Antonio’s Lihim that you don’t really wanna care to find out.
Because, like every other confused 15 year old, he’s not a regular confused 15 year old. At least not in the stereotypical philippine cinema.

Ang Lihim ni Antonio
Director: Joselito Altarejos
Writer: Lex Bonife

WARNING! SPOILERS AHEAD.

My film appreciation professor in college once told us that, of all the ways you can execute a film, having an omnipresent narrator might just propel your film into the lowest. Why? Because what’s the use of having people acting in the film if you’re letting the narator tell all that they’re feeling anyway?

So you couple it with a rather tragic ending, and this is what you get: your usual, stereotypical filipino film. And it doesn’t help that they were trudging a rather diverse topic either–there has to be blood, oh yes. We are all fans of telenovela killings, aren’t we?

And there goes Jay Altarejos’ Ang Lihim ni Antonio (Antonio’s Secret), which made its X Rated Premier at University of the Philippines Cine Adarna on February 9, 2008. The hype of being the most courageous gay film to date and receiving a great response from the film community has sparked the curiosity of all those who are interested, be it you’re into films, queer films, or queers. Ika nga ni Lex Bonife, [ito’y] para sa mga bakla, mga nagmamahal ng bakla, at nalilibugan sa mga bakla. Oooh. Let’s see, let’s see.

The film starts with a day in a season in the life of Antonio, played by newcomer Kenji Garcia: he’s 15, and like every other 15 year old, he poses the existential question of our reason for being. He wanders around Marikina (the bicycle friendly city–or so says a poster he passes by. And you’ll see a lot of bicycle rides around here as well, whether you like it or not) and his mind does the same, asking whether before people are born, if we get to choose who we get to become. Because it’s a whole lot easier it seems, if we at least get to choose who we want to be.

He stops at a computer shop and here we meet the rest of the other players in his life: there’s his best friend, Mike (Jiro Manio), along with another close friend Nathan (I didn’t get his name, sorry) who was tagged to be “mahilig magbasa ng bible, pero malibog (a fervent reader of the bible, but too sensual)”. His mother Tere (Shamaine Buencamino) comes in and reminds him of his promise to go to the market with her, and just as they were about to leave, Antonio’s father calls up and the viewers are shown a common family situation almost too familiar that it makes you understand them before they even explain further–we are then expecting a money-uptight mother making up for an absentee father working abroad and a son who’s diligent but would forever rant about his father’s absence.

And so goes the life of young Antonio.  His mother tries to teach him life by being a stern doting mother that she is, however, this isn’t enough for Antonio’s inner conflicts. Curiosity takes him to a make-out encounter with Nathan and eventually ruins their friendship; worse, an uncle from the province arrives and stays at their place–Tito Jonbert (Josh Ivan Morales), who’s preparing to leave the country for an overseas job–and he then becomes the ultimate affection of his sexual distraction. He tries to sort himself out with Mike’s candid approaches at his sexuality, and for a time, this seems to settle the young protagonist. However, after some turn of events one breakfast, while Antonio tries to give a bored Jonbert an oral job, the latter insists on anal sex and forces himself on a traumatized Antonio–which, after another bad turn of events for his mother, comes home broken hearted after learning her husband has another family abroad, and finds her nephew raping her unico ijo. One anger piling up after the other, she picks up a knife and stabs the offender, ultimately killing Jonbert. Antonio, taking on his  mother’s crime, admits to killing his uncle and brings with his 15 year old body a trauma that lasts a lifetime.

On a lighter side of things,  although Lihim may not have hit the extraordinary scale, it can be commended for its relatable characters. Antonio’s player may have been a newbie in film aspects, but his character was played to be somewhat charming and understandable for a 15 year old confused boy. He was able to execute the idea of being genuinely lost and tragically broken, and was maybe complemented by the characters supported by veterans Buencamino and Manio. It was a perfect balance for an indie film; in fact, maybe it’s the characters that stick to you that makes the film endearing.

