On Irony...

What in TIME makes us FREE?
What in FREEDOM makes us less free?

On Faith...

The following is a dramatic reading written and performed by Richard
Harris on his album, "Slides" [copyright 1971 by ABC Records]. As a young boy i used to hear it being played on the FM radio during the lenten season. Many years later, this piece would be a favorite material for my friends and i whenever we felt like shooting the breeze in the then so bare Greenbelt Park, some twenty five years ago!

According to some accounts, this was written with regards to the fighting in Northern Ireland which was particularly bloody around that time. But a deeper look into the prevalent mood of the piece, i think it does have a more universal appeal.


"There Are Too Many Saviours On My Cross"

There are too many saviours on my cross
lending their blood to flood out my ballot-box
with needs of their own.

Who put you there?
Who told you that that was your place?

You carry me secretly naked in your hearts,
and clothe me publicly in armour, saying
"God is on our side,"
Yet I openly cry
"Who is on My side? Who, tell Me who?
You who buried your sons and crippled your fathers
whilst you buried My Father in crippling His Son."

The antiquated Saxon sword, rusty in its scabbard of time,
now rises.
You gave it cause in My name,
bringing shame to the thorned head that once bled for
your salvation.
I hear your cries in the far-off byways, and your
mouth pointing north and south,
and my Calvary looms again, desperate in rebirth.
Your earth is partitioned but in contrition
it is the partition in your hearts that you must abolish.

You nightly watchers of Gethsemane,
who sat through my nightly trial delivering me from evil,
now, deserted, I watch you share your silver.
Your purse, rich in hate, bleeds my veins of love,
shattering my bone in the dust of the Boxside
and the Shaghill Road.

There is no issue stronger than the tissue of love,
no need as holy as the palm outstretched in the
run of generosity,
no monstrosity greater than the anger you inflict.

Who gave you the right to increase your fold while
decreasing the pastures of My flock?
Who gave you the right? Who gave it to you, who?
and in whose name do you fight?

I am not in heaven,
I am here, hear Me.
I am with you, see Me,
I am in you, feel Me,
I am of you, be Me,
I am for you, need Me.
I am all mankind, only through kindness will you reach Me.

What masked and bannered men can rock the ark
and navigate a course to their own anointed kingdom come?
Who sailed their captain to waters that they troubled
in My font, sinking in the ignorant seas of prejudice?

There is no virgin willing to conceive in the heat of
any bloody Sunday.
You children, lying in cries on Derry streets,
pushing your innocence into the full-flushed face of Christian guns,
battling the blame on each other,
Do not grow tongues in your dying dumb wounds speaking My name.
I am not your prize in your death,
you have exorcised Me in your game of politics.

Go home to your knees, and worship Me in any cloth,
for I was never tailor-made.
And who told you I was? Who gave you the right to think it?
Take your beads in your crippled hands.
Can you count My decades?
Take My love in your crippled hearts.
Can you count the loss?


I am not orange, I am not green,
I am a half-ripe fruit, needing both colors to grow into ripeness,
and shame on you to have withered my orchard!

I, in my poverty, alone and without trust,
cry shame on you and shame on you again and again
for converting Me into a bullet and shooting Me into men's hearts.

The ageless legend of My trial grows old, and the youth of your pulse,
staggering shamelessly from barricade to grave,
filing in the book of history My needless death one April,
Let Me in My betrayal lie low in My grave,
and you in your bitterness lie low in yours,
for our measurements grow strangely dissimilar.

Our Father, who art in Heaven, sullied be Thy Name!

On Growing Up...

The last week found me busy with classes for mostly teen students in acting, voice communication and believeability. There were three students who stood out among the rest. Not so much because they were smarter or better-looking than the others but for their insights and mature disposition.

It dawned on me that soon, they will, like most youngsters, lose their youthful innocence and surrender to the busy, hectic rat-race of our so-called lives!

But before that could happen, i plan to share with them the poem by Rudyard Kipling. This poem is poignant and stirring in all it's simplicity. It is the same piece my late father recited to me when i was about twelve or thirteen:

[IF]
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

--Rudyard Kipling

Musings with Maryo J. delos Reyes

Every now and then, when i have a lot of free time in my hands and the subject is worth the effort, i turn in feature articles for the Philippine Daily Inquirer's Saturday Special. The editor, Nestor Torre has always been so gracious enough to spare me a few spaces in his section. Today, i will start reprinting here some of my past works in hope of sharing with you some of my thoughts...

