Remington: pretty boy, or predatory gay?

Zombadings as a study of why, and how to promote gay killings
Michael David C. Tan
Outrage Magazine
2011

Zombadings 1: Patayin sa Shokot si Remington
Director: Jade Castro
Cast: Martin Escudero, Kerbie Zamora, Lauren Young, Roderick Paulate, Janice de Belen, John Regala
2011

What is most troublesome about Michael David C. Tan’s open letter is his claim that “LGBT advocates do not exist because we want to be tolerated – we actually already are.”  This is far from the truth.

Zombadings 1 reminds us that, as Tan rightly (and ironically) describes, we live in a world where homosexuals are killed for being gay, where homosexuals are pressured to act “straight” in order to gain employment, where trannies are ridiculed and barred from certain establishments, where reproductive health and divorce remain a highly contested topic, where same-sex union is still perceived as a lost cause even by the nation’s only gay political party.

We are not tolerated. This is precisely what Zombadings 1 is about.

In his open letter posted on Outrage Magazine, Tan wails that Zombadings 1 engages in stereotypes. Indeed, there is a whole spectrum of LGBT personalities in the world. This is exactly why Zombadings 1 problematizes gender and gender roles. While his focus is trained on the lead character, Tan fails to notice the rest of the Zombadings 1 cast, composed of characters like the female police chief/mother, the sexually ambiguous (butch? male?) mayor, the male best friend who will not hesitate to love and accept Remington beyond what the straight label will allow. Tan fails to see that Remington’s social milieu is as important a character as Remington himself, that one must pay attention not only to individuals, but to the society as a whole.

Tan berates Zombadings 1 for promoting the gay transsexual stereotype—and in so doing, berates transsexuals themselves. He wails about representing gay men who sashay and dress “like women” (do all women sashay in dresses?) as if gay transsexuals do not deserve to be portrayed onscreen. Tan obviously wants to valorize one type of homosexual over the other, the pa-mhin over the pa-girl. Perhaps he is forgetting the T in LGBT.

A cursory view of Outrage Magazine's covers shows that it is no stranger to stereotypes–and very fond of pa-mhin bodies. (Click to enlarge.)

Tan also criticizes the shallow bits of dialogue promoting “tolerance” from the more heterosexual characters in the film. Which is, of course, the point—they are shallow, and homosexuals deserve full acceptance. The sad truth is that shallow lines like these are still commonly heard in everyday life. Zombadings 1 did not miss this lesson. Perhaps Tan is expecting a politically correct script, but there are limits to political correctness. While Zombadings 1 largely employs fantasy elements, it is really a fantasticizing of a harsh reality which is far from being politically correct.

Zombadings 1 holds up a mirror to the complex LGBT situation of the Philippines. Pa-mhin to pa-girl, urban to rural, wealthy and poor, curious/discreet to unabashedly out. It engages not only gender, but also the regional and class dynamics which are inherent to LGBT advocacy.

The zombadings: reclaiming the "multong bakla" image

There is hatred in Zombadings 1, definitely, in the same way that society still maintains hatred for the LGBT sector. Gay film theorist Richard Dyer, writing on gay films in the 1970s, says: “How homosexuality is thought and felt by heterosexuals is part and parcel of the way the culture teaches them (and us) to think and feel about their heterosexuality. Anti-gayness is not a discrete ideological system, but part of the overall sexual ideology of our culture.”

Bleak as the situation may be, Zombadings 1 is not without resistance and hope, not without critique of this situation. “Gayness always at the very least raises the specter of alternatives to the family, sex roles, male dominance,” says Dyer, and the film certainly makes a great effort to forward these alternatives.

The film acknowledges and shows us that we still live in a harsh world where being gay is, indeed, kasumpa-sumpa. (Not a medical condition as Tan points out, but an imposition of the marginal, in the same way that traditional Philippine cinema’s sumpa is a combination of being old, ugly, poor, animalistic and other difficult social positions which are, in the end, ideological.) Tan reacts with outrage, and rightly so.

The Zombadings love triangle. From left: Hannah (Lauren Young), Jigs (Kerbie Zamora) and Remington (Martin Escudero).

