Bangkok City Gallery has launched Give Us A Little More Time, an ongoing project since 2014, by a video artist and film director, Chulayarnnon Siriphol. He painstakingly put together 5 years' worth of  newspaper cuttings into an animation piece. This exhibition coincides with reopening of Bangkok City Gallery, and Give Us A Little More Time is Siriphol’s the second solo exhibition with the gallery. 

mm2 will be launching their On-Demand Streaming Service Cathay CineHOME

As an advocate of slow cinema, Lav Diaz’s films are not so much concerned with capturing Filipino reality as they are with expressing the emotive struggles that plague its society. His oblique presentation of ideas often blend sci-fi with history to create something reflective yet prescient. In Elegy to the Visitor From the Revolution, Diaz interweaves the stories of a prostitute, a group of criminals, and a musician, as observed by an eponymous visitor from the past.

At 80 minutes, it’s a drop in the bucket compared with the lengthy historical epics Diaz is known for making. After all, his 2004 epic, Evolution of a Filipino Family, boasts an astounding 10-and-a-half-hour run time. With what could have been a typical four- to six-hour addition to his filmography, Diaz demonstrates great restraint in crafting a feature that is smaller in scope, yet customarily audacious in its representation of national history, poverty and social strife.

Topics of crime and poverty are no strangers to Filipino filmmakers, namely Brillante Mendoza or Raymund Gutierrez. They capture these issues with a handheld camera. In their films, the frame is often moving with the characters, rather than just characters moving within the frame. This vérité-like approach lends a certain intensity to the kinaesthetic imagery.

In contrast, Diaz is notably distant from his subjects when he frames them in his compositions. It’s this aspect that sets him apart from his fellow contemporaries. The camera is a passive onlooker, often lingering on subjects from a distance before cutting to the next tableaux. Yet, each scene is no less intimate. The stillness of the image exemplifies every movement, like a photograph come to life.

In Elegy, this serves as a perfect parallel with the enigmatic Visitor, whose presence punctuates each of the three stories. Dressed in traditional attire, the Visitor is a quiet observer from a time long past. As the film’s title suggests, the Visitor is a relic of the Philippine Revolution, a movement which led to the country’s independence from Spain in 1897.


She watches as the repression she had sought to escape is being manifested in new forms in the modern day. She watches Teresa, a prostitute, fruitlessly pursuing clients at the dead of night. She watches a couple brutally forcing a man to confess where he hid the money they had stolen, but to no avail. Finally, she watches a faceless musician (played by Diaz), strumming his guitar in the confines of his abode, playing to an audience of one. While all three stories are varying, they share a common thread of loss and failure.

The Visitor’s weary eyes and downward gaze betray a growing despondence as she observes the unmerited outcome of her country’s independence. She’s often accompanied by the motif of water; her presence synonymous with the diegetic hum of pattering rain or river rapids. Like the water droplets or ebbing tides, the Visitor’s role in history is ephemeral. The Revolution she fought so valiantly for is a short lived victory, only to be washed over by a new wave of melancholy and despair in the modern age.


Unfortunately, as provocative as these ideas are, they can get overshadowed by overdrawn characters, and a runtime that overstays its welcome. Granted, the film is only over an hour long, but it’s arguably an hour too long. Unsurprisingly, Elegy is the extension of a one-minute short Diaz had previously intended for the Nikalexis.MOV omnibus, an anthology of short films dedicated to late film critics Alexis Tioseco and Nika Bohinc. One can’t help but wonder if the film’s ideas would fare just as well, if not more effectively, as a short film.

However, where the film lacks in brevity, it gains in depth. Ultimately, Elegy speaks not of unjust people, but of the unjust society they live in. For those trapped in the cycle of poverty, most have nowhere to turn to except the streets or crime. Diaz frames these individuals not as perpetrators, but as victims.

Perhaps confining their stories to a 20-minute short would serve them an injustice. Perhaps Diaz quickly realised the breadth a feature film could provide that a short would otherwise lack. Perhaps the answer lies no further than the mysterious musician played by Diaz: unheard and unappreciated, his short guitar rifts falling on deaf ears. An echo of the artists’ place in contemporary Filipino society, and a mirror of Diaz’s own struggle as a filmmaker.

Written by Charlie Chua

You can watch the film in this link.

Depending on where you fell in the social hierarchy of adolescent politics, high school could have been a pretty great or a pretty terrible time for you. Academic performance aside, the social experience of high school is a beast unlike any other—from the perils of wanting to fit in and perhaps not wanting to stand out too much to puberty and sexual awakenings, the years before one turns 18 are often comprised of equal measures of confusion, anxiety, and excitement.

