. They moved with precision. Every action trained for. Every facial expression mastered. The audience, more specifically the girls, could never miss out on Orosman’s (Jay Gonzaga) great physical appearance. His well-defined muscles spoke of strength. His beautiful face spoke of majesty. His posture spoke of confidence. Unfortunately, good looks alone could not win my concentration. In this kingdom, I adore Boulasem. For me, his varying tones were artistic. His speech, mastered with tactics of men who spoke of honey, but whose voices were of poison. It is poisonous in a way that the actor could deliver a plan so devious and yet with deadly sweetness. The varying tones made the difference. That is his best asset.

The third kingdom, the Duquela, was composed of the best dancers and the best actors. During the first scene, their angry movements and all-out screams took me breathless. Even without the description of the narrator, the choreography displayed them as warriors who fought countless battles and won numerous times. The red hair and black attires showed rebellion. Their leader walked with head held higher than normal, as though saying I am undefeated. All the members of this kingdom were so into the play although they didn’t have that many lines. Their facial expressions and bodily movements were enough to drive the audience mad. That made them best among the three kingdoms, in my opinion.

The battle scenes were splendid. Everybody’s favorite scene, no doubt. We were not shown the art of murder, but we were made to feel the adrenaline delivered by war in silver platter. We were made to feel the intensity of each weapons swayed and each punches thrown. We were made to feel terror. Just seeing the weapons used can tell us loads. Witnessing the props used to hold the characters captive made me feel the desperation to be freed. The scene between Zafira and Abdalap (one of the men of Tedenst) comes a close second to my favorites. When Abdalap was preventing Zafira from escaping through a rope, I was struck by the same yet not identical emotions emanating from both characters --- desperation of Abdalap to own Zafira and desperation of Zafira to leave Abdalap. Aside from desperation, some acts illustrated passion felt by the characters. I was always shocked whenever Gulnara kissed with men. She was more feminine during kissing scenes than during graceful step designs.

It was very creative of them to use the same props for different scenes. The movable walis-tingting antics were used to picture a garden, or to be part of a feast, or simply just to divide the stage. The day and night were shown through the adjustments in lightings. That simple action confined the audience’s awareness. It was uncomplicated but very effective.

Watching the play gave the viewers a very exhilarating experience. We were moved to tears because of the characters’ unique way of expressing themselves. Our hearts jumped because of the excitement the battle scenes brought. Finally, our judgment with regard to the three things mentioned at the start of this reaction paper was challenged.

Personally, I learned that different individuals have different limitations when it comes to grasping power. Ambitions aren’t poisonous unless you brewed them so. If, like Abdalap, you are willing to kill your own relatives in order to obtain your desires, then you have a lot of self-reflection to do.

When it comes to love, people become selfish, yes, but it also depends upon the situation. Orosman was selfish enough to fall in love with Zafira knowing the conflict between their tribes. But Orosman’s selfishness was still very different from Abdalap’s.

And finally, freedom. Freedom to choose whom a person can love. Freedom to follow your heart’s desires without trampling others’. Freedom to accept that you cannot have everything you want, just enough that you need.

Once again, I would like to congratulate the cast and crew of Orosman at Zafira for introducing to us the other side of Balagtas’ obra, the more magical, exciting and invigorating side.

Hunger Games, reaction paper: The Things That Just Won’t Be Wiped Out By The Environment’s Wrath (October 08, 2010, Richmon Pancho)

            Welcome to the 21^st century! When telephone is cordless, communication wireless, cooking fireless, youth jobless, follies countless, conduct worthless, and politics shameless!

Welcome to planet Earth 2010! This is where you get raped at age 4 and mugged at age 7. Where you rape others at age 13, and mug others at age 13. And finally, this is the planet where you can get killed at age 13. Life is a climb but the view is great. That’s if you go straight to heaven.

What do you think will happen years from now? You’ll get the right to participate in a little game where teenagers gathered will be made over and fed, then will be delivered to an arena by a high-tech glass cylinder. In the venue, they’ll build fires anywhere, camp at night, gather at a feast, look at interesting half-breeds and talk about love. No parents. No rules. The game will be aired for the whole world to see. You’ll get famous. You’ll get money if you win. Sounds fun? Now how will you get in? Randomly. Suits the destiny freaks just fine. How will you win? Simple. Kill them before they kill you.

