camera obscura

Is it just me or has the independent film industry fallen prey to an emergent malady of mediocrity? This, of course, is an overly generalized observation; there are a few noteworthy examples and some have even garnered accolades from foreign audiences, but let’s face it – the remarkable ones are few and far in between and is no way indicative of the homogeneity of our prevalent cinematic experience. I don’t fancy myself as a professional critic; and compared to Froyo, am no movie buff. I’ve had a few experiences during my undergraduate years as a student critic, and have graced several lectures and workshops on film and film theory enough to display a capacity to formulate an educated opinion.

I may not have the acute wit of a Pauline Kael, nor the practical sagacity of a Robert Ebert, and to speak of the profundity of cinematic semiotics would be hugely detached, but I’m certain that even the most layman and shallow would notice how the phrases “indie film” and “experimental cinema” have been used too loosely and without concern lately that it dilutes and damages the essence of these lexis, and consequently shedding the more legitimate instances of the genre in insipid light.

I don’t mind queer and campy. Really, I don’t. I may not be the first one to line-up at the box office, nor will I be giddy like a statutory schoolgirl at skin exposures, but I do enjoy the occasional camp and crass. When it is written well, and/or executed superbly, it becomes memorable and straight-up entertaining. Take Zombadings for example; although I must note that Zombadings is an exception in its successfully embedding intelligent insight in a seemingly crass and falsely pernicious take on advocacy, it was able to portray the stereotype and provide generous erogenous scenes without becoming pornographic. To quote the late David Foster Wallace, it was “stale and formulaic, in a way that pokes fun at its stale and formulaic quality.”

But I digress. This entry is not a meritorious exploration on the superiority of Zombadings as an exemplary case of an independently-produced film. What I am here to discuss is the disheartening state of rest of the indie films of late. The past few times I have ventured to Robinsons Galleria to contemplate on watching a movie at their Indie Cinema, I have been thoroughly disgusted by the sheer inadequacy of the material they offer. From incest-laden rape melodramas, nostalgic curlicues on the loss of innocence, to the absurdly inane situations experienced in the skin trade, most of the independent films works are sordid excuses laid context-less and hollow, each exhaustively exploited as opportunities for sex and titillation. Seductively leading, the summaries all explicitly expound on every conceivable version of deviation and perversion, each directed towards a sexually-deprived and libido-laden audience, seeking every chance they could to act out fantasies of every sort.

It may be, as Froyo pointed out, the genre simply reacting to the coercive demand for skin and scintillation. A simple supply and demand equation, men being perennially prey to their own desires and more often easily deployed by the most subtle of innuendoes. I agree. Sex sells, and for those of us whose opinion of cinema inhabits nothing more than superficial entertainment, rather than the culturally-reflective artistic medium that it is, then these sorts of movies would more than suffice their temporary and immediate needs. But the level of crass, cliché and kitsch that these films demonstrate is a sad reflection of how greedy our society is, how depraved it is, how incessantly willing it is, to forego art to arousal.

Maybe it still is a cultural zeitgeist, but it does nothing to debunk the stereotypes that equality advocators lament on. If anything, it’s aggressively irrelevant to the issues of breaking barriers and achieving acceptance. Of course, this is rarely the objective of this sort of movies, and to even daydream that there is a higher purpose for any of it would border on delusional. I cannot speak for the patrons that devour these sorts of indie films, but personally I believe that our local literature is replete with outstanding material that could be tapped for the indie genre, campy or not. It may be insolent to say that the writers and producers are merely lazy to even consider creating deeper, more substantial works, but their indolence is a simple manifestation of what the movie-going crowd perpetually supports. 

To each his own, as they say. For me, however, movies are an artistic medium pregnant with the prospect of making a statement, of possibly affording a paradigm shift and effectively, lastingly, affect the opinion of society. There are a few good examples both from recent and distant memory: Daybreak and Muli (Homecoming) come to mind; but if we have any chance of achieving the global status of a cinematically progressive and competitive nation, we have to start with the type and quality of material that we distribute to the local audience.

There is a method and manner of using sex as a vehicle to forward a plot, and a way of using characters to impel and drive identification, and relatedness from an audience. It doesn’t have to be a literal flesh-fest all the time. Why be bacchanalian and perpetuate the stereotypes of exploitive sexual advances and transactions, when sex in itself can just as validly be used as a contextual element, one that supplements rather than supplants a deeper, more transcendant dynamic? Why not delve into societal issues and themes rather than dive into the absurdly shameless licentiousness of sex as a performance?  Rather than the ubiquitous skin and seduction, why not sense and significance?

Original image from here.

Camera obscura - n. an optical device or contraption that projects an image of an intended target or surrounding unto a screen, panel, or sheet of photosensitive material, mainly utilized to capture a bi-dimensional representation of its target; refer to here for a more in-depth discussion of its definition and actions