Jerold Tarog’s 2010 coming-of-age classic Senior Year is a testament to this fact, as it looks back on the final year of a cohort of students at the private Catholic school, St. Frederick’s Academy, meandering through individual perspectives of different students from different cliques and socioeconomic backgrounds throughout the film. Tarog’s film begins with an adult Henry Dalmacio (RJ Ledesma), paralysed by indecision as he sits in his car, conflicted at his decision to attend his high school reunion. He reflects on snapshot memories of his final year, with classmates’ names coming to mind, as well as intramurals, a cockroach-infested baked macaroni at lunchtime, books, his graduation speech, and it all seems like quite the blur.


Henry isn’t exactly the most likable character from there on—he sees two classmates arrive as adults, commenting that one looks the same and the other “[isn’t] so cute anymore”. He then remembers a classmate, Sofia Marasigan (Rossanne de Boda) and we’re taken back in time, as he impatiently studies with her in a library and Sofia struggles to remember the formula for Newton’s second law of motion. It’s clear what high school trope Henry plays—he’s the unfriendly, impatient “nerd” who seemingly thinks he’s better than everyone else. He berates her harshly, stating that she’s eating up too much of his time and that she keeps calling him too much at home “as if they’re close”, telling her that she’s behaving like a stalker. And well, it’s mean and any woman who remembers the feeling of rejection at 16, will empathise with Sofia.

The reverie ends and the adult Henry hits his forehead, saying “motherchucker”. Indeed, Henry, you are a motherchucker.

I’m focusing on this opening a great deal because Tarog does a great job of setting the scene. We’ve all been there—at least for those of us who’ve attended a high school reunion. The anxiety of showing up, seeing people you do and don’t recognise, and really, there’s almost something macabre about the fascination of wanting to see who’s done well and who hasn’t—those who’ve “peaked”, as we often say. And for some, while a high school reunion may be a period for reminiscing, it can also be a time of shame (see: Henry) or pain, for those who will be confronting the ghosts of their past for the first time in a very long time.


If we zoom out, the casting of Senior Year is admittedly what saves the film for me. Aside from the adult cast, all of the students are played by actual students and I must say, it is incredibly refreshing to see 16 year olds that actually look like 16 year olds—from the awkward 2010s hair, the fashion that did not age gracefully a decade later, and of course, the sweltering Manila heat and humidity that’s a curse on any teenage girl’s skin. I appreciate the realism here and I’m sure that audiences who saw the film during its successful and later extended run at SM Cinemas thought so too.


To cast the students, Tarog actually surveyed hundreds of high school students, asking them to share their own personal stories and experiences—of them, the most interesting 10 were picked out and put through a two-month workshop, and Tarog wrote his screenplay around them. While there’s been a fair share of teen films and television shows that look to tackle any and all issues of “coming-of-age” under the sun, the realism offered by these real-life students allows the resulting narrative of Senior Year to come across in a genuine way, from the delivery of their lines to the lines themselves, it feels like I really am watching life play out for a group of 16-year-olds.

The resulting characters are rich and fully fleshed out, each exemplifying a role in the high school food chain—from the resident “popular girl” Solenn Vergara (Nikita Conwi), the shy Sofia who gradually learns to find her footing, St. Frederick’s very own Daria Morgendorffer, the sardonic Mitch Veloso (Celina Peñaflorida, later Ina Feleo), to the mysterious Jackie Bunda (Francez Bunda) who doesn’t show up to graduation—but without verging into stereotype territory.


Bunda, for one, has an abusive family life that her friends know little about. Her character says little throughout the film, but she is keen observer as Tarog gives us a window into her life at home, her father trading their DVD player for a small baggie of methamphetamines. She quietly carves away at a bar of soap, watching her parents argue and the frame is positioned in such a way where's she's in focus and her parents' gesticulations just outline the shot.


In addition, Tarog does a great job of realistically addressing the different issues that LGBTQ students face at this phase in their lives, especially within a Catholic educational institution as well as in a country where, despite the fact that homosexuality is generally socially acknowledged, discrimination still remains and little legal rights are afforded. For one, there’s Carlo Larada (Daniel Clavecilla Medrana, later Arnnold Reyes) who grapples with being bullied by his male peers for being effeminate. When his physical education teacher points out that his classmates probably think he’s “bakla”—a person who was biologically assigned with a male gender at birth but has taken on female or effeminate characteristics—he vehemently asserts that he doesn’t care as he’ll never see them again soon enough. Carlo says to his friends that this simply is who he is, but doesn’t go as far as self-identifying as queer in any way.

Then there’s Sofia Marasigan (Rossanne de Boda) who’s been receiving letters from a secret admirer who turns out to be a girl. When Sofia’s deeply religious father finds the letters, he tells her to remember how she was raised and reads verses of the Bible to her, despite her insistence that she's done nothing wrong. The scene is familiar to me, having heard similar stories from Filipino friends who've experienced the “religion as an antidote” approach to parenting when they came out to their own parents.