“Happy hunger games! May the odds be ever in your favor!”

When I read the back cover, I had thought I would be wasting my time in yet another book not worthy of the lives of a thousand trees. I was proven wrong when the words of Suzanne Collins finally got through my brains after a just a few pages. Set in a world where “dystopia” is written in bold letters on people’s foreheads, the novel gnaws the readers’ insides both because of guilt and fear. Though it’s precisely unknown what caused the “end of the world”, I’m guessing the altered landmasses and bigger water territories hinted an environmental tragedy. I prefer to call it “The Environment’s Wrath”. It must have been a reference to present issues regarding climate change and how we, earthlings, are at the driver seat of this highly-industrialized planet earth ready to crash. It’s either we swerve and change our ways, or we refuse to and bang head first to our future which is most likely “Panem”.

In the novel, Panem is the remains of North America, surrounded by 13 Districts. Despite the circumstances, I paused for a while and admired Collin’s high expectations of human ingenuity even in the brink of extinction. The author seems confident that humans will always find ways to live.

Aside from survival instincts, there’s also this nagging will to not just survive but survive and win. The humans’ definition of winning is perhaps not another generation of using jaded rocks as knives and leaves as mini-skirts, but a toilet with many buttons just so you will not have to move more than a few inches while taking a bubble bath. I don’t think the idea of humans still being that civilized a couple of years after “The Environment’s Wrath” is very plausible. After I had a glimpse of the Capitol (the main part of Panem), I told myself, “Aaahh… so this is where fiction is most prominent.” I was nodding my head in approval as I imagined District 12 and it’s obviously not decent environmental aura. Come on! Earth just had most of its resources gone. I didn’t like the idea of a super civilized country after “The Environment’s Wrath”. I’m not saying I advise Collins to write about realistic stuff. Number one. I’m not a genius writer. Number two. I’m not a genius writer. It’s just that, it’s my nature to hate situations wherein the kidnappers get the ransom then almost literally fly away from the policemen. The humans are the perpetrators of this tragedy, and then humans still get to live comfortably after the earth’s already scarred face is more scarred than ever before. How unfair is unfair? Really!

Another thing that I observed is still very prominent after “The Environment’s Wrath” is the government’s more-ridiculous-than-ever way of handling their countrymen. Seriously, is it really not possible for abusers of power to be extinct even just for one generation? It haunts me to think that if it becomes possible to level up a human being’s survival instincts in the face of a big environmental tragedy, then it will be very, very easy to upgrade the means of torturing others just for the hell of it. It’s proven that doing a good deed is like chewing leather, and a bad deed like chewing candy, chocolate-flavored. In the novel, Capitol intentionally obliterated District 13. I’m thinking of two reasons why they did it. One, to show others that they’re so powerful they can turn a whole district, together with its inhabitants, into ashes when they get bored. Two, District 13 is a threat. A major threat. Mining isn’t their principal industry. Unbeknownst to most people, they used to develop nuclear-and-fission-based technology. Naturally, our little friends from the Capitol got shivers at the thought of being robbed of their crown. For the sake of power, people go berserk. I don’t like to admit this, but it seems to be human nature. To remind everyone of its power, the Capitol asks for two tributes every year to be thrown into an arena to kill each other. I was reminded of Theseus’ story when I learned that.

Ridiculous as this may seem, Collins didn’t forget to include “Hollywood fashion obsession” and “monstrous television influence” in the Hunger Games. Just before the tributes risk their necks, they are presented to people in order to gain sponsors. I was laughing when I read that they needed sponsors. Sponsors! I had to read it several times just to make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. I was reminded forcibly of Pinoy Big Brother because they need to stand out in order to gain public’s approval. But unlike the housemates, they need approval to live. They also have a team consists of fashion designers, make-up artists and the like. They are adorned with the most beautiful clothes and they indulged in the finest delicacies like prisoners getting ready to be electrocuted. Okay. Is there any other country better-natured than Capitol?

