The Rebel: Dramatic, Action-filled, and Oh-so-sexy!

You may have varying degrees of liking The Rebel (Dòng Máu Anh Hùng, which more literally translates as “Hero Bloodline”) or disliking it, depending on how much a sense of “realism” you’d like to carry with you when watching this movie.  The title becomes even more interesting when read in the context of an essay with a similar title by Albert Camus.  “L'Homme révolté” (also translates as “The Rebel”), written in 1951, argues that the urge for revolt is triggered by a longing for justice.  You can get on your philosophical and political groove and watch this movie with a very critical eye, questioning every bit of dialogue and twist of the plot, or you can just chill and indulge in the usual “Hollywood” ingredients: drama, action (a la Asian—translation: martial arts) and oh-so-sexiness!

Before anyone argues that this movie is produced by a Vietnamese film production company in Sài Gòn and not in Hollywood, I would like to clarify that I am referring to “Hollywood” as a style which is not only limited to movies produced by your usual Hollywood production companies. Rather, I am referring to a style that often blends action, drama, romance, and sex in order to brew a marketable entertainment package with a more-dizzying-than-Bia-Hơi moolah-generating prowess. After all, producers have to pay the bills and need a bit more money for beer and other necessities to keep their sanities. 

While I am not exactly a fan of the “Hollywood style,” I don’t necessarily shun movies fashioned after this genre.  Come to think of it, Chan Phuong Films is gambling $1.5 million USD in capital knowing that the market in Việt Nam alone would not be able to recuperate. In order to continue to produce movies, producer Jimmy Pham Nghiem has to effectively market his work to a broader international market.  However, this is not to say that The Rebel, is just another flick with drama, action, and sexiness.  It is also a movie that confronts more serious issues such as morality, internal conflicts, survival, history, colonialism, violence, and much more.

The Rebel is set in the 1920s during the height of the French-Vietnamese power-struggle. It is about the sojourn of Le Van Cường (Johnny Tri Nguyen), a Vietnamese national educated in Paris and returns to his homeland to work for the French authorities. Caught in the middle of moral conflicts and a subdued sense of patriotism, he often finds himself in confrontation with his associate Sỹ (Dustin Nguyen). The conflict between Cường and Sỹ was further aggravated when Thúy (Ngo Thanh Van) the daughter of a prominent anti-French political figure comes into picture. As Thúy unabashedly questions Cường’s sense of morality, he is pushed to the edge and is forced to redefine his values and sense of national identity.  Dustin, with a paradoxically combined look of gangster/French-finesse, paints an interesting portrait of Vietnamese collaborators during the era of French-Vietnamese confrontations. His character was best articulated by a line delivered with an exact snobbishness by Johnny. Referring to the anti-French authority rebels, Cường tells Sỹ: “Among us, you resemble them most.”

There are a few moments in the movie that make me scratch my head and wonder if there could have been better ways of executing certain scenes. For instance, could Cường, Sỹ and Thúy have really been that fantastic, to the point of being almost superhuman, in their martial arts skills? While it is very tempting to point out more specific observations, I will grab my bottle of Bia Hoi, relax, and let you play the role of the cinephile with a critical eye.

Despite some of the flaws in the movie, I find it very engaging and powerful. While those familiar with the Vietnamese language may criticize Johnny Nguyen’s ability to deliver lines in the vernacular, I nonetheless find his portrayal to be remarkable as he blends like a chameleon from being the snotty Vietnamese Francophone to an angry but respectful son to just another man agonized with a sense of morality and torn by his emotion. Ngo, with her natural beauty and strength of personality, fits the role of a woman symbolic of a nation who refuses to give in to the colonizers. While her internal beauty and serenity remains intact, intrusive forces trigger an anger that reverberates externally. 

Speaking of sexiness, one can either indulge in the sight of Ngo’s slender figure and Johnny’s sculpted body, or get into an even more profound metaphysical abstraction of what makes something sexy. Do you find the idea of forgetting the past for a moment to indulge in pleasure sexy? How about risking one’s life to preserve the dignity of a woman/nation?  No matter what turns you on, don’t let anyone take your sexy back!

The Rebel is a must-see for Vietnamese movie enthusiasts. Director Charlie Nguyen is certainly starting to make waves as he projects Vietnamese movies onto the screen of international cinema. The Rebel had its world premiere in the third biennial Vietnamese Festival in Los Angeles in 2007 and has been featured in the Bangkok International Film Festival, the Austin Film Festival and the Hawaiian International Film Festival.  It is also now available on DVD. Although the movie’s production value is enough reason to watch The Rebel, it is special in a more significant way. While there have been many movies made about the Vietnam War, it is refreshing to see a film that looks at Vietnamese history beyond the Vietnamese-American conflict—more refreshing than an ice-cold Bia Hơi, indeed!

