Endo and other drugs

 

 

I should really make time for my movies. The three Mendoza DVD’s I got for my birthday a few years ago remain unwatched, gathering dust on my bedside shelf, while I politely decline all requests to borrow them because I am still operating under the assumption that I’ll get around to finally feeding the discs to the DVD player. Believe me, I have been meaning to watch Lola and not fall asleep within five minutes — maybe I will, soon, on a good day, when I’ve had enough hours of slumber to actually focus on anything else other than how exhausted I (usually) am.

Tonight, though, is a different story. I have every intention of watching the Cinemalaya fest this year and so decided to hunt for Endo, which bagged major awards back in 2007. To no avail.  How come Ligo na U, Lapit na Me’s available online together with all the 80’s films in the world I usually like more than the relatively new ones, while this, my first indie film that left me confused over the ambiguity of the ending  (and of life, and of love, but hey I was sixteen when I first watched it, not that I am any more enlightened now), sits only as a trailer on Youtube mocking everyone with its absence from cyberspace?

I suppose that makes sense. I keep forgetting piracy is illegal. I keep forgetting too, that indie film endings are the AV counterparts of Kafka and Murakami and Peixoto. I keep forgetting that the rawness of the scenes, that the dire lack of a comprehensible and convenient patterns, aside from the ability to drive one mad with confusion for days, sometimes weeks, on end, are almost always intentional, and are, in fact, what distinguishes independent cinema from mainstream. Real life is a dish best served cold, after all. I keep forgetting names, titles, years — but Endo stuck. A series of terminable contracts, how appropriate.

Funny how I’ve always wanted to forget. Now I’d give anything to remember.

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