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ps_stillreading's review
funny
informative
reflective
medium-paced
5.0
Not a review. More like fangirling disguised as a word-vomit-y, parenthetical-heavy reflection of my reading experience. Please manage your expectations. You have been warned✌🏽😘
I am someone who enjoys watching films. And I am also interested in what goes on behind the scenes: how movies are made, who makes them happen, what The Industry is actually like, and all that jazz.
However, I am very much an outsider. I mean I only recently began to think about the films and shows that I watch. And I realized that I don’t know much about Philippine cinema at all. And this is why I loved Nothing Deep. Richard Bolisay’s essays allowed me a peek behind the curtain and for the 10 days I spent with this book, I felt like I was granted intimate access to something I have only ever admired from afar.
The book begins with essays on Joel Torre and Marilou Diaz-Abaya that made me appreciate them even more. Reading about Joel Torre’s connection to Jose Rizal took me back to high school when our Filipino teacher made us watch the Noli Me Tangere series he starred in, playing Crisostomo Ibarra alongside Chin Chin Gutierrez as Maria Clara. Torre would later appear in Diaz-Abaya’s film Jose Rizal as Ibarra/Simoun. And yes, the same teacher also made us watch this film. Back then, we thought that our teacher was a fan of Cesar Montano (who plays Jose Rizal as well as the main character in the film Muro-Ami, which she also made us watch). But after reading these essays it dawned on me that maybe she was actually a fan of Marilou Diaz-Abaya who directed both films. These two opening essays really had me typing “where to buy DVDs Philippines reddit” primarily because I wanted to watch Jose Rizal again, but by the end of the book, I wanted to watch the films Bolisay mentions that aren’t available on streaming. When I fall into rabbit holes like this, I take it as a good sign about what I’m currently reading.
The third essay, The Evolution of Meng Patalo made me tear up. I feel like the journey of the film mirrored that of its characters, and Bolisay wrote about it in such a beautiful way that it made me very emotional. And I didn’t even watch the movie (please where can I watch it???)
When johnreads shared his review of Nothing Deep, I went and bought myself a copy. I even got it signed during MIBF (photo proof included). It stayed on my shelf for A WHILE before I read it, and gurl do I regret waiting this long because three essays in, and I knew that I would be in for a treat. Then shelfandsensibility posted her review, which made me even more excited to read the rest of the collection.
Philippine Cinema on the Map, the last essay in Nothing Deep, unexpectedly made me feel a lot of frustration. It was an eye-opening essay, but it really reminded me of some complaints and pet peeves I had regarding some mainstream movies. The Philippines is such a diverse country, with hundreds of languages and dialects, and of course, hundreds of stories. So when Bolisay wrote “Manila-centric ideologies and narratives have long upheld control and privilege” I FELT that. I may have lived in Manila for years, but I am still and forever will be a Cebu girlie at heart. And yes, I have also used the term “imperial Manila” in conversations with my friends. Stories and films that center cities and languages outside Manila deserve their time in the sun. Another quote from this essay: “There is a huge difference between a Manila filmmaker going to Cebu or Davao and setting a story in these cities and a Cebuano or a Davaoeño filmmaker doing the same.”
Yung totoo, I just want to share how annoyed I get when movies are set in Cebu (or in any other place with a regional language), with characters that are supposed to be locals of that area, but all of the actors are from Manila. Obvioulsy, majority of the film will be spoken in Filipino and they will typically only have five lines of dialogue in the local language, but they will never get the pronunciation or the accent right. It never sounds or feels real, so it makes me cringe and takes me out of the film for a hot minute. Then I will sigh and go “ugh, imperial Manila” CHAROT (half not charot???)
I really enjoyed the mix of “serious” and “unserious” topics because really, one is not more important than the other. They can both be interesting to explore and worthwhile to think and talk about. Yes, essays on AlDub and JaDine can sit comfortably next to essays on Lav Diaz, Kidlat Tahimik, and Ricky Lee. Richard Bolisay did 👏🏽 that 👏🏽
My favorites from this collection: A Man For All Seasons, Impressions, The Evolution of Meng Patalo, Outside the Split Screen, When Two Worlds Meet, Why Ricky Lee?, and Philippine Cinema on the Map. That’s 7 favorites out of 14 essays. Pero syempre, because this is a five-star read for me, I loved all of them talaga.