It is sad that Michael David C. Tan subscribes to the crude, literal and myopic interpretation that the film “promotes gay killings,” that it “provides mainly heterosexual people a chance to make fun of–or even ridicule–gay men.” It is even more lamentable that Tan calls for Zombadings 1’s creators to stop making films altogether—a totalitarian call reminiscent of how the Catholic Church demanded the “blasphemous” Kulô exhibit to be shut down.  Hopefully other viewers will appreciate on the one hand the film’s attempt to engage our notions on gender and society, and on the other hand its satire, dark comedy, and its ability as a gay film to poke fun at its gay self.

Zombadings 1 shows us that there remains much to be done in the long road toward gay liberation. The challenge remains for us to struggle on various levels, whether in Philippine society, within the gay community, and even within ourselves. After all, when we leave the theater, we come home to a society which is, all things considered, nakaka-shokot.#

Local gay icon Roderick Paulate does not fail to impress, here shown with his Exploradora hairdo.

Team Jigs or Team Hannah? :-)

Macho icons of Philippine cinema join forces: (L-R) Leandro Baldemor, Daniel Fernando and John Regala.

The women (?) of Zombadings: (L-R) Angelina Kanapi, Janice de Belen, and a very gender-nonspecific Odette Khan.

Full trailer for Zombadings 1: Patayin sa Shokot si Remington

Careful, careful now. Alam mo namang mahirap ma-achieve ang golden tan.

Temptation Island
Director: Chris Martinez
Cast: Marian Rivera, Heart Evangelista, Lovi Poe, Solenn Heussaff, Rufa Mae Quinto, Aljur Abrenica, Tom Rodriguez, Mikael Daez, John Lapus
2011

Temptation Island
Director: Joey Gosiengfiao
Cast: Dina Bonnevie, Azenith Briones, Jennifer Cortez, Bambi Arambulo, Deborah Sun
1980

Wherever you go, in any Pinoy barkada with a sizable bakla/babaeng bakla percentage, one has probably heard overenthusiastic recommendations of Joey Gosiengfiao’s 1980 film Temptation Island, whether in the form of discreetly swapped VCDs and DVDs (rare kung orig) or the more common “uy bakla pakopya naman ng torrent mo.” Blurt out in the presence of any gay urbanite “Rub a dub dub” and someone will finish the line, “two bitches in a tub.”

Anyone who has seen this camp classic would probably agree that it’s unremakeable. Sure, the story, outfits and locations are easy enough to recreate. But there is something about the whole project—the dead-serious acting, the nonchalant absurdity—that transcends the tangible aspects of production.

So loved is this film, however, that it was only a matter of time before an homage cropped up. Enter Chris Martinez, acclaimed writer and director behind films like 100, Kimmy Dora and Here Comes the Bride. You’d be hard-pressed to find a more suitable captain to resuscitate Gosiengfiao’s legendary sheepwreck.

Temptation Island then and now: "Beauty queens turn sex queens"

So, how did it fare? Let’s just say that if the 1980 film was standing beside the 2011 one on a yacht, tataas ang kilay niya, sabay sumbat, “Tatabi-tabi ka sa aking towering height.”

Not that the Martinez remake wasn’t fun. Masaya naman siya. The four main girls had big pantyhoses to fill, and sadly, nay, surprisingly, only Lovi Poe delivered, with her effortlessly dedma aura and imperturbable baritone. Marian Rivera tried too hard and too little at the same time, relying solely on camp and eschewing a serious study of the character. (“Maharot na babae ang role ko,” said Marian famously on the role, “and first time ko to do it.”) She ends up coming across as Marian impersonating Azenith Briones.

Heart Evangelista was inconsistent and sometimes annoying. Solenn Heussaff was passable too, saved by her naturally awkward Tagalog paired with her killer model looks. The boys didn’t fare too well either. Mikael Daez was believable as the boytoy photographer. Aljur Abrenica and Tom Rodriguez seemed to be intentionally swapped and cast against their usual type roles, with Aljur playing the coñotic coed and Tom as the working-class waiter. Hindi nag-work. (Well, to be fair, Tom actually did a good job acting the part, but his mestizo good looks simply didn’t match the role. Aljur on the other hand, was plain old wooden; if he actually tried to embody a college kid, it didn’t show.)

The boys of Temptation Island: Tom (my fave), Aljur and Mikael.

