Someone's Fallen for Maxi

The morning sun lay its blanket of gold across the street, at times glittering even more as it streaked past branches of trees. It was almost time for school but in the still practically deserted street, he walked alone at a comfortable pace, neither tentative nor hurried, pink backpack bouncing softly on his back with every step he made. His eyes would occasionally sweep his surroundings, sometimes stealing a glance at the trees lining the sidewalk or perhaps old paper posters half-torn from the concrete walls of houses. Nevertheless his glance would return, a compass unguided and unmanned, to check what was before him, to see how much further he had to walk. Yet in the entire duration of this albeit mundane journey, as if it were taboo, he never dared turn around and look back, a sacred rule never meant to be broken, an act too dangerous to commit.

Just a few feet away he spots a figure, leaning casually against an owner-type jeepney. He flinches just a bit, just a little bit it's almost negligible. The sun could be playing tricks on my eyes again, he thinks to himself. His pace remains the same, neither tentative nor hurried, pink backpack still plopping rhythmically against his back like a soft kick a baby gives its mother inside the womb. Eyes still dart from side to side, though less frequently, lingering a bit more to the left but quicker, furtive glances dedicated to the right. The jeepney and the figure grow bigger and clearer as he draws closer and as he walks on, his gaze is nowhere but ahead. The street is still deserted, surroundings still quiet and the sunlight still beaming silently past the trees. He is a few steps away from the jeepney and the solitary figure who is now smoking a cigarette. Pace maintained, he soundlessly walks beside the jeepney and the figure and within a few seconds, he has gone past it like a paperboat.

He walks on a little bit more and all the world is still absorbed in half-slumber, except the sun still shining brightly. He is flooded by ripples of uncertainty, rendering his legs unresponsive, which had gone by uninterrupted all this time. He slows down, a significant degree of tentativeness now evident his pace. His eyes are now downcast, sweeping the ground from left to right like marbles swirling in an empty glass. Pink backpack is now thumping an almost indiscernible sound with every step and eventually hangs still, doing nothing more than grazing the back of his carrier like second skin. After a time too brief to be a moment, too long to be insignificant, he walks on in a pace neither tentative nor hurried. But not after he almost twisted his head to look back.

And with this, Ang Pagdadalaga ni Maximo Oliveros faded into darkness but never into film history oblivion.

There were so many underlying themes for the film which was so beautifully and exquisitely crafted. The movie title and the synopsis boast of no complicated storyline. It is actually rather straightforward and almost unoriginal: a young gay boy (Nathan Lopez) hitting puberty infatuated (or inlove, as the case may be) with a dashing, honest policeman (JR Valentin) who, in turn, pursues the boy's father (Soliman Cruz) and brothers (Neil Ryan Sese and Ping Medina) who dabble in petty thieving. But that is exactly where the magic of Pagdadalaga begins. It is never what it seems.

For one thing, it is not a gay film. It is, as its director and cast have repeatedly claimed, a coming-of-age movie. One of its actors, Ping Medina who plays Maxi's Kuya Bogs, even said "Nagkataon lang na bading si Maxi" or "It just so happened that Maxi was gay." In my opinion, Pagdadalaga was not out to defend of ridicule homosexuality, nor was it trying to justify it in anyway. Such issues involving the justification of homosexuality were not tackled in the film. It was merely trying to illustrate a young person's coming-of-age and in that attempt, Maxi could easily have been a girl or a guy.

But the fact that Maxi was gay made all the difference in the sense that his "straddling both worlds" turned him into a character with a greater universal appeal and identification. If the main character were a straight boy or a straight girl, only a selected audience could identify and empathize completely with the character of Maxi. There are some issues concerning girls which are not experienced by boys and vise versa and that in itself already presents a certain limitation to the reach of the film. But because Maxi was gay, there was a certain duality which was effectively presented. He was undergoing physical changes which would be masculine in nature because, after all, he was endowed with the physical attributes of a man. But another aspect of himself was also going through tumultuous change - his feelings and emotions which were those of a woman.

Plot-wise, though the film may seem to invoke other movies of yore, it is never just that. What sets it apart from any predecessor which may claim duplicity is that Pagdadalaga is characterized by sheer authenticity. While watching it, I remember thinking aloud and whispering to my sister "It's almost like I'm part of the movie." The script was not put-on and was always natural and free-flowing. It was as if someone installed hidden cameras in the slum areas of Sampaloc, secretly took footage of the local tambay engaged in drunken conversation with his shirtless, pot-bellied neighbor and then turned it into a movie. Take for instance this conversation which Bogs had with a female neighbor who obviously fancied him.

Bogs: Oy, libre ka ba mamayang gabi?
Girl: Oo naman. Para sayo, libre ako kahit anong oras.
Bogs: Ah ganun ba? Kasi ako hindi! (roaring laughter)

I have heard conversations of the similar nature in different instances (such as when buying adidas or barbecue from the roadside vendor) but when used in films, they always come across as fake and scripted as if the actors were trying to make it all too obvious that they were acting (duh!). These and other conversations in Pagdadalaga are always realistic and spontaneous. There was a considerable amount of profanity and diatribes in the language but in this case, it did help in firmly establishing the characters in the movie.

