Styling note: put everyone in a blazer and they’ll look instantly cool and slick. Charot.

Turn It Well
Artist: Up Dharma Down
Director: Caloy Soliongco
Cast: Paul Diaz, Dee Jae Paeste, Gino Jose, Martin Antunez, Haizel Fernando
2012

I love Up Dharma Down. I love their music, and in their latest video, “Turn It Well,” I love Armi Millare’s mannish get-up and cropped hair paired with pokpok-red lipstick and nails. Don’t you hesitate. See us, be it, and turn it well. Ganda.

What I don’t love, however, is the video. I mean, it’s not horrible, but it’s so unsurprising and uninspired and, I hate to use the term, hipster. Up Dharma Down’s great music certainly deserves better videos. But then again, it’s just a music video, no use getting an aneurysm over it.

The video, to be blunt, is really just young and privileged Manila screaming, Fuck you, world, we’re not just poverty and hungry kids and mass murders and kidnappings. We’re also street art beer pong parties electronica Macbooks android phones bikes Bodoni type Puma sneaks asymmetrical haircuts and all those other cool things you find in bourgeois-boheme enclaves throughout the world (that are waiting to be gentrified).

The video’s opening shot: an overview/introduction of “Manila.”

Guy in yellow: “Yesss!!! I’m in an Up Dharma Down video!”

And what’s with that dude on the bridge screaming “yes” over and over again hanggang inumaga na siya? Ganun sya kabagal maglakad? And this other dude na mega-dutdot sa cellphone habang nagdadrive–c’mon, let’s not make smoking and texting while driving look cool. People die of it, y’know.

Yun. Great song though. Better luck on the next video, I hope. #

All roads lead to…. the club. “Heeeey, parteeeey!” It’s more fun in the Philippines!

Vocalist Armi Millare is a stunner in red lips a la Faye Wong.

Slumdog Millionaire, Manila-style.

Not Giving In
Artist: Rudimental feat. John Newman and Alex Clare
Director: Josh Cole
Cast: Allen Añas, Tugo Cunanan, Ereson Catipon, Arsell Dela Cruz
2012

Rudimental‘s music video, “Not Giving In,” has much in common with Dangerous Minds, Music of the Heart, City of God, even Sister Act and all those other inspirational movies that goad the youth to choose art over drugs and violence, that reaffirm creativity as the path to freedom from one’s sordid political and economic chains. It begins with two brothers in the Manila slums, borne to a degenerate father and an abused mother. The two (happily) subsist on petty thievery, an inseparable tag team of sorts.

Somewhere in the video, the brothers’ paths diverge, literally─one is drawn into gang violence, while the other discovers a breakdancing barkada. The parallelism is sustained until the end of the video, where both characters take literal and figurative falls: one slips on the dance floor, while the other gets shot in retaliation.

The final message is simple and clear. When you choose violence, you die. When you dance, you get back up and keep on going.

No looking back: joining the gang.

The video is beautiful. Great direction, great cinematography, and definitely, great music. The texture is outstanding, the editing smart, all in all a very cohesive and persuasive production. Of course, it’s always interesting to see the Philippines from the perspective of benevolent foreigners. It’s a source of pride for many Filipinos to see their country and existence recognized by the rest of the world, whether it’s seeing Manila in The Bourne Legacy or Charice on Glee. The Rudimental video is no exception. It’s a well-made video that’s sympathetic to the country’s poverty and recognizes its talent—a rare combination for a nation that’s so used to getting a negative reputation abroad.

Somehow though, for me, it left a bitter aftertaste.

First off, let us recognize the exotic appeal of this video. The gritty texture is so lush, the crane shots so staggering. Supplanted by the inspirational storyline, even fellow Filipinos cannot help but be awed by the beauty of the spectacle. It’s a hyperreal Manila, viewed from flying cameras and God’s eye perspectives. The choice of deviant imagery, moreover, is very universalized “ghetto,” emphasizing skinheads, tattoos, guns, and hip-hop style that are as much Brooklyn as they are Manila and London and Tokyo and Rio de Janeiro. Add the Brit soundtrack and the destitute Filipino slums are given a certain upscale sheen, a cosmopolitan flavor that is simultaneously so Manila and non-Manila. The commonalities of poverty and gangsterism in the world have never appeared so unified—and as a result, on a whole different level, universally appealing.