John Lapus was okay, but cannot match the effervescent swagger of the original Joshua. Rufa Mae Quinto was, well, Rufa Mae.

The 2011 film had the good fortune of having on board two of the original girls. Deborah Sun, originally the maid on the island, now plays Solenn’s mother. Azenith Briones became matronic pageant organizer Conchita Syjuco. Like Marian, Azenith 2011 was trying too hard to play Azenith 1980 too.

The remake was very faithful to the Gosiengfiao original, with only a few updates and tweaks in the script. Martinez changed the names of the girls to pay homage to Gosiengfiao’s body of work: Virginia P. (1989), Diary of Cristina Gaston (1982), The Secrets of Pura (1991), Nights of Serafina (1996). Touching gesture, but characters calling each other by their full names sounded more awkward than necessary.

The girls of Temptation Island: FumiPhilip Treacy.

Jos-wah and his boytoy.

The best of the bunch: Lovi as the privileged bratinella with alalay.

Temptation Island 2011’s weaknesses can be summed up in two points. The first is that, as a remake, it fails to capture the zeitgeist of the new generation. The Gosiengfiao original is a veritable time capsule: the melodic musical score which typified its generation, the rise of starlets, the booming interest in beauty pageants (and the emergence of gay beauty contests), and the increasing cosmopolitanism in fashion and wealth in general. That Martinez stayed true to the original is double-edged: while it retains the humor of the 1980 film, much of what is lovable about it has evolved or become outmoded, thus giving the 2011 film a certain anachronistic feel.

(If any, its best update is the Miss Manila Sunshine pageant at the end. It ditched the question and answer portion for a fabulous multi-collection fashion show, which made it more “now.” If only the rest of the film was reimagined in the same way, perhaps it might have turned out better.)

Its second, and more glaring, weakness is its self-consciousness. Susan Sontag, in her seminal Notes on Camp, says: “One must distinguish between naïve and deliberate Camp. Pure Camp is always naïve. Camp which knows itself to be Camp (‘camping’) is usually less satisfying.” Gosiengfiao’s film was pure camp; the Martinez remake was pure camping. The heavy-handedness, the obvious attempt to be camp, made the film feel, in the words of another camp classic, rather “second-rate trying hard.”

Temptation Island 1980: The fantasy of satiation—or cool phallic symbol? Or both?

The allure of Temptation Island lies not just in its fabulous lines and awful-but-dead-serious acting. The doomed yacht is the Bapor Tabo of its time, a whitewashed (read: nagmamalinis) craft which regained popularity in the Marcos era alongside the reclamation of Manila Bay to accommodate the dictatorship’s edifice complex. Loaded with beauties deemed representative of the national image, Temptation Island is a mockery of the glitzy culture of social climbing, and our fascination for hollow spectacles of the “feminine” and the “motherland.”

In a nation where only the masses, never the wealthy, are perennially shipwrecked by the thousands, Temptation Island strikes an oddly relatable chord. The film is a fable where a cross-section of society struggles to survive and stay fabulous amidst a climate of death, hunger, catfights and an inane competition (whose prize is some cash and a taste of the United States). It miniaturizes and satirizes the nation’s economic and cultural relations, wrapped in the horribly amusing veneer of a pageant.

It is also simultaneously a gay fantasy and tragedy. Aside from pageant dynamics, we see that the gay character is the most poised and wealthy among all the shipwrecked, and surrounded by men: the ultimate gay fantasy of uninhibited sexual desire and upward social mobility. There is also the irony that Joshua dies an invaluable death—he died appreciated by the rest of the island, literally keeping them alive, the metaphorical Jesus who died to save the rest of humanity. It is no wonder that Temptation Island is a wellspring for camp, a brand of pleasure which, to some extent, only homosexuals can truly appreciate.

The story of the stranded beauties is a Lord of the Flies scenario, except in the postwar novel, the children, after confronting their hidden monsters, were ultimately inconsolable with grief. Reeling from their harrowing experience in the island, they can no longer return to their prior innocence. Temptation Island follows the same trajectory, yet somehow, even as the beauties return to their lives cathartic, we know that it is only a pageant, and nothing has really changed.

