By: Iris P. Concepcion
There used to be a column in a paper I worked for before assessing the sermons of priests like movie reviews.
I am doing the route of this church-thingy film since I have experienced of late some flock yawning from the pulpit. How bad the homily is delivered is directly commensurate to the amount of tithing the churchgoers give to the priest. I even heard a man of the robe using the podium as an angst absorber of his own doppeldanger persona. He eventually got drowned by the beautiful choir and one kid heckler.
Majority of my mass attendance, nonetheless, has spectacular members of the clergy mouthing wisdom and real moral questions that you can carry till you head to the bed at night.
Sermons can be literature by themselves: that lush and opulent cave of biblical characterizations and moral interplays. All stories, fiction or otherwise, may be traced to Bible passages, or so I was told, by a brilliant man of letters from the past.
I hate it when the microphone conks out or when the sermon is garbled by inadequate sound system. I also look for great intonations like I would my music. I likewise look for originality like I would an orator: it behooves me creepy when their gist comes astray from the main spiritual theme.
What saved yesterday's mass is not exactly the presence of God paving my way for redemption: it is when I saw three people walking down the sidestreet like the Beatles in Abbey would. All their hair have little scrapes on the back like what our President is sporting. I veered my gaze to the entities and again, the gift is there on the fabulous undertone of the wild, the unspoken and the ascent of immaculate and subdued hues. I am discovering friends I never thought I had: they have provided me of late the creative slants of my mind. They do inspire me to better my outlook in life with some hilarious, kickass grants.
Yes, the Penguin is a rotund little piece of elf in search of a better gait: but it has got to be the best stride I have seen in years.
Last night too, I had been privvy to what really goes on in these audition sites. I was appalled that even the most brilliant people get rejections just because they do not grease the palms, or egos, of the producers. When this valve of information came forth, everyone shushed. Nobody, as I said, can argue with exceptional works: they speak for themselves. In legal parlance, this is called res ipsa loquitor.
The person they called "our discoverer" crumbled like a bag of chips in wet tinfoil: they really push forward the indeterminate world of refurbishings and image. It sucked. Even their raw copies sounded elementary. And thus, some silence cut through silk like a windpipe: all that soft touch hardened. To say the least, it was an eventual eye-opener for the untutored.
I do not buy the idea that you need to churn out garbage because people patronize them anyway. What if all these people demand only good productions from everyone and not delimit them to instant music manufacturers of the booze night crawlings. A soul is good when present, but we also need perfection at times. OPM sometimes get killed because our revered flag-raising, nation-hugging compatriots tend to look outside instead of looking in: our shores have plenty of shells that is why I do not understand why we have to dose ourselves with daily kimchi. It is good for variation, sure (and I love Korean food) but why not embrace our own pooridge servings this time?
Actually, it is just an excuse for a lame creative malaise: it is easier to produce but with great returns. Not much is likewise demanded from artists. They just sit and it is already art. They never demand superiority in pipes, or even musical content.
Case in point: I have seen some horrible horror flicks of the Asian mold in the past. I normally laugh whenever blood oozes in. One time though, I caught a Korean flick that is a real, better-looped, reeled-one. Acting is superb, execution thrilling. No big names splashed. I credit always a good director for a smorgasbord of superiority like this one. When he could make a wanderer act, he could have sharpened his creative case already. The megman merely showed how it is to wire these lenses better, and with exceptional results.
Lately, I have seen some of the people I looked up to wither and it saddens me; these great people being unhallowed. Without being mean of course. The better produced ones simply put their wares out there and they offer them, for comparison. And thus, I now discern better.
These underground lunies are, sorry to put it upfront, winning this war.
I do not buy the idea that you need to churn out garbage because people patronize them anyway. What if all these people demand only good productions from everyone and not delimit them to instant music manufacturers of the booze night crawlings. A soul is good when present, but we also need perfection at times. OPM sometimes get killed because our revered flag-raising, nation-hugging compatriots tend to look outside instead of looking in: our shores have plenty of shells that is why I do not understand why we have to dose ourselves with daily kimchi. It is good for variation, sure (and I love Korean food) but why not embrace our own pooridge servings this time?
Actually, it is just an excuse for a lame creative malaise: it is easier to produce but with great returns. Not much is likewise demanded from artists. They just sit and it is already art. They never demand superiority in pipes, or even musical content.
Case in point: I have seen some horrible horror flicks of the Asian mold in the past. I normally laugh whenever blood oozes in. One time though, I caught a Korean flick that is a real, better-looped, reeled-one. Acting is superb, execution thrilling. No big names splashed. I credit always a good director for a smorgasbord of superiority like this one. When he could make a wanderer act, he could have sharpened his creative case already. The megman merely showed how it is to wire these lenses better, and with exceptional results.
Lately, I have seen some of the people I looked up to wither and it saddens me; these great people being unhallowed. Without being mean of course. The better produced ones simply put their wares out there and they offer them, for comparison. And thus, I now discern better.
These underground lunies are, sorry to put it upfront, winning this war.