From the sociopolitical standpoint, she is not a turncoat. The public moves she makes all seem to involve her political alliances—win or lose—particularly when she sought public office in Camarines Sur and in Bulacan.

She has never turned her back on the Marcoses since she associated herself with them. Even if she is jeered as an avid Marcos supporter, she keeps her cool. Some entertainment writers have set them apart, but she knows where she stands.

As a chanteuse, she is an open book as a Marcos loyalist, even to a fault. Indeed, she’s an extension of the so-called Marcos magic, which is why in her latest outing as a producer of the movie “Loyalista: The Untold Story of Imelda Papin,” from her Queenstar Film Productions, she is eternally breathing and wearing red—the Marcos color.

Her story, translated and helmed in reels by Gabby Ramos, is an entirely linear narrative, carefully avoiding onscreen clashes with “yellowtards” (Cory Aquino loyalists) or anyone anathema to her hero.

The biofilm is about her stay in Hawaii, where she joined the exiled Marcoses after the February 1986 “People Power” uprising. It premiered at SM Megamall last November. 

Claudine Barretto plays Imelda Papin overzealously and fanatically, reeking of Marcos idolatry as well. ER Ejercito tackles the role of the former strongman Ferdinand Marcos and parrots him with pastiche.

Gary Estrada breathes life to Bong Carrion, the late husband of Mel (Papin’s pet name), and Alice Dixson portrays Imelda Marcos. Both actors use their best efforts to deliver on their roles. 

Beginnings

Why is Imelda Papin a dyed-in-the-wool Marcos loyalist?

Dave Rojo, former publicist of Vicor Music Corp., traced it back to the long-ago invitations from the Palace: “Naku, noong mga late ’70s at early ’80s, ‘yang mga recording artist ng Vicor at Blackgold, kung imbitahin ang mga ‘yan sa Malacañang ng mga Marcos, particularly ‘yang si Imelda Papin, gano’n na lang.” 

Rojo expressed amazement at how the local talents were feted at the Palace with pomposity and lavishness. He named Dulce, Sharon Cuneta, Anthony Castelo, Lea Salonga, Hagibis (composed of the late Sonny Parsons and Bernie Fineza, Joji Garcia, Mike Respall and Mon Picazo), and Imelda Papin as regular guests of the Marcoses in Malacañang.

According to him, whenever the first lady threw a party by the Pasig River, those close to Vic del Rosario, one of the producers of Vicor with Orly Ilacad, were invited.

He recalled how they were pampered with gifts: “‘Yang Hagibis, pagkagaling sa Malacañang, magpapasikat sa akin ang mga ‘yan. Binibigyan sila ng mga regalo ni Imelda Marcos. Ipapakita ng mga ‘yan sa akin ‘yong mga relos na ginto na may pictures nina Marcos. Alam ko, hindi naman ginto, pero gold-plated.” 

Rojo, who went to the United States and worked there before the 1986 Edsa Revolution, said Imelda Papin became close to the Marcoses because her songs were hits at the time: “Siyempre, sinakyan ‘yon ni Imelda Marcos dahil sikat ang mga kanta ni Imelda Papin sa masa—at magkapareho pa ang pangalan nila.” 

Asked if certain other performers trooped to the Palace for its parties at the time, Rojo said: “No. Hindi sumasama si Celeste Legaspi sa imbitasyon sa Malacañang. Si Kuh Ledesma, hindi rin sumasama. Si Basil Valdez, hindi rin.”

All the famous singers at the time were under contract with Vicor, so Malacañang always called on them.

Aileen Grace Arcilla Papin, the singer’s youngest sister, agreed that “Ate Mel” started becoming close to the Marcoses when she was invited by the then first lady as “guest” in Malacañang.

What did her sister gain from being close to the Marcoses? “Wala (None),” Aileen Papin said abruptly. She said that even when the singer ran for vice governor of Camarines Sur in 1998, she got no financial support from the Marcoses.

But she added that for the singer’s last candidacy, Bonget (President Ferdinand Marcos Jr.) sent a bus: “Nito lang huling kumandidato si Ate Mel, ano lang, ‘yong bus lang ang ipinadala sa Bicol ni Bonget.” 

Campaigning

Imelda Papin’s evolution into a Marcos loyalist did not happen overnight. She said she was apolitical at the time and only wanted to sing, realize her dream of being a recording artist, make a name for herself, and support her family.

“I started being close to the Marcoses when they invited me to sing for the KBL (Kilusan Bagong Lipunan) rally at the time,” the singer recounted.

