Maynila in the Gates of Hell

Since were outraged by Dan Brown, the next logical step would have been to stop the Cannes screening of the
remastered version of Maynila sa mga Kuko ng Liwanag.

Indeed: if Cannes is the center of world cinema, if were so goddamned sensitive about our image, then it makes no
sense to allow the showing of a classic that exposes the city for what it really is: dirty and oppressive. A scathing
social realist masterpiece, with Satan as production designer. But what truly disturbs is that from the time the movie
was made and up to now, nothing much has changed. Except that everyone now has a cell phone.

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But thats the thing: name me one Filipino film thats been invited to a foreign screening that is NOT set in slums. Its
as if the slum and other signifiers of grinding poverty are now some of our major aesthetic exports. Poverty
porn, the critics sneer. But lets face it: we all operate under the convenient mechanisms of clichs.

Lets look at it from a larger perspective: we worry about what Dan Brown wrote but Maynila sa mga Kuko ng
Liwanag (1975) is still considered the finest Filipino film of all time. It certainly doesnt portray the city as a
shimmering portal to paradise.

If you havent seen it, do your ignorant self a favor. While the idea of best Pinoy movie of all remains a subject of
much debate, sometimes we tend to believe the opinion of foreigners. For instance, Maynila is the only Filipino entry
in the 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die.

It speaks volumes, that the most internationally renowned Filipino movie is a tragic 1975 melodrama set in a
decaying landscape of slums, construction sites with exploitative labor policies, a city where squatter
neighborhoods burn down all of a sudden, and where people fall in a downward spiral of prostitution. The misery
enveloping the characters is claustrophobic, providing no alleyways and side streets to redemption.

Liwanag here refers to the neon signs which attract the provincials like moths to the flame, Brocka explained, in an
interview with the late great critic Agustin Sotto. The provincial is seduced by the city and the city shits on him.

Funny thing was, the Filipino-Chinese community protested the characterization of Ah Tek, the scrawny Chinese
character whom Julio Madiaga brutally stabs in the end. In the Philippines, the Chinese have servants whom they
turn into concubines. I have nothing against the Chinese. A year after the film was shown, they were still protesting.
We truly cant please everybody.

Note that in the four times that Brocka went to Cannes (Insiang, Jaguar, Bona, and Kapit sa Patalim) and other
prestigious festivals, not a single one was a rom-com where everyone, beachside, breaks into song. The other Filipino
works screened in Cannes were not exactly in the mold of John Lloyd-Sarah Geronimo movies. At the 1982
Directors Fortnight were Mike de Leons Kisapmata and Batch 81. Brilliante MendozasKinatay (2009) drew polar
opinions while Serbis (2008) showed to the world the Pinoy way of curing butt boils (not to mention Coco Martins
butt).

Brockas first ticket to Cannes was Insiang, shown at the Directors Fortnight in 1978. Agustin Sottos article Lino
BrockaThe International Director noted how the movies producers in Manila had no idea who Pierre Rissient was,
and it took some prodding from Sidney Pollack (What Pierre tells you to do, you do it!).Insiang got instant critical
raves, but it seemed the bigger deal for some Pinoys was Hilda Koronel making it onto the front page of France
Soir magazine.

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Insiang, to some myopic Pinoy critics at that time, was a simple lurid love triangle involving a mother, a daughter,
and a butcher set in Tondo slums. But the French saw something far larger and more valuable than that. I suspect
that fascination started from just the films OBB, which was an in-your-face montage of a slaughterhouse and
hardcore slum scenery: toddlers defecating on top of garbage piles, hovels pasted out of scrap wood, strips of
spare aluminum like a bad Klee or Mondrian, tiny huts rising out of rivers choked with trash. Yes, dehumanizing
Third World conditionsall these must be exotic alien landscapes for Cannes audiences, I guess. In the same way we
Filipinos lose our breaths over the sweeping landscapes of Iceland or New Zealand. Imagine howbefore Google and
YouTube we must have appeared in the eyes of the world.

Brocka owes it all to a man named Pierre Rissient, the French programmer responsible for the Frenchs rediscovery of
American noir and according to the recently departed Roger Ebert, essentially prepared the ground for the invention
of the auteur theory. Rissient was also assistant director to Godard in Breathless. Not only that: he introduced Chen
Kaige and Zhang Yimou to the world.

Sotto also noted that Brockas idea of Cannes was celebrities and naked sunbathers. The director also wasnt
interested in deep discussions on politics and aesthetics nor did he bother to immerse himself in the works of
international directors. Instead, he would switch to scandalous fan mode at the sight of Alain Delon and Isabelle
Adjani. During one forum on the changing structures of film narratives (chaired by no less than Alain Robbe-Grillet),
Brockanot a big fan of fancy theoriesprotested the use of critical jargon and a wave of laughter engulfed the
conference.