            In every population, there’s a rarity. Don’t expect everybody to wail because District 11’s little girl is on the battlefield. I don’t know what to make of the Career Districts’ (Districts 1, 2 and 4 are part of this) view on things. They are those who actually see the Hunger Games as a game. They train for it. They volunteer for it. They take pride on being thrown somewhere to kill or be killed. I view their actions as forever acceptance of defeat. They just went with the flow. Whatever the Capitol likes to happen, they submit themselves wholeheartedly. It’s either that, or they’re desperate for the provisions the Capitol gives to the District of the winners. I’m guessing that the other districts, aside from taking pity on teenagers on the arena, are actually still hopeful for change. District 12 is a fine example. The inhabitants mourn for the tributes. They can’t afford to put on happy faces because deep inside, they know this won’t last. I think they don’t like to train themselves into thinking that killing for entertainment is normal. They are actually braver than those Career Districts.

I like the names of the characters. They say a lot. Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire actually goes against President Snow. The plant after she is named was used as an arrowhead by Native American Indians. She is with another tribute called Peeta Mellark, a baker’s son. I wonder if they bake pita. Rue’s name (a tribute that Katniss befriended) doesn’t only mean to repent. It is actually a medicinal herb that heals eyestrain. Rues can make you see well. Rue’s death actually makes Katniss see how her decision to rebel against the oppressive Capitol can possibly help. I find Katniss stupid for being confused at what she really feels and realizing too late what sort of mission is put over her shoulders. It always happens, not only in fiction, but also in real life. Sometimes, you’ll need to sacrifice something or someone in order to realize things. You’ll think that there are enough movies and novels that focused on a character whose personal change will greatly affect the humanity’s future. But no, it’s never enough. Harry Potter needed his parents’ deaths. Jose Rizal needed to see Filipinos subjected to slavery. As corny as this may sound, it’s reality. What do you think of heroes? Impulsive beings that decided on the spot they’d take bullets for their countrymen? No. Then and now, and surely in the future, a person changes painstakingly gradually to achieve just enough personal transformation in order to change the future.

Hunger Games caught me off guard. I didn’t realize that I’d actually fall in love with its post-dystopia setting. I used to hate it. My Homo sapiens pride and obstinacy just couldn’t take the idea that we might be overpowered by things we take for granted. Honestly speaking, this novel attracted me first because of violence. I’d actually love to see how the tributes work out strategies to kill each other. In a place where you can trust no one, I want to know how Collins will write about the thing I dread the most… fear. I got curious of how well she can actually make me feel that I am at the arena with the other tributes watching me and preparing to stab me in the blink of an eye. Let me put this bluntly, she did not succeed. I kept comparing her to Stephen King and JK Rowling. Two authors who actually used magnets to glue my undivided attention to fight scenes that the rest of the world’s writers failed to do. The thing that kept me reading, aside from the themes that were beautifully and carefully placed between the lines, was the right dose of love story. To just slip out very rare romance thingy kept me hungry for more. Team Peeta or Team Gale? I haven’t decided yet. I’ll grab a copy of Catching Fire and hope more of Gale. I recommend the Hunger Games. Bloodthirsty. Trust me. Oops, on second thought, don’t. I might be one of the tributes from a Career District. Happy Hunger Games!

Inception, reaction paper: I’m Ravenous For More (October 08, 2010, Richmon Pancho)

Define complex. Inception.

It got me hooked the moment I read the “dream within a dream within a dream” part in the plot. I go crazy for overlapping scenes because I love the feeling of being dumb for a second inside a dark movie house while eating a lot of pizza and drinking extra-large size of Coke. I really like the feel of enlightenment after a second shade of doubt. I have never felt this ravenous for next scenes ever since I saw “Back to the Future 1, 2 and 3”. At first, you’ll get confused because the setting changes abruptly leaving your brows knotted in one line, then the next scene unfolds and you laugh feeling completely satisfied at having been toyed with by the director, Chris Nolan. A moment of not grasping a scenario is the key to keep my eyes on the screen. The dream levels are just perfect! You have to store the levels in mind so you won’t lose track of the story. While watching Inception, you need: number one, concentration and number two, concentration.