The relationship between Maxi and Victor, the policeman was also not as superficial as it would seem at first. It was not just a simple case of infatuation or an onslaught-of-puberty crush even if when viewed from the third-person perspective, Maxi was obviously enamored with Victor the first time they met. In some sense, both were trying to right a wrong done. Victor obviously was a policeman trying to correct the notion that all cops were dishonest, abusive and corrupt. Maxi was someone who cleaned up after his brothers and his father. He cooked their meals, did the dishes and laundry, made sure the house was always clean and organized, mended the holes in his brothers' clothes...sometimes Bogs would even ask Maxi to braid his hair! Because they shared these traits, they naturally did the same thing for each other. Maxi tried to save Victor from getting the ire of his father and brothers. Victor, on the other hand, did his best to shield Maxi from the bad influence of his father and brothers, as well as society in general.

Maxi's relationship with his family was also not a movie stereotype. In fact, it was as humanly authentic as it could be. Maxi's brothers and father earned a living by stealing cellphones and selling the pilfered items. His Kuys Boy sports a "semi-kal" hairdo and stabbed someone. His Kuya Bogs could rival Rapunzel when it comes to the hair and Dennis Rodman in terms of tattoos. His father has a pot belly, swigs more than one bottle of Tanduay in sidewalk drinking sprees and owns a cellphone he definitely cannot afford to own legally. If this were a typical movie, the father would occasionaly be drunk and beat Maxi to death, swearing he could never have a gay son. The brothers too would be no different. They would be carousing around town, indulding in their own selfish pleasures. But not in this film. Maxi enjoys a very loving relationship with his father and brothers. They never seem to be afraid of physically expressing their affection for each other. Maxi always gets hugs from his father and when he is with his brothers, they would walk side by side, sometimes with one kuya's arm around him. It appears that Bogs or Boy do not even care what others would think seeing such masculine men like them having a more than effeminate younger brother. When Victor broke Maxi's heart, he ran into his Kuya Bogs who, instead of ridiculing him, gave him a hug.

This made me think of people's duality, like Vito Corleone in The Godfather. People would look at Vito Corleone and say he was a heartless and evil man, the Devil incarnate himself. But to his family, he was a dear old man who enjoyed his wife's cooking, watering his plants and playing with his grandchildren. Same goes for Pagdadalaga. Maxi's father was not exactly Mr. Rogers and his brothers could possibly give Marilyn Manson serious competition. People see them as a thieving bunch, the greatest scum of of the universe. But to Maxi, they were Papa, Kuya Boy and Kuya Bogs. He loved them to pieces and they loved him back fiercely. That is perhaps the greatest and truest manifestation of being unconditional.

Perhaps one of the reasons for Pagdadalaga's appeal is its ability to project the truth and nothing but the truth, never over exaggerrating it, never undermining it. It is so sincere it is heartbreaking and poignant. The conflicts tackled are nothing new, such as when Maxi's father laments about how living an honest life has led him to watch his wife die because he could not afford her medications. That situation has been used and abused, hung on a clothesline in the blazing sun to dry and left to the mercy of vultures. But in Pagdadalaga, it struck home, a chord all too familiar and painful. Add that with a series of shots taken of people who live in Maxi's neighborood: a little boy playing in murky, smelly, almost-solid water from the "estero," two plump ladies squabbling in loud, high-pitched voices by the roadside, an old lady with a network of wrinkles on her face smoking a cigar. The visual tableau is shockingly stunning, brutally candid.

The ending was nothing short of perfect. It was as a real ending should be - subtle yet true. It had none of the whitewash and unbelievable benevolence of mainstream films. And it effectively delivered the quiet yet striking message of the film: Things will never be the way they were before and if forgetting were possible, then we would be forever rid of what makes us weep yet what once made us laugh, what once made us learn.

N.B. Can't get enough of Maxi? Fret no more because Maxi has his own blog (http://maximooliveros.blogspot.com). He has posted pictures of his papa, Kuya Boy and Kuya Bogs as well as his brand new slippers. He has an entry on meeting the cute Makisig of Little Big Star. In his profile, he does not hide that he is a fan of Sandara (Park) and Claudine (Barretto)!

The Myth

*Recently I was tasked to write something about this topic in 30 minutes. Not a good thing, especially if you factor in my usual proclivity to become overly verbose when I'm emotionally attached to a topic. Which is why, I am going to write about this again here.*

Perhaps one of the reasons as to why Asia has been regarded as an exotic place is the continent's natural tendency to delicately intertwine fact and fiction or, to put it in more poetic terms, reality and myth. For instance in Japan, people still regard the Japanese goddess Amaterasu as their progenitor whereas in South Korea, our tour guide told us that Koreans claim that their great ancestor was a she-bear who was turned into a human being by a prince of heaven. While channel surfing, I came across a film docu on Cambodia which said that in the past, a dragon of some sort was thought of to dwell in the innards of the famed Angkor Wat and the king was even aware of its presence. My several rewatches of "Anna and the King" have rendered me all-too-familiar with Thailand's famed white elephant. The Philippines itself, despite intense Christianization by foreign occupants, is not devoid of such intricate interweaving. For instance, I still unconsciously mutter "Puera buyag" or "Puera usog" when I see a cute baby and a recent unexplained illness I had this year was attributed by someone I know to a person who supposedly had a higher "dungan" than me.

