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From 1775 to 2050: A Bold Return to Form

I went into Shake, Rattle & Roll: Evil Origins fully intending to watch it anyway — I have friends in both the cast and the production — but I didn’t expect to see it in advance, alongside the cast, on premiere night. That alone already set the mood. Part of the 2025 Metro Manila Film Festival and rated R-13, this entry marks a confident, high-profile return for Regal’s longest-running horror franchise.

Since its debut in 1984, Shake, Rattle & Roll has been a staple of Filipino cinema, delivering some of the country’s most unforgettable horror moments. For me, nothing still tops “Undin” (1991) — that toilet scene remains one of the most traumatising bathroom scares in local film history, so iconic that Filipinos still joke about “Undin” lurking in drains decades later. Evil Origins clearly understands that legacy, but instead of coasting on nostalgia, it takes a genuine creative risk.

True to form, the film is split into three episodes, but for the first time in the franchise, they are interconnected, forming one overarching story that spans the past, the present, and the future. Directed by Shugo Praico, Joey De Guzman, and Ian Loreños, and running close to 148 minutes, it sounds like the kind of runtime that could easily drag. Thankfully, it doesn’t. The film stays engaging because each segment offers a distinctly different flavour of horror — and because the connecting thread gives the whole thing momentum.

The opening chapter, “1775,” is set in a Spanish-era convent and leans heavily into atmospheric, religious horror. A group of nuns find themselves trapped as an unseen evil turns faith, repression, and desire into weapons. Visually, it’s moody and gothic, with strong production design that recalls The Nun. Janice de Belen is genuinely chilling as the cruel Mother Superior, while Carla Abellana, a veteran of standout SRR segments, brings gravitas as a prophetic figure. The script could have benefitted from deeper backstories, but the performances carry it — especially Loisa Andalio, who leaves a strong impression and feels like a future scream queen in the making.

The clear standout of the film is “2025,” a high-energy slasher set during a Halloween masquerade party. This is Shake, Rattle & Roll at its most fun and confident. The music pulses, the visuals pop, and the pacing never lets up. Fan-favourite pairings Francine Diaz and Seth Fedelin, as well as JM Ibarra and Fyang Smith, deliver both chemistry and individual presence, while Sassa Gurl steals scenes with perfectly timed comic relief. The kills are creative, the tension is real, and the mix of horror, humour, romance, and gore just works. It’s campy, bloody, and exhilarating — easily one of the best local slasher segments in recent years, and one that honestly feels strong enough to stand alone as its own film.

The final chapter, “2050,” swings big with a post-apocalyptic Philippines overrun by aswangs. Empty highways, broken bridges, and abandoned trains give the episode an eerie scale, turning Metro Manila into an unsettling wasteland. Richard Gutierrez is in his element as the action-driven lead, backed solidly by Ivana Alawi and Matt Lozano, while Manilyn Reynes once again proves why she remains a quiet horror MVP — grounding the chaos with experience and emotional weight. Dustin Yu stands out here as well, delivering sharp line readings, expressive physicality, and impressively confident action work. His presence feels assured, and it’s easy to see why he continues to gain recognition in the genre. The aswang designs are excellent — fast, vicious, and far more terrifying than your standard lumbering monsters.

Taken as a whole, Shake, Rattle & Roll: Evil Origins is best experienced on the big screen, where its scale, sound design, and visual ambition really land. Not every narrative thread is perfectly polished, and some character arcs could be stronger, but the film’s willingness to experiment pays off more often than not. It’s loud, entertaining, occasionally messy, but never dull — and most importantly, it proves that there’s still plenty of life left in this franchise.

This is a bold, crowd-pleasing return to form. It delivers genuine scares, big swings, and memorable moments, carried by a committed ensemble that understands both the fun and the fear of Shake, Rattle & Roll. For horror fans, slasher lovers, or anyone looking for a full-throttle cinema experience with friends, Evil Origins is an easy MMFF recommendation.

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A City Losing Its Footing.

Manila’s Finest is a gritty, atmospheric crime thriller set in Manila in 1969, a city on edge amid rising crime, political unrest, and looming social change. Directed by Raymond Red, the film follows a group of Manila Police District officers navigating turf wars, gang violence, and a growing sense that something far darker is at play. What begins as street-level crime — illegal gambling, prostitution, and rival gangs — gradually exposes deep-rooted corruption involving powerful businessmen, politicians, and even the police themselves.