As a first installment, i am reprinting an article i wrote about one of my favorite film makers, Maryo J. delos Reyes... read on.

Maryo J., 30 years and 90 films later.


(From Philippine Daily Inquirer)

Byline: Gabby L. Reinoso

AS if on cue, the heavy downpour came to a halt as I caught a glimpse of Direk Maryo J. delos Reyes making his way into the restaurant. With the heavy traffic building up on the streets, it came as a pleasant surprise that the multi-awarded film director sauntered in punctually for this interview.

Ironic truth

Maryo J.'s last movie, "Laman," was successful despite its R-18 rating. This was sweet vindication for the soft-spoken director, who had to knock on the censors' doors to appeal the X rating they initially gave the movie. While putting the incident behind him, Maryo J. comes up with a ironic truth: "Gusto natin maniwala na high-tech na tayo, pero ang utak natin, low-tech pa rin!"

Perhaps it was not by accident that Maryo's first opus, "High School Circa '65," was a movie about young lives caught up in the moral struggle of the adults around them.

Maryo elicited sterling performances from a host of ensemble actors who breathed life into societal stereotypes with such credibility that some of the movie's scenes reminded viewers of events in their own high school life.

Arena

For the first time, he was thrown into an arena where artistic expression would have to be tempered by business and economic realities. And Maryo was quick to learn. In time, he was turning out a string of commercially viable hits with pertinent themes, like "Annie Batungbakal," and "Bagets."

But before falling into the commercial rut, Maryo admits that his peers who believed in his capability to rise above the box-office formula challenged him. "Tagos ng Dugo," starring Vilma Santos, would be his effective response to that challenge.

The success of "Tagos" confirms the notion that, once balance is attained, quality need not suffer in favor of commercialism. Nowadays, Maryo continues to make commercial films, but he has a couple of surprises up his sleeves.

"I realized that good materials would come to me, but when they do, it takes time to distill them and make them work. Maybe some of them need fine-tuning and adjustments, but when I hit upon good material, I pitch for it and work hard to bring it to life onscreen.

"'Ang Paraiso ni Efren' is one such material," says Maryo. The movie was a look into the world of gay relationships and starred hunk Anton Bernardo and Alan Paule.

Three generations

One script that has come Maryo's way and reduced him to tears is Michiko Yamamoto's "Magnifico Magikero." The movie provides Maryo the privilege of directing three generations of the country's finest actors, including Gloria Romero, Celia Rodriguez, Lorna Tolentino, Amy Austria, Albert Martinez, Danilo Barrios, Allyson VII, Jiro Manio and Dindin Llanera.

But in the meantime, after megging some 90 movies in three decades, Maryo has put another film in the can: "Bedtime Stories" launches Maricar de Mesa in her bid for sexy stardom via its trilogy of "themes and styles" as Maryo describes it. The movie, which tackles sadomasochism, necrophilia and the drug Ecstacy, is a shoo-in as another controversy-laden film.

What about a remake of "High School Circa '65"? "Yes and no," Maryo says. "No, because I do not want to repeat myself. And yes, I would consider a remake but maybe set it in another era, perhaps 1975, the time when our country was experimenting with martial law," he muses, a mischievous smile crossing his face, and eyes lighting up. One can only guess what the man is thinking!

The April Fools

Suddenly, the skies have been breaking out into rains... in summer!
April showers are upon us, but the heat can really be draining...
so i put on some music from my past...

In an April dream
Once she came to me
When you smiled I looked into your eyes
And I knew I'd be loving you
and then you touched my hand
And I learned April dreams can come true

Oh are we just April fools
Who can't see all the danger around us
If we're just April fools
I don't care, true love has found us now

Little did we know
Where the road would lead
Here we are a million miles away from the past
Travelin' so fast now
There's no turning back
If our sweet April dream doesn't last

Are we just April fools
Who can't see all the danger around us
If we're just April fools
I don't care, we'll find our way somehow
No need to be afraid
True love has found us now

The April Fools, Lyrics: Burt Bacarach, Performed by Dionne Warwick