Another thing that got me so into this movie is its version of reality and fiction. I got mixed emotions every time the characters indulged themselves too much in a world created by the mind. I don’t know what to feel regarding the limbo concept, for instance. You get stuck in a dream world you created yourself. That’s a wish I know will never be granted, no matter how much I pray. It’s not only once that I prayed fervently to be an anime character or one of Potter’s friends or one of the vampires (admit it; they’re described as beautiful and rich). Although I know wishing for fantasy won’t do me any good, I still can’t help it. I’m sure a lot of people share my view.

Dom Cobb is one of the characters who got my attention. Although, it’s already kind of cliché to show this generation of movie-goers a character who-is-actually-good-but-messed-up-once-and-is-now-paying-for-his-misdeed, this Cobb somehow still stood out. Even though he shares dark past with countless characters from countless movies of countless generations, Leanardo DiCaprio brought out the best in Cobb! Despite the dull descriptions of Cobb, the fictional character, DiCaprio's actions, facial expressions and words got me interested in dissecting Cobb’s emotions. First off, I don’t really think it’s proper to pry into other people’s business. Being someone who invades other people’s privacy for a living, I can’t imagine how much effort the society had exerted in order to push that someone into this mischief. I can’t really blame Cobb if he accepted another not so decent job from Saito. I tried putting myself in his shoes. I’d also do the same. I’d probably hold on to the hope that one last sin can erase everything. I’m guessing Cobb was imagining life after this last job. A life spent on taking care of his kids.

Another character who got me thinking through the night is Saito. Saito, the typical businessman. I admit to having sort of an admiration to emotionless businessmen. I love the way they can crush smaller businesses without blinking an eye. But, my strange preference has got limitations. I only admire those who fight fair and square. Business versus business. Our Saito here went to the extent of involving personal feelings which I have found extremely revolting. I view it as a sign of cowardice on his part and a taint on a businessman’s pride. However, I forgive his actions. I see him as the key to unlocking the slightest bit of Cobb that was interesting, after all.

Aside from those two, Ariadne also got into me. She’s the only girl in the group and I thought that was awesome. When will I ever get the chance to be on her shoes? Anyway, I think her name is very appropriate. It reminded me of the story of Theseus. It’s weird that her character is supposed to get someone into a maze and not out of the maze. The irony is cool. If Saito is the typical business-minded person, then Ariadne is the typical architect. If you are in love with your profession, you rarely think of harm when faced with a once in a lifetime challenge. That’s what I noticed in a number of movies that I’ve seen. Old scientists ready to risk their necks developing antidotes and skinny computer geeks giving it their best shot to help superheroes, are just examples. Ariadne got hypnotized by the idea of creating her own world. As Cobb had appropriately put, after experiencing the pure creation of constructing a dream, reality will no longer be enough for her. Ellen Page was good in acting, by the way. Her facial expressions were just right, and the way she said her dialogues was effective.

My favorite scene is when Cobb talked about his wife’s death. I wasn’t able to predict the reason at all. When I knew of the story, I thought it was genius! I cannot blame Cobb for being the way he is. A man imprisoned by guilt. I wonder how he will escape from that ordeal, or to put it more appropriately, how he will face that ordeal. Many people in real life are also like Cobb. I know of a man who accidentally killed his own son. Thinking of how they can handle their own feelings is actually more boggling than Inception itself.

For me, Cobb’s reconciliation with his kids is real. The others say that the children in the very first scene were wearing exactly the same clothes as the children in the last scene. Bloggers have expressed their views that Cobb just extended his dream to be with his kids. But I checked the list of characters and found out that the kids from the first scene and the last were portrayed by different characters. Times have passed, so perhaps the director changed the characters in order to point out some differences, therefore telling the audience it is, indeed, reality. I love the ending for Cobb. Most characters with dark past usually end up in prison blabbing things like they’re happy with the way things went, etc. etc. But Cobb, most fortunately, didn’t get punished. Job done, new life. That’s one of the few unique things about this dull character.