Second, and more problematic, is the video’s theme. One cannot assail the topic of poverty, given that the video was based on the true story of Bboy Mouse, a multi-awarded UK-based B-Boy champion who has a cameo in the video itself. Couched within its beautiful technicals and well-structured narrative, however, is a very limited and simplistic perspective on poverty and culture.

It must be emphasized that the reasons for poverty in the Philippines are complex. It is a nation plagued by neo/colonial rule and the anarchy of ruling-class bureaucrats, who maintain a foothold on everything from oil prices to what Filipinas are allowed do with their lady parts. Feudalism and foreign exploitation in the countryside contribute to the growing number of urban poor, as seen in “Not Giving In,” who are likewise displaced in violent demolitions to give way to gentrified condominiums and shopping malls.

In contrast to the complexity of the Philippine situation, the thematic statement of “Not Giving In” is paradoxically simple: art equals retribution, gang violence equals certain death. The oversimplification of the dilemma is unsettling.

A taste for the politically-charged: Poverty juxtaposed with historic Edsa on Rudimental’s official website. (Click to enlarge.)

For the more privileged kids (who, in the Philippines, are probably the few who have access to emerging UK musicians like Rudimental) that do not live on a hand-to-mouth existence, the choice between dancing and gangsterism is primarily a matter of deviance, perhaps a decadent pastime or a streak of hooliganism and machismo. But for the down-and-out poor, the implications of this choice run much deeper. In ghettos and slums all over the world, the rationale for joining gangs hinges not on mere thrill. Gangs are political and economic entities, and—like fraternities, the counterpart of gangs in bourgeois culture—are sustained because they assure members of certain survival in the world.

At the moment of the two boys’ separation, the choice between dancing and violence seems so effortless, even accidental. One may argue that it’s poetic license, given that brevity is essential in a music video; that is completely valid. However, we must also recognize that the device’s implications on the video’s message are profound. And that is the root of my unease.

The choice between a life of dance and a violence-ridden lumpen existence is not simple, and the Rudimental video paints a beautiful, convincing and impelling picture to think otherwise.

Mere happenstance: the brothers’ paths diverge.

Centuries earlier, Europeans “discovered” the Philippines and began to export its natural resources under the auspices of colonialism. Today, in the age of social media, the Philippine government exports Filipinos themselves as human capital, manning (excellently!) the world’s households, hospitals and construction sites as a matter of economic policy. And Filipino talents, like Charice, Maria Aragon, and in this case, a young Manileño breakdancer, are likewise “discovered” and plucked from YouTube obscurity by gatekeepers like Oprah and Ellen (and on a smaller scale, Rudimental), the much-coveted break that leads them closer to certain economic upliftment.

The discourse of discovery: Rudimental on “discovering” the young star of their video. Taken from their official Facebook page. (Click to enlarge.)

Yet in a nation where citizens—many of whom are greatly talented—remain in poverty and obscurity, success stories like Bboy Mouse and Charice are the exceptions rather than the norm. The message of “Not Giving In,” while universal and inspirational, is also a little naïve, and should be taken with a grain of salt.

The portrayal of dance versus gangsterism in “Not Giving In” does not recognize or even challenge the systemic ills that breed poverty, miseducation and violence, an atmosphere that dissuades the pursuing of talents (or encourages their monetization) in the first place. While that may be too deep an understanding of Philippine culture to expect from a foreign artist, nonetheless the problematique remains: that this beautiful video, like a poison apple, may inadvertently become an effective tool that ultimately promotes a liberal reformist perspective on life, an approach that recognizes the existence of an untenable system, but does not do anything to challenge it. #

Dance as triumph: breakdancing prevails over poverty in the conclusion of “Not Giving In.”

Foregrounding poverty: A portrait of Manila on Rudimental’s single cover. “We were told by the local production that all the large slums in Manila had been cleared out and burnt down by the government over the last six months,” said director Josh Cole in an interview. “We thought this was very strange but I had no reason to doubt it.”

Our young and fashionable protagonist at the PNR. Train passenger? Or train wreck?

12:51
Artist: Krissy and Ericka
Director: Nani Naguit
Cast: Krissy and Ericka Villongco, George Schulze
2012

It was my first time to encounter Krissy and Ericka last night. Apparently they’ve been around for a few years. My first impression was “pangalan pa lang konyita na,” but that’s just plain mean and judgmental, so sinarili ko na lang muna. For a few seconds. Kasi naman, one of them is a freshman pala at Yoopee Dillimahn while the other’s still studying at Saint Pahl Cahllege of Pahsiehg. And one of them’s akshally going to Brrahcay tomorrow. Sakit sa tenga, teh.