Exemplifying different socioeconomic backgrounds, cliques, and personas alike, Tarog’s cast of characters are a varied, complex group. I'd say more but I'd only risk spoiling it for you. What I can guarantee, however, is that you'll love some, you'll hate some, and hell, they'll probably even remind you of yourself or people you knew.

Each with their own back stories, these characters are a refreshing reminder that a coming-of-age film set in a high school doesn’t have to be some super-slick, glossy, idealised and romanticised image of the high school experience. Beyond their lives at school and the governing rule of high school politics, these are really just 16-year-olds trying to figure out who they are and in its recognition of that, that’s what makes Senior Year work.

Senior Year is currently available for streaming on Vimeo.

Melissa Noelle Esguerra is a multifaceted writer who likes to explore all things pertaining to art, film, culture, and literature. She obtained her BA (Hons) in English Language & Literature with a minor in Linguistics from New York University. After having spent the last four years in New York City, she now resides in Singapore.

Boonrerm by Thai filmmaker Sorayos Prapapan was recently made available for online viewing via the Lockdown Cinema Club, an initiative by Filipino filmmakers to help raise money for independent filmmakers in the Philippines who are badly hit by the COVID-19 pandemic. The project introduces a programme of films from the Philippines and other Southeast Asian countries to the public in a bid to raise donations and funds for these vulnerable filmmakers.


Boonrerm follows the drudgeries of its titular character, a live-in maid in Thailand who is at the mercy of her mercurial and often cruel mistress. I believe it was Buster Keaton who once observed that “tragedy is a close-up. Comedy, a long shot”. Prapapan holds steadfast to this adage in his depictions of the absurd and derogatory hoops that Boonrerm has to jump through at the behest of her mistress – he lets these scenes unfold with wry detachment, going no closer than a medium shot. It is only through Prapapan's clear-eyed formal choices are these acts of casual cruelty made amusing.


The film opens with the protagonist being tasked to lie in a dog cage where a measuring tape would have sufficed, and it only gets worse from here; by turns as callous as they are unaware, she eventually finds herself in a rubbish heap, digging to retrieve an unwanted recipe book. A gifted comic, Prapapan is patient and assured in his timings and payoffs; the wicked punchline of the trash heap sequence is only resolved in the film’s final shot, which sees Boonrerm’s mistress lazily preparing a microwavable meal. The sly final shot also juxtaposes itself smartly with its preceding scene, which sees Boonrerm and her friends feasting on a scrumptious meal, prepared by themselves, for themselves. The comment made here is not unlike the one in last summer’s audacious genre-bender Parasite, a point I won't belabour here.


The film’s most damning observation of the middle class’ treatment of the low wage underclass comes from a throwaway moment of commiseration – a senior of Boonrerm’s relating a moment of joy when she found out that her new job at the department store came with days off, as though it were a privilege or generosity. It is to Prapapan’s credit that the moment plays out with such ease and restraint, but its heart rings loud and true.

As our nation holds fast for the remaining few months of our quasi-lockdown / reopening, we mustn’t forget that for many, lockdown work from home has always been the rule of the day.

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As part of their fundraising and community engagement initiatives, the Lockdown Cinema Club programmed a one-week screening of selected Southeast Asian short films from 15-22 May. Head here to find out more: https://www.facebook.com/lockdowncinemaclub/

Written by Koh Zhi Hao

Some highlights include:

Face The Music (Kazakhstan, 2018, Katerina Suvorova, PG)
A documentary focusing on the Kazakhstani boyband, Ninetyone. They take inspiration from K-pop while incorporating ethnic identity to showcase Kazakh culture on a global stage. However, their popularity with the Kazakh youth is seen as a threat to traditional masculinity and conservative values of the older generation.

Face The Music (Kazakhstan, 2018, Katerina Suvorova, PG)

40 Days of Silence (Uzbekistan, 2014, Saodat Ismailova, PG13)
Burdened by the weight of her past deeds, a young woman, Bibicha, retreats to her grandmother’s house in rural Uzbekistan and undertakes a 40-day vow of silence as atonement.

40 Days of Silence (Uzbekistan, 2014, Saodat Ismailova, PG13)

Aurora (Kyrgyzstan, 2018, Bekzat Pirmatov, PG13)
Aurora is an ostentatious, Soviet-era spa resort. Taking place over the course of a single day, but presented in a non-linear narrative structure, the film weaves farcical elements with social commentary, providing insight into present-day Kyrgyzstan. Aurora was selected as Kyrgyzstan's entry for Best International Feature Film at the 92nd Academy Awards.

