adventures in neverland

just because you have seen both the (deliciously fabulous) original and the (unbelievably lousy) 2011 remake of joey gosiengfiao's campy  temptation island  and almost all of the local indie sexploitation movies that portrayed the stereotypical gays (parlorista, effiminate, cross dresser, pimp) and their typical luvers (call boy, macho dancer, masahista, estudyanteng walang pera, provincianong ambisyoso, durugista) does not make you a pink cineaste. i don't pretend to be one (pink cineaste, gagah), but i have seen some really good films about gays (or pink films) from all over the world. charrr!! here are some of the noteworthy ones. take note that most of the actors who portrayed gay roles in the following films were (and still are) big stars in their own countries. in the case of brokeback mountain, both jake gyllenhaal and the late heath ledger are well known globally being products of hollywood's multi-billion dollar star factory. what i am trying to say is...

the movie can test your patience. at nearly three hours and too much talk, i almost walked out. good thing there was the woman in a sexy outfit (more of her later.) don't get me wrong - i luv christian bale. he makes every role count, even something as ridiculous as a billionaire crusader in a stupid costume. ching! and after watching memento several years ago, i admired christopher nolan both as a director and a storyteller. he knows how to keep you on the edge of your seat - involve you in every scene. he is a thinking woman's director. chos. but the dark knight rises, the finale in the resurrected batman saga, is simply a colossal disappointment. it's too long. too grande. too ambitious. too.....for my simple, uninitiated, short spanned mind. (it wants to say a lot of things: the state of global politics, stock market manipulation, occupy wall street. kahilo.) i could barely understand what batman and bane were saying in most of their scenes. maybe i ...

dear  you, yes, the wonderful you. i know how you are feeling and what you are doing right now. sleepless, troubled, bothered? sitting on the veranda right outside of your room, staring at the darkness. it's raining, yet you can't sleep. everyone else is now asleep. in fact, the whole neighborhood is humming, dreaming, like there is a contest on who can snore the loudest or sleep the most deep. the rain has cast a spell on everyone and put them to sleep. even the usually noisy cicadas are quiet. except for you. you keep on thinking -- what's going to happen next? tomorrow when you go to mass?  when you see your friend r again. i can tell that you are confused. guilty. scared? i hope not. but you are thirteen. too young to know what's going to happen next. you wish there is someone, perhaps a woman dressed in pink inside magic mirror who can tell you what lies ahead. life, at this point, is like the teevee soap operas that you luv to watch along with your mother...

sometimes you don't really realize that someone is truly gone, until you start missing him. &&&&& i did not cry when i last saw him. at the airport. in hong kong. his face was a mixture of sadness, fear and excitement. i would never forget that look on his face. after a brief, awkward hug (we were always uncomfortable being intimate in public), we let go and said our final goodbye. then he walked away. i had a train to catch, but i didn't mind. i just stood there, frozen, as he was walking towards the immigration counter. he was wearing a blue jacket, dark blue jeans. a black backpack was on his shoulder. his stride was heavy, unsure, wary. i was expecting he would turn back. change his mind. but he did not even look back. he just kept on walking, while i was staring at him for the whole ten minutes until he was out of sight. i went straight to the train station and boarded the airport express that brought me back to ifc. i knew i should cry, but ...

"love thou thy dream all base love scorning love thou the wind and here take warning that dreams alone can truly be for 'tis in dream i come to thee."              - song by ezra pound ever since i saw him in that movie with andy garcia, city island, playing mr. garcia's son, i became a fan of ezra miller. young as he is, he has that mesmerizing (i want to say magnetic, but that's another cliche) presence on the screen that even a tested thespian like mr. garcia can't match. his intensity reminds me of edward norton. like mr. norton, ezra does not rely solely on his well-chiseled face (too pretty) to win your attention. he has you at hello, so to speak. when i saw him in we need to talk about kevin (adapted from lionel shriver's harrowing book about a mother trying to comprehend and cope with his teen-age son's crimes), i was more convinced that ezra, indeed, is one of his generation's best actors. he matched tilda swinton's oscar...

did you notice (just lyk the rest of the world) how the recently finished olympics made gorgeous hunkie guys the center of attention, upstaging even the most fabulous gurls on the planet? indeed, the blogsphere was full of pictures of guys in skimpy shorts, swimming trunks, wet or dry, displaying the oh so drool worthy bodies. the gay world sure had a field day. i. am. not. into. sports. but these photos surely made me wish i were there in the city of the queen, beatles, afternoon tea and hugh grant. chos! the world has turned gay. but then we need not wonder why. after all, it started eons ago in greece. if you know what i mean. now everybody sing - "i'm cuuuuuuuuminnnnnnnnnnngggggggggggg out!" the last one's my favourite. it's so sweet. it says it all about the recent olympics! chos. till the next four years! see you in brazil! the land of demigods, havianas and what have you. (all pictures were tak...

“ for we can still love the world, who find a famished kitten on the step, and know recesses for it from the fury of the street, or warm torn elbow coverts.”                from chaplinesque i don’t want to see anybody crying at my funeral. nor talking only good things about me, the great deeds that i have done, as if i were a saint. i was not. like my favourite artiste, who passed away recently, i knew i was no good. now, i felt like singing, which should come later. my mother, the frustrated dramatic actress, would probably shed a tear or two. she might even faint. let her be. i have seen it during the wake of her husband and then of her oldest son (so i heard. i wasn’t there). she cried hysterically in both funerals, like a mad woman. but i love her, so i gave her the license to showcase her flair for the dramatics that would put even her idol, nora aunor, to shame. it’s hy...