Running at 119 minutes, the film is written by Michiko Yamamoto, Moira Lang, and Sherad Anthony Sanchez, and balances police procedural tension with intimate human drama. At its core, Manila’s Finest is less about heroism and more about moral compromise, loyalty, and the cost of integrity in a city rapidly losing its footing.

Piolo Pascual anchors the film as Capt. Homer Magtibay, a seasoned but flawed officer trying to hold the line as the world around him shifts. Enrique Gil plays Lt. Billy Ojeda, his younger, idealistic partner whose restlessness hints at rebellion and poor choices. Ashtine Olviga stands out as Agnes Magtibay, Homer’s activist daughter, embodying the generational clash between authority and resistance.

The ensemble is strong across the board: Cedrick Juan is quietly menacing as Metrocom officer Danilo Abad, Romnick Sarmenta and Joey Marquez provide texture and sharp wit, Ariel Rivera brings dignity as the outgoing station chief, while Rico Blanco unsettles as his abrasive replacement. Rica Peralejo’s return to acting as Magtibay’s wife adds emotional weight, while Jasmine Curtis-Smith, Paulo Angeles, Dylan Menor, and Ethan David round out a cast that feels lived-in and purposeful.

The film opens with a patrol — squad car #014 cruising Manila’s streets as news of Gloria Diaz and the moon landing crackles over the radio — immediately grounding the story in its moment. From there, tensions rise as the Philippine Constabulary Metrocom begins encroaching on local police operations, mirroring real historical power shifts. Gang rumbles, student protests, and internal power struggles converge, leaving Magtibay squeezed from all sides — professionally and personally.

Magtibay himself is no saint. He’s violent when it suits him, unfaithful despite presenting as a family man, and too quick to threaten force. Yet the film never excuses him — nor does it demonise him outright. Instead, Manila’s Finest presents a world where there are no clean hands, only varying degrees of compromise. The police aren’t heroes here; they’re a flawed boys’ club barely holding together as history moves against them.

This is where the film quietly pulls the rug out. What looks like a nostalgia-tinged period cop movie is actually something bleaker: a portrait of institutional decay and the slow march toward Martial Law. The irony of the title is deliberate and relentless. The story offers little triumph, lingering instead on despair, inevitability, and the unsettling sense that resistance — from police or protesters alike — may already be futile.

Technically, the film is assured. Red’s cinematography is striking, full of energy and texture, while the production design is meticulous — from the MPD interiors to riot shields repurposed from woven rattan. The edit could be tighter, and the soundtrack’s reliance on mournful kundiman rather than ’60s rock feels like a missed opportunity, but these are minor quibbles in an otherwise immersive experience.

I caught Manila’s Finest at an advance screening — never one to say no to a free movie — and was genuinely pleased to spot friends like Sue Prado among the police ensemble, and Elijah Canlas in a brief cameo. I’ll admit I came in curious about Dylan Menor, and he didn’t disappoint. The film stayed with me long after the credits rolled, not because it entertained, but because it made me think — which is perhaps its greatest strength.

By the end, history becomes impossible to ignore. We know how this period ends, and the weight of that inevitability is crushing. Manila’s Finest isn’t an easy Christmas watch, but for those willing to sit with its discomfort, it’s a complex, sobering, and quietly powerful film — one that reminds us how quickly systems fail, and how those failures continue to echo today.

The question I left the screening with — and one I managed to ask the cast — was this:
Is the film suggesting that the police lost their dignity and effectiveness because Metrocom undermined and sabotaged them, leaving them powerless to push back?

Manila’s Finest doesn’t offer easy answers — and that, perhaps, is the point.

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Sassy. Scandalous. Spectacularly Sentimental.

I can’t remember the last time a series made me this giddy. The moment I saw the trailer and pilot for I’m the Most Beautiful Count, I was hooked — raving about it to anyone who’d listen. This 2025 Thai BL fantasy-historical drama has everything: time travel, political intrigue, forbidden love, and a lead character who brings pure diva energy to the wrong century.

The story follows Prince, a modern queer pop star at the peak of fame who, right after coming out, suddenly wakes up in the body of Worradej, a nobleman in old-world Siam. What follows is a whirlwind of palace politics, class struggles, secret romances, and identity battles as Prince tries to uncover Worradej’s past — and maybe find a way back home. It’s not just time travel; it’s time travel with flair.

