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11.18.2013

CINEMA ONE ORIGINALS 2013: THE LOWDOWN I

Islands
Directed by Whammy Alcazaren
Written by Whammy Alcazaren and Giancarlo Abrahan

Kabisera
Directed by Borgy Torre
Written by Vicente Garcia Groyon

Sitio
Directed and Written by Mes De Guzman



*Warning: Reviews are slightly spoiler-y.





Islands: Beloved by many, and understandably so, Whammy’s second feature is every bit as ambitious as his first, and it’s an ambition attuned both to the limits of its reach and to the imperatives of ignoring and overstepping those limits, which he thankfully indulges. A spaceship becomes a metaphor for the inarticulate speech of the heart that threads the crushing solitudes of a widow, a primeval hunter and an astronaut into something of a cosmic equivalence. All hangs brightly, sometimes even poignantly, until the astronaut inexplicably breaks into Moonstar 88's worst hit, disrupting the tone. And in revealing how everything is a mere figment of a director’s grandiose imagination, its lofty vision feels, if not entirely trivialized, then obfuscated, held back, reduced even, and all we have is the banal fumble of a conversation between two friends who can't quite admit their feelings for each other. For all its reliance on words, though, on navel-gazing elucidation and mumblecore whimsy, on epic poetry and corny pop song lyrics, the film is, if nothing else, a parade of intoxicating images, and for the most part, they articulate its longings with more brunt and potency, not least of which is that breath-taking shot of the astronaut’s helmet fogging up as he sighs, realizing perhaps that the world outside his spaceship is no different from the world inside it, only more desolate and more endless, reminding us, too, of how far the film wanted to go and how close it got before it's stranded by its own hesitations in speaking its love.

Kabisera: A fisherman stumbles on what can only be described as a motherlode of premium-grade meth and, with a prod from his enterprising wife, goes into business with his unstable childhood friend and things, naturally, fuck up, albeit slowly. A logline like that makes the Breaking Bad parallels almost a given, except that this was written four years ago before the show became a glimmer in the public consciousness. Not only that, but our history with meth runs long enough and deep enough to argue for its endemism. Dibs, then.  Not that it gets as hopped-up as a meth high. Its deliberate languor may lag some in the second act but is consistent with the coiled simmer of noir, which is what this is, given how it's as much about the frailty of men, and how the two at its center are undone by a woman, as it is about the patriarchal tyranny that is how we are wired as a culture and the monstrous shapes it can take. The disquieting coda, shot in appropriately excruciating slow motion that forces us to linger on the ramifications,  gets under the skin and takes its time leaving.

Sitio: At some point, a character holds up a bootleg DVD of  Straw Dogs. That's Mes giving you a nudge and a wink. Because that's what this essentially is, a bootleg cover of Straw Dogs, rough-hewn and low-fi, but not in the way Funny Games was, which is to say that it doesn't bother with either the postmodern interrogation, nor the gratuitous display, of cinematic violence, and more a straight-up transplanting of its skin and bones to our rural boondocks, which oddly makes sense. The city folk under siege are not a nerdish mathematician and his inexplicably gorgeous wife but rather a washed-up and paranoid coward and his two very shrill, and possibly very dim, and definitely very annoying, younger sisters, repairing to their derelict country house after he loses everything. And you're never quite sure if the four men who work for them and eventually, insidiously,  take over the place pose any serious danger, not when all they seem to want to do is cook food for everyone and videoke all night, even after one of them allegedly dies by the brother's unwitting hand. Taken purely on its self-imposed genre terms, it lacks the necessary threat and constriction, it's too listless, too loose. Come to this as if it were a black comic inversion of the power structure, though, and the drawn-out ambivalence of their upended class dynamic comes to life in spurts.

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