What makes David Lynch’s bizarre and often funny films creepier is that although deeply surreal, they are always rooted in everyday realism. Some best moments:
Lost Highway (1997). David Lynch’s most fucked up film (even by his standards). Scariest scene:
Eraserhead (1977). Lynch’s first, a surreal masterpiece. Also, the creepiest film to have ever existed.
Mulholland Drive (2001). I’ve seen this film at least six times, and this scene always elicits the same response. Wait until the very last second.
Inland Empire (2006). Rabbits!
Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me (1992). Movie prequel to the highly-rated (!) television series. Bob!
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
- Neruda, high on cheese
.
Having beef for dinner (ack!) at the new kabab place in Techno Hub made me realize that memory and remembrance are given too much credit for things. One can argue how forgetting is actually more accessible, versatile and emancipating. It works both as a tool for emotional blackmail (and revenge) on one end, as well as a key to world peace on the other. But then again, so what?
Matalino St. has been a new place of hangout for the past few weeks, from dinners (Wok Inn, Trellis, Kabab Corner, that Thai place, etc) to cafes (dark chocolate in Cafe Molinari) to billiards (Uncle Tats, an unassuming place and site of a celebrity sighting). Well, it’s not difficult to explain why we gravitate here. I guess the street name speaks for itself. Plenty of good memories here: lunch with my mother at Chicken Bacolod, in search of Quickly with Justin, productive thesis-writing days at Molinari with Trina and Rosa, post-Lantern Parade yoghurt shake at Kabab Corner with Kaps peeps, and Friday billiards nights with the gang. I have a feeling these memories will betray me once I’m in a foreign land in the next few months, thus, the pressing need to forget.
It’s been a decade since this Oscar-nominated song by Aimee Mann was featured in PT Anderson’s brilliant, borderline-absurd, Altmanesque drama Magnolia. Save Me perfectly captures the 21st century themes of alienation, cynicism and emotional paralysis.
Come on and save me
If you could save me
From the ranks of the freaks
Who suspect they could never love anyone
Except the freaks
Who suspect they could never love anyone
But the freaks
Who suspect they could never love anyone
*
Funny Ha Ha is an American indie film dedicated to the slackers, unrequited lovers, socially awkward people and astray yuppies of the world. Marnie is the quintessential (anti-)hero of this generation.
We are healed of a suffering only by experiencing it to the full
- Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time
.
From 19th century Russia (after 15 weeks, War and Peace is past at last), I now turn my attention to 19th century Mississippi with William Faulkner’s Absalom, Absalom!, a Southern Gothic novel I first encountered five years ago that I resignedly abandoned halfway. Its apparent impenetrability then temporarily turned me off from Faulkner (the greatest American novelist yet) until I fortunately stumbled upon, years later, his three best works of high modernism: The Sound and the Fury, As I Lay Dying and Light in August. I have a feeling I’ll enjoy this second reading so much more.
I was also supposed to write an extensive discourse on memory, time, space, happiness, pain, desires, frustrations, closures, shoulder needs, Texas-sized egos, memory-induced involuntary shudders, and other ridiculous things but I realized that yeah, what’s the point? Why bother? And so I’ll provide instead an account of how I missed Ms. Gretchen Espina’s (who? google it!) debut album launching and lip-synching at SOP due to an inopportune power outage caused by the noontime thunderstorms. What I did catch, however, was a sophomoric performance of Heart and some girl dancing Jai Ho on a stage that had culturally-appropriate and intricately-designed paper Ionic columns for a background. I really should watch this circus of a show a little more often.
We were thirsting for culture so we headed to the CCP to watch a modern dance festival, which included a couple of performances from a wonderful Japanese dancer and from Ballet Philippines 2. We initially (and falsely) thought this would be somewhat like Noh and given my past experience with traditional Japanese theater/music/dance (calling it weird would be an understatement), I wasn’t expecting too much. The show turned out to be an engaging, entertaining and enjoyable two hours with its excellent fusion of dance, performed music, poetry, visual art and humor. I actually like ballet minus all the tutus and arabesques and girls in pain. CCP was bursting with culture that night. Plays were also being staged in other theaters and I even encountered performance art (and a handful of vaguely familiar TV personalities) inside the men’s room.
We also had a late seafood pasta and pizza dinner plus bottles of excellently frigid beer by the bay and I sort of feel sorry that I really got to discover Manila’s charms only after having lived here for nearly a decade. No matter how big everything in Texas may be, I doubt it will ever compare with Manila.
On the back of a cartoon coaster
In the blue TV screen light
I drew a map of Canada
Oh Canada
With your face sketched on it twice
-Joni Mitchell, A Case of You
.
Met up earlier tonight with a kumpare (yet to meet the goddaughter though) and his friend (who claimed I was an Edward Norton type of guy, ahem) over a meal of delicious thin-crust marinara pizza and forgettable pasta and over cups of overly foamy cappuccino and rich, yummy dark chocolate. Ticking clock (less than 40 days left!) = more time with friends = more partehs.
In other news, I want to be a part time travel photographer someday but I don’t think I’ll ever be good enough. Also, I want to have kids soon. Now na.
Meanwhile, Hirokazu Koreeda’s After Life (Wandafuru Raifu) is a subtle, matter-of-fact film that delivers a quiet yet potent emotional impact with its ending. It documents a week in limbo in a facility where the newly departed are asked to choose, before proceeding to heaven, a single memory that they would take with them for eternity. I watched most of the film, mildly interested in it as a philosophical curiosity but remained emotionally distant. Somewhere in the second hour, however, there was a natural, imperceptible shift in perspective and everything suddenly became heartbreaking. Memory, death, fate, love and happiness intersect.
