Acting through the ages

This was written at the height of a promise that seemed at the time so apparent, so believable. Who could have foretold the tragedy to follow, the anguish to come? Now, despite the blessing of hindsight, we are still left with questions that hang heavy in the sullen air.

Perhaps a nation wanted so much to believe? Perhaps we positioned the blinders on our own eyes? Perhaps we thought everything could be done for us and we didn't need to lift a finger? Perhaps we even really wanted to claim our own Lee Kuan Yew?


"Impressions," TV Times, 14-20 May 1978

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The game, President Marcos has effectively shown, is oneupmanship. Not in all his local appearances, both personal and on television, has the president shown as much control of the situation, as much power and confidence, as in the series of presidential appearances covered by television in the three days of the Mondale visit. In the eloquence of his speeches, in the formality and dignity with which he carried out his ceremonial duties, in the controlled anger with which he palmed down the impertinence of foreign newsmen, there was always evident--as a friend said--every inch of a man to power born. Beside him, US Vice President Walter Mondale looked a pale American, devoid of the Marcos flair.

The president's expertise was never more evident than during the press conference he gave for foreign newsmen attached to the Mondale retinue. There was friction there, even outright conflict. And the president showed himself master of the situation and master of the tube. Here was no waffling, indecisive, cowering president. And here, we told ourselves, was a moment of high drama. It was awkward and forced in spots, electric, filled with the almost certain prospect of disaster.

Television fortunately caught the atmosphere with electronic sensitivity. As the cameras revealed glancing, oblique details in beautiful semi-extreme close-ups--a man's pursed lips, a woman's charmed smile, a meaningful exchange of looks, a technician's seeming unconcern, a swift pen recording everything, and through it all, the president's gravelly voice--one is left with a definite sense of having lived through a brief moment of glorious history. Which, perhaps, in our continuing search for a modus vivendi that would guide our relationship with the rest of the world, it really has been.

******

This seems to be the season of the old reliables, late-blooming though they may be, on local television.

There is dear old Ben Cartwright, formerly of the Ponderosa empire, hamming it up now and as seriously as ever, in the new crime/drama series, Griff. Those who still long for the pioneering roughness of Bonanza will find in Griff a brief palliative. Brief, because the show did not last long in the United States. And brief, too, because Griff is not made of the same stuff as Bonanza. It is, in fact, bound to get lost among all the other crime/drama series. Bonanza, if you remember, was an original. And not even Lorne Greene's nostalgic past as Ben Cartwright can make up for what Griff lacks in freshness.

If you prefer the medical dramas, there is Patrick McGoohan gruffing it up in the sick room and outside as Rafferty, supposedly the unconventional doctor. Now, we've got a soft spot for McGoohan. He reminds us of our old college professor, or at least, of how an old and venerable college professor should look. He also reminds us a little of David Janssen of Harry-O, another old reliable. And of Quincy, too, in Quincy, M.E.

A couple of decades after these men made racy copy and thrilled a considerable number of movie fans, how do they look? They probably make very little--much less the racy kind of--copy these days. But as heroes in a television series--white hair, bulging middles, stooped shoulders, florid skin--they give us a continuously renewed assurance that the world is fair and just and that aging men can also be heroes.

Sometimes, though, watching them go through stories that must have been written by much younger men, some collective memory whispers that all the motions, all the paces of their weekly grind, are too familiar, that we have experienced them and seen them before, and that the roles, or they themselves, have come a little too late.

By now, the gut feeling niggles and nibbles, whispering that these men should have reached other passages in their lives, should have graduated to other concerns. It grates a little, seeing aging men still frenziedly looking for clues to their inner selves in the sometimes warped and always wearying codes of television's egoistic subtribes.

But we are perhaps much too strict with them. Actors, the cliché goes, must remain actors, acting is in their blood, or some such stuff. And not all aging men can be a magnificently dramatic Sir Laurence Olivier, or even a permanently thirsty Richard Burton. Besides, Carol Burnett is aging a little, too. And we all love her, don't we?

-- NBT

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No title in original published column

Made in the USA

Before the advent of cable television in the Philippines, all local networks dedicated their prime-time broadcasting hours to a mix of local and US-network productions. Here are some of the US canned shows that made it to the Philippines in the late '70s.


"Impressions," TV Times, 17-23 September 1978

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All that American-cult stuff invading my consciousness from 8 p.m. upwards most nights is making me tired before my time. And the way the young ones are lapping it all up without seeming to reach satiety at some point or other makes me feel old, old, old. Can they really take hours and hours of the same stuff, night in and night out, without wanting to give it up sometime?