And yet, it’s all in good fun. What reverberates in us: “Walang tubig, walang pagkain. (Walang signal.) Eh ‘di magsayaw na lang tayo!” Kahit patay na bakla na lang ang tanging maisisiksik sa sikmura natin, we should never let go of hope. Wholeheartedly, we will sing: Nais kong mabuhay sa haba ng panahon. Or if you prefer the orig: There’s a place for us, somewhere a place for us. Peace and quiet and open air wait for us… somewhere.#

The damn good creuks (left) and the damn good Kristin Kreuk (right).

What did they have for breakfast? Eggs benedict?

Beach! Quadruple beach! Preview magazine's June 2011 cover featuring the not-so-shipwrecked beauties.

Temptation Island 2011 trailer

Clips from Temptation Island 1980

Rocking their roles.

Rakenrol
Director: Quark Henares
Cast: Jason Abalos, Glaiza de Castro, Alwyn Uytingco, Ketchup Eusebio, Matet de Leon, Diether Ocampo
2011

How could a film on the alternative be so… mainstream?

I won’t lie. Rakenrol was horrible. Even though I love Pinoy rock, even though I love Jason Abalos, even though ngayon lang ako nagka-crush kay Alwyn Uytingco, man, I really felt like walking out of the film’s screening at CCP. (And trust me, I can watch horrible films and not feel that walkout urge.)

I mean, goodness gracious, I really felt offended. If there was any director who could make a film on this topic, it was Quark Henares. Prince of the NU 107 and Belo Medical Group empires, only he has all the resources, all the connections, everything within reach to make a truly wonderful film about the Pinoy rock scene. And he wasted it. Wasted it.

The writers: Diego Castillo of Sandwich and Quark Henares of Us-2 Evil-0.

The trailer caught my attention. It was a very good trailer; it showed off the film’s main elements, good production qualities, and great cast. It had all the makings of a good coming-of-age rock film, something like a Pinoy Almost Famous. (Okay, my expectations weren’t THAT high but you know what I mean. Maybe more The School of Rock?)

These weren’t unrealistic expectations. Rakenrol had the resources to mobilize the best of Pinoy rock. The sad thing is that all the film does is use them as cameos. In fact, I can safely say that this is a film composed of strung-together cameos. Ely Buendia, the filmmaker-turned-rock-icon, swoops in the middle of the third act to deliver this gratuitous didactic inspirational speech. Ebe Dancel and other Pinoy rockers appear as… drinking buddies. What we have for a storyline is a very conventional newbie-band-coming-to-terms storyline, told in a very I-could’ve-seen-this-on-TV way (boy has a secret crush on girl, tells it through music, etc etc.).

Concert poster for Rakenrol's after party, featuring the fictional band Hapipaks.

The main characters—bassist Odie (Jason Abalos), vocalist Irene (Glaiza de Castro), lead guitar Mo (Ketchup Eusebio) and drummer Junfour (Alwyn Uytingco)—were generally well-acted. The sound was okay, the script had its good moments. Ricardo Cepeda had an amusing, but also confusing cameo. There’s also the obligatory ridiculing of death metal dudes, emo guys, and hipsters. Matet de Leon (as herself) is a treat; she’s probably the best cameo in the film.

Pogi Rock caricature: Jacci Rocha and his band Baron Munchausen.

Emo caricature: Odie as the post-breakup emo guy.

Granting the direction sucks, but what is even more annoying is the film’s whole approach to “art.” In every other scene, art is the punchline. Whether in the form of self-absorbed pogi rocker Jacci Rocha (Diether Ocampo) repeatedly crooning “art is the extension of your soooulll,” or the starving irrational artistic roommate (Jun Sabayton) wailing over the destruction of his “conceptual” installation, or the flamboyant gay director (Ramon Bautista) and his “art na art” music video. Seriously, what is Quark Henares’ beef with art?

The irony of Rakenrol is that it’s about art and artists (and seeing the cast and crew list, made by artists as well), but it takes every opportunity to bash art-making. It employs exaggerated “artiste” caricatures—straw men who, of course, are promptly bashed and criticized to death by the lead characters. False dilemma. Convenient punchline.

The whole thing ends with a musical performance, of course, over a montage showing how each character has grown and changed, liberally sprinkled with inspirational quotable quotes. Go figure.

