Through the years with Direk Marilou

MANILA, Philippines - I became a fan of Marilou Diaz-Abaya after watching her first blockbuster film Brutal in 1980.

In 1985, I finally saw her for the first time in person at the Cultural Center of the Philippines (CCP) watching Cecile Licad perform Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2 with the Philippine Philharmonic Orchestra. With her was Charito Solis and Dina Bonnevie who were doing their exposure research as part of their immersion for a coming film on musicians. Solis was cast as a soprano and Bonnevie as pianist. I also heard that Richard Gomez would play the role of a violinist.

I thought that explained their presence in that concert.

But when Mother Lily saw the rushes of Marilou’s film in progress with Solis singing an operatic aria, the lady producer was horrified, not so much by the “singer” but by the volley of high notes from the “screen soprano.”

The film was shelved.

That’s me with Marilou in the latter’s former residence previously owned by Nestor de Villa

When Ricky Lo accepted me as one of his contributors in the late ’80s to the ’90s, I got to interview Marilou more often and got to watch her other films after Brutal. In my book, Sa Pusod Ng Dagat, Jose Rizal and Muro-Ami are gems of Philippine cinema.

It was at this point that I re-discovered that Marilou was a fanatic music lover. I thought she was at the CCP with Solis and Bonnevie in 1985 as part of a research for a film on musicians. Our common love for music led me to personally introduce her to Licad who became one of her best friends. Licad was at St. Luke’s Hospital for Marilou’s first chemo session in 2007. I begged off. I told Licad I couldn’t stand the sight of Marilou in a hospital, much more in a chemo treatment session.

Even as I write this, I am not sure if I can go to the wake. When the news of her passing away was flashed on the TV screen last Monday night, I let out a scream startling my grandson Emman who is a godson of the filmmaker.

Because right after interviewing her for The Philippine STAR in the late ’80s to the ’90s and after introducing her to Licad, we became close friends. We were always together at CCP and Philamlife theaters for concerts; I watched all her films on opening day to monitor how they were doing at the box-office. I know that after Brutal, her films continued to dominate the awards night but some of them didn’t do just well in the box-office. On the opening day of her Muro-Ami, which I thought was too serious and profound for the masa, I was at Robinsons Galleria at 10 in the morning and watched the film’s closest rival in the box-office, a Judy Ann Santos-starrer (the title of which escapes me at the moment). I asked the theater usher, “Where are the Judy Ann Santos fans?” when I noticed the theater was empty. “They are all in the adjacent theater watching Muro-Ami.”

That was when I realized the movie’s message couldn’t be that heavy after all.

By just looking at my face after the screening, Marilou knew I loved the film personally but with a reservation equally written all over my face: What about the masa who will decide its box-office fate in the festival?

“In fairness to Mother Lily,” Marilou told me later, “it was she who predicted Muro-Ami will make money. It wasn’t Mother Lily’s production. It was a GMA film just like Jose Rizal.

When she sensed I was worried about the possible outcome of her Noon at Ngayon (a sequel to Moral), she rued then: “You know I am more used to rejection than acceptance. Noon at Ngayon is my 18th or 19th film. Since I am more exposed to criticism rather than commercial success, I had a lot of practice keeping calm. Patience and calm are what you need and a lot of trying until you find the common language with your audiences.”

As a person and as an artist, Marilou found herself loving her audiences more than the film industry itself. When her string of blockbusters came one after the other, she considered it a major turn-around.

She confided it had taken her decades to make friends with her audience.

A graduate of a film school in California and London, Marilou came to terms with her audience: “For once, I realized the setback and handicap of a very Western education in which I systematically and methodically exerted to reverse. Because I could see the richness of our audiences from the very beginning even in my TV work, I could sense they have something more important than my Western education could not provide. The people who loved Ai-Ai de las Alas in Tanging Ina are certainly the same people who love and admire Randy David. They are certainly the same audience who will be moved to tears by the performance of Cecile Licad. They will avoid a movie if they cannot connect emotionally. It has nothing to do with intelligence.”

In one screening of Muro-Ami at Megamall, Marilou told me she sat long enough on the toilet bowl in the ladies room during the intermission to find out the feedback on her movie. “They loved the underwater scenes and they love the children diving into the deep blue sea,” she recalled.

What I discovered about Marilou as music fan jibed with my madness as movie fan (I told her I hiked from East Ave. to Gilmore Ave. just to have a glimpse of Susan Roces).

By then, Marilou could not have enough of Licad at the CCP; she wanted to follow us in the province as well. She went with us to Licad’s concert in Tuguegarao City. When I announced Marilou’s presence in the audience, the concert crowd responded with a long applause. After the concert, there were two long lines of autograph-seekers: One for Licad and another for Marilou.