Adapted from the popular webtoon “I’m the Most Beautiful Count in Siam” (ฉันนี่แหละท่านขุนที่สวยที่สุดในสยาม), the 13-episode series aired on One31 and iQIYI from August to October 2025. It’s directed by Kritsada Techanilobon and written by Yuen Kin Pakka Thi Than Phra, with production from CHANGE2561.

Leading the cast is Nut Supanut Lourhaphanich as the fabulous Prince/Worradej — dazzling in heels one moment, fighting gender norms the next. Ping Orbnithi Leelavetchabutr brings stoic charm as Lord Kosol, the exiled noble with secrets and smouldering stares. Pop Pataraphol Wanlopsiri plays the poetic and conflicted Banjong, while Lee Asre Wattanayakul (Jade) and Aton Thanakorn Techawicha (King Chaiyachet) round out a strong ensemble.

What makes this series stand out is how it blends sharp comedy with meaningful commentary. Beneath the glitter and chaos, it tackles themes like LGBTQ+ rights, gender expression, classism, and patriarchy — all wrapped in humour and heart. It’s bold enough to address the struggles of transwomen and queer individuals in both the modern and historical settings, yet clever enough to do it without ever feeling preachy.

Nut Supanut absolutely owns this role. His performance as Prince/Worradej is both hysterical and heartfelt — flamboyant yet grounded. Whether strutting across a stage or defying social expectations in the royal court, he commands every scene with magnetic charisma. Ping’s Kosol, meanwhile, is the perfect counterbalance — dignified, intense, and quietly vulnerable. Their chemistry is electric, the kind that makes you grin one minute and tear up the next.

The show is brimming with comedy gold, especially the chaotic love triangle between Worradej, Kosol, and Banjong. From scandalous misunderstandings to romantic tension, the humour hits just right — playful, cheeky, and utterly addictive. Yet it’s not all laughs; the political subplots and personal revelations give the story surprising emotional weight.

Visually, I’m the Most Beautiful Count is gorgeous — rich costumes, detailed set design, and cinematography that glows with warmth and colour. Each episode feels like a blend of high drama and high camp, balancing satire with sincerity.

The finale may feel a little rushed, but it still manages to deliver a satisfying, emotional payoff. Without spoiling too much — it’s one of the few time-travel endings that genuinely feels earned.

At its heart, I’m the Most Beautiful Count is a celebration of love, identity, and resilience. It’s funny, heartfelt, and wonderfully over the top — a queer royal romp with something to say. Supanut’s performance alone is worth the watch, but the entire cast brings their A-game, turning what could have been a campy fantasy into something deeply human.

It’s bold. It’s beautiful. It’s scandalously fun. A glittering royal romp through time — witty, emotional, and fabulously queer.

Sparkling, sassy, and surprisingly meaningful — I’m the Most Beautiful Count is one of the most refreshing Thai dramas of the year. A must-watch for fans of historical fantasy, queer romance, and unapologetic storytelling.

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A Mature Reunion, a Love Rekindled

I’ll be honest — I’ve been excited about My Ex-Morning ever since GMMTV dropped the first teaser. After years of waiting, the reunion has finally arrived — and it’s every bit worth the wait. My Ex-Morning, produced by GMMTV and VIU under the direction of Lit Phadung Samajarn, runs for ten beautifully crafted episodes that aired from May 22 to July 24, 2025.

I personally anticipated this series the moment it was announced — not just because of Krist and Singto’s legendary chemistry from SOTUS, but because I honestly didn’t think we’d ever see them together on-screen again after Singto left GMMTV. Their return feels like a full-circle moment, and My Ex-Morning doesn’t just live up to the hype — it exceeds it with depth, maturity, and emotion.

🌤️ The Story: Love, Regret, and Second Chances

The series follows Phi (Pathaphi), a passionate but hot-tempered TV reporter whose career crumbles after a viral outburst caught on camera. To rebuild his image, he’s reassigned to develop a new program under the supervision of a new producer — who turns out to be Tam (Tamtawan), his former lover from their university days.

What unfolds is a slow-burn reunion — not just between two ex-lovers, but between two people forced to confront their unresolved feelings while working side by side under the spotlight of the media industry.