To sir Richard Bolisay, thank you for work that allows us to “see the imprints of our cinema in a different light” (quote taken from the introduction). Your book has brought me so much joy and has given me a lot to think about. I finished this book and felt a deeper appreciation for Filipino cinema and the people who keep on making the magic happen.
If you are looking for a Filipino non-fiction book, or if you are interested in Philippine cinema, then I highly recommend you read Nothing Deep by Richard Bolisay. And subscribe to his substack!
zarvindale's review
5.0
It took me more than eight months to finish this book. The problem, however, lies in me; I got disinterested in reading in general sometime in February, and my curioisity led me to other pursuits elsewhere.
This is not a difficult read. When I went back in October to pick up where I left off, I reached the end of the book in three days. Richard Bolisay’s writing, just like in his first book, is simple yet significant. He writes in the most accessible way possible to help the readers easily understand his observations and ruminations about Philippine cinema and the people behind it. Through profiles and reviews that he wrote within a decade, he documents a rich history of Philippine cinema. He acknowledges as a critic the importance of writing about film; it is a way to immortalize the developments that have taken place as well as it is a way to resist erasure.
This is not a difficult read. When I went back in October to pick up where I left off, I reached the end of the book in three days. Richard Bolisay’s writing, just like in his first book, is simple yet significant. He writes in the most accessible way possible to help the readers easily understand his observations and ruminations about Philippine cinema and the people behind it. Through profiles and reviews that he wrote within a decade, he documents a rich history of Philippine cinema. He acknowledges as a critic the importance of writing about film; it is a way to immortalize the developments that have taken place as well as it is a way to resist erasure.
aristosakaion's review
4.0
i needed this book growing up.
a list of 14 intellectually (but not pretentiously) charged essays on filipino scriptwriters, directors, actors, and consumption culture, sir richard bolisay's essays are finely tuned and entertaining. bolisay writes as someone who knows the industry intimately, while sitting in front of the big screen or the lore behind them.
even the introduction of the book has me quite hooked: just like ocean vuong's interview in the new yorker, he has struggle balancing writing and teaching because when he does something, he says "i have to give it my 100 percent," and he gives a hundred of himself to the latter. bolisay knows how difficult, and consequently how rewarding, being a film critic is, and has let go of teaching to pursue his other interests.
but in the fourteen essays that follows, his "I" almost completely dissolves, humbly crumbles away for the sake of analysis (except maybe for one). in his passion-struck and affection-driven frenzy he (re)tells accounts of actors in the Filipino film industry like Joel Torre and Charo Santos, directors like Mihk vergara and Marilou Diaz-Abaya, recalling sweetly Lino Brocka and his influence on contemporary Filipino arthouse directors i.e Lav Diaz. but Bolisay, in his gesture for the masses, never completely dismisses media meant for larger consumption, like the often marketed together relationships such as AlDub, whose films Bolisay necessarily tears apart or deservingly praises when need be.
in his essay Why Ricky Lee? his love for Lee's corpus avalanches, as if writing down all of Lee's works and putting a heart in red ink next to them (fittingly, it was written two years before Lee grabs the title for National Artist of Film this year). Bolisay notes Lee's craft not just for its formalism but for how it depicts contemporary Filipinos, especially women. in the words of Chingbee, Bolisay, although not entirely, foregoes the question "why is an art good?" and switches over to a more important one: "what is the art good for?" in his mention of films he always swerves towards the latter.
but it's precisely the film's inherent quality of swimming its way back to its presentation that makes it such a difficult enterprise to critique, especially in a social sense. i recall sontag's essay on gordard's universally loved Vivre sa vie, when she says "in great art, it is form—or as i call it here, the desire to prove rather than the desire to analyze—that is ultimately sovereign." bolisay praises our contemporary Filipino film directors for almost always balancing the scales between social responsibility and art-making, and it's in these essays that highlights that while the production of film and its distribution is always political, a film, on its own, has to balance what it says by how it says it.
i jokingly said, on twitter, that this book might be my new slouching towards bethlehem, the perfect book that imbues the cultural artifacts of its time. i might not have been too far off. i m glad to have discovered a filipino writer so intellectually succint and generous to share their works, and to have such a large pool of films i have to watch.
a list of 14 intellectually (but not pretentiously) charged essays on filipino scriptwriters, directors, actors, and consumption culture, sir richard bolisay's essays are finely tuned and entertaining. bolisay writes as someone who knows the industry intimately, while sitting in front of the big screen or the lore behind them.