Lusong: A Case Study on an Impoverished Community and a Compelling Argument in Favor of the Controversial R.H. Bill in the Philippines

In the Philippines, there are families whose dwellings are literally set on the waters. And I’m not talking about rich and famous people living in fancy yachts and boat houses. I’m talking about destitute families whose makeshift shelters are laid on waters. The foundations of their dwellings are laid on the bed of the sea. The families living in these houses are constantly subjected to the mercy of the nature’s whims. A storm, which is rampant in the country, could easily wipe them away in a jiffy. Because of their economic condition, these families have to catch clams and fish in order to survive. They are also largely dependent on the garbage that finds its ways in the waters—trash waiting to be scavenged and recycled for their subsistence.

Lusong (Live to Dive, 2011), directed by Nash Ang, is a documentary about two families living in Baranggay 20, Isla Puting Bato, Tondo, Manila. This documentary is a good case study on the lives of people dependent on the generosity of polluted waters for their day to day survival. Its narrative weaves together clashing moments of acceptance of fate, denial of realities, and hanging on to eroding dreams. Lusong is an example of how documentary films can raise social awareness and be a potential catalyst for social change.

The opening scenes of Lusong show the troubled co-existence of beauty in the form of nature and ugliness in the form of poverty. These scenes show the crimes of man against nature and society; how man’s actions have defiled nature and how state apparatus have failed to ensure that its citizens enjoy a fair and reasonable chance to succeed in life. A montage of shots depicting life in Baranggay 20 and the outcome of the state’s negligence to protect the welfare of its constituents introduces the film—kids playing with dirt where trash is scattered around, barefoot naked boy stepping on wet ground, a child being fed with milk (most likely powdered milk) from a plastic bottle, dirty feet of children, shirtless young girl lingering in the open, etc. The camera goes on to give us a glimpse of the living conditions at the place where the documentary is set.

Children immerse themselves in water filled with trash as if it is a normal thing to do—like it is nothing. After the opening montage, the film invites us to have a privileged look at a family whose head of household, Rolando Pantas, could barely walk because of his deformity which prompts him to constantly twitch. We become witnesses to his day to day struggle with life. Despite his physical condition, he  has to find ways to feed his family and send his children to school. One morning Rolando summons his son Ronald “Pirot” Pantas to get up and go to the sea to fetch water. After having seen how polluted the waters are in the beginning of the movie, one can’t help but cringe.

Pirot tells the audience how he sometimes swallows water when he dives, and that the garbage in the waters does not bother him anymore. He has gotten used to it. He also tells us that sometimes he catches sea creatures, like clams and fish, that he would either sell or eat at home. And yes, that’s fish from the waters filled with garbage. His father, Rolando, recounts that his deformity started when he was in second grade. I can’t help but ask: Was his sickness caused by the pollution?  Isn’t he worried about having the same thing happen to his children? Do they have options other than to depend on what they could get out of the polluted waters?

One of the most emphatic moments in the film was the part when members of the crew interview a number of kids about a recent death of a child. The kids seem to genuinely believe that the death was caused by the curse of a merman. There is a folklore going around in their neighborhood that a merman lives in the waters and that he takes the lives of people who gets into his bad side. Arnulfo "Totoy" Neru tells the film crew: “My cousin died a week ago because he accidentally hit a merman … A merman looked like a black small dwarf. My cousin was cursed, his face got sore.” The mother of the child who passed away rejects the idea that the water’s pollution caused the death of his child. Rather, she reaffirms Totoy’s fantastic story.  She says:

“They said my son was taking a bath in the sea.

[People thought that] he [might have] had drunk

the contaminated water

The doctor said that he got tetanus

for he was having fever then.

I don’t believe so because the water here is clean.

They didn’t bath here where the water is dirty.

I saw them on the middle part of the sea

because my son knows how to swim.”

Because of poverty, a number of kids in Baranggay 20 have lost their lives. Those who remain alive live in cycles of deprivation. While Lusong only focuses on the stories of Pirot and Totoy, we see a significant number of children living in poverty. Each of them, I would not doubt, has his or her own heartbreaking story to tell. I could not help but think that this film, perhaps outside of the filmmaker’s intent (which I will never know), is a good argument for the controversial R.H. Bill in the Philippines which supports state intervention in educating the people about birth control and responsible parenthood. This is one of the things that documentaries do—they become case studies relevant to social issues. For instance, in the documentary, Rolando’s wife Arlene Pantas is once again pregnant—and this, despite the couple’s inability to support the kids that they already have.

