Sorry To Bother You

The things I loved most about Sorry to Bother You were the dialogue and the script, which were so hilarious, that it lodged itself as one of my favorite films we watched in class. There was never a dull moment in it. I loved the casting, too, because each character had very fitting personalities for the roles they play.

I love how it talked about deep-rooted issues like capitalism, racism, and consumerism, without being so in-your-face about it. However, I personally wished it was more subdued than that.

This was the message I got from the film: we’re all under the system of capitalism and we’re all victims–so it isn’t exactly right to look down on those who are not actively against it or who doesn’t fight against it. After all, what can that person do when he’s presented an insane amount of money and he was about to be homeless and his uncle was about to get kicked out of the house? In that case, he was forced to take the money, even if it means he was betraying the union that was formed because of his job. I felt for the main character with his story, even if it were deemed wrong for him to take the job. The contrast can be seen in Detriot and Cash, where Detriot is an artist-activist.

However, there were times where you truly become a bad person because you end up doing whatever it takes to get money even if you already have too much; like the man who turned men into horses for labor. He was the CEO of his company, WorryFree, and he lives as if he’s in The Great Gatsby, where he is is so out of touch with the workers and their sufferings. In the end, you will realize just how ridiculous everything is, and how it controls every single thing and choice we do.

The plot also tackled racism, in which slavery seemed to be redesigned within the WorryFree company. Cash even had to have his “white voice” when working, because if he were to use his normal voice as a black person, he would not be able to secure his job. It showed white privilege because he was promoted as a “power caller,” people who received higher salary and more perks. He felt like he was important because, he says, for once, he was doing something he was good at. To add to this, Cash’s white voice was dubbed by an actual white person for the film.

I really like this film because it talked about the complexities of the issues in a way that is just as complex. It presented these matters in a manner outside the usual ‘black and white’ contention, but it still asserted an obvious ‘ultimate’ side.

Velvet Goldmine

Velvet Goldmine felt like one long glamorous music video. At first, I wasn’t sure if it was a bad thing or a good thing, but I instantly knew that I was a big fan of the production and costume design. It was quite a visual treat, and I was actively thinking about the amount of budget, research, and effort they put into this. I love the glitters and the costumes with bold colors.

The cinematography was also something I noticed, as it often had scenes of fast close-ups to emphasize an expression. It was the old-school type of cinematography done on purpose to match the era. There were a lot of performances, too, and I noticed the camera doing shaky close-ups to show the energy in the most realistic way. There was even a scene where the filter changed into a dream-like state on the party Jack Fairy was at.

The film was a commentary on stardom and fan culture–something I am most familiar with, and in fact really close to me. I’ve been a fan of things my whole life. I’ve been into countless fanbases of TV series, celebrities, Western boy bands, and everything K-pop, and at this point I pretty much feel like I’m an expert at this. I grew up idolizing people who don’t even know me, but had a great impact on me. I could definitely resonate with the character of Arthur Stewart, who grew up with Brian Slade as his idol.

With Brian Slade’s rise and fall as an icon and figure in the music industry, I immediately thought of my experience as a fan. One of the K-pop idols I look up to, Seungri, has been involved in a scandal related to prostitution and embezzlement. I witnessed the highest point of his career and his lowest, like Arthur Stewart with Brian Slade. It’s honestly hard–and even painful–to reconcile with the fact that I’ve had so much faith in him and saw him as such a good person, only to find out that he really was involved in cases of prostitution and other such matters. I already have an attachment with him as a fan, but in the end, I couldn’t bear to support him still. I had to let that go.

I think it’s very easy to belittle or judge a fan, and sometimes fans are even embarrassed to admit that they are fans. It’s because the common perception of us are a bunch of teenage girls screaming over people who don’t know us, or that we are mindlessly obsessing over our favorite idols. It may be true for some, but as someone who had been a fan of different groups and shows for years, I know it’s more than that. The cultural impact is real. The content these idols or celebrities put out speaks to us on a personal level because these are shared experiences and stories we can relate to. There are moments where fans have this deep, genuine, and personal gratitude for their favorite idols. There’s this bond fans and idols have, and others may think it’s superficial but I know that the community built within the fandom and with the idol is real. The friendships made are real. The impact is real, just like how Brian Slade became a way for Arthur Steward to accept his sexuality and to find himself.

Futureless Things

The film is set in a convenience store, the most common and mundane thing that Koreans have in their country and culture. It reminded me a lot of K-dramas, because there is absolutely no modern K-drama that doesn’t feature a scene of a character eating ramen in a convenience store. I feel like the social and cultural importance of convenience stores in Korea have the same amount of importance of a sari-sari store in the Philippines.

Aside from convenience stores, the acting in the first few minutes of the film reminded me very much of a K-drama. I even recognized some actors, and I was thinking: “We’ll finally get to watch a normal film in class.” However, I shouldn’t have expected that, given the films we’ve watched before.