It is not solely the local networks' fault, of course. We seem to think there is only one source of television programs that can captivate the majority of the Filipino youth: American networks. And American networks are not exactly known for variety. Each year, as American television goes through its rites of spring, when the year's new offerings are previewed and the lucky ones are chosen, the acclaim is often self-serving. How can you truly congratulate an industry that does not care about the merits of a show, only about its ratings?

But that is now much-too-trodden ground. American television--whatever the critics say--is totally insensitive to them. It is especially so now that Fred Silverman--the uncontested programming czar who, up to 1975, decided the shows that received airtime over CBS; whose contract as president of the entertainment division of ABC ran out only last June 8; and who, the day after, moved to a million-dollar job as president of NBC--is deciding the majority of shows the American television audience will see for at least another year.

CBS still runs Silverman shows, including M*A*S*H, which is arriving on local television very soon. ABC's new season, which has already started, is composed of Silverman-approved or -generated shows, including Charlie's Angels. NBC, now feeling the alleged Silverman "golden" touch, will be bringing in such shows as Lifeline and Sword of Justice.

All those Fred Silverman shows on the American television menu may be good for Americans, but it can spell nausea for the Philippine television audience--that is, those of a definite generation or generations, of course. I don't know how the young feel about it, but I can admire the technical excellence of Donny & Marie only for a short period of time. Say, a month or so. Afterwards, I have to get away from all that gloss and slickness or suffer mental indigestion. Of the crime dramas, after a few months, I cannot anymore recall where I saw what: Was it on CHiPs, or on Dog and Cat, or on Starsky & Hutch? A steady diet of policemen, detectives, and their ilk after 8 p.m. can make forgettable and indeterminate heroes of generally commendable performers such as Raymond Burr, Lorne Greene, Robert Blake, and James Garner.

True, the young audience--admittedly a sizable audience, perhaps the most sizable and the easiest to catch--may still be loving The Six Million Dollar Man after all these years. But a great many of those over 30--and a significant segment of those over 25--are, I would hazard, getting a little tired of all that juvenile stuff. We may wish to be reminded once in a while of our youth, but we will hardly want to relive its callowness every night.

It is to save us from the disposable stuff churned out by the American networks that--on local prime time--we must hail the coverage of a Pope's funeral rites, a documentary on the Middle East, a series on the Wimbledon games, and dramatic serials like Roots and Holocaust as major events in our continuing observance of the medium. For a while, BBC docudramas came to enthrall an adult Filipino audience, however small. But just as swiftly as they came, they disappeared. We wish there were more of them.

Of the regular output of Fred Silverman and company that we see on local television these days, we can only mention two with affection: Quincy, M.E. and Kojak: Quincy, M.E., because the show provides a view of crime detection that, for all its sordidness, is just a little more scientific; Kojak because, despite its blood and gore, it is a true original. The whole ambiance, the entire spirit of Kojak, puts it in a class of its own. Beside the characterization by Telly Savalas of the role of Lt. Theo Kojak, Starsky and Hutch--to use an odious comparison, but certainly an appropriate one--look like a couple of bumbling neighborhood punks vis-a-vis the godfather.

And if you were over 30, or even a sober over-25, would you not prefer the suaveness of the godfather to the brashness of punks? Sometimes, I am even tempted to turn off the small screen, turn on my bedside lamp, and take the second half of Honourable Schoolboy in one uninterrupted sitting. But I also want to prove that a more mature viewer has as much say in what should go into television as a younger viewer.

And that can make you even more tired and old before your time.

-- NBT

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No title in original published column

Please, let go

"Impressions," TV Times, 3-9 September 1978

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Philippine television has been around for at least 25 years--a quarter of a century, our world-watching friend, board director of a local television company, reminds us--and in those 25 years, we would like to think that it has grown and developed and would continue to grow and develop.

So why, on certain days, when we turn on the television set, are we beset with a punishing sense of deja vu, as if we had seen all these before and yet not left them behind after a decade or so?

One Wednesday night, we happened to watch Operation Petticoat and seemed to recall, from the shadowy depths of memory, a much earlier canned series on local television--we must have been children then yet, for we cannot even remember the title--with men in similar uniform, in a similar crowded locale, and in similarly funny situations.

On Channel 4 prime time, it is almost like going back to a long-gone era. They are still playing the same brand of basketball, with roughly the same star names, although for a change, everybody has gone professional. And they are still showing old, old series and old, old movies. But all that may change every soon, we understand.

On our Friday deadline, who was scheduled to come out with her musical special (Oh no, not again!) but Julie Andrews, who must have sung to all of Hollywood Hills as far back as we can remember. And what can you say about Tarzan and Combat, both of which have been around for much longer than we would really like? Or Lorne Greene who, even with his best investigative technique in Griff, brings back faint memories of the more-beloved Bonanza? And Tang Tarang Tang, which changed only its title but retained the same family situation and the same family members bar one?