Aurora (Kyrgyzstan, 2018, Bekzat Pirmatov, PG13)

Anino (2000) is directed and written by Raymond Red, widely considered to be one of the pioneers in Filipino alternative cinema. Anino was the first Filipino film to win a Cannes Film Festival award back in 2000, and is widely regarded as one of the best short films to have come out from the Southeast Asian nation.

Anino, in Tagalog, means shadow. In the case of this film’s title, it refers to the shadow of the Philippines’ biggest city, Manila. A densely populated and cramped city of contrasts, with a very distinct mix between the rich and poor. Anino feels like an almost nostalgic love letter to the city itself. However, this short film doesn’t so much aim to evoke a sense of warmth and familiarity in its nostalgia as it does the troubled and repressed traumatic mood evident in the city’s inhabitants.


From the beginning, as the title card rolls, we are greeted with the soft tunes of a guitar piece that seem to invoke a bittersweet feeling. We then cut to a shot of the traffic in Manila, with cars flooding the streets and choking the air with their exhaust. This shot then intercuts with shots of buskers and newspapermen pushing their carts and going about their day in what is obviously a lively street.

This scene perfectly encapsulates the mood of the rest of the short. The opening scene isn’t a glamorous establishing shot of the city mixed with nostalgic music. Instead, it showcases the shadows of Manila’s streets: grimy, jam full of vehicles polluting the air alongside an abundance of foot traffic. This whole time the scene's sights are colour graded with warm tones, as seen in films such as Little Women. We can see this contrast again in the short film’s ending, when the cityscape of Manila, with all of its noise and heat, is layered over with the same soft tune that was playing in the beginning of the short, yet again evoking that bittersweet feeling as the screen fades to black. Hence the short feels like Red’s love letter to Manila in ways that explore the shadows of the city and its inhabitants.


The two main characters of the film are: a drifter and down-on-his-luck photographer (Ronnie Lazaro), and a man in black (John Arcilla). It’s important to note that none of these characters have names, almost as if they were shadows roaming this bustling and choking city. The man in black is also likely a mere apparition from the photographer’s mind, as evident from when the man in black taunts the photographer in front of the church. During this whole scene, there’s no one who pays any attention to the commotion caused by the man in black as he shouts and accuses the photographer of “stealing people’s souls” by taking pictures of them. The bizarreness of the man in black character is most apparent in the film’s ending, with the man in black driving the photographer away, claiming that he is finally going “home”.


On one hand, the man in black appears to be a manifestation of death, who meets the photographer outside a church and appears after the photographer is beaten by corrupt cops at the end of the film. On the other hand, the photographer could also be a manifestation of the filmmaking cynic, particularly the middle-aged filmmaker/photographer who was once filled with optimism and had moved from the village to the city for work, only to become a hollow of his former self when confronted by the grim reality of the city he inhabits.


Both characters, along with all the other characters in the film such as corrupt cops and street urchins, are the ‘shadows’ that lurk in every street corner of the film. They represent the unseen that the privileged choose to ignore, just as they are blinded to the systemic injustices and poverty shown on screen. Clearly, the short film was meant to be a social commentary by Red, and it captures his attempt to highlight the issues of his country to a broader international audience.

The performances are superb all around. The three main actors, Larazo, Arcilla and Eddie Garcia give excellent performances with their commandeering screen presence. On a technical level, the cinematography is amazing as well. However, the sound mixing of the film could use more work, especially when the film relies so heavily on it. There are numerous scenes throughout the film where the music and the diegetic sound do not blend well together. At its worst, the music would sometimes just cut off completely when transiting to another scene. The film is also scored very sparsely, invoking a greater emotional response when it is used in a scene.

As Raymond Red puts it himself during his acceptance speech at the Cannes International Film Festival 2000, “(I share) this award with a lot of the struggling young filmmakers in the Philippines today, (who are putting) all their efforts in trying to make the country a better place with all their troubles today.”

I would also like to mention that Red spent most of his savings—more than $8,000—to make Anino, and he came close to bankruptcy to go to Cannes Film Festival, where he personally handed out photocopied promotional flyers for his film. For Red, pursuing his art has come at a hefty price and he is one of many passionate Southeast Asian filmmakers who are fuelled by their passion and love for the craft. To that end, I highly recommend Anino to anyone who wants to see an amazing short film from a talented and passionate filmmaker from the region.

Written by Erwin Lim

Watch the short film here:

Three Wheels shows us the consequences and effects of an atrocity that removes a human being’s freedom to choose their relationships, and how it can affect people however minute it may seem.  It appears that despite how much time has passed, or how long they have to get used to the situation that they have been thrust into, the stains will continue to persist. It is a sad reality that will take hold until their time’s end.

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As part of their fundraising and community engagement initiatives, the Lockdown Cinema Club programmed a one-week screening of selected Southeast Asian short films from 15-22 May. Head here to find out more: https://www.facebook.com/lockdowncinemaclub/

Written by Timothy Ong