Cinemalaya 2017: Respeto
It's rare to see a Filipino film having rap poetry as part of its narrative. Rarer still, is to see a Filipino film using such poetic form to take a sharp look at a system of government-sponsored violence, prevalent then as it is now. Such is the feat of "Respeto", the first feature film of ad and music video director Albert Monteras II, which won the Best Film award in the recent Cinemalaya Philippine Independent Film Festival (aside from a host of other awards).
At first glance (that is, if we are to base on the trailer and other promotional materials, prior to watching the film), "Respeto" seems to be just another clichéd and lackadaisical follow-your-dreams story, with some hip-hop rap thrown in to make things appealing to the followers of this sub-culture. But just like some truly great films that prefer to have their identity in low-profile, until you've actually seen them, "Respeto" rather deceives you with its seemingly bland allure, allowing oneself to be invited to its world with little or no expectations at all, perhaps even with a sneering eye. But once you get acclimated to its world, the experience becomes surprisingly unforgettable. Let me qualify that the milieu the film inhabits - slums and drug-dealing - isn't entirely unfamiliar, as it's something that we've already encountered in other Filipino films before. On that score, "Respeto" may be accused of peddling yet another specimen of poverty porn, a term that has become associated, for better or for worse, with indie filmmaking (but why is it a different matter when we talk of a Brocka film or of "Biyaya ng Lupa" and "Anak Dalita"?).
But to accuse "Respeto" of being a miserablist fare is to entirely miss the point. The destitution that the film portrays serves as a context for something essential and relevant that it's trying to underline. But more on this later. First, what exactly is the storyline of the film? In a slum area in Pandacan, we get to meet Hendrix (played by rap artist Abra), an orphaned teener who serves as a drug dealer for his sister's live-in partner (Brian Arda). But Hendrix doesn't want to be stuck in such kind of life, thus he pursues his passion and talent for rapping, by way of attending underground fliptop sessions (much to the chagrin of his sister and brother-in-law) and, when chance presents itself, even participating in them, even when most of the time he's on the losing end. Through all this, he gets to meet Doc (played by Dido de la Paz), a recluse old man who owns a shop that sells used books, which Hendrix and his buddies have attempted to steal from one time to be able to have the money needed to join in a fliptop contest. It turns out that Doc is a retired poet, whose mastery of the art Hendrix gets to have a taste of, however bitter it may be, in two pivotal scenes.
In a certain sense, Hendrix is like Ansel Elgort's character in "Baby Driver", in that he uses the power of music (in this case, rap) to drown out his dreary existence (sometimes, with the aid of his headphones). One could likely get the initial impression of the film taking the typical coming-of-age route of the young man having to go through all the hurdles in pursuit of his dream, until he eventually reaches the point where, after all the lessons learned, he's now fully-prepared to prove his mettle in a penultimate rap battle. But Monteras has a different agenda on mind than merely serving us another syrupy triumph-against-all-odds tale of ambition and perseverance. This is where the film assumes an unmistakable political tone. The portrayal of Hendrix' involvement with drugs amid the squalor of his surroundings is not an excuse to glamorize poverty and crime. Rather, it becomes a searing way to highlight our current social climate wherein such destitution serves as excuse for the authorities to wantonly violate basic human rights and even life.
In the same way that Doc's withdrawal from society isn't meant to be an act of haughtiness and aloofness, but rather masks a painful personal tragedy associated with a past marked by an authoritarian and repressive government. Thus, Doc and Hendrix represent different generations living in a society whose violence assumes the form of legitimacy by the mere fact that it's being mandated by the state. Perhaps, the only way that the two men are able to seek refuge from the chaos of it all is through the subversive and cathartic powers of poetry: for the old man, in the form of a literary piece;for the young man, in the form of rap. The remarkable thing about "Respeto" is that it was able to announce its political leanings not in big, bold capital letters, but in an understated and non-didactic manner, leaving it to the audience to grasp the underlying message. If it happens that the message is actually "lost" on us, there's still the coming-of-age tale for us to see. (It's another feat of the film that it also works on different levels.)
But (spoiler here) don't expect a grand showdown by the film's end where Hendrix finally gets to triumph over everything after he was able to show his worth and expertise in a fliptop battle (though the film was able to make us expect something of that kind). It's in fact a different showdown that occurs, where it appears that the young man's fate gets sealed for the worst. It's a final image that's both poetic and poignant, even if it somewhat deflects from the realism that the film is primarily maintaining all throughout. The insight that can probably be gained from the conclusion is that a system of unmitigated violence can still lamentaby crush the shield, refuge or resistance provided by the poetic language.
Finally, let me end this piece by raising a glass to the incredible work of the actors who play the two main characters in the film: Abra and Dido de la Paz. As the orphaned Hendrix, Abra exudes rawness and vibrancy that can easily endear him to us, despite the not-so-good things that circumstances sometimes prompt him to do. Here's a street-smart youth trying to break free from the squalor of his milieu. While as the reclusive Doc, Dido is able to movingly communicate to us the pain of being haunted by the ghosts of a tragic past, without the benefit of explicitly telling us every now and then what is it that haunts him (save for that crushing monologue later in the film where it's finally revealed). Here's a broken-down poet whose cruel fate seems to have him to be perpetually chained to the past. Together, Doc and Hendrix work out a father-son dynamics, with each one being able to fill in for the other the figure that he's been longing for. Technically speaking, I wasn't able to see "Respeto" in the Cinemalaya festival itself (instead, only during its regular run this month). But allow me still to say that I can put it alongside Thop Nazareno's "Kiko Boksingero" (likewise a coming-of-age film) as one of the best that the festival has produced this year.