It is a cultural norm for us to do such things, to somehow still explain reality in terms which are of mythological nature or origin. I am not saying it is right or wrong although I usualy tend to draw the line since I believe science and reason can usually explain most phenomena. But what exactly is myth and what exactly is reality? Some say myth is imagined and reality is, well, what we see around us. Thus reality is more concrete and more tangible. I would like to add something though. In some aspects, a myth is an ideal, a standard not yet achieved by reality. And it is in this light that the conjugal union between myth and reality should not be broken that doing such would be tantamount to sacrilege.

For instance, as a child, a boy is taught by his mother to never do bad things such as to steal from the tiangge down the street or not to lie. They are taught to always adhere to good and never to evil. They do such things simply because it is what is taught to them, it is what is right. Thus you hear the occasional reply from a child when asked why, for instance, he did not cheat in a school examination: "Kasi, masama yun." That is inculcated in the child's mind, as an ideal, a standard which he always has to live up to. As he grows older, he gets to encounter more standards, more ideals, more things which he should do.

One of the things we are taught at an early age is the concept of punishment. Of course, forgiveness comes along but as children, we obeyed our parents because we were dead scared of getting punished. The rules are pretty simple: do as we say obey us because if you do something else, you'll get something you don't want in the first place. All children, no matter if they're the ate, kuya or bunso will always get whacked in the butt, sit in the corner for about half an hour or, for the more...er...traditional, kneel on mongo beans for a period of time if they do something wrong. The rules apply to everybody and no one is exempted. That's what I was taught for starters and I am sure other Filipino kids are all too familiar with that too.

As they say, everything always starts in the home. The concepts we learn at home are no different from what we see outside. The concept of crime and punishment is very much present and all are supposedly equal in the eyes of the law despite ethnic origin, socio-economic background, educational attainment, etc. As a matter of fact, our honorable congressman even proudly declare in their hallowed halls the words - "Dura lex, sed lex." The law, no matter how hard, is still the law. One congressman, apparently all too excited to display among his many extraordindary talents, his proficiency in Philippine linguistics, even spoke those words over and over again in different local dialects (which, I have to add, left me teary-eyed....with laughter).

That is where it all ends, the conjugal union between myth and fact, between an ideal and reality. Perhaps the superfluousity of words is all too outstanding it completely smothers the ideal to an almost silent death. Equality before the law remains to be a myth, an ideal which lives within the pages of books, within the walls of a classroom, within the mind of a person. The moment it steps out of its enclosure, it instantly vaporizes, spontaneously combusts into nothingness. We hear it time and again, it is made to ring in and out of our already banged up heads like a bell - "The law recognizes no one. Justice is blind." You look at a figure of lady of justice and she sure seems like it. The local neighborhood voyeur/nymphomaniac languishes in jail for charges of rape and molestation and eventually lands in the lethal injection table. The gaunt-looking guy who stands in dark alleys and grabs carelessly slung purses get thrown into prison. The flashy woman from down the street is sent behind bars after her checks bounce. But the song is different in other cases. The sentence of a rich scion of an influential family can never be served. A jailed ex-government official who has an unexplained bank account fatter than his already bursting belly is enjoying the comforts of his resthouse and even has the effrontery to request that he be allowed to party. A tax evasion complaint against an extremely wealthy businessman never succeeds. Do I even need to mention a chief executive stealing the only right held dear by an already impoverished nation? No, justice is not blind, it's just blindfolded. And a blindfold is pretty easy to pull off.

The great sin which society (I'm not doing a Pilate here, just so you know) commits is that it always tries to justify the glaring scum which clings to it by saying that reality is always different from theories or, in this case, ideals. To put them together would be synonymous to Don Quixote chasing his windmills. And, sad to say, like Don Quixote, waging war with the evils of society would render one completely mad. And what is worse is that this great lie are being sugarcoated and made to appear as real. If we refuse to accept them, they are still rammed down our throats. Anna and I were discussing this sometime over the phone. A few days ago, I had practically a similar conversation with Em too. It is primarily difficult to cure the ills of society when the 1)environment and the existing setup is completely improper for that and 2)everybody seems to think there is no cure. What then is the purpose of learning and studying? What then is the purpose of words when all meaning and relevance is lost? What then happens to the concept of justice when it is not being practiced? They become like myths - words passed on from one generation next but passing on is never enough. Eventually they will drift away from us like dust carelessly swept away by the wind, never to be seen again.