In Baguio City, when Marilou found out I was doing everything myself in the Licad outreach concert, she volunteered to be my assistant. “Okay, Pablo. You take care of your other concerns and I will take care of Cecile.” Of that concert, I remember Marilou shouted at the piano tuner when she smelled liquor on stage. “Nobody touches liquor in this concert until the piano is thoroughly tuned!” she thundered and I thought it shook the ceiling of the Camp John Hay Convention Center.

In another concert of Licad in Makati where the entire Ayala Ave. was ordered closed by Don Jaime Zobel (I told his concert committee there was no way Licad could perform outdoor with all those taxis, jeepneys and buses passing by), Marilou was again with me checking what Licad would need before a concert. When she discovered Licad’s gown had a torn part, she asked for needle and thread and patched the gown herself. Watching Marilou took care of Licad and sewing her gown was like a scene from Bona with a fan constantly at the beck and call of her idol.

After Licad’s Tuguegarao concert, we proceeded to Banaue for our first look at the rice terraces. On the day we were supposed to get back to Manila, a heavy rain caused landslide blocking the only road back to the Maharlika highway. Marilou was a typical girl scout. I discovered her bag was also a first-aid kit with assorted aspirins for various afflictions. We hiked for more than two kilometers in knee-deep mud with Marilou always checking — not just Licad but also her teenage son — Otavio.

After years of attending my concert productions, Marilou knew I couldn’t afford a production assistant and I couldn’t afford a post-concert reception. When there was no official post-concert reception, she would invite Licad and me to an intimate dinner with just her friends that included Randy David and wife, Karina and Monsignor Pablo David (Randy’s brother). She would always say, “Pablo, I have found a place for us where your laughter will not cause a scandal.”  By then, she has gotten used to the fact that my laughter was an indispensable part of my “anatomy.”

One day in 2010, I got a call from Marilou.

When I answered it, I heard a long, anguished cry and followed by incessant sobbing. “Pablo, please find out from Norma (Japitana) where the body of Angelo is.” And the crying went on. It turned out that Angelo, the son of Cesar Montano, committed suicide and she wanted to be at his side.

That sad news happened right after Licad’s concert with Gerard Salonga at the Philamlife Theater.

On that same year, Marilou called to say she wanted to finish what will turn out to be her last film. She wanted me to find out if Lea Salonga was available but I said she was in the ongoing run of Cats. After several productions meetings, the lead female role landed on the lap of Ina Feleo who was a perfect choice. After the world premiere of Ikaw Ang Pag-ibig in Naga City, Laurice Guillen (over breakfast in a Naga hotel) asked me what I thought of the film. I told Laurice it was a disturbing film for me because after watching it, I was inclined to account for all my sins. To top it all, I refused to join the church visitations prompting Nestor Torre to declare me the only ereje in that media group.

One of the last times I saw Marilou was during the premiere night of Ikaw Ang Pag-ibig at the Dolphy Theater. While the movie was showing nationwide, I was again invited to a special preview of a film documentary on the life and times of Marilou.

I knew something had gone wrong.

Her breast cancer had recurred and was pronounced already on Stage 4.

I googled “cancer stage 4” and the Internet revelation rattled me: Few in that cancer stage survive.

I just realized then that the documentary directed by Mona Lisa Yuchengco was Marilou’s first and last starring role in a film.

By my own reckoning, Marilou faced the prospect of imminent demise straight in the eye. After all, she was seated in a theater with a ringside view of death for five years that she survived.

Two years ago, she regarded dying by quoting a zen saying that went thus: “The joy of raindrop is to enter the ocean.”

She then elucidated in an All Soul’s Day article for The STAR: “This zen saying reflects how I regard death. Another anonymous author tells of a salt doll who longed to experience the sea which she had never seen. She travels far and wide before finally reaching the shore. She is awed by the vast, majestic body of water before her. She falls in love with it. She yearns to embrace it, but at first hesitates. So she lets her feet touch the water. She is instantly refreshed. Then as she submerges deeper into the seawater, she finds herself dissolving, bit by bit, until she is totally immersed and united with the sea itself. On her last breath, she exclaims, ‘How lovely is your dwelling place, oh Lord!’ We live once. We die once. And we live again forever.”

As I contemplate Marilou’s burial on Saturday, her words from her last documentary continue to echo in my mind:

“An artist’s life is not about trophies, awards and achievements. Being an artist is not about money although I perfectly understand a producer’s agenda.

 “Being an artist is also about confronting art and life and their uncertainties.

 “It is easy to let go of all earthly concerns when you remain basically a child of God.”