X-Men: First Class

Perhaps the most astonishing thing about Matthew Vaughn’s take on the recent installment of the X-Men franchise is the director’s audacity to actually take a well-established series and wrench it out of its mold, and reshape it into a brilliant and original near-reboot that is a far-cry, yet similar in tone to the ones that Brian Singer did. 

When initial news about the prequel hit, it was greeted by an onslaught of dismissive and vitriolic kiss-offs from fans and casual moviegoers alike. Largely because it looked like it was jumping into the trend of putting out prequels with the hope of ressurecting a dying, or already dead franchise, and because Brett Ratner’s ‘Last Stand’ did not generally sit well with most critics and fans of the comics. It left a bad taste to most that any mention of making another movie remotely connected to the franchise is deemed to be a guaranteed failure.

But in 2010 Matthew Vaughn directed and produced Kick-Ass. A very underrated, but excellent and ultraviolent and funny movie that talked about extreme superhero fanboy fantasies. In a way it is a lot more ambitious than actual superhero movies. Here was a guy making a superhero movie about average people trying hard to be superheroes in a ‘realistic’ world and actually coming across the screen as such. As far as misifts doing things for the greater good is concerned, the guy is no stranger to the material.

Early reviews from advance screenings had critics comparing Vaughan’s work from JJ Abrams’s Star Trek. That was all the guarantee I needed to conclude the film won’t be a letdown. Or at least a minor disappointment at worst. 

The fact that I’m not a Star Trek fan and I walked out of that movie happy with what I saw is no easy feat for a director--- to make an almost exclusive series with a rabid fanbase palatable to the average moviegoer who couldn’t care less about quantum physics, technobabble coming from pointy-eared Vulcans, or the fact that the film is often identified with 40-year old geeks living in their mother’s basement. 

The film did not require a first-timer to read through all the fanfiction and sift the entire Star Trek Wiki before watching it just to get a rudimentary grasp on what he’s about to see. And that is the mark of a good movie. Or at least for an adaptation of an established material. 

And it it precisely the reason why Vaughn’s take on the ‘origin’ of the seminal super group worked. I was seated next to moviegoers I knew who, based on their comments, had zero knowledge about the main characters yet managed to appreciate and empathize with them (“Sana wag mamatay si Charles”, “Ay… naging magkalaban pala sila?”). Even cheering constantly that proved to be a little annoying. But I do understand their enthusiasm. It is a genuinely good movie after all.

A large chunk of the credit goes to the two lead actors. James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender (Professor Xavier and Magneto respectively) work through the tale of two friends-turned bitter enemies with great precision. It’s great to watch the two bounce off each other’s differences and complement the other’s shortcomings. It contrasted the different circumstances on how the two men were brought up: Xavier in a life of wealth and surrounded by people who loved him; and Lehnserr being a concentration camp lab rat and holocaust survivor-turned Nazi hunter.

Kevin Bacon’s Sebastian Shaw was unfortunately not given that much breathing room as far as showing off or engaging other mutants in a titanic face-off of pitting his full power against his enemy’s (presumably Magneto) than his henchmen. The little-known Riptide and Azazel had the most fun. But as the leader of The Hellfire Club, he nailed the smug, arrogant air of the mutant aristocrat with a crazed Darwinian theory about human evolution that ultimately found its way to Magneto.

As for the discrepancies with the comics/continuity that most purists have been complaining about, what can I say? Go make your own damn movie.

Radio for your head: Why Radiohead elitists make me puke

Radiohead's 'Creep' was one of the few alternative-era songs I didn't respond to favorably at first when it hit the local airwaves. 


I was in high school listening to existential and angry music of that era like Metallica, Pearl Jam Guns N' Roses, Nirvana, Soundgarden, Megadeth, Alice In Chains, and the rest of the brooding, throat-shearing, guitar shredding, and flannel-clad, Doc Martens-wearing posse that dominated the pop music climate back then. 