Not that I have anything against konyitas. I’m sure they’re perfectly good people and lest this be misconstrued as a hate post, I just want to be clear that in all fairness, magaling naman silang kumanta. Reminds me of M2M. You go, sisters!

The song “12:51” itself is really petty and emo. It begins: “I’m scrolling through my cellphone for the twentieth time today/ I’m reading the text you sent me again, though I memorized it anyway.” Kaloka. Ikaw na ang tech-savvy with mobile-mediated romance, gurl. But then again there’s a market for that and it’s not like other big teenage pop stars around Krissy and Ericka’s age don’t produce similar cheesy ballads. What really did it in for me, I suppose, was a confluence of the petty song, the hipster video, and the last straw—the girls’ annoying (sorry na!) personality in their interview/appearance on MYX.

The video starts with Ericka on the train. Hindi MRT or LRT ha. PNR. Tren kung tren. She’s waiting in the deserted station—quasi-European ang treatment, kunwari hindi third world—with her luggage. At hindi Samsonite ha. Leatherbound maletas and a quaint green hatbox/makeup kit. Hindi naman ito period film. And in fairness kay ate, kahit naka-full on fashyown, she’s sipping sopdrink na de-plastik.

Apparently, despite the invention of polycarbonate, girls still love to lug around leather maletas when traveling. Tiis-ganda, teh!

"Look, o! First time ko drumink ng Royal soda out of the little plastik!"

Enter poging kuya, fumo-photography sa train tracks of course, kasi gritty. At ang camera, syempre, hindi digital. Film. In fairness talaga kay kuya, ampogi niya. Magtataka ka talaga kung ano’ng ginagawa ng dalawang nilalang na ‘to sa PNR.

Interspersed with the narrative are the singing parts of the video, where we see Krissy in a fierce trabahador-inspired outfit (beanie, long colored hair, fur-lined hoodie) belting out her ballad somewhere in the port area at dawn.

Sino ba namang di mapupuyat hanggang ala una ng umaga? Ampogi nga naman ni Kuya.

Obrera chic: Krissy as the fashionable stevedore.

This video clearly communicates a worldview shaped by Lookbook. In fact, if it wasn’t a music video, it would’ve been a perfect photoshoot for a street style blog. Gritty urban landscape, quaint vintage items, funky if not slightly inappropriate personal style—OMG, fashgasm. Throw in a love triangle involving this boy-next-door hunk and we have the perfect teenage fashionista fantasy.

It’s a quaint bourgeois world where teens mobilize online technologies like tumblr, smartphones, MacBooks and blogs to, ironically, maintain hold on “outmoded” artifacts like thrifted clothes, leather suitcases, bicycles, cassettes, celluloid photography (hello Instagram). It’s all so inorganic and artificial.

Yes, that's really the appropriate attire for biking. Kaluluwa ang puhunan.

Yes, that's really the appropriate attire for the PNR. Ano'ng biyahe mo neng, Manila-Paris?

And that’s what really strikes me about this video. Elements of a relatively underprivileged existence—railways, instant noodles, port area, baon, old cassette players, sopdrinks in plastic—are coopted to make two privileged girls a cool music video. It’s the embodiment of this certain emerging culture among the youth where the bourgeoisie fetishize the plebeian, and claim it as their fashionable own.

There’s a subtle violence when the lifestyles of the downtrodden are taken up by the gentry in the name of being fashionable. It glosses over the difficulties entailed by such a lifestyle, and trivializes the issues by recasting them as cool, charming, and photo/telegenic.

All for this Hannah Montana fantasy of teenage box-office success. The “12:51” video aspires for the best of both worlds: the rustic charm of the working-class landscape paired with the glamorous affect of the fashion/music world. What stands out, though, is the clear disjuncture between the two spheres. And maybe that was the biggest mistake of my life. And maybe I haven’t moved on since that night. Because it’s 12:51, and I thought my feelings were gone… #

The girl moves on, literally. Hindi na sya mahabol ni poging kuya (top). Reminds me of My Sassy Girl (bottom).

- – - – -

APPENDIX

My favorite scene from “12:51″

INT. CONDO. DAWN?

Si ate, nasa kitchen. Naghihiwa ng pipino. Naka-outfit pa, complete with falsies. Taray. Pero gaga, nahiwa nya daliri niya. Ouch, the pain.