I congratulate the staff of Inception for doing a good job with the visual effect. Just seeing the posters for Inception told me I was in for a real treat. The characters were also well-chosen. This movie will forever be imprinted on my mind.

Toy Story 3, reaction paper: Growing Up And At The Same Time, Outgrowing Things (October 08, 2010, Richmon Pancho)

I firmly believe that our first love is not the one we danced with during Prom. Mr. or Ms. Right isn’t the one who kissed our left cheek while watching the sunset behind the school building. He or She isn’t the first one who gave us candy when we were in kindergarten. Our first love is in reality, inanimate but figuratively, alive – our toys. Toy Story 3 is the most innocent definition of love.

The movie started by showing the viewers what used to invade Andy’s mind. Every kid’s imagination is priceless and serves as the first draft – the first notion of the innocent and the vulnerable of the world, which in reality is full of murderers, Justin Bieber wanna-be’s, hostage dramas, nuclear weapons and pirated DVD’s. To young Andy, the world has a super hero represented by his beloved cowboy toy, Woody. But then the video of Andy’s childhood was turned off and the 17-year old Andy came into picture. That was very nostalgic.

I felt a lump in my throat during the scene when the toys were devising all means to make Andy play with them once more. I think it’s very stupid because I’m not the type of person who clings to someone who doesn’t want me. At the same time, I think it’s sad. It’s so sad to think that even toys get to the stage of retirement – the point when Andy had finally put his foot down, opened the lid of a box and stored them away. Andy had cleared the level of his life when he felt the need to stick to his toys like glue and will now be embarking on a new journey called college. He will be thrown into a different arena where toys are for play and books are for battle. Whether I like it or not, I see myself in him. I suppose that’s the most important aspect of this movie. It makes people think Toy Story 3 is their life story – third season. We grew up with Toy Story.

The Andy who doesn’t like to throw away his precious toys, and who actually loves Woody in his college dorm made me smile. Like all of us, no matter what our culture is, no matter how different our beliefs are, and no matter how unique we are, we share his attachment to toys. I’m guessing he likes to have Woody as a remembrance of his happy childhood.

I got bored when the other toys got donated to day care students accidentally. I wanted to linger more on Andy’s moments. I would have loved to see more emphasis on Andy’s feelings since I can relate more to humans than well, toys. However, I find it great that the toys were personified since that let viewers see the truth that once you maltreat others, they would always want to get as far away from you as possible. That was how the toys felt when they were mishandled by little monsters who did not know or did not even have this humane instinct to care for toys. Most unfortunately, that is reality. Watching the day care students throw toys around, I was forced to think of a childhood friend who broke all my Barbie dolls. I still curse her up to this day. Another awesome personification was Lotso’s vengeful side. His character really showed that nobody wants to be replaced and that nobody wants to be loved temporarily. I guess it’s normal since I have this firm belief that everyone has felt bitter at least once or twice in his lifetime. Lotso also showed us that despite the normality of his feelings, there’s still the tendency to commit abnormal actions. I mean, it becomes poisonous not only to other people but also to yourself if you overdo things. If you can resist not saving others just because of anger, then that’s abnormal and unreasonable. Too bad, that kind of person lurks everywhere. It’s another reality that Toy Story 3 managed to slap in our face. Let me tell you, I was slapped really hard.

As for the other toys of Andy, human characteristics were most evident because they felt the need to flee from Andy, get a life somewhere and give smile to others. I can’t really blame them since I know I’ll do the same if I were put in the same situation in my future professional life. Though I hate it that they considered Andy as an employer and themselves his employees, I can’t complain that much for Toy Story 3 achieved amazing similarities to what happens in real life. I found myself agreeing to the other toys’ opinions no matter how wretched their decisions would seem to others.

Sadly, the movie failed in one aspect. I got really disappointed with Big Baby’s vengeful character. To be more specific, I got disgusted! I hate the fact that he was depicted as a character that everyone feared. Babies are supposed to be angels, not tools for mass toy destruction. Furthermore, babies don’t usually feel resentful, do they?