What struck me with that song was how whiny and un-badass sounding it was next to bare-knuckled alternative rock singles like 'Rape Me' and 'Jeremy'. Me and a good friend even joked about the band's trying-hard attempt to sound grunge-y with that all-too familiar crunch guitar noise that comes out of nowhere just before the chorus hits.


That lead singer Thom Yorke sings in a higher falsetto register that sounded too... girly... compared to the popular testosterone-heavy, baritone growl that Eddie Vedder unwittingly set loose upon the world to be used as an instrument of evil by the likes of Scott Stapp and Nickelback, did not help at all. The band members even looked like scrawny, effeminate Vogue model extras who probably got bullied all the time when they were still in school.

Due to endless rotations on MTV, label promotions and strong word of mouth following, Radiohead was ushered into the alternative scene with their unique brand of music that spawned at least another single ('Stop Whispering') that I found more catchy than their banner hit.


But Pablo Honey (1993) won't make it to my collection for at least another ten years. By this time, I have already concluded The Bends (1995) is the best Radiohead album (and one of the best of all time). The overhyped OK Computer (1997) was good, but it was a little too electronica for the band. I like electro-beats, and mechanical bleeps just as much as the next Kraftwerk and Aphex Twin fan---no doubt the template with what they wanted to emulate that time---but I always liked them better singing introspective songs with traditional instruments with the least assistance from synthesizers and sound processors. Case in point: 'High And Dry', 'Fake Plastic Trees', 'Just' and 'Lurgee'. 


Devastating songs that hit you straight in the chest instead of the intellect that mutated into something annoying via rabid fanboys of the band during their later years.


Call me an ignorant philistine but every single Radiohead review, forum discussion, and even the occasional celeb rant almost always contain words likes 'avant-garde', 'erudite', 'artful', 'profound' 'boldest artistic statement', 'genius' and every other intellectual jerkoff terms people scoured the thesaurus with just to describe the band's music. I have never seen/read so much hubris outside of a few forums and video sites that are frequented by snarky jazz music, and Stanley Kubrick enthusiasts.





They are exceptional musicians. Make no mistake about it. Definitely up there with the greats like The Beatles and Miles Davis. But what I do find annoying is the constant edification of the band's fans like they were incapable of making a bad-sounding record because, well, they are Radiohead. It's one of the universal truths, apparently. Understandable behavior from fans, of course. But I suspect a more phoney motivation in that type of following.


There's this unwritten rule that floats around music snobs and indie circles that you can never go wrong with weird.  Of course, the moment MTV plays you, you cease being weird and it's adios muchachos as far as street-cred and artistic integrity is concerned. Even if you're a musician utilizing chainsaws as major instruments or singing about the most mundane things and giving it a little twist by, say, doing something totally self-deprecating and crazy but art-y, that (usually) bespectacled twits are gonna call deep and artistic.


Radiohead are equal parts pop and indie music, in that they are often featured prominently in some of the most popular music rags like Rolling Stone Magazine and SPIN;  be seen on  MTV and other music channels, and can even elicit a slight ripple of familiarity form today's TOP 40 audience. And indie, because most of the latest material the band had produced aren't exactly designed for Starbucks, high school proms, or your average Katy Perry-listening teenager. They're just popular and relevant while retaining a sense of being alienating to most casual listeners, that a lot of the members of their fan base lap up. Like what I previously said about most indie music fans, they'd gobble anything not particularly appealing to most because they see/hear something most of the braindead MTV audience do not. Ergo, superior taste and intellect than most.


Not to mention the elitism and pomposity that goes with the honor of being a 'fan'. Time and again I have witnessed people insinuate, even in a respectful discussion, that a person is "too far off in the mainstream conditioning" or simply" just do not understand the band" when he expresses an opposing, but respectful opinion. Instead of a regular 'its just your opinion' kiss-off, you'd get a full page, single-space lecture on how bad your taste is for not comprehending the glory that is the band. And their boldness to push the limits of music to another level. Rolling Stone writer Rob Sheffield received it with both barrels when he spoke about the band's latest opus in less than flattering terms.