CUT TO:

Ang kanyang baon: instant Korean noodles. Kaloka. (Sino’ng nagbabaon ng noodles na may sabaw? At sa’n ginamit yung pipino? Halatang hindi ata gumagawa ng sariling baon yung nakaisip nito. Hindi man lang kumonsulta kay Yaya.)

Sinasandok ang noodles sa metal baunan, wow, old skool. Sabay sulat sa tape na ginawa nya for her boylet, aww, ang sweet—and again, old skool. Di kaya matunaw yung cassette kapag isinilid sa metal baunan na may kasamang mainit na sabaw?

CUT TO:

Ihahatid na ni ate yung baon at cassette sa loverboy niya. Shet, domesticated fantasy ito. But no, nahuli niya si kuyang me kalaguyong ibang girlet, complete with multicolored Malaysian mums in hand. Nashock si ate, nalaglag ang baunan. Nagets ni girlet, nagalit, sabay hampas ng mums kay kuya, with matching lagas ng petals. Walkout ang dalawang girls.

CUT TO:

Closeup ng lumberjack boots ni kuya, in fairness, red shoelaces and cuffed denims. On trend. Binuksan ang baunan, wow, walang natapon na sabaw. Ang laman, thank you/goodbye message sa cassette. Naloka si kuya, kumaripas para habulin ang tren ng PNR, Bicolana ata si ate. #

Magpi-pillow ka na nga lang, yung manipis pa?

Thin Pillows
Oishi
2012

Oishi Philippines came out recently with a new variant of Pillows. The original heftier Pillows had very working-class Pinoy flavors: choco, cheese and ube. Alam na ang market. Parang dirty ice cream lang na de-kariton.

Pero iba ang branding nitong Thin Pillows. Choco-hazelnut–taray, parang Nutella lang. Thin wafers with oats–wow, healthy lifestyle. Kulang na lang yoga instructor. At sun-filled studio with hardwood floors and bay windows. Sosyal. Ang yaman. At in fairness, masarap naman.

Of course, the ka-sosyalan ends there. In fact, this affect of “class” is precisely what makes this poor man’s Loacker so third world. It attempts to channel upscale with flavors like hazelnut and a healthy-vegan crunchy lifestyle. But its material conditions say otherwise.

In the first place, it’s super cheap and available only in tiny 34g or 15g packages. Just like the uniquely third world phenomenon of sachets, where everything from shampoo to cellphone load is available in the tiniest increments. Sachets are concrete manifestations of the miniscule purchasing power of the common Filipino, rooted in the not-so-delicious labor situation where workers can only earn the tiniest of wages. Nonetheless, even if you’re on minimum wage, you can perhaps treat yourself to the occasional pack of Thin Pillows paminsan-minsan, at kahit papaano’y makatikim naman ng life under the Tuscan sun. Charot.

When eating Thin Pillows: expectation (left) versus reality (right). Pangarap ang tunay mong minemeryenda.

The most revealing aspect of this snack, however, is its name. Let’s face it. Where else would the term “thin pillow” make sense? Not in the global north, where pillows are generally visualized to be soft, chubby and fluffy. Only in the third world. Hello, Philippines, mabuhay!

Mga kababayan, kilala natin ‘tong thin pillow na ‘to. It’s a nondescript shade of gray. Lumpy. An unmistakeable crease in the middle where the batting has thinned due to constant use. This crease is so annoying to the head that one usually folds this thin pillow in half to get a semblance of support–which, in turn, deepens the crease. The thin pilllow is covered in a faded, threadbare cotton cover with some gaudy printed design, most probably some distorted/discolored cartoon character. Sakit sa ulo, diba? Literally.

So the next time you eat Thin Pillows, savor it. Imagine Nutella. Imagine your workout gear care of Tita Stella. Imagine the oats you’re grinding between your teeth, nakaka-granola, may Vitamin A pa. Kahit ilang sandali lang, arrive na arrive. Parang mayaman ka na.

Parang lang.#

Before the sosyal Thin Pillows, there was the original Pillows. Na mukhang throw pillows lang.

An old Pillows TVC advertising their ube variant.

Love and hate are as intimately intertwined as Rhian and Aljur here.