Pirot tells us that he takes care of house chores every morning before joining other kids to play. At a young age, he has to take on adults’ responsibilities before he can immerse himself in his childhood. Totoy echoes the story of Pirot. They both dive the polluted waters to make a little bit of cash and they both help their parents out at a very young age. Totoy is asked by one of the interviewers in the film if he would rather play or work.  He answers that he would rather work because it is his source of livelihood. He dives the polluted waters to find scrap for recycling. He digs canals, against his father’s wishes, to find loose change. Totoy also talks about paying his father’s debts when he gets some extra cash out of scavenging. He goes to school, but it seems that he is resigned to the fact that after completing sixth grade, he will be abandoning school. 

Rolando has given up on his dreams for a brighter future for his son Pirot.  He is painfully aware that he cannot afford to send him to college.  He said that he is already old and that nothing will come out of his dreams. While most people are aware of the importance of going to school in building one’s future, most kids couldn’t go because they do not have the resources to do so. It is already a gargantuan task for most families to put food on the table, buying basic school supplies such as notebooks is a luxury that they could not afford. In the Philippines, there is very scarce to completely zero practicable effort from the government to help families such as Rolando’s. Even at school, the teacher seems to be completely aware of the predicament of the children. She has no illusion of pretending that given their condition, they would be able to enjoy their youth without worries. While every child deserves a time to grow, life is harsher to others. Equality is an ideal that is very elusive. In dealing with the reality of her pupils, the teacher tries to make the discussions relevant to the children’s living conditions.  She asks the class: “How do you help your family to make extra money?”

Totoy’s father, Roberto Neru, does not have a stable source of income. He says he is not worried because he has a lot of families around him—extended relatives with whom he could count on. He also admits that he mostly depends on his son Totoy. However, he also says he never forces Totoy or asks him to do things for him. Totoy helps on his own accord. Roberto explains that he used to be a construction worker but that at age 47, he is no longer able to engage in heavy labor. Totoy confides that if his mother were alive, she would not have allowed him to work at his young age. Roberto disagrees. He insists that even if his wife were alive, she would have allowed him to work because there is nothing wrong with working. He emphasizes that he would not allow his son to take on physically demanding work since he is aware that the kid is not ready for it. Families like Totoy’s and Pirot’s are not alone. There are many households in the Philippines that are stuck in such abhorrent conditions. Documentaries like Lusong raise social awareness. Hopefully, these films would someday prompt the state to take some action. Politicians and lawmakers should keep the welfare of the people in mind when they engineer state budgets, laws, policies, and regulations.

The final scenes in Lusong emphasize the movie’s point with a very powerful imagery. The ending unfolds with the kids playing in the waters. This is followed by a child who dives into the sea. The camera pans on a sign board stating that “water is life.” These children have no choice but to dive into their source of life, no matter how polluted and unhealthy that source might be. Then, Totoy waves at the children as if to suggest his acceptance of their fate. They might as well greet it with an open heart. 

This powerful imagery is punctuated by a very insightful song Bata Pa Ako (I am still a child) by Julie Abueva in the closing credits. The lines of the song go like this: 

‘Di ka ba nagtataka … Ako’y nasa lansangan

At ikaw ay nasa sasakyan papuntang paaralan?

(Aren’t you wondering … I’m on the streets

And you’re in a car on the way to school?)

Lusong reminds us of the uncomfortable divide in society between the haves and the have-nots, the rich and the poor, the bourgeoisie and the proletariat, the 1% and the 99%.  And while this divide is much more pronounced in less economically stable countries like the Philippines, it does exist everywhere. Lusong, although set in a small community in the Philippines, tackles a universal problem.

Defining the Physical, Ideological, and Moral Spaces in Pontecorvo’s La Bataille d’Algiers

In the 1950s, Algeria was going through a tense climate of struggle to regain its national identity and independence. The French occupation of Algeria became a theater that showed the world a larger-than-life political, racial, and moral warfare between two nations on opposite sides of religious, economic, and class spectrum. While it would be fallacious to say that there are no gray areas, the polarities between the colonizers and the colonized that highlighted the times are arguably pervasive, thus giving birth to emphatic works of art reflective of the immediate conditions during this period. La Bataille d’Algiers, co-produced by Casbah Films (Algiers) and Igor Films (Rome) in 1966, is an example of such ouvre d’arte.