However, that’s where its weakness show: the characters may have been understandable, but the story and execution of plots have failed. While Lihim has caught viewers with the trailer tagline of “Naaalala mo pa ba nung 15 anyos ka?” and you almost nod, in the end, you realize that no, this is not how you were at fifteen, and neither do you have these  traumatic endings at 15. If you were a child star and had alternate movie lives in the Filipino industry, oh yes, you WOULD definitely have this ending. While all this time you marvel at young Antonio’s attempts at searching for answers, you feel disappointed and maybe even wonder whether it just has to be that his dna would also be laced with such tragedies .   

Ultimately, the question would be: was it needed? Maybe, like the improperly placed scenarios all around the film which queue you in for the possible ending, it isn’t. Like when Antonio asked his mother if rape’s possible with males, he gets raped in the end. When he narrates about how he was named after Antonio De Padua, patron saint of the lost, we know what the blatant symbolism meant. When a distraught unknown and unrelated woman comes out of the blue and wishes she has killed her husband instead for catching him cheating on her, Tere consoles her and suddenly, you know what will happen. And you anticipate it with a tinge of regret that it has to happen that way:  suddenly, the rest of the movie’s just a series of long clips killing your time.

The film also needed to work on better editing. Again, there were a lot of scenes that were not needed, and killed too much time. Case point, Antonio’s first attempt at Nathan. It took him too long that it was no longer exciting but aganozing to sit and wait for things to happen. How about that scene where Antonio jacks off while sniffing Jonbert’s undewear? As much as it was admirable for Garcia to take off his trousers and show him playing with his penis to complement the movie’s attempts at being bold, it was not needed. Either that, or the film failed to show Garcia in a light where he should seem sincerely turned on. He wasn’t. It didn’t show his hesitation and guilt for masturbating to a used underwear, it didn’t seem that he was eager to do what he was about to do. He seemed robotic, and it was ruined further when he pulled his trousers. It was too planned, it became fake.

What could have been made nice was ruined by raw, careless writing. It would have been easier to contend with but given that the way the film was shot with one-run shooting with barely the cuts and mostly shaky hands gave you a nausea just right after walking out of the cinema–you wonder if it’s the film, or it’s the preachy, messed-up story. Admittedly we expected a lot, and even gave so much leeway. We tried to understand whether if we were gay guys as well it would make a world of a difference. We tried to see it beyond male nakedness and hard-ons. But no. I’m a girl and I related to Antonio, but only to his own conflicts and not the other artificial endings. Antonio would have been brought home to our hearts–but stereotypical pinoy tragedy’s honestly scaring the hell out of me. So up until they come up with a better Antonio in the philippine cinema, I won’t be bringing with me any relatable characters, no matter how endearing they can get. And that, if you think about it, is a real tragedy.

Rating: B-
other reviews:
http://wanderingcommuter.blogspot.com/2008/02/film-spoiler-lihim-ni-antonio.html
http://jhed.asteeg.net/2008/02/07/ang-lihim-ni-antonio-a-shocking-revelation/
http://www.pep.ph/guide/1585/Ang-Lihim-ni-Antonio-showcases-the-anatomy-of-desire-and-longing

Additional: If I remember it right, this film should debut at Robinson’s Indie Cine TODAY, February 13, 2008. Expect an edited version, but watch it nevertheless. Then let’s sit down and talk about your thoughts after watching it. I’ll buy you coffee.

And maybe someday we will meet
And maybe talk and not just speak
Don’t buy the promises ’cause
There are no promises I keep,
and my reflection troubles me
so here I go
 

-Same Mistake, James Blunt

Ang Lihim ni Antonio showing tonight at UP Diliman, 7:30pm. This should be hitting the theaters pretty soon (theaters of course being Robinson Galleria’s Indie Sine) BUT, it seems for only the price of P100 they would be doing an “X rated” sneak preview in the grounds of indie arts for one night only. Ah. Nothing like the exploits of indie cinema and the privilege of the underground.