even the introduction of the book has me quite hooked: just like ocean vuong's interview in the new yorker, he has struggle balancing writing and teaching because when he does something, he says "i have to give it my 100 percent," and he gives a hundred of himself to the latter. bolisay knows how difficult, and consequently how rewarding, being a film critic is, and has let go of teaching to pursue his other interests.
but in the fourteen essays that follows, his "I" almost completely dissolves, humbly crumbles away for the sake of analysis (except maybe for one). in his passion-struck and affection-driven frenzy he (re)tells accounts of actors in the Filipino film industry like Joel Torre and Charo Santos, directors like Mihk vergara and Marilou Diaz-Abaya, recalling sweetly Lino Brocka and his influence on contemporary Filipino arthouse directors i.e Lav Diaz. but Bolisay, in his gesture for the masses, never completely dismisses media meant for larger consumption, like the often marketed together relationships such as AlDub, whose films Bolisay necessarily tears apart or deservingly praises when need be.
in his essay Why Ricky Lee? his love for Lee's corpus avalanches, as if writing down all of Lee's works and putting a heart in red ink next to them (fittingly, it was written two years before Lee grabs the title for National Artist of Film this year). Bolisay notes Lee's craft not just for its formalism but for how it depicts contemporary Filipinos, especially women. in the words of Chingbee, Bolisay, although not entirely, foregoes the question "why is an art good?" and switches over to a more important one: "what is the art good for?" in his mention of films he always swerves towards the latter.
but it's precisely the film's inherent quality of swimming its way back to its presentation that makes it such a difficult enterprise to critique, especially in a social sense. i recall sontag's essay on gordard's universally loved Vivre sa vie, when she says "in great art, it is form—or as i call it here, the desire to prove rather than the desire to analyze—that is ultimately sovereign." bolisay praises our contemporary Filipino film directors for almost always balancing the scales between social responsibility and art-making, and it's in these essays that highlights that while the production of film and its distribution is always political, a film, on its own, has to balance what it says by how it says it.
i jokingly said, on twitter, that this book might be my new slouching towards bethlehem, the perfect book that imbues the cultural artifacts of its time. i might not have been too far off. i m glad to have discovered a filipino writer so intellectually succint and generous to share their works, and to have such a large pool of films i have to watch.
johnreadsthings's review
informative
inspiring
reflective
fast-paced
5.0
Contrary to the title, Richard Bolisay went deep in his sophomore collection, deeper than where his brilliant debut led. Whereas Break It to Me Gently was focused on his wit in dissecting and critiquing films, mainly as an audience, a receiver on the other end, Nothing Deep had placed Bolisay, still as an audience but, in a much closer proximity to that of the artists and their processes.
Opening with an illuminating profile of Joel Torre, Bolisay's essays in this book are less film reviews and more centered on the people, the art, the exercise of filmmaking. And I find it much more personal, intimate even, for the subjects Bolisay profiled, but also for him. And by having him write about the behind-the-scenes, one can appreciate and perceive his understanding of the craft more, and also his love and respect for it.
Bolisay writes with sincerity and intelligence, something I truly enjoy and like about his works. These radiated especially bright on my favorite essay in this collection: the one he wrote about Lav Diaz and Charo Santos and their meeting and eventual collaboration. He crafted it with so much awe for the director and the actor that it translated as fully and as vehemently in the pages, and that I could not help but share that same sentiment.
In the book's Introduction, Bolisay asks, “When the act of writing disappears, what do I become?” It is a rhetorical question, but as one finishes the book, the answer is clear: someone who knows, respects, and loves films and the art of filmmaking—and someone who will always do.
Opening with an illuminating profile of Joel Torre, Bolisay's essays in this book are less film reviews and more centered on the people, the art, the exercise of filmmaking. And I find it much more personal, intimate even, for the subjects Bolisay profiled, but also for him. And by having him write about the behind-the-scenes, one can appreciate and perceive his understanding of the craft more, and also his love and respect for it.
Bolisay writes with sincerity and intelligence, something I truly enjoy and like about his works. These radiated especially bright on my favorite essay in this collection: the one he wrote about Lav Diaz and Charo Santos and their meeting and eventual collaboration. He crafted it with so much awe for the director and the actor that it translated as fully and as vehemently in the pages, and that I could not help but share that same sentiment.
In the book's Introduction, Bolisay asks, “When the act of writing disappears, what do I become?” It is a rhetorical question, but as one finishes the book, the answer is clear: someone who knows, respects, and loves films and the art of filmmaking—and someone who will always do.
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