 

La Bataille d’Algiers, the first big Algerian production, is an original story idea by Saadi Yacef, a former member of the Front de Libération Nationale (FLN). During the time of the occupation, Yacef was imprisoned for going against the French colonizers. His ideas and experiences during this era were put into screenplay by Gillo Pontecorvo and FrancoSolinas. The movie received multiple prestigious awards including the Lion D’Or at the Venice International Film Festival in 1966 and the Grand Prize in the International Film Critics Award in the same year.

 

The relevance of this film goes far beyond winning accolades and critical praises.  For one, it became a staple in most film studies classes throughout the world. It is very unlikely to find a film scholar who has not heard of  La Bataille d’Algiers. The popularity of this film is not only limited to film academicians and cinephiles. Anti-military movements adopt strategies from this movie. Warfare and military experts have been known to refer back to this film. Human rights groups screen this movie over and over again to remind people of the atrocities of state apparatuses.

La Bataille d’Algiers  is a cinematic masterpiece with a touch of cinema verité that demonstrates the pronounced polarities present in the French-Algerian conflict. Through the narrative and the mise-en-scene, the movie takes its audience in the middle of the action and allows them to have a unique experience similar to the ones experienced by the observers lingering around the actual locations of the events. In a way, Pontecorvo takes his audience, and still continues to do so, to the harrowing struggle between the colonizers and the colonized—the aggressors and the victims. While there are many scenes in the movie that show this dichotomy, the ones that stand out to me are the contrasting scenes in the presentation of the antagonist and the protagonist—Ali La Pointe (BrahimHaggiag, a.k.a. Brahim Hadjadj) and Colonel Matthieu (Jean Martin).

After the initial montage in media res recounting the pivotal turn of events that led to the capture of La Pointe and the demise of the FLN, the former is introduced with a close-up of his face blurring as it surrenders to an establishing shot of the European Quarter. The camera executes a long shot of the area to show the cleanliness and tranquility of its perimeters.  Relatively new buildings abound in this area. After briefly showing the European Quarter, the camera pans to Casbah. Slowly, the camera zooms in to render a more detailed contrast between the two areas.  Following a medium shot of Casbah, the camera cuts to its crowded streets riddled with commoners and peddlers, showing the daily chaotic lives of the people. The European Quarter is the area in Algiers mostly inhabited by the French colonizers while the Casbah is the area where the Algerians, in their impoverished state, are clustered together.

As Pontecorvo takes the audience to the streets of Casbah, the narrator reads the first communiqué from the FLN, thus establishing the fact that this part of Algiers is the home of what the French deems to be the dangerous, the anti-establishment, and the savage—one that needs control and domination. In effect, this scene also draws a line that separates the physical, ideological, and moral spheres between the French and the Algerians. The placement of the barbwires and checkpoints between Casbah and the European Quarter further reinforces this point. The spatial and conceptual contrasts between the Algerians (embodied by La Pointe) and the French (represented by Matthieu) are suggested many times in the movie.

 

The story of La Bataille d’Algiers revolves around La Pointe and his transformation from being an ordinary citizen to becoming the face of Algerian rebellion.  La Pointe is a common man, and just like many of his counterparts, he hustles and bustles in the streets of Casbah for survival. On occasions, he steals and at times, he gambles.  Racism is very prevalent during this time and just like everyone else, he often gets subjected to it. One day, while La Pointe was dealing cards in a gambling game in one street corner, a French woman reports him to a police officer. La Pointe runs away and passes through a group of French bystanders gathered on the side of the road. One of the French men, also referred to as the pied noirs by historians, deliberately trips him and knocks him to the ground.

La Pointe, instead of continuing to run, decides to stand up and confronts the man who attacked him. The camera briefly shows the police approaching La Pointe before cutting to him hitting his assailant. This deliberate focus of the camera makes it clear that La Pointe is acutely aware of the risk of being caught, yet he conscientiously makes a choice to stand up for his dignity. The police officer, with the assistance of other cops who follow as reinforcements, catches La Pointe. The rest of the French in the crowd join forces together in attacking the latter. La Pointe takes the blows valiantly—a crucial and emphatic scene demonstrative of his resilience, self-respect, and valor.

As the police officers take La Pointe, the narrator recites his “resumé of offenses” that sounds typical of a common criminal’s background. While the police escorts him, the narrator states:

“Omar Ali … Alias Ali La Pointe … Born January 15, 1930, in Miliana … Illiterate.  Occupation: laborer, bricklayer, boxer … Currently unemployed.  Military status: draft dodger … 1942, Algiers Juvenile Court, one year in reformatory for vandalism … 1944, Oran Juvenile Court, two years for disorderly conduct … 1949, Court of Algiers, eight-month prison term for insulting a police officer on duty.”

