Despite the rare feeling of unity and peace that washed over us during former President Cory’s wake and funeral, last week wasn’t without controversies either. Even as the country was mourning the death of one respectable lady, a large group composed of the country’s respected artists—including eight of the 14 living National Artists, among them F. Sionil Jose (Literature), Eddie Romero (Film and Broadcast Arts), and Ben Cabrera (Visual Arts)—gathered at the Cultural Center of the Philippines grounds and mourned the loss of the credibility of the National Artist Awards.
Word has it that Pres. Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo dropped musician and composer Ramon Santos from the list of nominees and inserted the names of komiks writer and filmmaker Carlo J. Caparas, theater maven (and founder of Philippine Educational Theater Association and executive director of the National Commission of Culture and Arts) Cecile Guidote-Alvarez, architect Bobby Mañoza, and fashion designer Pitoy Moreno.
Among the many things displeasing and, well, wrong about this is that Caparas, who did not even draw a single frame of the komiks he is known for (Ang Panday, for instance) and, in my honest opinion, hasn’t really proven any drop of talent in film-making, was given the title of National Artist for Visual Arts and Film. Komikero Gerry Alanguilan, in a widely circulated blog post, says he is not qualified. In the case of Alvarez, however, whose contribution to theater is massive and who is no doubt deserving of the title National Artist for Theater, critics say it is a matter of delicadeza. As executive director of the NCCA, which administers the awards along with the CCP, she chairs the selection committee.
If you read up on the news reports of last week’s protest rally, you’ll see that there’s action and drama never before seen in the arts scene, at least in my lifetime. On Friday, protesters composed of the who’s who of the arts scene (film, literature, visual arts, theaters, etc.) marched off to the NCCA, where Alvarez works. Shouting matches ensue; cries of, “Bobo!” are heard, among other exchanges; the NCCA plays folk songs on a loudspeaker to drown out the cries of protest; somebody from the protesters cuts the wire of the loudspeaker; a tug-of-war ensues; a challenge to a fistfight is thrown. The day ended calmly enough, but tempers still run high, the word fights continue, and the storm is still brewing.
Word has it that both Caparas and Alvarez are allies of the president. And that they’re being rewarded with the title of National Artist.
I leave the debate on what is art to those who are more knowledgeable in the subject, and to those who think that question can even be answered conclusively in their lifetime. I am, however, aghast at how Pres. Arroyo, who is not even an artist herself, would extend her reach this far. Is there nothing sacred left? That Arroyo knows nothing about art is evident in her giving Caparas the title for visual arts and film. As one of my friends quipped, she should be sentenced to a lifetime of watching Caparas’ massacre films.
I know what I’m talking about because when I was in high school, it was my best friend’s and my private Catholic school girl thrill to watch Caparas’ movies. Perhaps it was because we enjoyed watching Kris Aquino’s bad acting. Or it was cathartic to see the former president’s daughter getting slaughtered onscreen. Or perhaps because they were the funniest films—and unintentionally so—the local industry could provide. I was sure then, as I am sure now, there was no art in them.
I remember almost getting into a fight in the cinema because my best friend and I could not stop laughing as we watched The Vizconde Massacre Story (God Help Us!). The couple next to us snapped at us and called us a disgrace to our prestigious school—we were wearing our school uniform—for being so uncultured. What’s funny is that, at the end of the film, they actually apologized.
Carlo J. Caparas. National Artist for Visual Arts and Film.
God help us, indeed.
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