Anyway. I’m including the email copy just in case you guys are interested. If you are, send me an sms later, quick. Let’s all watch this together. ^_^

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To: upfilminstitute@yahoogroups.com
From: “lexbonife” <lexbonife@yahoo.com>
Date: Sun, 03 Feb 2008 03:43:56 -0000
Subject: [UP Film Institute] Ang Lihim ni Antonio - The X Rated Premiere
 
Watch the “X Rated Version” of “Ang Lihim ni Antonio”, today’s most controversial gay film from the makers of “Ang Lalake sa Parola”

“Ang Lihim ni Antonio”
The X Rated Premiere

February 4 (Monday) 7:30pm
UP Film Institute

Starring Jiro Manio, Shamaine Buencamino
Featuring Josh Ivan Morales
and Introducing Kenji Garcia

This digital film is a gripping tale of love, curiosity and sexual
explorations.

Tickets at Php100 each.

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Oh. And this is getting me excited. I am seriously going to miss my morning shift due to this:

Revolver49
Videoke Nights4: We Are Braders Forever!

Cafe Saguijo, Makati
February 8, 2008, Friday

featuring:
ANGULO
CHICOSCI
THE DORQUES
ITCHYWORMS
THE LOW-TECHS
PUPIL
SINAG

It’s that time of the year again as your favorite bands sing some classic videoke stuff along with their great originals and Revolver Productions rolls off its videoke machine. Come join the fun and join the Search for The Videoke Champion! Entrance is P150w/one[1}free drink. Mayhem starts 9PM

Original post by my ex-husband here:
http://lastmthrfckrstanding.multiply.com/journal/item/21/Revolver49_-_Videoke_Nights_4We_Are_Braders_Forever_

Minsan tinanong si Aia de Leon ng Imago: Anong ginawa mo para pumayat? From the three years difference kasi ng huling pag pose niya sa litrato upang lumabas sa takip ng unang cd nilang Probably Not but Most Definitely, ay lumabas siya sa Take Two–ang kanilang matagal na pinaka-inasam na karugtong sa kanilang career bilang mga dakilang musikero na hindi nagbibigay ng kumpromiso sa karapat dapat na produkto ng kanilang talento—na sobrang laki ng ipinayat. Bagamat hindi naman siya naging sobrang buto’t balat, at bagamat tatlong taon ang pagitan simula nang huling inilabas ang cd inlay, naging prominente naman ang laki ng diperensya mula sa dati niyang pigura.

Anong ginawa mo para pumayat?

Ang kanyang isinagot: Madepress. Madali ka kasing papayat pag depressed ka.
 

Ah. Madali lang naman pala. 

I. Blowing the bubbles
I have never found such a cluster of words to be rather negative yet charming. Hmm.

There was this phrase that J kept repeating to me months ago when I insist on some theories she claims to be wrong: assuming can be dooming. On the other hand, Ger says it’s not. Go ahead and assume, it’s good for the ego. Just don’t tell the other person the context of what you assumed, else, lipad ang ego mo sa backdoor papunta sa compost kung naging mali ka. At least, no one can claim you assumed such, while your pride silently inflates faster than your vcr’s fast forward. No room for push pins to blow your bubble.

Then there was this story about someone who thought the girl he wanted has been writing about him in her blog, it’s just that he couldn’t figure which entries were about him. It’s just that it fits, you know? he sobs in between regret. I thought it was about me, I thought we were building something together. Then I find out it was about someone else. I mean, just how many people can fit the same descriptions that best fit me?

(chuckles)

If I say I know it was me, would you also think I am pertaining to you? If I say that no, now my thoughts have somewhat become hushed, less attacking, and less passionate but with still the same redundance, would you know that it’s a reply to your queries?

Would you also wonder if this is about you, because just how many people can fit the same descriptions that best fit you?
I don’t know. I kind of thought about it that way too. But I’d rather not tell you I know that you know that it was me and that it was you. Because we’ve grown tired of picking up pins to burst each other’s bubble.
 