I loathe the ending. No exaggeration there. I am a selfish person so if I were Andy, I’ll choose to give those toys to my future kids. Come on, those toys literally saw him grew up! I know Andy can still reminisce without tangible objects, but still, the sentimental values objects hold are priceless. I felt like crying when Andy played with them for perhaps the last time. I also felt like cursing him for going against what I would have done if I were him.

Even though I said I got bored during the scenes when there was no Andy to relate to, I still felt overwhelmed with the intelligent tactics the toys devised for escape. I find those strategies deep in a sense. Maybe I feel that way because of my fascination with action. It is a novelty to see toys in action. I also salute those who gave these toys life. It was amazingly entertaining because the animation was beautiful and the voice actors were superb.

I can say the movie is successful for it was able to suck me into its world, and most importantly, make me feel for Andy and for the toys at the same time. That’s a peak that most movies fail to achieve.

Andy drove away. Yeah, he has a car. He’s seventeen after all. I sighed after the movie ended.

A Different Take (October 08, 2010, Richmon Pancho)

Necrophilia. To put it bluntly, it’s sexual attraction to corpses. Most necrophiles (those who are subjected to necrophilia) are funeral workers or even professionals in the medical field. Close proximity to the corpses might have done the trick, snapped whatever usual sexual attraction yarn people have and left their hormones in constant war against what humanity has deemed moral or immoral. Rosman and Resnick concluded that necrophiles’ prime motivation is to experience control over unresisting bodies. Most people’s reaction would be “WTF”. If you dig the internet deep enough and uncover pieces of information about our little friends, it’s almost impossible not to ask, “Is the society questioning the morality of necrophiles’ actions? Is that really the first thought that runs on their brains?”or “Do people’s imaginative minds just can’t take the how-do-they-have-sex-with-the-dead part? Are they the type of people who can’t accept the things they don’t think are following the usual?”

Human beings are terrified beings. We are afraid of change after being comfortable in the life that was first offered. We are big failures when it comes to thinking beyond the norm but very successful indeed in sticking to what the society thinks is alright. Society dictates. But what is a society? It’s nothing but a group of people pretending to stick to an opinion foolishly believing that the rest of the group is united with that same idea. It’s nothing but a group of cowards who are frightened of what the rest will say if they believe otherwise.

Extracurricular activities of necrophiles are often kept secret (well, who can blame them?), but of course, in every population, a unique specie will always stand out and dare the others laugh! A certain Karen Greenlee stole the spotlight a couple of years ago when she made it to the national headlines after driving a hearse off course, and having a date with the corpse for a few days. Like most necrophiles, she suffered while keeping her desires secret in fear of condemnation. She poured all her emotions in a letter addressed to no one because of both fear and shame. After her four-and-a-half pages of confession letter was found out, she accepted herself, tried to get on with life despite rejection, and sat down with a couple of reporters for a little chat. “I'm miserable when I try to be something I'm not,” said Karen. We do not need researchers or psychiatrists to confirm that.

After sharing this story to a number of friends, most blurted out all sorts of shit about her. However, few of them chose to be open-minded, and viewed Karen in a different light. Karen was brave enough to admit and accept what her heart and body desire the most (an impossible peak for most of us) and obviously, had enough guts to shout that mere earthlings shouldn’t give a damn.

Another case of necrophilia was shared by Katherine Ramsland in her article, entitled “A Macabre Love Story”. It featured a radiologist who fell in love with his patient. Most unfortunately, the woman died without having the chance to respond to his feelings. He then illegally removed the woman’s body from its resting place and kept it home. The body was decomposing so he tried all means possible to preserve it, using piano wires to attach bones together and replacing her eyes with glass. The title of the article is very inconsistent with what the story is obviously trying to say – obsession! Obsession can lead to necrophilia, another fact thrown to all of them. The wrongdoing of one of the necrophiles leads to society’s outright dismissal of the rest. Is it fair?

Aside from obsession, necrophiles are usually feared because some of them kill for the purpose of acquiring a corpse. Those are the minority. However, society tends to blame a whole group for an individual’s wrongdoing. What group didn’t have a black sheep?

