Light and Its Shadowy Underside
Money connotes evil. Nay,
money has come to denote evil. Entirely evil. Simplistically that is how
Robert Bresson coldly dissects the figure and presence of money in L'Argent: a manipulative demon with its
accompanying materialist ideology, a trail of murder and crime lying in its
wake. Nothing good can come out of it: money reeks. Enter Ang Kwento ni Mabuti, a film that reimagines this signifier of sin,
repurposing money for yet another intention. The old aura of money seems to
invert and shift colors in this new and commendable film by Mes de Guzman:
foregrounding the question of what is virtuous in a world where nothing is
unalloyed, where ethical and moral absolutes are a pipe dream even for utopians
among us. Here many of the dependent characters are deeply flawed and face an
unpromising earthly future, their sins wearing out their originality and
mortality, by the time the virtuous Mabuti is placed in the hot seat, tested by
poverty's ineluctable problem and a bagful of money.
In its searching of
worldly deliverance, Ang Kwento ni Mabuti
is not unlike an old morality play, where its title character has an agon with
her sense of right and wrong, whether it will serve an individual or a social
good (at least her own society), but the stakes are less otherworldly and
sublime, more immediate and mundane: terrestrial salvation. Forget the world to
come, it seems to imply. Pragmaticism and consequentialism are not untenable,
it whispers. Mabuti must read the fine print that comes with the money and the
semaphores of circumstance: isn't it value neutral?
All but a truism to say
that everything Nora Aunor touches turns, even from dross, into gold: the
alchemy of Mabuti is no exception. Nora lends tremendous cachet to it by her
stellar thespian presence, reaffirmed here with understated perfomance in the
Ilocano idiom. But what must be equally recognized is how Mes de Guzman’s
authorial achievement lays equal claim to this movie, based on a story he wrote
some time ago without an explicit wish of making it into a medium for a Nora
Aunor. Everyone around de Guzman, however, simply couldn’t help discerning the
bright adumbration of the great actress in the role of Mabuti. De Guzman
kept his fingers crossed and one day, with a connection made and consummated,
she simply showed up on the set.
Ang Kwento ni Mabuti may present a scenario so well-trodden as to be
negligible -- how to transform the matter of money, the crux of conscience? --
but de Guzman handles it in such a way that we simultaneously shake and nod our
heads by the time his film concludes. Chances are, most will agree with its
signals of predestiny, but not without a sneaking question left hanging
silently somewhere within. But it is all part and parcel of Mabuti’s own
passion. Along the way, she, like a pilgrim in progress, is tested and tempted,
and when we suspect coming on an obligatory Christian ending, de Guzman inverts
the influence of religion: Mabuti’s own definition of virtue comes to the fore.
Remember how the devilish son gets thwarted time and again in de Guzman’s earlier
film, Diablo? This time the progress
of Mabuti’s journeys gets often interrupted, but all is stoically shouldered.
That is Mabuti’s deceptive grace. Mabuti, like a ministering saint, fields and
keeps the needy under her wings: the daughters of her errant daughter, the
equally cavalier and wayward son, and the many neighbors who need her faith and
shamanic succor.
But in greater moral
terms, if Bresson fingers money as filthy lucre, passed around as a gun in a
genuine Russian roulette, de Guzman elevates the matter of money beyond
something like a Kantian category, although we might be convinced we are
trapped in one with all the crookedness and immorality surrounding Mabuti.
Perhaps when, in the hardscrabble, poverty-stricken life that must be waged in the
mountains of Nueva Vizcaya – where Communist insurgency remains; bankrobbers,
too -- Mabuti’s countenance seems to change at the sight of money, hinting at
the vortex it represents, money that's not rightfully hers, the dangers of fate
she thinks are playing tricks on her prove to be self-perpetuating and
self-terminating. Fate seems here to tempt and ultimately withhold its own
dangers and risks. That is perhaps, the one of two knocks on the film - along
with its raft of piggybacking characters. -- Or is it simply the nature of
fate?
Mabuti, in this sense, is
the incarnation of sainthood made pragmatically attuned to the times. Far from
a daughter who has children by many different men, a son who adds another,
Nora's Mabuti remains resilient and earnest reminiscent of a Giulietta Massina
through it all: she has a shy smile behind a dusky and weathered exterior. When
not minding her many granddaughters, she has always enough time – the patience
of a saint -- to dispel the incessant threat of rabies and venom with some spit
and her magical poison-sucking stones.
Local color proves both
bane and boon for the film: the mostly non-professional characters, Novo Vizcayanos,
come off as mostly wooden if you speak their language, but they also have the
unique presence, the sui generis, to enchant you by their strangeness – even as
de Guzman makes no secret of his enthusiasm for his home province, his intent
to democratize filmmaking in those parts. Sometimes, however, the movie's stab
at equal opportunity threatens to spin off to many loose ends and subplots that
divert with their seeming function of dedramatized anthropology. On the other
hand, indigenous details may divert in a good way -- e.g. the playthings of the
forest, the sumpak, the proliferation
of shops for secondhand clothes or wag-wag stores, the corruption of local
officials with jueteng, the many military checkpoints, the superstitions around
faith healers. Somehow, it all works -- all accretes to texture. Forget how de
Guzman passes off the town of Aritao as a city, because these are the
ramifications of a journey of fate where, from de Guzman’s perspective, nothing
is simply as it seems. Even as Nora has declared an earnest interest in a
film about villainy, the seeds of evil have been subtly planted here, only
justified with a benevolent end, deep within Mabuti's bosom. Think about it.
Light, after all, may never occur without its underside of shadow.