II. Sentiments from the Brokeback Mountain.
I yet again came across an old black box while looking for some certain notebooks in my book cabinet in my parent’s house last Sunday. I know I shouldn’t be bringing in more trash in to the unit, but I couldn’t help but hope that I could reread some paragraphs that I penned back in high school when Message in a Bottle has just hit the market as a paperback and still hasn’t garnered critical acclaim after being brought to life by Kevin Costner’s Garrett and Robin Wright Penn’s Theresa.

I fell in love with Garrett, and I fell in love with him hard. It was due to his inspiration that I trailed after the well known tradition of love letter writing, and I did so with I believe to be an exemplary craft for a public high school student. I wrote love letters for my friends for valentine’s day of 1999, where when they asked for letters containing infatuation, I wrote about arduous desire and passion. Puppy crush is so 1980’s.

Most of those notes were written on a spine-sewn notebook which I covered with a gray carton-like cover. It should have been there somwhere in my book shelf, one of those few mementos I was adamant to keep. But Sundays are always great with turning around things–I failed to find it, but found a different memento; in fact, those of which were real correspondences to a once dear co-lover of life. These were no longer inspirations out of a book, but inspirations out of life.

The black box was simply a matte silky carton for a wallet which I lost years ago on a bus (which sadly, also contained maybe two or three long letters from a heart twin). I kept that carton on purpose as I needed a no-fuss treasure box: it was sleek, it had ample space, and it stayed true to its purpose. Years now and yet it somehow remained a little crisp, although there are signs of dust around.

I opened the box slightly just to take a peek, then after much thought, slowly closed the box and placed it back. I had only a few minutes left and my dad was going to bring me back to my unit; I still haven’t found my book.

She has always been alive. I had the biggest remorse, bitterness and much regret whenever I was around her memories, but she has always been alive. I, on the other hand, was killed and deliberately shoved to where rotten memories lie 6 feet under. Somehow it’s understandable, as it has been I who pushed myself into her. When she relented, it has been a whirlwind of an affair, to be broken only by my fear of my assumptions being affirmed. Years later, I turned into what I fear my assumptions were, and she was gone.

We couldn’t have made it together, maybe. Or maybe we would have, it just wasn’t such a great idea then. We were friends. And she was the world. And those letters in the box would have overtrumped all of Garrett’s emotional stir-ups at any given time.

Anybody asks, of course I have moved on. Everybody does that. It’s just that there has always been this lingering hope of maybe, just maybe, we could be nice to each other again. Because just how many people can fit the same descriptions that best fit her?

I just only wish I knew how to quit her.
 

III. Purest form of trash.
Once, I was told I was artless. I was doing poetry then and I was told I was artless. For someone who’s rather disappointed with her lack of poetic lyricism, that was a rather harsh comment to hear. 

“You dork. It meant you’re raw. You’re still waiting to be formed.”

Pretty much means a noob, yeah, but that term kind of lingered on.

Some years after, I still can’t look at poetries without much prejudice. It may be partly because of the whole artless thingamajig, or maybe because I just never got beyond the point of take-off. Artless is as artless can get.

Sometimes, I look back and wonder where all those friendships and drive and art and passion has gone to. One time, the simple act of scoffing at someone else’s ideals has made me ashamed of who I have become over the years. To someone’s eyes, I was a clump of clay ready to be formed. Years after, I am nothing but still that lump of clay, except I have given up on my self, and lost all the passion of a youngster ready to take on the world.

When I read those cluster of words which I found to be rather negative yet charming, there was an unavoidable tinge of familiarity that has given me a flashback down the memory lane. The person being described was reminiscent of me, and I couldn’t help but compare how many changes has been added to the personality I now carry. And suddenly, I felt there has been a thousand and one differences that has separated me from the past.

Not that I don’t want change. Far from it. I’m just not sure whether it has indeed been for the better sometimes. Because just how many people can fit the same descriptions that best fit me, but right now, won’t or doesn’t?