My Kontrabida Girl
Director: Jade Castro
Cast: Rhian Ramos, Aljur Abrenica, Bea Binene, Jake Vargas, Bella Flores, Enzo Pineda, Chariz Solomon, Kevin Santos, Sef Cadayona, Ken Chan, Bela Padilla, Gwen Zamora
2012 

Do not be fooled by its deceptively accessible surface, enhanced by the parade of delicious biceps thanks to Aljur Abrenica, Enzo Pineda et. al. You may think you’re just watching another run-of-the-mill boy-meets-girl story (well, to some extent that’s what it is) but who would’ve thought that GMA Films would come up with a romantic comedy that’s not plain fluff? 

Negation is at the heart of My Kontrabida Girl, as evidenced by its title. However, the film demonstrates not the mechanical kind of negation where things are clearly delineated as black or white. It is a dynamic negation which is more concerned with conflict, complexity and sublation. “The interdependence of the contradictory aspects present in all things and the struggle between these aspects determine the life of all things and push their development forward,” says Mao Tse Tung. “There is nothing that does not contain contradiction; without contradiction nothing would exist.”

In the film, Bella Flores regally and succinctly sums up this concept in layman’s terms: “kung walang kontrabida, walang bida.”

Heigl meets Hegel

My Kontrabida Girl’s storytelling follows a clearly dialectical structure, and there lies its brilliance. The film plays with opposites which seem sharply contrasting at first: job versus personal life, love versus hate, small town versus big city, offscreen versus onscreen, friend versus enemy, truth versus lie, etc. My Kontrabida Girl then proceeds to marry these concepts, thereby demonstrating their inherent affinity. Thesis, antithesis, synthesis—the components of Hegelian dialectics. My Kontrabida Girl is rife with them, all interconnected, each punctuated by a huge (and comedic) confrontation scene.

A boy meets girl story: Georg Hegel meets Katherine Heigl in My Kontrabida Girl.

The film’s premise is hinged on deploying the quintessential Katherine Heigl-esque character Isabel (Rhian Ramos) as one huge antithesis, the literal “kontrabida girl” to her hometown’s status quo. She sets out to destroy the life of her former sweetheart Chris (Aljur Abrenica), but in order to destroy Chris, she must destroy, in another dynamic contradiction, everything not-Chris: his friends and family. To sabotage Chris, she sabotages the whole.

This carefully-wrought totality demonstrates the intelligence that went into making My Kontrabida Girl’s story. From a horizontal view, the characters and events are tightly interdependent. But their development is also vertically compound, each resolution building upon the previous one and deepening the complexity of both individual characters and their combined totality. In all of the film’s major relationships—Isabel-Chris, Isabel-career, Chris-Joyce, the two sides of Chris’s family—the conflicts are resolved but not erased, both hate and love are amalgamated. Nothing is lost or destroyed, but raised up and preserved as in a spiral.*

The "good" side of the Bernal family (top) and the "kontrabida" side (bottom), featuring Her Majesty Odette Khan.

This type of story development is exceedingly rare in mainstream films normally peopled with cardboard characters and ruled by deus ex machina. In My Kontrabida Girl, the characters’ motivations are clear, their actions organic, and the story, as a result, strangely believable.

Kontrabida versus amnesia

The common weakness of mainstream genre films is their dependence on trite and unscientific storytelling. Take, for example, a similarly titled Jade Castro story from the rival network, the highly successful (yet less sophisticated) My Amnesia Girl directed by Cathy Garcia Molina. In this case, the film’s story progresses not through an organic logic, but through a more common mainstream template: the mechanical reversal of situations.

Amnesia Boy with Amnesia Girl.

In a nutshell, the main conflicts of My Amnesia Girl are:

Thesis 1: Irene loves Apollo, and thinks they are meant to be.

Antithesis 1: On their wedding day, however, Apollo leaves her, therefore crushing thesis 1.

Thesis 2: Irene hates Apollo, and thinks they are not meant to be.

Antithesis 2: Apollo realizes his mistake and perseveres to woo Irene back, therefore crushing thesis 2.

Thesis 3: Irene loves Apollo, and thinks they are meant to be again. The end.

Tracing the story arc, it is a singular line composed of a simple reversal of propositions—a double negation. In many mainstream films like My Amnesia Girl, the double negation is a standard formula where the initial thesis is debunked, only to be reinstated in the end.

More often than not, mainstream films that follow this template also treat love as a relatively isolated dynamic that exists independently of other life factors. It is common to see supporting characters that exist only to affirm or embellish the linear love story—which, like My Amnesia Girl, is reducible to a simplistic reversal. This approach produces films that, while enjoyable, are completely unrealistic.