She said that when the election for the Interim Batasang Pambansa was held in 1978, she was asked to join the nationwide KBL sorties to help in the campaign:  “I was at the peak of my singing career. Kinuha nila akong magkampanya para sa kanila.” 

“And then,” she said, she and her then fiancé asked the then first couple to stand as their wedding sponsors. The singer married Jose Antonio “Bong” Carrion, the late former governor of Marinduque, at the Manila Cathedral in 1982.

What are the advantages and disadvantages of being a Marcos loyalist?

“Ang advantage, I was able to say what I really feel for them,” Papin said, adding that people don’t know the real score. “The disadvantages? You are misinterpreted. ’Yong mga tao na hindi alam ang tunay na kuwento. What’s wrong with being a loyalist? Being loyal to a person … is a virtue. Loyalty to the country, to God, shouldn’t be questioned. But many people misunderstand me. It’s okay with me. I respect their opinions. I feel comfortable about it.”

Has she gained materially from being a Marcos loyalist? “No. As a matter of fact, [we lost the house and lot that we hocked] when we were supporting the loyalists in sympathizing with the Marcoses at the rally in front of Bayview Hotel and the US Embassy,” she said.

Admiration

One thing I admire in Imelda Papin, on the personal level, is her fastidiousness. As a celebrity photo and video subject, she is very particular about the way she would appear on-cam during pictorials and other visuals.

I remember that when I had to interview her for the erstwhile public affairs show, “Action 9” at the defunct Radio Philippines Network Channel 9 hosted by Angelique Lazo, Ramon Tulfo, Rey Langit and the late Dong Puno. she had just arrived from Hawaii after years of spending life with the Marcoses in exile.

Along with other movie reporters in the early ‘80s, I did all sorts of things for Papin. We served as publicists, retinue in her concerts and other public appearances, troubleshooters, etc., and we developed a certain bond with each other. 

Our group (Lhar Santiago, Obette Serrano, Roland Lerum and myself) was also collectively known as the “Shoulder Bag Beauties” because we were given identical shoulder bags by the late talent manager Dr. Rey de la Cruz, discoverer and handler of such performers as Leila Hermosa, Rio Locsin, Myrna Castillo, Sarsi Emmanuelle, Pepsi Paloma and Myra Manibog.

During my on-cam interview as a star reporter for Lazo’s show biz news portion (she also had Lazo Files, a segment on hard news and current events), Imelda Papin was calling the shots on where to conduct the interview and what facial angle to focus on—but not the questions I would ask, as she knew how to handle them, no matter how controversial or ticklish.

Rojo said Papin would instruct him to take care of her publicity even if he was the one looking after Kuh Ledesma (whom Papin considered her rival at the time). He was handling Blackgold Records, where Kuh was signed up, while Papin was with Vicor.

He recalled that the two singers had a concert at the Araneta Coliseum. “After the show, flowers were handed to Kuh, but none to Mel. She thought the flowers were from Vicor. Actually, they were from Kuh’s office,” he said, chuckling, during an unexpected meeting with Papin at an art exhibit of visual artist and actor Dranreb Belleza at the University of the Philippines’ Art Circle Gallery last August.

According to Rojo, Papin didn’t confront him at the time. As a matter of fact, he said, in their latest encounter after more than 30 years, she was very sweet with him—all bygones were bygones.

Until now, Papin has her own way of asserting herself without being offensive. She puts on her makeup even if there’s an assigned artist to do it. 

She knew and still knows how to drive her own career. The late movie writer Junne Quintana might have been her discoverer and manager, but she also had her own plans for herself.

And she never runs out of strategies to sustain her career and popularity: She produces her own concerts, recordings, TV shows, films, and other media ventures.

The post Imelda Papin on being a Marcos loyalist appeared first on CoverStory.

The “Family Matters” trailer promises the second coming of “Tanging Yaman,” that classic tearjerker from the 2000 MMFF about a big dysfunctional global Filipino family that’s forced to come together to care for its ailing matriarch. 

The actual “Family Matters” movie is far less complex and ambitious. While “Tanging Yaman” was set against the backdrop of the Filipino diaspora abroad and the global financial crisis of the late 1990s, “Family Matters” is content to coast on the oft-visited narrative waters of generational gaps. 

The central conflict between the old couple and their children is ostensibly about the former wanting to return to their original home after they try living in the latter’s houses, upon the children’s insistence, and not feeling at home in any of them. 

Essentially, however, “Family Matters” is about how matters have devolved from the warm, deeply rooted, very personal we-know-everyone-inside-and-out bondedness in the old world to the rather cold, gadget-obsessed, hardly-speaking, each-one-in-their-own-world relations that pass for “relationships” today. 