Brockas second Cannes entry Jaguar almost didnt make it after being denied an export permit thrice. According to
Sotto, The censors had been reprimanded for allowing Insiang to participate in Cannes; according to Imelda Marcos
advisers, it had projected an ugly image of the country. It took a circuitous appeal from Sean Connery (upon
Rissients instigation) to the Philippine censors. In a few days, Jaguar was in competition in Cannes, but lost to
Kurosawas Kagemusha and Bob Fosses All That Jazz.

Hayup lang sa mga ka-level, no?

Of course, it is unfair and admittedly, quite a stretch to compare this Dan Brown controversy with the screening of a
Brocka masterpiece.

Painful irony. When MMDA Chair Francis Tolentinos retort to Brown was on primetime TV news, it was sandwiched
among news reports: a woman randomly shot by a riding-in-tandem (only in the Philippines does it become a
noun), a slum community on fire, a speeding bus ramming into an EDSA concrete barrier, and teenage boys raping a
four-year-old girl.

Not the first time Tolentino wrote a letter to the author, it turns out. Apparently, he admitted that he alsofired off a
protest against The Da Vinci Codebecause it offended the Catholic faith.

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And you wonder why our citys in deep shit. Apparently, some of our officials, if not having poor literary tastes, have
too much time on their hands.

But the argument: well, we know it is dirty and oppressive and full of shit. But does someone really have to say that?
Just because someones fat and ugly doesnt mean you have to say it to his face, right? Dan Brown hasnt been to
Manila? Fuck that argument. Has Ray Bradbury ever been to Mars? You dont have to dip your finger in boiling oil so
you can say its hot. Thats the problem when people dont read a lot of books.

My problem with gates of hell is its utter lack of sophistication. Its cheap, prosaic, and amateurish. Any five-yearold these days can write gates of hell. Im not a fan of Dan Brown and his prose especially. Ive read The Da Vinci
Code and I am in no way gripped by the urge to re-read it for depth and rejuvenation of spirit.

Ifparaphrasing a quote by Brian de Palmaa Brocka film is truth at 24 revolutions per second, Dan Brown is
bullshit at 543 words per page (less, if the fonts are larger for beginning readers). Gates of hell? A song by Slayer
has more gory wit and sophistication. If youre gonna read something titled Inferno, just read the original by
Dante, the Robert Pinsky translation. It isto use Goethes description of the Dante epica work of repulsive and
often disgusting greatness. I would also use that phrase to describe Manila.

Better works of fiction have depicted Manila. No need to look outside. From Nick Joaquin to F. Sionil Jose to
Gamalinda, our own writers have done a much more sterling job, though in no ways worthy of a Department of
Tourism brochure. Jessica Hagedorn, in the intro of the recent anthology she edited, Manila Noir, likes to think of
Manila as a woman of mystery, the ultimate femme fatale. Sexy, complicated, and tainted by a dark and painful past,
shes not to be trusted. And why should she be? Shes been betrayed, time and again, invaded, plundered, raped and
pillaged. Hagedorn describes the place of her birth as a city of heat and shadow and secrets.

Those who say otherwise may be spending way too much time at High Street and Serendra. And theyre the kind of
people whose idea of lower middle class is SM Megamall. Lets ask MMDA Chair Tolentino if hes ever tried riding the
LRT during rush hour and if hes ever walked underneath the Delpan Bridge after 8 p.m.

What have you done to my beautiful city? Who asked that question? MMDA Chairman Francis Tolentino? Alfredo
Lim? Nope. That was Imelda Marcos.

Lets face it: no amount of cheeky tourism slogans will change the worlds perception of Manila overnight. Manila
may be called Satans playground for all we care, but as the Hotdog song goes, we keep coming back to it and we call it
home. Its imperfections, to use a euphemism, are what provides us material for our art. Manila is a city of
tremendous character; it has, to say the least, a phantasmagorically deep pozo negro of history, with enough fecal
energy to power 10,000 more Insiangs and Bonas.

Look at Scandinavian fiction. Their countries constantly rank among the worlds most liveable countries but nice
places dont normally inspire rich material. Since they dont have slums, their authors and filmmakers constantly have

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to plum their social underbelly: Nazis, divorce, serial killers, cold, calculating fascists, the homicidally cheesy music of
Abba, etc.

Bottom line: we dont need a Dan Brown or any other hack to remind us that Manila is one big shithole. Our
artists and filmmakers are doing it, although in artfully gritty ways. And are we complaining? No, because Martin
Scorsese and the French are never wrong. Its either that or our officials dont know shit about Cannes. Besides, its an
awkward cultural double-standard as bizarre as black people finding no problem with the N word as long as its said
by another black but militantly froth at the mouth when Tarantino says it.

If only we responded to better-written, worthier books. If only we watched more Brocka and Lav Diaz than Vic Sotto
fantasy-comedies or Bong Revilla CG epics. Wait: whos in charge of the Metro Manila Film Festival again? Oh, thats
right.

Its the MMD-Fucking-A.

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