Radiohead has become the musical equivalent of Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey. Some parts are spectacular, some are not; and you don't particularly get it.


But you just have to like it.

Musings on holy weeks past

Black Saturday, 23 April 2011


As a child living in a rural area during the early 80s, I have witnessed and even partook on some of the old customs practiced by people in a Catholic country like the Philippines when the Holy Week arrived.

Before transferring to the housing compound in an aquaculture research facility where my parents worked, our family stayed in the center of a small town in a small municipality populated by die-hard Catholics and a small congregation of Seventh Day Adventists. It was a town where everyone knew each other, and was predominantly composed of old folks well over the age of 50. In our neighborhood alone there were a total of more than five people my parents addressed as either 'Tay' or 'Lola', titles of respect for elders.

Our elderly landlady was an Adventist who owned an impressive gallery of illustrated children's biblical books I enjoyed browsing and reenacting to everyone's amusement (Especially the David and Goliath duel. I tried fashioning a makeshift slingshot that ended up shooting a large rock straight into the Adventist church's glass window next door). At least in these books, a clear demarcation of good and evil existed and illustrated clearly enough for a 5 or 6 year old to understand, simply by looking.

Sitting on the wall of the Adventist Church, early 80s

Somehow all that Biblical reference balanced whatever fears I had about the reality of supernatural evil that I also found in great abundance in my father's equally vast comic book collection (I was five. Imagination runs rampant at that age.) that featured creatures you won't find in any issues of Kerygma or Bible Weekly anytime soon. Jesus Christ was up there with Knight Rider, Luke Skywalker, and The Incredible Hulk as the defender of truth, justice and the safety of your very soul before being relegated regrettably, many many years after, more as an expression of exasperation.

That knowledge somehow made me one of the most devout Catholics during that time, complete with prayers before meals as well as bedtime. And when Holy Week arrived, I also observed the proper protocols. That meant no boisterous noise from activities like outdoor playing, loud music/TV, and abstinence on eating meat. I even opted for not actually taking a bath on good Friday but my mother, an academician that leaned towards liberal thinking forbade it. All these activities because the elderly told me that Christ is dead at this time: and that the forces of darkness are at full power because of this.

Talk about absent security. I spent the next few years always armed to the teeth with a crucifix, wooden stake, cloves of garlic and salt during Good Friday and Black Saturday. A little dose of paranoia never hurt anyone. 

All of that information I had gathered from either our house maid, my father's stories on what his terror of a grandmother forced upon him and his siblings during the Lenten season, and the people on the streets I asked as to why several people were being paraded on the road torturing themselves by flailing their backs with a nasty barbed object that produced tiny rivulets of blood every time it hit bare flesh. 

It was a surreal experience. Shirtless men with covered faces and bloody backs; I think it was the face covers that actually did it: a hood totally covering the entire face and makeshift crowns made out of assorted leaves and branches that were no doubt inspired by Christ's thorn-version he wore all the way to Golgotha.

Flagellants in the Philippines, uncredited photo

And it was always a big deal. People were actually lining up along the road, waiting for the penitents to pass by, and some of them were actually carrying huge crosses where they'll be crucified, no doubt. God knows what kind of sins these people were so desperate of purging from their system that they believed they needed to resort to extreme acts like this. But who am I to question a Judeo-Christian tradition that existed thousands of years, anyway. To each his own method of appeasing the soul. 


Now that I'm an elderly cranky old man I am highly dubious of these people's motivations in doing what they do. Somehow I suspect it's not too far off from some Christian fundamentalists' suck up stance toward salvation ("Do you love God?! I have accepted Christ! I am saved! I am loved! Hello Julia!"). Yeah, nice try in accepting the savior only to smirk at hell-bound sinners who does not share your sentiments. Nice display of tolerance and compassion.