It’s like a mesh of all the mundane things–not only the convenience store, but also the things happening inside seemed boring at first glance: the gambling, the issue of North and South Korea, learning English, homosexuality; all that stuff. It tackled a lot of relevant issues in Korea, one would immediately think it’s a commentary. It’s mundane until someone is killed. It’s mundane until a cult-like crowd forms outside the convenience store. It’s mundane until magic happens and a man gets trapped inside a box. It’s mundane until the film ends with a random dance. It’s a crazy story about the menial things in life.

The stories revolve around the cashier and the different lives they have. Some of their lives are intertwined. I like the way that given the short amount of time they have each because of the large cast, we still get to see a glimpse of them and feel for them. I especially think that the convenience store is the perfect location for this, because people of all walks of life go to a convenience store. You can’t really dictate the kind of customers you have, because the convenience store has all sorts of basics and food that every human being needs.

I honestly feel like I didn’t understand the movie, but at the same time, I feel like there’s no point in trying to make sense of it in a way that I try to connect everything. It feels like the movie isn’t really asking to be taken that way.

It’s nice to see this side of the Korean film industry because I mostly watch the usual, all-too-familiar tearjerkers and dramas. Even the title Futureless Things is unique and would probably invoke some sort of curiosity. I have not figured out why that is the title, but I guess it has something to do with the way the stories were told–as if there is no timeline and everything is just happening in different universes, but in same forms. The concept of time is different.

Trainspotting

It’s interesting how drug addiction is portrayed in different cultures, but the stories of it seem to all end the same tragic way. Victims of drug addiction are often seen as good-for-nothing outcasts in most cultures. Although drug usage can be portrayed as “cool” in some places–like in American party scenes–it ultimately becomes a tragic story in the end. Once a person becomes addicted, he or she starts to suffer mental conditions and other health repercussions. In worst cases, drug addiction can take away a person’s life. People begin to comment on the instances in a rather pitiful way: it’s “such a waste” for people to end up like this, and so on.

Drug addiction is a big issue in the Philippines, especially under the political climate brought about by the Duterte administration. He focuses his campaigns on the so-called drug war, and tries to convince people that the most heinous crimes are primarily a result of drugs and addiction. However, this topic was tackled very differently in the film; the characters may be seen as outcasts or ‘good-for-nothing’ people, but in the end, they’re still human. They were written in a way that makes the audience understand where they’re coming from and empathize with them–even if you don’t agree with them.

In the film, Renton tries to stop his addiction and live a new life with a job to be seen as a normal, functioning citizen. He felt as if he were directionless in the life he lived with his friends, who were also drug users, so he moved to London. However, his friends ended up going to his place there and he was influenced back again to the drug culture.

The creativity and production design in the film is amazing, but there was a scene that I couldn’t bear to watch because it was written so revoltingly. It’s the bathroom scene where he “dived” into the toilet bowl of poo to retrieve his heroin. I couldn’t handle seeing that and I realized how powerful visual scenes are to be able to give such an extreme effect.

Another scene that I’d never forget was the baby scene, where he was locked in the room in his parents’ house and he started hallucinating. It was a good highlight of the rhythm of the movie, and the pacing in editing was excellently done. The music matched the scene so perfectly, and it made it such a surreal experience to watch–I felt as if if I were hypnotized.

In the final scene, Renton talked about “the last of the lasts.” We’d start to ask ourselves with just how true that statement is, given the things he did throughout the film–and that’s what we find ourselves guilty of, too. We always say, for example, that this will be the last time we’re cramming, and we would change in the next semester–until we’re graduating and we’re still cramming our last requirement.

The film had a book ending monologue where he talked about choosing life and not choosing life. He mentioned the “normal” things a normal person should have or do: a job, a house, a family, a TV, and all that stuff. It was quite poetic. But we start to ask: who dictates that “life”? Only the privileged could do so. If we’re part of the outliers, we would be antagonized and seen as a problem. After the monologue, I couldn’t help but clap in class. It really hit differently at the end. It’s like we’re being forced into this life, and all we do is to follow the standards set for us. If we couldn’t, we’re out.

Shin Godzilla

This was the first ever Godzilla movie that I watched. As a person who used to be into girly and light romantic comedies, it was not exactly the most appealing film to me. I had ignored it my entire childhood, then, because my perception of it was that it was about monsters destroying cities and all that end of the world stuff. Yes, I knew it was a popular franchise because it’s always referenced everywhere–from anime to international films, and even in our own culture–but I still refused to give it a chance. I always just viewed it as an action film packed with fight scenes and destroying buildings scenes. Those were movies I’ve always scoffed at.