(Abra finds poetry amid the squalor and violence in Albert Monteras II's "Respeto")
At first glance (that is, if we are to base on the trailer and other promotional materials, prior to watching the film), "Respeto" seems to be just another clichéd and lackadaisical follow-your-dreams story, with some hip-hop rap thrown in to make things appealing to the followers of this sub-culture. But just like some truly great films that prefer to have their identity in low-profile, until you've actually seen them, "Respeto" rather deceives you with its seemingly bland allure, allowing oneself to be invited to its world with little or no expectations at all, perhaps even with a sneering eye. But once you get acclimated to its world, the experience becomes surprisingly unforgettable. Let me qualify that the milieu the film inhabits - slums and drug-dealing - isn't entirely unfamiliar, as it's something that we've already encountered in other Filipino films before. On that score, "Respeto" may be accused of peddling yet another specimen of poverty porn, a term that has become associated, for better or for worse, with indie filmmaking (but why is it a different matter when we talk of a Brocka film or of "Biyaya ng Lupa" and "Anak Dalita"?).
But to accuse "Respeto" of being a miserablist fare is to entirely miss the point. The destitution that the film portrays serves as a context for something essential and relevant that it's trying to underline. But more on this later. First, what exactly is the storyline of the film? In a slum area in Pandacan, we get to meet Hendrix (played by rap artist Abra), an orphaned teener who serves as a drug dealer for his sister's live-in partner (Brian Arda). But Hendrix doesn't want to be stuck in such kind of life, thus he pursues his passion and talent for rapping, by way of attending underground fliptop sessions (much to the chagrin of his sister and brother-in-law) and, when chance presents itself, even participating in them, even when most of the time he's on the losing end. Through all this, he gets to meet Doc (played by Dido de la Paz), a recluse old man who owns a shop that sells used books, which Hendrix and his buddies have attempted to steal from one time to be able to have the money needed to join in a fliptop contest. It turns out that Doc is a retired poet, whose mastery of the art Hendrix gets to have a taste of, however bitter it may be, in two pivotal scenes.
In a certain sense, Hendrix is like Ansel Elgort's character in "Baby Driver", in that he uses the power of music (in this case, rap) to drown out his dreary existence (sometimes, with the aid of his headphones). One could likely get the initial impression of the film taking the typical coming-of-age route of the young man having to go through all the hurdles in pursuit of his dream, until he eventually reaches the point where, after all the lessons learned, he's now fully-prepared to prove his mettle in a penultimate rap battle. But Monteras has a different agenda on mind than merely serving us another syrupy triumph-against-all-odds tale of ambition and perseverance. This is where the film assumes an unmistakable political tone. The portrayal of Hendrix' involvement with drugs amid the squalor of his surroundings is not an excuse to glamorize poverty and crime. Rather, it becomes a searing way to highlight our current social climate wherein such destitution serves as excuse for the authorities to wantonly violate basic human rights and even life.
In the same way that Doc's withdrawal from society isn't meant to be an act of haughtiness and aloofness, but rather masks a painful personal tragedy associated with a past marked by an authoritarian and repressive government. Thus, Doc and Hendrix represent different generations living in a society whose violence assumes the form of legitimacy by the mere fact that it's being mandated by the state. Perhaps, the only way that the two men are able to seek refuge from the chaos of it all is through the subversive and cathartic powers of poetry: for the old man, in the form of a literary piece;for the young man, in the form of rap. The remarkable thing about "Respeto" is that it was able to announce its political leanings not in big, bold capital letters, but in an understated and non-didactic manner, leaving it to the audience to grasp the underlying message. If it happens that the message is actually "lost" on us, there's still the coming-of-age tale for us to see. (It's another feat of the film that it also works on different levels.)
But (spoiler here) don't expect a grand showdown by the film's end where Hendrix finally gets to triumph over everything after he was able to show his worth and expertise in a fliptop battle (though the film was able to make us expect something of that kind). It's in fact a different showdown that occurs, where it appears that the young man's fate gets sealed for the worst. It's a final image that's both poetic and poignant, even if it somewhat deflects from the realism that the film is primarily maintaining all throughout. The insight that can probably be gained from the conclusion is that a system of unmitigated violence can still lamentaby crush the shield, refuge or resistance provided by the poetic language.
Finally, let me end this piece by raising a glass to the incredible work of the actors who play the two main characters in the film: Abra and Dido de la Paz. As the orphaned Hendrix, Abra exudes rawness and vibrancy that can easily endear him to us, despite the not-so-good things that circumstances sometimes prompt him to do. Here's a street-smart youth trying to break free from the squalor of his milieu. While as the reclusive Doc, Dido is able to movingly communicate to us the pain of being haunted by the ghosts of a tragic past, without the benefit of explicitly telling us every now and then what is it that haunts him (save for that crushing monologue later in the film where it's finally revealed). Here's a broken-down poet whose cruel fate seems to have him to be perpetually chained to the past. Together, Doc and Hendrix work out a father-son dynamics, with each one being able to fill in for the other the figure that he's been longing for. Technically speaking, I wasn't able to see "Respeto" in the Cinemalaya festival itself (instead, only during its regular run this month). But allow me still to say that I can put it alongside Thop Nazareno's "Kiko Boksingero" (likewise a coming-of-age film) as one of the best that the festival has produced this year.
(Abra finds poetry amid the squalor and violence in Albert Monteras II's "Respeto")
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