headaches are the bloodlines

headaches, films, poetry, journalism.
they all come barging in.

i shall welcome the headaches as though they are the bloodlines of all the things that i am learning.

for films, headaches equate to this arrived at self-conclusion that no matter how wonderful an editing or cinematography may be, nothing surpasses the importance of the main story, the material itself, the plot - whether it be traditional weaving of events in a story or an experimental, seemingly-plotless piece. the story, its script written and delivered for the screen...i almost cried listening to kidlat tahimik's semi-documentary Bahag ko Mahal ko. the thing with these independent films is that you watch them once yet the impact lasts more than a notting hill movie watched 10, even 19 times (notting hill is my favorite movie actually, next comes the hours.) if kidlat says it's a testament on love of culture and love for the native butt!!! :), then pray tell me what happened to those cebuano digital films flashed onscreen before a rather very much disappointed audience? were they testaments of what? testaments of expression that do not go skin-deep. if i had fair skin, Nick Deocampo might have seen my shame scatter red in all of the square-inches of my cheeks. Of course he had the right to compare the "cebuano" films to the ilonggo ones. add to that Dalena's Red Saga. Phew! what a disaster! save our upcoming filmfest (kneeling, begging, almost crying.. is that visual enough?) oh, i do hope we justify our film on guitar-making....

TO BE CONTINUED...