The brutal penitents, in the meantime, are probably shady characters with too much religious conditioning on the brutal God of the Old Testament that demanded equal suffering to crimes committed against his fellow man. Not that everyone who does that is actually some homicidal maniac or a thieving pederast but one has to wonder about the motivation behind such agonizing self-mutilation. 


One thing about them though, is that they actually put a lot of conviction to the term 'penance'. Not a lot of people with that kind of intense single-minded determination nowadays.

Next episode

In light of the recent brouhaha surrounding everyone's favorite media punching bag, I came to realize how big a chunk Willie Revillame takes up in Philippine culture. Landing the headline of a major newspaper means you’re, well, somewhat of a big deal anyway.

I can empathize with the blind adulation and near canonization of the guy by the hordes of disciples/acolytes ready to act as human shields should anyone threaten the safety of their so-called savior. If one knows anything about Pinoy society, especially those living within the spectrum of the urban poor section of the metropolis, is that most people are willing to sell their allegiance for peanuts and the smallest gestures of goodwill; or for even the tiniest acknowledgements of their existence. Especially when it comes from a media personality extolling the virtues of championing the cause of the 'lowly' poverty stricken denizens of the country. And a millionaire to boot. It's not like these folks have time for actually doubting the motives of the guy; maybe they did at first, but when you live in a desperate existence and somebody showed up with a Robin Hood promise of helping -- just the word 'tulong' (help) is enough: nevermind if it's tulungan kita mag-saing o tulungan kita sa pera.

I believe the whole 'cult of Willie' is composed of people who want to stick a big middle finger to others they view as belonging to a higher social class than they are. I have no empirical evidence to support this--merely observations of the guy's TV programs and his countless YouTube defenders whenever some unsavory comment is thrown toward one of his videos.

No one mentions class war but it has always been there. It was present in the EDSA 3 riot and it's present in the jeers of the crowd last night when Revillame enumerated the scores of celebrities who lambasted him in Twitter. That most of them, like Leah Salonga and Jim Paredes were not exactly 'Masa' material, only exacerbated the situation. It's the classic indirect diss: by dissing the object of everyone's affection, means they are also dissing his supporters. At worst, the message was: The guy's obviously an asshole. Only an idiot would like him. That they were on Twitter bashing him---no doubt in 'inglis'---sealed the deal. 

Tribalism, as my psychiatrist uncle once pointed out, figures a great deal in Pinoy society. And I agree. It’s not that his followers are cretins who do not know how big a creep the guy really is. It's just that they probably don’t care. He's one of them. And he's practically family. The kind who smacks his wife around only to be told by his folks that he's just exercising his authority as the king of the abode because his wife is probably a nagging b*** who needed to be reminded of the order of things. And that 'nagkakasayahan na nga kami dito, bat nyo kami pakekelaman?' Revillame's circle is no fraternity/sorority, but in many respects, the loyalty his people accord him can rival any Greek, Latin or any other secret society in terms of how protective of him they really are. Him to them, and them to him. It may all be phoniness on his part, but if hearing what they want to hear is the way, then Willie is the man.

The guy is not unlike ERAP, in that he always underscores the MASA card and debilitating poverty as fodder for the very people who experience this plight. His antics were never geared toward the academe, middle class nor his peers in showbusiness.You have got to admire the guy for playing the MASA card so brilliantly. Never has appeals to emotion over intellect been in full display on national TV. That he can conjure equal intensities of disgust and admiration from people is a feat in itself; and the networks cashing in on the abomination they have created.

Shutting him down will no doubt create a short term solution for getting rid of the kind of television Revillame promotes. But what it really means for the thousands---millions---of Revillame admirers is another blow coming from the pompous rich academic know-it-alls who has nothing better to do but bully the 'little people' so loved and protected by Revillame. Another persecution from the hoity-toity upper classes, this time in a bigger scale.

It's only a matter of time when another TV network hungry for ratings comes along and a guy willing to cash in on the desperation of the poor decides to don the sheep costume and dance and preen to Dr Dre's 'Next Episode'.

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