Dear Cinema Evaluation Board,

See, I tried to understand.

When people comment in my reviews regarding the top grades you give to films that I pan, I try to keep quiet.

I caught an interview with one of your members some time ago, brought on to talk about the independent cinema boom in the country. And he talked about how our independent films were pandering to foreign audiences. He also talked about how the board prefers to give good grades to films that look good, that have a certain film quality not found in digital features. Because we have to uphold some sort of technical standard, he said. And that's why films like Baler get an "A," while arguably better films get by without tax rebates.

And i thought, okay. It's not ideal, but I turned my way of thinking around, choosing to look at your board as simply a way of keeping an industry afloat, using the tax rebates to give studios a boost after spending a lot of money on a big blockbuster movie.

And so, while I did not think much of your grades, I didn't outright hate them, either. I saw them as mostly harmless, if a little misguided. And I thought, hey, we can all have different opinions.

But then you gave an"A" to Pitik Bulag.

See, I was buying your line about how you gave priority to films that look good. I thought it was a shallow way of looking at things, but an acceptable one, a way that takes into account the somewhat condescending but generally accepted idea of an "average" moviegoer. This is not a film that looks good. You cannot in any way claim that this movie represents any kind of technical achievement. I suppose you did not notice the parts of the film where for no reason whatsoever, the movie becomes letterboxed for a few seconds. Out of nowhere, the movie changes its aspect ratio.

An "average" moviegoer is still smart enough to realize that something went wrong there. Why couldn't you? An "average" moviegoer could easily tell that the direction was abysmal. You said it was "masterfully done?" I'm afraid that your standards for mastery are woefully low. By that standard, every eight year old in the country is a master. Seriously, hand any eight year old a camera and I'm sure they could make a better movie than this. At the very least, it wouldn't have all those stupid sex scenes in them.

And you complain about how independent movies fall back on sex or gay scenes or poverty to reel in foreigners. Now, granted, this isn't a film that will reel in foreigners. It's far too dumb to do that. But this movie does feature that trifecta of objections, while adding some unnecessary violence along the way. In fact, the first three scenes are a sex scene, a macho dancer scene, and a lesbian sex scene. And all these scenes are obviously exploitative, and could've been cut completely without affecting how the story turned out.

I say "story" but that's being really generous. "A tightly woven story," you say. I don't think you know what that means. Tightly woven stories tend to make sense. Tightly woven stories stick with realistic characters, and don't fall back on ridiculous stereotypes. Tightly woven stories make sure that every scene contributes to some sort of larger picture, and don't just throw in a macho dancer scene because that's the kind of thing that brings people in Indiesine.

See, I tried to understand you, choosing to believe whatever reasons you gave for giving your grades. But you've gone too far. There is no way in the world you can justify to any average viewer that this movie deserves the 100% tax rebate you've afforded it. While your choices have never been great, this one reveals something far more insidious. You must actively hate cinema to have regarded this film so highly.

Either that, or you're just corrupt.

Either reason will do. Either way, you're still not worthy of the place you have in our industry. I've always known this, but I foolishly accepted it as a harmless thing.

No more.

I'm picking a fight.

With no respect, whatsoever,
Phil Dy

I have come to the conclusion that we are reaching the end of days. It is the only way to explain how bipolar our weather has been recently, blazing hot one day, over a foot of rain the next. It's crazy.

Well it's not the only way to explain it, but it's the one that lets me say "fuck it, world's ending anyway." I find that it's an incredibly liberating statement.


Hey. Did you watch our House of Representatives last week put the "ass" in "con-ass?" It was amazing, in that they just gave up all pretense of actually representing anybody and just went ahead with pushing their retarded agenda. Democracy at work, folks.

Hilariously, I'm actually FOR a constitutional revision. A cursory look at the senate brings up a million reasons why our current system isn't working. But of course, like every stupid idealist, I'd like to get through this in the proper way, without the administration hijacking the process and subverting the democratic institutions we're supposed to hold so dear.


Planned theme weeks for Mogwai:

Alternate Cuts week,
Hal Hartley Week (It's coming, Luis!)
Bizarre Japanese Cinema Week
Russian Cinema Week
Mumblecore Week (Guest programmed by Quark Henares)
Cult Cinema Week
Musical Week
Hammer Horror Week
I can program a better French Film Festival Week
Eff you MTRCB Week, featuring films banned/cut by the MTRCB

Any suggestions? Also, starting June 14, Mogwai will be open on Sundays. Bring your family! I'll show something terrible.


Predictably, the MTRCB got in the way of a couple of screenings at the French Film Festival. They X'd A Tout de Suite, presumably for one shot of a girl with her pubic hair on display. They limited Michael Haneke's La Pianiste to a single screening. Because you know, we are all delicate flowers, and we will surely wilt upon seeing these scandalous scenes.

Also, if you're keeping score: genital mutilation, incest, rape, and beating up women: you get one screening! Conventional sex + pubic hair: banhammer. Tells you everything you need to know about our censors.

Incidentally, they originally gave Drag Me to Hell an R18 here, despite it being PG13 in the States. Viva had to cut the movie down to make it R13. A movie that opened this same week, From Within, went uncut despite being a lot more violent than Drag Me to Hell.

