joyride.

"Will my straight friends like this?" I wondered as I walked out of CCP's main theater and into a crowd of satisfied moviegoers. I passed a zombading striking a pose with some fans and thought, "Would straight guys get this?"

If it's any indication, most of the post-premier reviews were glowing. This includes FRB's review which awarded the film grade A status. Grade A means it gets tax rebates, allowing the film to invest more funds into distribution. That's FRB's official blessing to go forth and (screen inside many a) multiplex.

There was one reviewer though that found the film a touch offensive. He especially didn't like murdering fags as an over-arcing plot device, as well as depicting homosexuality as a curse.

My personal take is that I simply loved this film. I felt validated when I first saw it. I thought, "Hey, at last! A gay movie that, in it's own bizarre way, related what being gay is like." I sympathized with this crazy, gay film because I'm a crazy, gay guy myself--all gay guys are I think.

Admit it, going gay is serious business. A certain degree of radical thought, purposefulness, and confidence goes into taking up that pink banner. Remington's girl (space) friend said something along these lines: all fairies go through their own struggle, such is the plight of any minority. And like the movie plot's victims, there are those of our fellow-mhin that died to prove their point.

But I digress, this movie isn't about fighting to be gay, nor fighting to be straight. I'd like to think the movie was about the freedom of choice. In the same way that there were supernatural forces that snarl and bite, pushing Remington to pick what is easy, what is conventional, society prods us just as hard. And many can attest that society is just as strange a creature.

We ourselves are strange creatures. And it is normal to take that road that leads to self-discovery and feel intimidated, or more often, just plain scared.

Luckily, there's will always be within us the truth to who we are--like a hidden flame that sheds light only on things that we keep and hold sacred. Good friends see it. They understand. Count on them in those times when the firelight wanes, like Remington did.

Or, count on family, like when his dad took up the curse. That's an especially tricky piece of storytelling right there since it would seem here that dad didn't want to have a gay son. But by saying "Papunta ka pa lang, pabalik na ako" (You've yet to go, I'm already on my way back), he intimated that prime parental directive: to allow their children to choose for themselves, and make it as easy for them as they can. I teared up a little there.

Speaking of tearing up, the piano scene in particular moved me the most. It was never revealed if he would end up with the girl. Instead, they talked about separating and his plans for school in Manila in this scene. It is here that Remington starts playing his piano, like learning to play a song he's known for a long time again. He is joined by his two best friends who happily join in, on equal footing. The viewer is shown the concluding tales of the other characters, as well as hints of better things.

It's as if by playing his music, by being true to himself, he inspired hope in his life and others. And instead of rushing into a relationship with either of his equally tempting friends, he chooses to bide his time. That's what his father gave him, time to make a proper choice.

Remington is about the availability of that choice. For some it is a right, and for some it is a privilege. Let's take a lesson from this movie and pick the former. Sure, crazy stuff will happen, they always do. We just have to trust what we know: like the tune of our heart-song, the commitment of good friends, and--as local kids would attest--the delicious taste of pansit habhab in Laguna.

I crave filipino writing. It's Rizal's fault: "Ang hindi magmahal sa sariling wika ay higit sa hayop at malansang isda" (They who do not learn to love their own language, are worse than animals and icky fish). So when I heard about the writing in Alvin Yapan's film "Ang Sayaw ng Dalawang Kaliwang Paa", I was all too eager to watch.

And it must be said that it is a most clever film, indicative of the director's scholarly background--he is a teacher. The men and women of the film play along the beat driven expressions of poetry and dance. Raw emotions are enveloped and strung together; and their passions reigned, meted out in measures.

I was struck by the intimate harmony of their interplay. Through syntax and silhouette, The Dance of Two Left Feet found a common cadence that delivered both visual and aural potency, as well as subtle depth.

I learned that poetry and dance are works of careful execution. Grand intentions, the most visceral, the most ardent, condensed into lyric and motion. Each step is compounded with meaning; each word, sweeping in its eloquence.

Yet this encompassing chemistry was quite a contrast against Sayaw's subtle performances. The characters hardly spoke of their feelings, hardly intimated their true intentions. Though Marlon was quite clear about what he wanted to happen, the seasoned dancers Karen and Dennis were more mysterious with their motives. It's as if their passion has struck them mute. So great were their emotions, so bold were their feelings, that they had no other recourse but to retreat into the most brilliant statements and most gentle gestures.

And their eyes, Dennis' eyes in particular, always spoke their character's truth, their longing, their love. What poetic justice then, to open the movie with such lines as "Kinukumutan kita ng aking titig" (I blanket you with my stare)? Again, clever cinematography is in play here.

I thoroughly enjoyed this movie, and the gay story line helped a lot, too.

There is a richness in such films saturated with different manners of art. And though the beautiful messages that lay hidden inside the narrative are transmuted by the interpretations and predilections of the viewer, I believe that that in itself is the compulsion of art. The exercise of this discovering is to experience that art, to participate by creating extensions, allegories, corollaries from this expression.

Art, in essence, is self-expression. And great art provokes expression.

"Ang Sayaw ng Dalawang Kaliwang Paa" felt provoked, and teems with the forcefulness of all its interwoven works. They are the ripened fruits squeezed, succulent juices seeping into and all over the canvas of this mighty film. I still remember the motions of it. It is sweet, pungent, pure.

A good kiss says a lot about someone and their intentions, and every nudge and nuzzle punctuates this most intimate vocabulary of passion.

A proper kiss is something you succumb to. Forego sight, close your eyes and descend into a sea of sensations. Familiarize yourself with the roughness of their manner, the scent of their virtue, the flavor of their desires. All things masked are laid bare and now is the time to explore, and to savour.

The sweetest kisses are mutual. In the exchange should emerge a tacit acknowledgement of what exists between two people. It is honest. The pace will dictate degree, and must be met or exceeded.

Rough kisses are hit-or-miss, I think. One can never tell what the uninhibited desire. But for some whose wicks spark from the incendiary crush of a full-on liplock, there's hardly any time to ask.

Anyway, trust Betty if you want to know if he loves you so.