Sure, it’s entertaining and could even be a fun watch for Pinoy rock fans. But it’s such a fluff piece that one has to wonder—is it really an ode to Pinoy rock? Or is it just a grand flaunting of Henares’ insider industry position and impressive social network? #

Junfour. Cute mo pala pag long hair, Alwyn.

New regime, new currency. New direction? We'll see.

“New Generation” Philippine Banknotes
Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas
Studio 5 Designs, Inc. and Design Systemat
2010

As far as state representations go, no other piece of visual culture is as ubiquitous yet precious—literally or symbolically—than our money. How many of us have toiled in unfulfilling careers, aspired to marry above our social class, been separated from family, fought, gone to war, even killed in the name of satisfying the very common desire to accumulate vast amounts of these vivid engravings? As much as they are intricate works of design, in a capitalist society like ours, these colorful slips of paper also make the world go ‘round.

Apparently, our world is changing, because under the new regime, the Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas (BSP) has now unveiled the newly-redesigned Philippine banknotes, which they rather uncreatively dubbed the “New Generation” currency. Quite appropriately enough, the name for this new batch of bills recalls the “Bagong Lipunan” label of the Marcos regime, which was a nice-sounding name for what proved to be a fascistic agenda, and ironic place names like New Manila or New York, which are in fact not very “new.” These very qualities define this newfangled batch of state propaganda which, despite its new improved packaging, actually adheres to a well-established local historical tradition consistent with its predecessors.

A History of Moneymaking

Each of the previous generations of money, whether consciously or not, captured the zeitgeist of its era. In the 1950s for example, the country was fresh out of the Japanese occupation which spurred underground resistance even from both the ruling Filipino elite and American colonizers. From the state’s surge of post-war revolutionary spirit emerged the English Series, which gave prominence to revolutionary figures like Marcelo del Pilar, Graciano Lopez Jaena, the Gomburza, Andres Bonifacio and Emilio Jacinto, Antonio Luna and Melchora Aquino, and once-subversive artifacts like the La Solidaridad and the Kartilya ng Katipunan. Resistance was a collective experience of all classes under a common enemy, and thus was open to commemoration (read: institutionalization) by the government.

Icons of the 1896 Revolution on the English Series. Click to enlarge.

In the late 1960s, the Marcos regime created the Pilipino Series, focusing less on revolutionary heroes and more on former presidents. Unlike the English Series which featured a mix of historical scenes, artifacts and buildings, almost all of the bills in this new set featured structures. The Barasoain Church, the Malacañan Palace, the old Legislative and Bangko Sentral buildings—the prominence of architectural façades on the currency reflected the Marcos regime’s own edifice complex.

Edifice complex introduced in the Pilipino series. Note the interesting alignment of figures: Rizal and Aguinaldo's declaration of indepence at Kawit, and Bonifacio with the Katipunan. Click to enlarge.

From the 70s to the new millennium, Philippine currency underwent two more major redesigns, yet there was no significant change in terms of imagery. The faces and buildings remained largely the same—communicating, perhaps, the lack of genuine change in terms of both politics and economy. If there was any significant change in terms of money, it was devaluation. First, of course, was the devaluation of revolutionary heroes, who were relegated to lower and lower denominations. Ramon Villegas, in historicizing the New Generation bills, points out rather bluntly:

From the ’70s to the ’90s, the lower denominations of paper bills which featured the revolutionary founders of the nation—Rizal, Bonifacio, Jacinto, Mabini—were eliminated. Their demotion to coins is symbolic of the diminution of their radical ideas by the country’s elite.

Indeed, the Gomburza martyrs, the Propagandists and Katipuneros all but vanished from our banknotes. The last two standing, Mabini and Bonifacio, were both squeezed into the brown 10-peso bill—a spot which they briefly shared before being further demoted into sharing an even tinier space on the current 10-peso coin.

Smaller and smaller circles: The shared bill (1997, left) turns into a shared coin (2000, right)

Which brings us to the second form of devaluation: the actual decrease in the peso’s value. Indeed, the exchange rate has dropped significantly from 1945 (PhP2 = US$1) to today (~PhP45 = US$1). The devaluation trend began with Diosdado Macapagal’s decontrol policy in the 1960s, which ushered in “free trade” and IMF-World Bank control on our economy. Devaluation again rose to prominence with the Asian financial crisis of 1997, causing the phaseout of smaller coin denominations and their corresponding revolutionary figures (remember Tandang Sora and Lapu-Lapu?), and the subsequent conversion of smaller bills (like Emilio Aguinaldo and Mabini/Bonifacio) into mere barya.