But this, you wouldn't believe! The other week, we saw Nida Blanca play it coy while being courted by Luis Gonzales in Mana Mana 'Yan on a Thursday night, dance it cool with Lita Gutierrez on the Nida-Lita Show on a Saturday night, and labor over the credits on her cue card on Sunday night's Penthouse Seven. Through them all, it was the same old Nida, doing the old routines and the old gimmicks, belting out the old acting style, even the old talking style.

We have nothing against nostalgia, but we wish some of our local performers would know when to let a good memory go. Age should teach us all the wisdom to know when to move on to much better and more solid performances, and how. And to do both, not only with spirit but also with grace.

-- NBT

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No title in original published column

Friends, wars, wheels

"Impressions," TV Times, 10-16 September 1978

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When a friendship is illuminated by a film of depth, intensity, and perception, it becomes the perdurable stuff of human existence. It assumes the true touchstones of the classic: inevitability and immutability. One cannot imagine it happening any other way, and one cannot imagine a time when it was not.

The friendship between American playwright Lillian Hellman and her friend, Julia, is one such friendship. Its mood is like poetry on a rainy night; yet, it is as lasting as the tides. Its texture is like a dream across the ocean waves: nocturnal, echoing, haunting. And at its center is the only thing on earth that can defy time and change: the heart.

We cannot let Julia move on, unappreciated by many Filipino moviegoers, as evidenced by the almost empty moviehouse where we watched the film, without putting on record how this quiet movie touched us and how we would like to keep it close to our hearts, to hug it with all the childlike affection and wonder still in us on nights when we are most alone and most ourselves.

******

Fort Santiago, except for a few anemic performances and a few inconsistencies in the development of character and the flow of storyline, is generally an admirable effort on the part of local television to present something other than tired sitcoms and tiring soap operas. The episode that starred Leila Hermosa in the role of a guerrilla widow, for example, was well-constructed.

The acting, however, was another story--an area where a good casting director who really knows his craft and uses his head could do a lot to propel Philippine television forward. A good casting director would have known that Leila Hermosa simply does not possess (yet?) enough depth and life for the role she was made to tackle. Nor do the talents who portrayed the roles of Hermosa's husband, the guerrilla hero, and their daughter.

Besides, for all her classic features, Leila Hermosa looked too heavy to effectively embody a grieving ruin of beauty. In our mind, the role was meant for somebody transparent, one through whom we could see and touch a precious past. Leila Hermosa was as solid as a mountain of pasta.

Despite these flaws and the obvious need for tighter editing of some portions of the episode, however, Fort Santiago is singular enough because it puts a little more time and energy into the details of production, escaping the tight and limiting confines of static studio sets in order to play around with more exciting and more realistic locations. This places the series a few notches above other local drama efforts.

******

During our time, we had one word to describe it: mush. These days, the word is still being used. And why not? What word best portrays the sickly sentimentality, the saturated and saturating sponginess of it all, but--mush?

Mushy it certainly is, when Rock Hudson is made to crown a solid performance as Adam Trenton in "Wheels" with a final sequence filled with nothing more than cloying romance. Bestsellers serials are not remarkable for high drama and impressive satire, or for searing reality and unnerving tension. But they are, admittedly, provocative entertainment--precisely the reason why the series is called Bestsellers.

The stories are often transformed visually to the small screen with enough mastery of technique and theatrics to keep us glued to the series, week after week, until the final sequence. How sad, then, when a character like Adam Trenton, whose whole life had been a true and unremitting search for perfection and growth in his career, must in the end be made to mouth lines made only for young boys on the throes of first love.

Another Bestsellers offering, "The Money Changers," ended in exactly the same way: mushy. Here was a man who had won his long and often insulting battle with the worst types--the true types, a friend interjects--in the world of big business, and his final scene must be a balcony scene only two details removed from Romeo and Juliet. We never did like balcony scenes: they are much too artificial and scripted. The balcony scene in "The Money Changers" was also weak, a disappointing ending to a series that had expertly built up the action, and our expectations, from week to week.

We remember another serial, Holocaust, which could easily have been made to end with a lot of mush. Fortunately, it did not. The ending of Holocaust was not very powerful, true. But it was not melodramatic and sentimental. In fact, it was an ending that was unfailingly honest to the spirit of its tragedy and to the continuity of human life and aspirations.

We had hoped "Wheels" would--up to the final scene and within the limited framework of its plot and subject matter--be equally true to the spirit of its controlling theme. Unfortunately, it sank in the mire of mush.

-- NBT

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No title in original published column