The French crowd who ganged up on La Pointe follows him to harass him even further. While the narrator speaks, the diegetic voice of the people mocking him becomes inaudible. However, when one of the French men harassing him spits on him from behind, the diegetic sound of the spit is heard, thus emphasizing the act of degradation inflicted on him. This event demonstrates the extent by which Algerians are treated with disrespect in their own land by the French colonizers. It is also interesting to note how the narrator emphasizes that La Pointe is a draft-dodger. This fact strongly contrasts with Colonel Mathieu’s relationship with the military. Again, La Pointe, representing Algeria, exhibits anti-authoritarian proclivities while Mathieu, representing France, is symbolic of the colonizers’ unwavering authoritarian posture. La Pointe is sent to prison and while there, he is thrown in the company of men who have very strong anti-colonial sentiments. It is at this place where he begins to cultivate a strong extremist political and moral conviction.

The scene introducing La Pointe, when contrasted with the scene introducing Mathieu, highlights the extent of the dichotomy between the opposing factions in the movie. The introduction of La Pointe as just another common criminal is very important because later in the movie, he gets transformed into a radical extremist, killing people whom his newly-found FLN ideology and renewed Islam faith consider as personae non gratae such as prostitutes, alcoholics, and druggies. It is also important to note that while we are introduced to La Pointe running away from the law, Mathieu was later introduced arriving in Algiers to impose the law.  In a later part of the movie, the narrator introduces Mathieu in a similar style as when La Pointe was introduced—that is, while walking on the streets, the narrator recites his background.  The difference, however, is that in the introduction of La Pointe, he is escorted by the authorities as a criminal. In the introduction of Mathieu, he walks in glory ushered in by a welcome parade as his cohort of military men follows him. As Mathieu marches, the narrator recites a litany of his personal and military achievements:

“Mathieu, Philippe.  Born August 5, 1907, in Bordeaux.  Rank:  lieutenant colonel.  Campaigns:  Italy and Normandy.  Member of an anti-Nazi resistance movement.  Expeditions:  Madagascar and Suez.  Wars:  Indochina and Algeria.”

The similarity in visual presentation (walking down the streets) where the narrator introduces La Pointe and Mathieu, complemented by variances in camera angles and sound, all the more highlights the contrasts between them—the good and the bad; the military man and the criminal; the educated and the illiterate, the high-ranking military officer and the draft dodger. As La Pointe walks down the streets, a melancholy music that seems to emphasize his pitiful state lingers. Mathieu, on the other hand, is accompanied with bugles and drums and a diegetic sound of a cheering crowd. While the camera shows La Pointe in close-up as he is escorted by the cops thus highlighting the bitterness and anger in his expression, the camera gives Mathieu a combination of full shots, medium shots and close-ups, allowing the audience to scrutinize him in full military glory while he proudly walks on the streets in a dignified posture. Indeed, the strategic angles and foci of the camera provoke the audience to make a comparison of these two characters and to study their obvious differences.

David Bordwell and Kristin Thompson in their book Film Art:  An Introduction note that acting is part of mise-en-scene and is also often approached as a question of realism (133). On this note, one can go a bit further and argue that in light of realism, the director’s choices of actors then also becomes part of the mise-en-scene. In this regard, one should consider the extent by which Pontecorvo attempts to be realistic. In this film, with the exception of stage veteran Jean Martin, he mostly casts non-actors, a majority of which has ties with the FLN. Yacef , the former FLN rebel who wrote the book that inspired the movie, even plays the role of the leader of the guerilla group in the movie.  Another strategy that Pontecorvo employs is the use of intertitles in defining the sections of the film. This, in a sense, gives the film a touch of documentary style—one that is known to represent reality.

The manner in which the antagonist and the protagonist are introduced in La Bataille d’Algiers is very effective in that it gives the audience a hint on what to look for in the course of the film and it provides a direction by which to follow the narrative. The focalization that is for the most part rendered through the narrator complements the documentary style approach employed by Pontecorvo. While the whole film is riddled with extreme polarities that reflect the dichotomies of the era represented, the scenes introducing La Pointe and Mathieu lay out the foundation for the understanding of the extremity of differences between the two personage and the factions that they represent. La Bataille d’Algiers emphatically defines the physical, ideological, and moral spaces of the colonizer and the colonized during the French occupation of Algeria.