Verisimilitude versus defamiliarization

Many mainstream movies aspire for a complete illusion of “reality,” a seamless verisimilitude that allows the audience to suspend disbelief completely. Take recent Star Cinema productions, for example, like Won’t Last a Day Without You and Unoffically Yours. These movies present a rich milieu of “everyday life:” real occupations like the radio DJ and the Manila Bulletin food writer, realistic families with their own quirks, modest homes and jeepney rides, the familiar urban sprawl, the lure of diaspora, the lush details of our real lives reproduced on screen.

The accuracy of the milieu is in stark contrast to the bankruptcy of the stories, all reiterations of the same template of double negation/mechanical reversal. The obvious danger is that because the audience will believe the milieu, they will also believe the flawed life philosophy it contains. Movies, after all, influence how we live our lives, affecting our judgments, views and desires. Romantic comedies, in particular, teach us how to love. The increasing proliferation of grandiose proposal viral videos and cinematic wedding videography is indicative of a generation raised on Hollywood romantic comedies, with its cutesy courtships and grand gestures. Certainly, there is a disconnect when we try to apply what we saw on the screen and integrate it into real life. This kind of simplistic filmmaking  peddles a backward kind of philosophy which either alienates audiences or inundates them with the false life expectations.

Rhian Ramos as the quintessential bitch, with a spiky attitude to match her killer heels.

In a mainstream assembly line that is preoccupied with churning out fantasy after improbable fantasy, the refreshingly realistic My Kontrabida Girl thus stands out. Not only is its storytelling informed by dialectics, but its self-conscious directorial treatment creates a kind of fourth-wall effect. It plays with Hollywood romantic comedy conventions, but is firmly rooted in Filipino culture and values. My Kontrabida Girl is fully aware of its context as a genre film, as a mainstream film, as a Filipino film. It shirks the veneer of verisimilitude that so many mainstream films take great pains to achieve, in favor of a hyperrealist Brechtian distancing effect.

My Kontrabida Girl’s approach is reflexive, taking typical genre elements which the audience already expects (ie confrontations in the rain, teary apologies, grand gestures of love in the end) and exaggerates them short of being unsettlingly absurd. Its scenes pay homage to cinema, gathering legendary kontrabidas like Cherie Gil, Maritoni Fernandez and Gladys Reyes into a single montage. Character names are a nod to movies; Aljur’s character Chris Bernal, for example, is a play on his former ka-love team Kris Bernal, while his sister Joyce is named after director Bb. Joyce Bernal. Altogether, these devices announce to the viewer that the spectacle they are watching is not reality, it is just a film, it is a genre film.

Aljur Abrenica as the charming and beefy provinciano boy. Gusto ko bigla ng tuna hotdog.

Smart amusement

My Kontrabida Girl is a production that is a fantasy at the surface, but philosophically grounded at the core, with an insight on how narratives progress both on and offscreen. Quite a difficult balance to pull off and deploy as light entertainment. But it works.

“Life is therefore also a contradiction which is present in things and processes themselves, and which constantly originates and resolves itself,” says Frederick Engels, explaining dialectics. “Life consists precisely and primarily in this—that a being is at each moment itself and yet something else. ” My Kontrabida Girl’s story demonstrates how this concept manifests concretely in real life situations. And My Kontrabida Girl itself, as a film, reaffirms Engels—it’s a screwball romantic comedy, yet it’s also a lesson in dialectics.

My Kontrabida Girl is a shining example of the possibility of a mainstream cinema that is sophisticated but not inaccessible, entertaining without being stupid. It offers audiences a realistic understanding of how relationships progress, a working philosophy of the dynamics of change. It is the product of intelligent writing and directing, firmly grounded in local culture.

It only goes to show that we still have discerning filmmakers who care enough for the audience to create perceptive cinema even in the mainstream. My Kontrabida Girl provides a much-needed glimmer of hope for genre cinema in particular, and to Philippine mainstream cinema as a whole. Ang swerte mo, Rhian. #

*from Hegel for Beginners by Krause and Spencer. 

Aljur's hunky barkada: (from left) Sef Cadayona, Ken Chan, Kevin Santos, Enzo Pineda.

The Kontrabidas: (clockwise from top left) Cherie Gil, Maritoni Fernandez, Gladys Reyes.

One of two official posters.

Bella Flores offers tips on how to be a kontrabida.

No one makes sampal Rhian Ramos.

Behind the scenes featurette.

Full trailer for My Kontrabida Girl.