With every phaseout, new figures are ushered in. The major trend for the past few decades: out with the radicals, in with the state ideologues. Marcos started the tradition of putting presidents onto our bills; after the downfall of his regime, Cory Aquino made grand but ultimately cosmetic changes, retaining the same faces and institutions in both our numismatic and political-economic scenes. If any, she ushered in a new trend: that of the current ruler honoring their deceased kapamilyas in currency. She started with Ninoy on the PhP500 bill, Gloria Arroyo followed with her dad Diosdado Macapagal on the PhP200 (and herself on the reverse, go figure), and today we come full circle, with Noynoy placing Cory alongside Ninoy on the new PhP500, yellower than ever.

Cory honors Ninoy (top) and Gloria honors Diosdado above). Click to enlarge.

For decades, these bills have illustrated the continuity of presidents and the elite families to which they belong. Our money thus commemorates and represents the history of bureaucrat capitalism in the Philippines—a history of colonialism, elite rule, the concentration of political power on the moneyed few, and, judging from what has been gradually excluded from our banknotes, a long and continuous history of disenfranchisement.

Innovation and Ideology

With the introduction of new imagery, the New Generation bills extend this historical thread and mark a turning point in our currency—and our history. The new design veers away from the Marcosian edifice-complex template and introduces major changes, especially on the reverse side of the bill. According to the BSP, the new bills “honor Filipinos who played significant roles at various moments of our nation’s history as well as the world heritage sites and iconic natural wonders we are proud of as Filipinos.” These two main threads—state memory and tourism—are manifested clearly in the new design, which neatly compartmentalizes both concepts in each of the bill’s two sides. According to an Inquirer article, two local design studios helped create the new bills: Studio 5 developed the obverse face of the notes, while Design Systemat designed the “tourism” side on the reverse.

The new design features on the reverse a host of top Philippine tourist spots: the Banaue Rice Terraces, Taal Lake, Mount Mayon, the Chocolate Hills, the St. Paul Underground River and the Tubbataha Reefs. Alongside these tourist spots are unique fauna and textile weaves from various parts of the country, and a Philippine map.

To make room for all this tourism material, much of the edifices and other “historical” content were moved to the front, with a few new additions. The colors and faces on the bills were retained, but updated with younger, more photographic likenesses. Other historical scenes more or less corresponding to the face’s era were added, to wit:

• PhP20: Manuel L. Quezon, the declaration of Filipino as the national language, and the Palace;

New Generation currency: PhP20 obverse

New Generation currency: PhP20 reverse

• PhP50: Sergio S. Osmeña and the first National Assembly, as well as Gen. Douglas MacArthur’s Leyte landing;

New Generation currency: PhP50 obverse

New Generation currency: PhP50 reverse

• PhP100: Manuel Roxas, the old BSP building, and the 1946 inauguration of the Philippine Republic;

New Generation currency: PhP100 obverse

New Generation currency: PhP100 reverse

• PhP500: Cory and Ninoy Aquino, EDSA 1986 and the latest Ninoy monument in Makati;

New Generation currency: PhP500 obverse

New Generation currency: PhP500 reverse

• PhP1,000: War heroes Jose Abad Santos, Vicente Lim and Josefa Llanes Escoda; the Medal of Honor awarded to them, and the 1998 Philippine Centennial celebration.

New Generation currency: PhP1,000 obverse

New Generation currency: PhP1,000 reverse

The only historically-odd bill is the PhP200 bill which features Diosdado Macapagal, EDSA 2001 where his daughter Gloria rose to power, the Aguinaldo Shrine and Barasoain Church. The BSP cites Macapagal’s moving the Independence Day celebration from July 4 to June 12 as the reason why the Kawit shrine and Barasoain church are included, but it really just seems like an awkward amalgamation of the other old green bill, the PhP5 Aguinaldo; the phased-out PhP10 Mabini (no sign of Bonifacio anywhere though) and Gloria’s not-so-subtle electioneering in the 2002 PhP200 bill.