Phi’s fiery impulsiveness clashes with Tam’s calm, methodical approach, creating a dynamic that’s equal parts tension and tenderness. Their professional rivalry mirrors their personal history, and as the story unfolds, the flashbacks to their younger selves reveal the roots of their connection — and the pain that once tore them apart.

💚 Chemistry That Never Fades

The emotional tension between Krist and Singto is palpable. Their performances are layered and mature, balancing restraint with raw honesty. Krist embodies Phi’s expressive and heartfelt nature so well — you can feel every ounce of his frustration, regret, and longing. Singto, on the other hand, delivers a masterclass in subtlety. His Tam is composed on the outside but quietly aching underneath.

It’s the kind of chemistry that doesn’t rely on grand gestures — it lingers in glances, pauses, and unfinished sentences. You can sense that these two characters — and these two actors — share a deep history both on and off-screen.

🐾 Sosay, Paul, and the People Around Them

Supporting characters add even more life to the story. Rita (Godji Tacharon), with her wit and wisdom, brings warmth and humour. She’s the kind of friend who sees through the nonsense, and her advice about exes — that no matter how painful things get, there’s always a lingering care — hits deep.

Then there’s Paul (Ohm Thitiwat), who introduces an emotional complexity that many shows overlook. His presence highlights Tam’s insecurities — the quiet fear of not being “enough” or not being able to take care of Phi the way others could. Through Paul, we see Tam’s vulnerability, his pride, and the emotional barriers he’s built. It’s a beautiful contrast to Phi’s openness and impulsive love. Didn't think he was gonna be a villain in the end.

Even Sosay the cat deserves praise — honestly one of the most expressive pet performances I’ve seen in a GMMTV BL! The animal symbolism throughout the series adds another layer of intimacy, reminding the audience of the bond that still connects Phi and Tam, no matter how much time has passed. I may be exaggerating about the cat, as a cat dad myself.

🌸 Family Wisdom and Cultural Depth

One of the standout moments for me was the wisdom shared by both mothers — Wari (Ngrek Kanlaya), Phi’s mum, and Sa (Kwan Kwanrudee), Tam’s mum. Their conversations ground the story in realism and heart. They represent generations of love that have weathered storms, reminding the boys (and the audience) that reconciliation isn’t about erasing pain — it’s about choosing understanding over pride.

And that final wedding scene? Absolutely stunning. The depiction of the traditional Thai wedding was deeply rooted in culture and emotion. The traditional formal wear — with Krist and Singto dressed immaculately in elegant Thai attire — added both authenticity and beauty to the finale. It wasn’t just romantic; it was reverent. You could feel the love and respect for Thai tradition in every frame.

🎬 Visuals, Tone, and Execution

Technically, the series is outstanding. The cinematography is clean and intimate, often using warm tones to contrast the coldness of the newsroom. I especially loved the two-second grey colour transitions between past and present — a subtle yet clever storytelling device that makes the emotional shifts easy to follow.

The production team deserves credit for the attention to detail — from the styling that makes Krist and Singto look believably younger in the flashbacks to the natural lighting that highlights their performances without overdoing it.

💭 A Thoughtful, Mature BL

What makes My Ex-Morning truly special is how it breaks away from the usual BL tropes. Instead of focusing on a new romance, it explores what happens after love — the regret, the growth, and the slow rebuilding of trust. It’s rare to see ex-lovers as main characters in BLs, and even rarer to see it done this sincerely.

It’s a reflection of real relationships — messy, imperfect, but still full of hope. And for longtime KristSingto fans, it’s a nostalgic but refreshing experience. The show feels like closure — both for Phi and Tam, and for us who followed their journey since SOTUS.

Sure, there are moments when the writing feels a bit overflowing or certain subplots don’t fully land, but the emotional core remains solid. The pacing is steady, the dialogue feels natural, and the balance between humour and heartbreak is beautifully handled.

🌄 Final Thoughts

My Ex-Morning is a heartfelt reunion that doesn’t just rely on nostalgia — it redefines it. It’s mature, grounded, and sincere. The chemistry between Krist and Singto feels richer than ever, and the cultural elements — from family wisdom to the traditional Thai wedding — give it emotional and national pride.