Questions of morality have been raised by different people. Those who are into having sex with a corpse are termed as immoral. I find it hard to define morality because of difference in belief, culture and religion. Through these differences, morality’s definition may vary depending upon the individual. For others, morality is when you do something good. For me, morality is simply when you do not do something bad. If you are not a serious threat to other people, then you are moral.

However, it must be noted that the society’s take on morality changes. Even though the change is gradual, members of a community are always bound to realize something off about their beliefs. During the Victorian Era of England, it was inappropriate for a lady to dress above her ankle. Today, women wear the shortest of skirts but only a few go out of their way to insult them. The opinion of people that women are immoral depending on their choice of clothes is long gone.

Point is morality relies on what the society thinks as a whole, failing to grasp an individual’s opinion, therefore realizing too late that what they believed in before was absurd. Skirts above the ankle were proven to be harmless. While people are still busy debating on the morality of necrophilia, New Zealand and United Kingdom are among the countries that decided too early to push their beliefs onto their citizens and punish necrophiles.

On the arguments raised about disrespecting the bodies, it is reasonable for the family to be furious. The corpse reminds them of their grief.  However, let’s take into account that what the family loved are the memories, personality and soul of the deceased.

The necrophiles, whether they like it or not, are necrophiles. Their habits must have been rooted from some personal issues. I view necrophilia as kleptomania. It cannot be suppressed. It cannot be covered up. It’s part of the person. Things that are not socially accepted are not necessarily immoral. If being who you are is immoral, then I don’t know what else to say.

"Every man to own taste.  Mine is for corpses." Henri Blot, a necrophile.

Forever Guilty (September 14, 2010, Richmon Pancho)

I believe that all of us had (or will have) at least one day in our life when we became the meanest creature on earth. Bringing Adolf Hitler back to life, supporting child porn with a religious fervor, or murdering someone using a fork, aren’t really that necessary if we talk about being mean. Yes, those are horrible stuff but there’s infinitesimally little chance that a typical 16-year old can have committed any of the three examples mentioned. I’ll never forget the day assigned to me by fate. It happened on a really, really, sunny day. The sun was boasting its scorching heat and its inevitable rays.

I loathed my neighbor during that time. She always sang “O Tukso Layuan Mo Ako”, followed by “Aray”, ending the day with “Isang Linggong Pag-ibig”. I noticed that a few days before her birthday, she always mixed the lyrics either intentionally, taking into account that she had very rotten ideas for a joke, or not-so-intentionally, considering that euphoria sometimes causes that mishap. She also used to nag at me and my sister for petty reasons (i.e., walking in front of her while she was in a bad mood which meant every other day or if we were unluckier, every day).

On her special day, my family was invited to a little gathering that she and her husband (yeah, she’s married) prepared. The setting was close to being decent. There was the new wall décor which to me was simply an eyesore, the gleaming floor where at least 25% of the visitors tripped over, and half a dozen electric fans that were humming so loudly the guests felt afraid of a possible sudden explosion. On the table was the typical Filipino food plan. I’m not so sure of the things prepared but I think there were spaghetti, leche flan, gelatin, a few insects that were gate-crashing and ants that were patrolling around the area waiting for their chance to strike. The only great thing on this party was this mysterious cake. I was sure it was delicious for this selfish neighbor never put her cake on the table. She kept it to herself. I spotted her every night every day eating the cake alone in her veranda. Cakes were compulsory on birthdays in our small barangay, no matter how old the celebrant was. I felt confident she had one.

During the night, I got the chance to sneak near the kitchen where the refrigerator was located while everyone was busy in the sala drinking imported wines and gossiping. I found the cake inside the refrigerator. My heart was a boxer and my ribs, the punching bag. It was either because of excitement or because of fear. I forgot the exact feeling. I told myself that I should not miss that chance. I took in as much oxygen as would fit inside my lungs, exhaled, then spit on the cake. I spit on it a lot of times. Then I closed the ref, looked around, and breathed a sigh of relief.

