Movie Review
Faney
Directed by Adolfo Alix

GIVE Adolfo Alix due credit — where few others seemed eager to cast Nora Aunor as lead in films (mainly because she wasn’t a young fresh talent anymore, the primary requirement for this ruthlessly youth-oriented relentlessly skin-deep industry) he kept doing so, in recent films (Pieta, Mananambal, Whistleblower, Padre de Familia among others) and in one project (Kontrabida) still awaiting a local theatrical run.

So it should be only fitting (shouldn’t it?) that on Nora’s passing Alix should assemble a few of her family and frequent collaborators for some kind of tribute — not a biopic, not a clip show, at least not completely, not some kind of documentary retrospective of her career, but a lightly fictionalized account of the people that idolized the actress, made her the icon that she was and in many ways still is.

Hence: Milagros/Lola Bona (played by Laurice Guillen) is devastated to hear of Ate Guy’s (the fans’ fond nickname for Nora, ate being “elder sister”) passing and vows to attend the wake; her daughter Babette (Gina Alajar) won’t hear of it — grandma just had surgery and the heat and effort would probably kill her… not to mention the possibility of meeting Edgar (Bembol Roco) again.

But Milagros is persistent, and manages to coax her granddaughter Bea (newcomer Althea Ablan) to accompany her on this brief if eventful trip, not just to the wake but back to Milagros’ past, with maybe a sidetrip illuminating Bea’s own character and obsessions.

I suppose the film has flaws — a touch too sentimental (or a lot, depending on your disposition and familiarity with the woman and her milieu), Bea’s encounter with a boy band that too-neatly shows the shared insanity of fans across generations, the feared clip show that ends the picture.

There are the stories — of one fan asking for her cellphone to be laid on Nora’s coffin so she can speak to her one last time; of another, a young one, belatedly soaking up the lore of Noranians (the name her followers have chosen to christen themselves with) and declaring her own conversion. Arguably a collection of anecdotes — of fanfic? — do not a feature film make no matter how true; Alix is not known for tight-woven narratives but this one might be too loose assembled even by his standards.

One can also argue that this is a labor of love made by a fan for the fans, in the service of a star who was once relevant in the 1970s, ’80s, ’90s, struggled to stay relevant in the new millennium, and whose personal life was turbulent enough to generate a steady stream of tabloid fodder throughout her life and (as it turns out) some time after. The crossover appeal, at least at first glance, seems limited.

But the in-jokes and sprinkled allusions are plenty enough and some of them clever enough to keep you following. Easy one to spot: most of the female characters are named after characters she played — Milagros is from Kasal-Kasalan, Bahay-Bahayan; Bona from Brocka’s classic slum noir of the same name; Babette is from Bulaklak sa City Jail, one of Nora’s most popular movies, Flor is of course from The Flor Contemplacion Story, perhaps her most famous film, and which the Noranians have adopted as their banner feature.

Scenes and snatches of dialogue from various films are not just quoted but performed; Guillen delivers a lion’s share of them in her bedroom, in one lengthy virtuoso sequence, in a single take (Alix’s apparently favorite way of capturing a scene). One can argue this is pure indulgence but Guillen pushes from fond remembrance to sadness to hysteria to a kind of nervous breakdown, begging not for tears but for a kind of horrified recognition that all isn’t right in Milagros’ head — she is having issues. Folks talk about Nora being a great actress; true enough, but no one talks about what a formidable talent Guillen also is, and this lengthy sequence proves it — her gestures come across graceful and guileless, her emotions are expressed with effortless clarity. Arguably Nora’s most famous speech (“Walang himala!”) is delivered with no fuss and less frills, the words recognizably Nora’s, the delivery Guillen’s inventive interpretation of Nora as played by an ardent older fan.

In perhaps the most bizarre episode in the pic Milagros encounters a pair of queer fans, one (the always great Roderick Paulate) calling himself Pacita M (a classic Nora character), the other (Henrie Chavarria) calling himself Stella L (celebrity rival Vilma Santos’ most famous role). Stella accuses Pacita of being a traitor; Pacita calls Stella a spy — catty acknowledgment not only of the rivalry among fandoms but of the intense identification the LGBTQ community has with the star (not for nothing is she nicknamed “Ate Guy”).

Milagros finally arrives at the funeral home housing the wake and meets Lola Flor, who again looks familiar and who I struggled to remember till I got it: Perla Bautista. The doting mother in Bulaklak sa City Jail with eyes glittering unnaturally bright as she asks about her missing child; I see her now, eyes bright as ever, only instead of insanity it’s the light of a life that has survived a long time and still hasn’t given up, still hasn’t let go — Lola Flor may be too old and weak to wait for long outside of Nora’s wake, but she isn’t too old to appreciate old friends, and the sad occasion that brings them all together.

And then there’s Edgar — sad enigmatic Edgar, who stands in Milagros’ way and gazes at her, unspeaking. What’s their history? What do they mean to each other? Why aren’t they still together? Alix holds his cards tight to his chest and just lets their eyes — Guillen’s, Roco’s — speak; in this case, at least, the eyes have it.

Several times Guillen sits in her room simply leafing through her photo album, an easy trope in a genre steeped in tropes and nostalgia — but it could also as easily be a nod to the closing moments of Mario O’Hara’s Babae sa Bubungang Lata (Woman on a Tin Roof, 1998), where Nitoy (Frank Rivera) sits in his room bleeding, looking through his album of once-famous faces dead and gone, about as definitive a statement as any of the passing of an era, in this case, of Philippine cinema. Seeing Alix’s film, I’ve finally found a flaw in that scene — O’Hara shot it decades too early. If he had made it now, Nitoy’s album might have ended more appropriately, first on the face of Lino Brocka, then on the face of Nora Aunor. The end of an era indeed.