There’s no real tension among the huge cast of characters: The family is quite emotionally intact and psychologically stable. And much of the old couple’s journey through their children’s houses is played more for laughs. 

The movie is rather slight and mostly handled with a gentle touch that way, served with more than a pinch of humor even in some of its dramatic set pieces, making it more of a light comedy than a full-on drama. 

“Family Matters,” the movie, is agreeable, if a bit ambling and mallow-soft. It’s okay, but it’s not what the trailer promised.

Underdelivery

“Deleter” is another case of underdelivery. The trailer promises a fresh take on the horror genre, setting it in the previously unexplored milieu of social media content moderation.

The movie does present a lot of talk about how toxic this line of work can be (a deleter is someone who decides which uploaded content to delete or to uphold), to the point of causing mental health issues in less steely workers. In fact, this is practically the only thing on the movie’s mind in its first half.

But it’s all lip service: The movie does not probe how exposure to a constant barrage of dirty, debased, and debasing online stuff alters worldviews and leads to mental and psychological scarring that wreaks havoc on the workers’ lives outside of the workplace. Any discussion of sociopolitical issues hinted at in the trailer is also left off the table.

The scares don’t really kick in until the film’s second half when the central mystery finally starts to unravel. There’s clever use of narrative and visual devices and a lot of sophisticated technical skill on display here as the movie ups the dread and the thrills towards the climax. 

But everything is in the service of a conflict reveal that’s not intrinsically related to the film’s techno premise and a fairly generic story. After all that’s said (in the first half) and done (in the second), “Deleter” is your usual avenging ghost horror flick, albeit one given a shiny new techno dress. 

But how well lead star Nadine Lustre wears it. As the hardened content moderator struggling with grief and guilt, and scarred for life by a childhood trauma, she gives an unshowy, steadily simmering performance that almost manages to fill in the many blanks in the script. Only with her does the movie deliver more than what the trailer promises.

The post At the MMFF: Don’t get dazzled by movie trailers appeared first on CoverStory.

If that sounds like the movie covers a lot of material, it’s because it does. The follow-up to 2013’s internationally acclaimed “On the Job,” also written and directed with mordant humor, scrappy defiance, and pop style by the writer-director tandem of Michiko Yamamoto and Erik Matti, is not a sequel but an altogether different story that expands on the guns-for-hire-from-prison terrain of the first film. 

Whereas the original was almost entirely set inside the national penitentiary, the action in “The Missing 8” happens where the story’s large gallery of characters do their bits in the corruption jigsaw puzzle—in the Senate, in City Hall, in jail, in the politicos’ mansions and places of leisure, in safehouses and vacant lots, in the newsroom and the radio booth, and at home. 

These are all the places where Arcilla’s character, Sisoy, does his various interlocking trades—a popular hard-hitting radio political commentator who’s a diehard and vocal supporter of an incumbent mayor, a conflicted newspaper journalist, a concerned colleague and friend, a loving widowed father to two grown daughters, and a grieving godfather of a slain 8-year-old boy. 

Related: An Emmy nomination for a film all Filipinos should watch

Journey to redemption 

The 56-year-old veteran actor seamlessly weaves all these different dramatis personae into one potent character that’s highly improbable but deeply alive at the same time, capturing Sisoy’s journey to redemption from an arrogant, pragmatic opportunist, if not downright morally compromised self-promoter, to a quivering but clear-eyed truth teller and justice crusader with inveterate spunk and haunted grace in terms that aren’t only believable but relatable as well. 

The rest of the huge cast—a Who’s Who of highly regarded Filipino character actors, from supports down to the one-scene cameos—delivers uniformly excellent performances, most notably Dante Rivero as a soft-spoken Duterte-like mayor, a deglamourized Dennis Trillo as a dim-witted assassin, and Lotlot de Leon as an upright journalist.

The film bills itself as “based on true events.” That’s a rather loose adaptation of the phrase than a technical one which is usually used in films actually based on specific and clearly defined historical events. But it’s not a false representation. The story takes place in 2017. Anyone with even a cursory knowledge of Philippine current affairs would see how “The Missing 8” has been cobbled together from news headlines in the last decade. 

Keener older viewers might even be reminded of earlier films tackling similar issues, in particular Lino Brocka’s “Gumapang Ka sa Lusak,” which was also about a corrupt mayor and his wife (portrayed visually as Marcos Jr. and Imelda) and their attempts at silencing a potential whistleblower. 

“Gumapang Ka” was released in 1990. And it’s truly dispiriting that, more than 30 years later, we’re still telling the same kind of stories and protesting the same acts of injustice.

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