New Generation currency: PhP200 obverse

New Generation currency: PhP200 reverse. Though they took Gloria Arroyo out, they replaced her with a small brown monkey clinging tightly to its position. So I guess they never removed her at all. (Apologies to all tarsiers which might be insulted by the parallelism.)

Another major innovation in the New Generation currency is the addition of a phrase on the bill’s front: “Pinagpala ang Bayan na ang Diyos ay ang Panginoon.” This marks the resurgence of an open unity between church and state, except this time, the church/state is “benevolent” and Filipino, and not the violent colonial one of before. We have entered the age of social democrats who are charitable yet conservative, who denounce heartless capitalism (as shown by the proliferation of “corporate social responsibility” programs) but also vehemently oppose the “godless” socialist/communist alternative. There is the fervent belief that they can transform the state into a kinder, more just and compassionate entity, which explains the need to bring “God” back into political-economic life by propagating slogans like this one. Of course, the new motto completely evokes the oft-quoted biblical phrase “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to them (Matthew 5:3)” which basically glorifies poverty as a virtue, reminiscent of how the colonial church/state justified enforced poverty and forcible usurpation of wealth and lands centuries ago.

Lessons from the New Generation

“History is the memory of states,” says Henry Kissinger. “To be sure, states tend to be forgetful. It is not often that nations learn from the past, even rarer that they draw the correct conclusions from it.” Not only are the New Generation bills a prime example of state memory, they are also prime examples of its selective commemoration and ideological slant—and perhaps, indicative of the future that the current regime is charting for the nation.

The New Generation bills are being heavily criticized for their lack of formal polish. Major errors were pointed out, like the exclusion of Batanes and other significant inaccuracies, the wrong format of scientific names, and the incorrect coloration of the featured wildlife. Aside from these blunders in geography and taxonomy, I am personally surprised by the almost nonexistent presence of Mindanao, represented only by a band based on textile patterns on the reverse of the PhP500 and PhP1,000 bills. The new illustrations, based on newly-acquired historical photographs and landscape and wildlife images by top Philippine photographers, did not translate well into engravings. (Compare, for example, the Banaue Rice Terraces on the old PhP1,000 and new PhP20 bills.) Design-wise, there is not much of a grid at work. Instead there is some sort of horror vacui governing the design, resulting in a slightly haphazard collage look.

Which is the better Banaue?

But beyond these controversial errors, there is a more systemic and objectionable logic to be detected, one that is not merely a result of weak design, scientific ignorance, repulsive typography or poor image selection. What is more telling, for example, is that Andres Bonifacio and other revolutionaries have been erased from our bills, but Gen. Douglas MacArthur is now on the face of the PhP50 note. Or that the language of the bills has changed from the pure Filipino of the previous series to a new Tagalog-English mix, signaling a new, foreign-oriented audience. (The irony is that the PhP20 bill now honors “Filipino as the National Language 1935” beside Quezon and displays alibata characters as an object of national pride.) From just showcasing memorable landscapes as they are (ie “Hagdan-hagdang Palayan ng Banawe” on the old PhP100 bill), the new bills now have a more conscious marketing framework, proudly displaying “UNESCO World Heritage Site” in a font size even larger than Quezon’s name on the obverse, alongside the new Anglophone “Banaue Rice Terraces.” Many people note that the New Generation bills look like Euros, and even the new BSP logo, with its blue field and yellow stars in semicircular figuration, is reminiscent of the European Union logo.

Clearly, there is a new mindset at work: one which seeks validation from the West and literally cashes in on the Philippines’ natural beauty and resources to draw in more of the English-speaking world, whether as tourists or as investors. The design, weaknesses and all, accurately inscribes and promotes the neoliberal ideology and oligarchic rule that defines the Philippine state. The New Generation bills are patently neocolonial currency, glorifying our bureaucrat capitalist history on one side and extending its legacy on the other. #

New currency for an ailing economy. Cartoon by Manix Abrera, GMANews.TV

The BSP’s video presentation on the New Generation banknotes. It explains the history of Philippine money, the process in which money is made, and some notes on the new designs.

A news report explains the new bills’ security features and innovations. About the new tagline on the obverse, BSP Deputy Governor Diwa Gunigundo says: “This is a very generic statement that God is in control… as a nation we submit ourselves before God.”