However, in the first five minutes of the film, I felt like all my notions of it growing up were totally disproven, and I felt some remorse over the fact that I did not give it a chance. I still remember what I felt, exactly: I could almost feel the oozes of dopamine and serotonin rushing through my brain, making me all happy and excited. When I was watching the movie, the same phrase started repeating itself in my mind: “I want to watch it again, I already want to watch it again.” It had not even been fifteen minutes into the film, and I already couldn’t wait to watch it again. This was quite surprising, as it is rare for me to want to rewatch films. It was a film that had that a pretty big impact on me; there were just some things in it that made me love it so much.

First, I want to talk about the editing. I’m pursuing a career in post-production, and editing is something I usually notice first when I watch films. The cuts in the film were so fast, giving the viewers a sense of urgency. Its editing was so good that I felt like I was in the movie itself. It was as if I were a politician inside the room, for instance, trying to relay messages to the prime minister; or as if I were one of the scientists trying to figure out how to stop the Godzilla. The cuts were dry, and it even allowed humor to be showcased ever so subtly. I felt like most of the funny scenes rely on the cuts; they probably wouldn’t work as effectively if it weren’t for the fast-paced, dry cuts.

My classmates’ reactions were another thing I distinctly remember while I was watching the film. There were certain scenes we found funny, but I feel like it ultimately depends on one’s culture and sense of humor. For instance, the Japanese people who were watching probably weren’t laughing at the scenes we generally found funny. Another scene, for example, is the slow motion scene where they froze Godzilla, and the civilians were rejoicing. I think its intention was supposed to be emotional, but the class was laughing. I think it’s a culture thing: Godzilla referenced some events that Japan had gone through in previous years, such as the nuclear disaster in Fukushima. The movie seems to be rooted from some parts of their history, culture and events, all of which are seen as personal and emotional. That moment probably consisted more of triumphant tears instead of laughter. Their experiences are vastly different from ours. Maybe that is why the Japanese really saw the movie as one that is groundbreaking: it gave them an emotional and personal impact. Japanese critics gave it such positive reviews that it actually received a Japanese Oscar award. On the other hand, American critics had mixed thoughts on the film. Perhaps Japanese people would probably shrug it off and say: “They just don’t get it.”

After watching, I realized that Godzilla was not just some movie about a monster destroying cities. I’d say that it was a commentary on things, in fact: on bureaucracy, Western influence and intervention, Japanese cultures of obligation and responsibility, and perhaps even the incompetence of people in politics. In the end, though, you’ll see a certain kind of genuineness in spite of their incompetence. We see a more human side to the prime minister, for example, when he refused to leave the city at a time it needed him most.

For me, this movie was the perfect introduction to the Godzilla franchise, and I probably consider it my favorite film in class.

Schizopolis

Watching Schizopolis was a new but oddly familiar experience for me. One thing I noticed right off the bat was that the film didn’t even try to make use of the traditional linear narrative. It repeated scenes with minor differences in language or in acting, and interestingly, it was so unapologetically done; as if nothing out of the usual was happening.

In the first parts of the film, I tried so hard to understand everything that was unfolding by mentally connecting the scenes to each other in an attempt to make sense of the plot. But at some point, I gave up and decided to enjoy the film and watch it as it is. I think it’s meant to be seen that way.

However, there were actually moments that felt familiar to me. There was a sequence where the language of the film suddenly changed into Japanese, which that caught me off guard. Still, the feeling of watching something I don’t understand is one that is all too familiar; I’ve done it countless of times. I’m a big fan of K-dramas; I watch new episodes religiously as soon as they are uploaded online. Usually, upon this time, the episodes don’t even come with subtitles. I have to wait a few hours–sometimes even a day–just so I can watch with subtitles. What I do, then, is just watch it as it is, even if I have zero clue on what they’re talking about. I just guess from the characters’ patterns of action and look for context clues in the way they say talk or act. I watched Schizopolis this way. Even if the English dialogues didn’t make sense to me, I just acted as if it’s a different language, and watched the film as if it’s a newly released K-drama episode hours away from being subbed.

I felt like I didn’t need to understand the entire story to laugh at funny moments; they were just funny on their own. Sometimes the scenes are even funnier without proper context. The humor in the movie is somewhat bizarre and far from the norm, but it all the more made me laugh. I laugh because it doesn’t make any sense. The more I didn’t understand, the funnier it was for me.

I don’t think the film was meant to be understood in the first place, anyway. The title itself gives you a glimpse on the kind of film it would be. In the dictionary, schizophrenic is defined as “(in general use) characterized by inconsistent or contradictory elements,” and I think it very much fits the film. Some of the words the characters were saying did not match with their actions and expressions, and there were a lot of contradictions that happened. To me, it seemed like the film was trying to challenge mainstream ways of telling stories, and even if the film “doesn’t make sense,” doesn’t make it any less valid as a story worth telling.