It was time to go. We were her last visitors. As we were nearing the gate, she called us to a halt. She hurried inside her house and when she came back, the cake was balanced in her arms. My thoughts went wild. “Was I discovered? What will my mother do to me? Worse, what will she do to me?” But I noticed something strange; so strange it could have topped the “World Records of Strangest Things”. She was smiling when she talked to my mother. I can’t remember the exact dialogue but the ‘thought’ of her words will forever be imprinted on my mind.

“This is for you and your family. I never really shared my cake to anyone. It’s a special recipe that my daughter invented before she died. But I’ll make an exception today, just for my favorite neighbors. Here.”

I didn’t know how to react. I was young.

Math17: 7:15-8:15am (August 13, 2010, Richmon Pancho)

For me, the word breakfast usually entails the feeling of peacefulness only hot black coffee, rock hard pandesal and still-taste-bud-teasing tapsilog-from-yesterday-morning can bring.

 Before taking a sip of my coffee, I tickle my nose first to relish the sensation the aura of the liquid emits just as the way I smell the aroma of the wine before rewarding myself of its inexplicable taste. Drinking wine is swallowing a ball of fire and feeling it burn your throat, roll down your esophagus and target your stomach. Drinking coffee is almost the same but with a lesser impact on your stomach and a greater bang on your heart. You don’t swallow a ball of fire, instead you take in a meager amount of liquid that doesn’t target only your tummy but also a lot of personal connotations it brings. A good morning with grandpa, for instance? Or a very romantic sunrise view with this special someone? A big, big sigh usually follows.

My teeth become nearly like blades when they touch the rock hard pandesal. Perhaps it’s because the harder the food, the more challenging it is. Your teeth grind pandesal the way typhoons crush bridges --- with little or no effort at all but always leaving the same level of destruction in its wake. The pandesal is nothing compared to my teeth that grind and chew and cut it into pieces. My tongue judges whether the pandesal is still considered edible after days in a place where there is little or no sunlight at all.

The tapsilog, on the other hand, still have the impact on my taste bud as it had yesterday morning, and sometimes, the day before it. It is something classic, something timeless, the basic of being a Pinoy. Tapa usually shares this medieval dance with sinangag and my teeth. The itlog (egg) sometimes joins; I prefer ravishing it solo.

Add a couple of pages from the entertainment section of Abante and the company of all sorts of insects (usually flies) parked in midair and the ambiance is perfect.

            Perhaps, giving up the peacefulness of breakfast is one of the sacrifices that I have to (forced to, actually) endure in order to graduate from college; I have been deprived of this atmosphere ever since June. Instead of wine-like coffee, soft-to-me pandesal, and classic slash timeless tapsilog, I now face the ‘most’ of almost all the tastes combined. My breakfast is usually sour and always bitter. I know that it can be occasionally sweet depending upon the person you sit next to. Problem is I never had it sweet for the last two and a half months which is devastating. I miss the euphoria that raping a banana can bring, as well as the happy feeling you get after murdering an apple. I miss the way my tongue refuses to free itself from Cadbury in the instances that I had it for my first meal of the day. It wraps itself firmly to the chocolate, taking in every sweet molecule while my brain does its work of storing the sweet, sweet memory. INSTEAD, every day, I have to sit with a number of people who watch my face distorted right after tasting one of the sour ingredients. My right eye usually narrows down to a slit and the right part of my lip goes up to complete the picture. Hell, what part of being a chocolate-lover do they not understand? A great many of the people I take this demonic breakfast with might be thinking weird stuff about me. Just because they like their faces twisted at weird angles after being spoon-fed by the cook himself doesn’t necessarily mean everybody else does. Lastly, IT is bitter. It IS bitter. It is BITTER. My tongue always goes numb whenever it encounters something it considers not-so-edible. It automatically moves into the weirdest positions because of out-of-the-world spices. The process of taking it in is bitter, as well as the digestion, and most especially, the aftermath. The sense of taste isn’t only for the tongue. It’s for your whole being to enjoy or to suffer from. I still can’t recover from my breakfast last July 10, August 06 and August 09. The cooks can be really mean.

            Although this breakfast is ‘too much’ for my taste, I know that it can practice my stomach for the second level known as lunch. This is just the first step; I see a candle lit dinner awaiting me.