A bill for the restructuring the MTRCB entered the house last week. Hopefully the House can get its act together long enough to get it through. I'm really getting tired of this shit.


Am I the only one who thinks Charlie's Grind and Grill is overrated? Their burgers are inexplicably salty, burying the beef flavor.

Beer selection is pretty good, though.


Should I have another slice of cake?

Fuck it, world's ending anyway.

Age is just a number, I'm told. That's true, I suppose, though that statement really underestimates the importance of numbers in civilization. Numbers are beautiful, horrible things, bursting with knowledge and meaning, holding in their cruel grasp the capacity for extreme reduction, and perhaps, the very secrets of the universe. Numbers, even when you attach the idea that they are "just" numbers, all tell stories, both wonderful and frightening.

Try as we might, we cannot escape that our lives are measured by numbers, that we can quantify the length of our own existence; as long as we are still lucid, we will always attach a number to the time we have spent in this world, and we are doomed to constantly reflect on what the changing of every number means. There are expectations attached to ages, societal norms that are more or less carried out despite our protestations in earlier numbers. There are goals that we've set for ourselves, both accomplished and abandoned. There are ways that we expect our body to act, or we expect ourselves to act, appropriate to the number of candles on our birthday cake. We think of what we've left behind along with the obsolete ages, the things we've outgrown, or the stuff we've forgotten how to do.

And we think of what's supposed to be coming next.

And there's everything and nothing, the thinking as pointless as it is unavoidable. We cannot see the future, and the past cannot be revisited. All we have, in the end, is a number, and whatever meaning we choose to give it.

For what it's worth: goodbye 25, you were quite good to me.

Hello, 26. Let's give you a good story to tell.

I've been digging through my hard drive, and I found a wealth of photos that I haven't shared with people. Photos are for sharing, so here's a bunch of them. This giant metal phallus (complete with razor sharp balls) can be found in Rotterdam. Rotterdam, as most of you know, is the world's most active port, and this appears to be their way of saying that they know it.


I was at Rotterdam for the young critics program. These are the young critics. I miss them already. We argued about a lot of things. That's Paula from Spain, Brandon from New York, Camilla from Brazil and Yoana from Bulgaria, and Gaetano from Italy.


The biggest disappointment I ran into in Rotterdam: their Burger King microwaves their hamburgers. What kind of civilized nation microwaves their burgers?


Rotterdam was designed by a master of origami. Obviously.


Large waffle! Covered in whipped cream! And cherries and stuff.


This is a maple bacon doughnut from Voodoo Doughnut in Portland. Now, bacon has become somewhat of a hot item on the internet recently, but Voodoo Doughnut knew it before anyone else.


Erwin Romulo sent me to write about the National Cheerleading Championships. I would call it a life-changing experience, except that would be a lie. Still, it ended up being a lot of fun. You can read all about it in the current issue of UNO, with Denise Laurel on the cover. I love this picture, because obviously, that girl in the middle knows that I am up to no good.


You cannot see his face, but that is totally Joel Lamangan, sleeping on the set of Desperadas 2. He was waiting for a shot to get set up, and he leaned his head against a wall, and he promptly fell asleep. Dedication, I tell you.

Life is not like the movies. The best that movies can do is be a lot like life, mimicking its rhythms, distilling the small truths of our condition into three acts, dialogue, and camera movements, letting us know that on some level, someone understands what's going on. There are people who like to pretend that they're part of some grand cosmic drama, with a script written long ago, their reactions to the triumphs and tragedies of their lives predetermined by models constructed long ago by decades and decade of film history. And the romance of the movies replaces the true romance of their lives, as they wait for the right shots to come, the right height of the moon, the right line that will tug at the heartstrings, that will make them want to chase someone to the airport and hug and kiss to the applause of everyone around them. Meanwhile, there is love, uncinematic love, in the scenes from life that would probably end up on the cutting room floor. And it's far more beautiful than anything a movie can give us.

"We're leaving now," she said, icily. He nodded. They stormed out. Some noticed. Some didn't. Down the hallway. He pressed the down button on the elevator panel three times, impatient. Ding. Doors open. They step in. "Can you believe them?" "I know!" Doors open. They keep storming. Security guard half bows, as if to royalty. To the car now. Doors open. Ignition. Driving. Stewing. Stoplight. "We need better friends." "I know." "Cooler friends," together. Text message, ignored. Screen glow makes their skin blue. Dies down. Silence for the rest of the drive home.

Home now. Doors. Lights. Showers. Sex. Rougher than usual. Orgasm. Sweat. Tired now. Phone rings, ignored. Rings again, pulled off the hook. Alone now, together, agreeing, nothing left to be said. Sleep now. Lights off. Breathing slows. Good night.

Would you let this man cook your dinner?

Yes. Yes you would, because that's not just any cross-dressing cabaret singer playing the banjo in front of a line of Nazi banners. That's Mark Gil, the greatest kontrabida our country has ever known. Of course you'd let him cook your dinner. Because why wouldn't you? Obviously, you'd have to be a fool to pass up that chance.

