Wing of madness, wing of stone
Comes a time when a person has to reinvent oneself, and this the visual artist Dante Perez has done in his belated yet not unexpected foray into filmmaking past middle age: the discombobulating, a little bit funny and a little bit disturbing documentary on the actor Soliman Cruz.
At roughly 149 minutes, Ang Aktor (curiously subtitled as “The Hypocrite” for reasons best explained perhaps by the film itself) is by no means easy viewing, delving primarily into the maverick life and weird times of the actor Cruz, a familiar enough face for one who has even had a passing acquaintance with theater, film or television. Lest anyone forget, Cruz is Mokyo, that funny guy manning the sari-sari store or some kind of town hall counter in the now defunct children’s show Batibot, who first taught many a Filipino toddler the abakada. Subject is of course a Makiling High School for the Arts graduate where he honed his thespian chops, gradually making a name for himself in theater and later, serial dramas and movies both mainstream and independent. Ang Aktor then also chronicles Cruz and his descent into the madness of role internalization, a bohemia that segued into a vagabond style complete with a wrestling with drugs and other demons.
Perez’s style is largely a subdued verite, a deadpan noir as only Soliman the actor as hypocrite (or vice versa) can impart, the documentary for all its exhaustive interviews and insight they provide cannot help but verge on the fictional, for isn’t theater after all a representation of truth as fiction?
The viewer, in any case, must forgive the filmmaker and his actor their trespasses, give slack to a few indulgences in the name of faithfulness in exposition and variants to what we originally conceived as documentary, the narration though not entirely linear is nonetheless well structured, enough anyway to keep proceedings going at a steady clip.
All too revealing is the interview with musician/shaman Billy Bonnevie when he says that he and Cruz were classmates in Pasay and their teacher was Pepito Bosch. A character sketch is seen in an interview with Cruz himself, when asked why he didn’t protest while he was being robbed by his host where he had crashed the night, saying only that he didn’t want the robber to be humiliated.
Conversation with fellow actors Dido de la Paz and Joe Gruta, Roeder Camañag and Perry Dizon and Angeli Bayani shares further insights into the actor, whose bulong-bulong (whispering) demeanor confounded many observers who may have prematurely dismissed Cruz as may sayad (a bit touched in the head). But there remains the question, which the film itself patiently lays bare, where does the acting end and the sinto-sinto (madness) begin, or is it the other way around, or is one merely a method of the other?
This is dangerous territory in any currency, for there is always the possibility of going over the edge, though Perez takes care to skirt the precipice with equal parts withdrawal and daring do. When it most closely resembles fiction, the film soars as in the segment on Zapanta Street in Singalong, the comfort zone of the actor whenever he needs the company of old friends. The freewheeling interview with the tambays sa kanto (streetcorner hangers on) is a riot, the childhood buddies of Cruz giving another side of their ka-tropa in spontaneous humorous combustion, with a one two three four, okay ka? There’s even a cameo by the artist Ramir aka Amir, whose reclusive forbearance becomes a signal itself of the film’s overall reticence, or shall we say restraint.
For there really is no other way to deal with the subject Cruz, who despite his on and off romance with drugs and his stint in and out of rehab, as well screwing the whores in Bambang, never really set aside his craft, in fact made the hallucinogens part of his performance. Artist Arnel Agawin says that Soliman had confided to him that his dream role was that of a drug addict, which he considered to be his greatest performance if not life’s work. Well, it does seem that he may have gone overboard at times, to the point of even hurting those closest to him, or so we’re told or made to understand.
The segment of his ex-wife is also insightful, where she says “intense is an understatement” when you talk of Soliman. Another co-worker, a house photographer at CCP, says the actor never recovered from his unrequited love for actress Shamaine Centenera, also a Makiling graduate.
And while others discuss Soliman’s erratic ways like sleeping on pavements and wandering the city for days and not showing up on call time, there are those like director Lav Diaz who say they never had problems with him. “Maganda lang siguro ang timing ni Lav (Lav must just have good timing),” says fellow director JP Carpio.
Perez, Diaz’s production designer, includes generous footage of the actor’s work with Diaz, in particular Death in the Land of Encantos, Melancholia (which precedes the Lars Von Trier movie of the same title), and Century of Birthing.
For perhaps practical reasons the actor’s roles in mainstream cinema are largely ignored, a pity because Cruz in Jose Javier Reyes’ Kasal Kasali Kasalo and Sakal Sakali Saklolo as the estranged husband of the Gina Pareño character, and his turn as the gangster’s alalay in Tikoy Aguiluz’s Manila Kingpin and the father making up for lost time in Paul Soriano’s A Journey Home could have provided another side of him, shed some token wholesome light.
The art writer Sid Perez explains: Soliman’s process is his product; his off the cuff performances that get talked about are the work itself, spread by word of mouth if not by sign language.
The artist Tence Ruiz also shares his few cents worth while on kitchen duty: it is spontaneous performance without promo or PR, brought on by the artist’s need to express himself or make a statement.
A riot too is the footage of Soliman performing with live band, both dancing and delivering impromptu verses maybe dished off the top of his weary head: “Huwag mithiin ang asetikong buto, ang puting ermitanyo, bago dumaan sa eherisyong karnal!” roughly translated as don’t strive to be an ascetic white hermit before going through the carnal exercise. Shades of shabu and Bosch.
For all we know it may just be one great performance, influencing other performances such as those by Dong Abay and Cleng de Loyola, and we are only too privileged to be witness to this work in progress, which for Soliman is the only way to go, flying on this wing of madness, wing of stone. Perez, whose camera bravely follows the craziness, or what appears as crazy, to the ends of the earth, makes the most of this non-tribute, a one two three four.