*All images are taken from the Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas website and the Wikipedia entry on Philippine banknotes, unless otherwise indicated.

The Man who has everything. Look at his stuff, isn't it neat? Wouldn't you think his collection's complete?

Park Terraces (Cinema Ad)
Client: Ayala Land Premier
2010

I’m not sure what’s more offensive about this advertisement. That it cheapens photography as an elitist hobby? That it unabashedly flaunts the accumulation of wealth? That it makes chauvinism look cool? Probably all of the above.

Ayala Land Premier’s commercial for its new Park Terraces project looks very swanky at first. Beautiful cinematography, subdued tones, attractive play of light and shadow, panoramas and depth of field. Sushal. Akala mo first world na ang Pilipinas. Or at least, mukhang Singapore. Ayala Land Premier, after all, is the high-end arm of one of the nation’s largest real estate developers, Ayala Land. “With Ayala Land Premier, Ayala Land strengthens its distinction as the first, full-line real estate developer to meet the need of discerning homeowners, creating new lifestyles and appointing prime addresses.” Discerning homeowners meaning choosy na mga mayayaman, new lifestyles meaning gentrification.

The Park Terraces commercial is clearly created to appeal to young patriarchs. The pressed shirts in the closet suggest a wealthy corporate type. The voice of the advertisement is male. The bearer of the gaze from whose lens we see “the picture” of life is male, and quite appropriately, a photographer. “The camera becomes the mechanism for producing… an ideology of representation that revolves around the perception of the subject,” says Laura Mulvey in her seminal (pun intended) essay. “The camera’s look is disavowed in order to create a convincing world in which the spectator’s surrogate can perform with verisimilitude.” True enough, the lead character is a simple yet dapper Asian man whose face is barely visible, presumably so the viewer/surrogate can easily put himself in the character’s place and complete this verisimilitude.  (The Asian man, coupled with the futuristic yet lonesome scenery, vaguely recalls Tony Leung in 2046.)

The male: center and owner of the universe.

The commercial capitalizes on photography on various levels. By playing with reflections and soft focus, its actual photography makes the sleek yet cold interiors appear complex, artsy and cozy. Its script meanwhile, relies heavily on photography jargon to sound elite, profound, and ultimately, sushal. The dramatic delivery of the lines, however, cannot mask the utter baloney they call a script:

What makes a perfect picture? It’s in the richness of each detail, a marriage between disjointed pieces. Or the play of light, or behind the shadow, reveal something hidden, secret. Perhaps it’s in the symmetry, the congruence of elements that in turn produce harmony. Or it’s simply the alchemy of color that touches the eye and draws the mind. Or it’s all these things, and more. For this is the picture of my life. What does yours look like?

Upon reading, the lines don’t make any sense at all. There’s even a problem with subject/verb agreement: “congruence… produce.” Ah, the things you can get away with as long as you say them nicely.

There is also a very evident albeit subtle motif in the 45-second commercial: the phallus. It’s everywhere. There is the man who, of course, possesses a real one. Then we see him toying with his various lenses (including a Hasselblad, the photographic equivalent of a big cock in a locker room of insecure Canons and Nikons). Then we see details of his apartment like a jar cover knob, faucets and a pan handle. Then we see skyscrapers, fountains gushing foam, and a long, shiny steel spout. The commercial ends with a shot of the Park Terraces tower, glowing white and erect against the night sky. It’s a Freudian festival.

Phalluses galore.

The interesting thing is that not only is wealth portrayed as phallic, but the man’s family, shown at the end of the commercial, is perceived as an extension of this phallus. The “perfect picture” is a man who has it all: high-end cameras, a posh apartment, corporate employment, and the cherry on top, a beautiful wife and happy kids. Indeed, females appear in the commercial only as the patriarch’s property, with no other existence outside of the man’s ownership.

Even after centuries of struggle against a class society and for gender equality, there remains a lot to do. The world hasn’t changed much, it seems. (If there’s been any change, it is that the privilege of accumulating private property and exploiting the lower classes has been extended to women as well.) Ayala Land Premier’s Park Terraces commercial shows that it’s always sunny, as Abba said, in what is still a rich man’s world.#

The females: private property.

The last shot: skyscraper as phallus.