And on Friday, April 24th, he will be at Mogwai to do just that. Mark Gil is actually quite the gourmand, and he's been itching to get the chance to show off some of his favorite recipes. And if you go to Mogwai that night, you can totally get the greatest kontrabida our country has ever known to cook something for you. It's brillaint.

And upstairs, we'll be screening Mike de Leon's immortal Batch '81. There is always time for Batch '81. Leading up to the big night, we'll be screening two of Mark Gil's more recent films. On Wednesday, watch him as a suicidal tabloid reporter in Rotonda. Thursday, catch him as a lonely old man with a wife dying of cancer who sparks a relationship with a seventeen year-old girl in Alon.

So if you're not at Mogwai this week, you are so totally missing out. See you all there.


Now, I came into Crank 2 knowing that there had to be cuts, and I had accepted that. And there were cuts, but an amazing amount of boobs and blood made it through anyway.

But after reading the reviews of the film from other countries, it appears that they cut out more than the requisite lascivious activity and violence. They removed a couple of scenes, one featuring a young Chev Chelios at a Jerry Springer type show, and another with a giant rubber suit Chelios rampaging through the city, by all accounts scenes that really improved the movie.

Now see, it's one thing to have "objectionable material" removed from a film. It's a completely different thing to just give us an inferior cut of the movie.

It's like they want us to pirate their films.


Liz has started up a new music community mysongtoday, where people can write about their favorite song of the day. In her own words:

You know how it works; maybe you woke up with a certain tune in your head, maybe you it came on the radio on your way out, maybe it came on random shuffle on your media player, or maybe you just started singing it out of nowhere. However it happened, you're stuck on this one song today. Today, it has gripped you like never before. Today, you've heard it as you've never heard it in the past. Today, to you, it is the greatest song in the world. Today, you want to tell people to listen because life just isn't the same without this song. Well, you can go ahead and tell us about it. We'd be happy to find out what your song is today. Just upload it on to one of the many file hosting sites readily available on the internet and hook us up with the link. Go, go, go! Share and listen and have fun! I've shared my favorite song today! What's yours?JOIN TODAY!

I think it's awesome. Go check it out.


Dear Fully Booked,


This is not a children's book, and should not be in the children's section. I know it looks like one, but it features things like The Adventures of the Man With No Penis and Not Today, Little One, and even some things so offensive that he decided to take it off the site. Dear God, won't anyone think of the children?

Love,
Phil


Between reviewing films, writing for magazines and curating for Mogwai, I don't have a lot of time left for blogging, so I'm mostly left jotting down thoughts on my Twitter. Yeah, I know. But there.

Dear senators, please don't waste another minute on Chip Tsao. Don't make stupid, pointless resolutions that condemn him. Our government cannot be concerned with the crappy writing of a columnist from across the sea. You've got laws to write, yes? How're we doing with poverty? I'm looking at you, Zubiri.

Dear people who are vandalizing his wikipedia page, stop it. What are you, five? Cheap Tsao? Tool Kit? You're making his satire look brilliant in comparison. Just stop it.

Look people, he's just another idiot who can't write to save his life. We have enough of those around here to worry about.

Hey friends. If you're not doing anything later tonight, why not stop by Mogwai and catch the one-night-only, first-ever Philippine leg of the Asian Hot Shots Festival? The Asian Hot Shots Festival is a two year-old event that's been bringing eclectic Asian cinema to Germany. Now, they've decided to branch out to other countries, making its first stop right here at Mogwai.

The event starts at 7 PM, with a screening of The Legend of Shiva and Parvati, winner of the 2009 Manfred Durniak award. The movie follows a young half-Indian, half Caucasian man as he traces his parents' romance.

At 9 PM, a we'll be showing a bunch of shorts. On tap are Hulahoop Soundings, Kara, Shopping Cart Boy, Gandhi at the Bat, and a short documentary on South East Asian horror by cult video distributors Mondo Macabro.

At 11 PM, catch Hell's Ground, Pakistan's first splatter horror film. It should be good fun for all.

To learn more about the festival and its films, visit the festival website. I hope to see you all there.

No one ever talks about The Gaslight Anthem without talking about their one big influence: Bruce Springsteen. Their most recent album The '59 Sound is the album that Brandon Flowers wanted to do in Sam's Town, a heaping nostalgic dose of Americana wrapped in a jagged blanket of cathartic rock 'n' roll, the kind of music that makes the Boss such an emotional touchpoint for so many Americans. But Flowers never had it in him, coming out of the glitz and flash of Las Vegas, a city that struggles with what Springsteen had in spades: sincerity.

And that's where The Gaslight Anthem succeeds. Their emulation of the Boss was never a bid at becoming rock 'n' roll messiahs, never an experiment to bust out of an established sound. The Gaslight Anthem have Bruce in their blood, and they can't imagine it any other way. Like Springsteen, they write simple songs but pour everything they have into them, the sweat and tears ringing through in every word growled, every chord bashed. It's the kind of emotion that the emo kids will never really get; the kind of emotion that sets you free.

Download - The Gaslight Anthem - The '59 Sound