JUNE 27, 2004 (SUNDAY)
inter.m@tes and other stories
Mykel Andrada is now elevated to the status of a demigod.
In other words, we should have watched those lesbian short films in the first place. Hamilton McLeod cheated me out of my 100 bucks last night for a movie that was better as a direct-to-VHS copy than something to be touted as the opening film of the Pink Film Festival at the UP Film Center.
I mean, who ever heard of a Filipino gay community that spoke in an incredibly fake British accent, uses the word “chutzpah” as if it’s the most common thing in the world, and apologize to his lover by saying, “But…he seduced me. And we only did it twice.”
Growl. I keeeeeeell you all.
The movie had no saving grace whatsoever. The acting was horrid – Ian Veneracion only did this project maybe because he wanted to buy a new car or a new house somewhere in Forbes Park. Willian Thio should have stuck to being a print ad model. I wanted to kill him when he started speaking. Everyone else was either overacting or being cardboard cutouts. There was no empathy. No “connection with the audience,” as Simon Cowell would put it. The only person who I thought made the movie bearable was Raymund Bagatsing as a very believable queer.
And so, everyone started applauding and laughing when Mykel suddenly shouted about two-thirds into the movie, “Ang pangit!” Because it was so fucking true.
Afterwards, I watched Dell puff through half a pack of Marlboro Reds just to get his sanity back together.
I am hoping we fare better on Tuesday with Allan Q. Brocka's Eating Out.
Thanks to the generosity of my comics angel, I am now wallowing in the funness of comics again. Well, it’s also thanks to the fact that the GRAIL library is floating around in circulation again, and we all missed it. ^_^
Aside from catching up on the Sandman fare (Hiyas and I must but a copy of “A Game of You” soon; it’s the only thing missing from our collection), there was also the four-issue My Faith in Frankie with one of my favorite artists, Marc Hempel, doing the artworks. I was a fan of Hempel from the time he did "The Kindly Ones" (Sandman Volume 9) for some strange, absurd reason. I enjoyed Frankie immensely, and made me want for myself a Jeriven, too.
And then from the goodie bag, I borrowed Nightmares and Fairytales by Serena Valentine, which seemed to be a darker, more ominous version of Roman Dirge’s Lenore series. There was also Usagi Yojimbo: Grasscutter by Stan Sakai, which I thought I wouldn’t like but ended up enjoying a lot, too. It was the story, more than the art, that allowed me to look past everyone’s favorite long-eared ronin. And then of course, I got to revisit the world of Castle Waiting and Derek Kirk Kim via Same Difference (I must get a copy soon!) and now all I have left is Eddie Campbell and Jeph Loeb’s Batman, which I might take a crack at after I finish all my work.
Yes, Elbert, I still owe you a script for Cast by Wednesday.
Other treats for myself that I can look forward to for this week: watching Possession again, thanks to Dell; an X-Files Season 3 DVD marathon; Spider-Man 2; Zatoichi, the opening film of Cinemanila – watching it with friends will make it doubly exciting; an intense theoretical literary discussion over coffee sometime this week (I am now lusting after SBC’s Almond Mocha Joy); my “salary” from someone around here, looking forward to watching the Queer Eye music video again, etc.
All Things Just Keep Getting Better
I find myself enjoying the fact that I am back into the groove of things, with deadlines to meet and editors to make excuses to and people to see movies with and talk to and walk around Quezon Circle counting how many call boys were coming out of the shadows.
Coming out of a “date” (for lack of a better word) last Friday, I realized that I was a pretty simple person. Or at least, it doesn’t take a lot to make me a happy clam. And while I cannot say that I am truly happy at this point, I suppose contentment is a better word. I’ve discovered that I am getting better, that I am moving on with my life, that he is not the center. I’ve learned that while I still love him, I can also live without him, existing on my own as an independent being. That while I still miss him, there are so many other things to live for. And I am secure in the knowledge that he is still around, floating somewhere in my universe.
And so I am content. Not happy, but at least content.