Congratulations to the EB Babes for accomplishing a rare threepeat at the Guillermo Mendoza Memorial Award as the country’s Most Popular Dance Group. Props too for that awesome, unrehearsed acceptance speech: “We are elated to receive this award. Thank you.” Congratulations as well to Roxanne Guinoo for winning the Luminous Skin White Star of the Night. She will be receiving a three-month supply of glutathione! If there was ever an award for awards show, this should win by a landslide.
Absolutely despised the loud, shallow, tedious assault on the ears that is Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen, a film that actually caused a momentary mild headache as its credits started to roll. Good thing I caught sight moments later of the country’s second best-selling recording artist (next to the multi-talented Willie Revillame, who will always and forever be number one!) and all the pain and exhaustion went away. The young prodigy Baby James was with fellow multi-platinum-selling recording artist and mother Kris (!) as well as half-brother Josh (!!) (And father James was there too but yeah no one cares).
In less serious matters, my visa got approved painlessly on Friday, which probably means no more chance for turning back. Realized too that my separation anxiety was never that bad and was never the primary reason for the recent emotional fireworks. Pathetic how after all these months, everything has become unbelievably clear and I am suddenly ridiculously rational.
Cook me in your breakfast
And put me on your plate
‘Cause you know I taste great
- Devendra Banhart, At the Hop
.
Prequel. Mediocre, yes, but after 11 months of inactivity, I finally have another new paragraph. Looking at the short history below, I think I have perfectly legitimate reasons for temporarily abandoning this work:
Sep-Oct 2006: first few pages finished; computer crashes, all is lost Jan-Apr 2007: reworking; first quarter is completed Apr 2007-Jun 2008: writing break due to thesis Jul 2008: a quarter of the second quarter is completed Aug 2008-May 2009: writing break due to GRE review and certain barf-inducing things Jun 2009: resumption, yeah!
Like most things thus far, this is taking forever but it’ll eventually get done.
The Past. Neuroscientists claim that smell is closely associated with memories. In my particular case, I’d like to argue that songs and places are as well. I’m sure Proust would concur.
The Curious. Apparently my exceptional planning and anticipation skills (e.g. travels organized to the tiniest detail, and getting homesick months before actually leaving) does not extend to my long-term future. I have only the vaguest idea what will happen in the next decade or so and I don’t find myself really caring much. We’ll cross the bridge when the bridge is made.
Tokyo Drift. I’ll be seeing Japanese auteur Hirokazu Kore-eda’s earlier film Wandafuru Raifu (After Life) sometime this week. I remember Nobody Knows impressing me very much. Also saw Mon Rak Transistor, Thai filmmaker Pen-ek Ratanaruang’s version of a whimsical rom-com/musical. His recent work, Ploy, may probably be my third favorite Thai film (after film god Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s Syndromes and a Century and Blissfully Yours).
June 21, summer solstice, is the longest day of the year. I spent most of it, however, asleep in bed, recovering from a previous day’s worth of extensive wandering, which brought me from the overwhelming chaos of Divisoria and Quiapo to the overwhelming artificiality of Boni High Street. I also vaguely remember walking along Katipunan at 4am, after an hour or so of enduring the strange cacophony of loud, rowdy Koreans and some second-rate singing from third-rate comedians somewhere in UN Avenue.
I guess it’s safe to say that the old Kristian is back after half a year of illusional (and delusional) existence. About frakking time. Now the only things left to settle are departure-related. Let the 50-day countdown begin.
Today, we celebrate two anniversaries: Bloomsday (Joyce nerds reJoyce!) and my tenth year at UP. In 1999, I entered the university as a naive, thin teen. Still all of those now except for the teen part and perhaps just a bit more cynical and disinterested.
Saw yesterday the playful and fragrantly-titled Mababangong Bangungot (Perfumed Nightmare), a groundbreaking first film from Kidlat Tahimik, an economist with no prior background in filmmaking. I think Sonny, with all his passion for periphery power and de-Westernization, will enjoy this immensely.
Indonesian food is incredibly diverse and usually tastes better than they look.
My favorites are bebek goreng (duck fried crispy in high temperatures) from Solo and martabak (sweet pancake-like night food) from Jakarta.
Nasi gudeg (sweet-spicy rice meal with double-boiled egg, jackfruit chunks, cowskin, chicken shreds, etc), a Yogyakarta specialty and pempek (deep fried fish and egg drowned in spicy garlic vinegar), a snack from Palembang are both equally sumptuous. Indonesian es teh (iced tea) are also addictive.
Other delicious meals include kaput tahu (a tofu dish) and timlo (boiled and scrambled eggs plus chicken liver in broth), both eaten in the unassuming sidewalk stalls of Solo.
Of course, there is also the ubiquitous nasi goreng (fried rice), satay ayam (barbecued chicken with peanut sauce), beef rendang, mie goreng (fried noodles) and many countless other dishes, including some nice cassava and coconut milk desserts. Indonesian meals won’t be complete without sambal (chili sauce) and kecap manis (sweet soy sauce). Below are photos of soto ayam (soup with chicken) and a Jogja sidewalk food place with mats and tables and boxes of delicious krupuk (deep-fried crackers).