As someone who personally anticipated this reunion for so long, I can say this series exceeded my expectations. It’s a story about rediscovery, forgiveness, and love that refuses to fade.

💚 Verdict: 9/10 — A beautifully crafted, emotionally intelligent series that blends nostalgia with growth. My Ex-Morning isn’t just a comeback — it’s a celebration of maturity, love, and Thai storytelling at its best.

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From Casual to Captivating

Safe Skies, Archer is a Filipino romantic drama miniseries adapted from Gwy Saludes’ popular University Series novels. Directed by Gino M. Santos, the 10-episode run aired from November 2023 to January 2024 on Viva One, and streams internationally via Rakuten Viki.

The story follows Hiro (Jerome Ponce), an aspiring pilot on the brink of training in Florida, and Yanna (Krissha Viaje), a carefree young woman who lives in the moment. What starts as a casual arrangement evolves into something deeper, tested by ambition, sacrifice, and the pull of true connection.

I’ve always known Jerome Ponce to be a reliable actor, and he doesn’t disappoint here—bringing warmth, charm, and quiet intensity to Hiro. Krissha Viaje, whom I first noticed in Mga Batang Riles and in The Juans’ Dulo music video, takes on her first lead role as Yanna, and she absolutely delivers. Her performance captures both Yanna’s confidence and her hidden scars, making her incredibly relatable.

The chemistry between Jerome and Krissha is magnetic—playful, flirty, and heartfelt, pulling you right into their story. Their dynamic feels immersive, almost as if you’re part of their world. It helps, too, that the ensemble cast adds richness: Dani Zee is a standout as Avi, supporting players like Aubrey bring extra spark.

Visually, the series is polished and vibrant, with moments that hit hard emotionally but still feel fun and youthful. The writing also flips expectations—a “bad girl goes soft” arc where Yanna, who begins as bold and unfiltered, slowly reveals her vulnerability. It’s refreshing to see a female lead allowed to be messy, playful, and strong in her own right. Hiro, meanwhile, balances her with charm and empathy, making their relationship feel both passionate and genuine.

As someone new to thethe University Series novels, I found watching this adaptation rewarding. Even if I am new to the universe, Safe Skies, Archer works as a heartfelt, engaging romance on its own. It’s well-crafted, never cringey, and brimming with the kind of giddy that makes you want to binge-watch—or rewatch long after the credits roll.

Verdict: A polished, emotionally resonant miniseries carried by the undeniable chemistry of Jerome Ponce and Krissha Viaje. Heartfelt, fun, and refreshingly modern—it’s a love story that soars.

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A Riotous, Campy Ride with a Whole Lotta Heart

🌺 Directed by Fatrick Tabada. Starring Sue Ramirez, Jameson Blake, Martin del Rosario, KaladKaren, and Maxie Andreison.

Let’s get this out the way: Flower Girl is wild. Funny. And actually, kinda profound.

This ain’t your average rom-com. It’s a Filipino fantasy-comedy about a modern woman who loses her vagina—yes, you read that right—after offending a trans babaylan-fairy in a restroom. What follows is a quest for soulmate-level love before a magical flower drops its final petal. Sounds ridiculous? It is. But somehow, it works. And not just for laughs.

Sue Ramirez plays Ena, a confident sanitary pad endorser who suddenly finds herself cursed. Her journey, hilarious and unhinged as it is, forces her to confront what womanhood actually means when it’s no longer tied to biology. That’s where the film shines: it uses absurdity to unpack deep truths about gender, identity, and self-worth.

Ramirez is so in her element. She balances slapstick with sincerity like a pro. She's unfiltered, fearless, and genuinely funny—making Ena both chaotic and relatable. KaladKaren and Drag Race PH Season 3 winner Maxie Andreison absolutely light up the screen, while Martin del Rosario and Jameson Blake bring charm, spice, and surprising heart to their roles.

But beneath all the camp and glitter, there's substance. The script doesn’t preach, but it definitely talks. It takes on casual transphobia, body policing, and the toxic ways we measure womanhood—and it does it with comedy as its tool, not its excuse.

Now, not everything lands. Some jokes go a bit too lowbrow, the pacing dips in the middle, and while the trans themes are strong, they still revolve around Ena’s POV. But the intent is clear: to open conversations, to unlearn harmful ideas, and to give space to the messy, magical, often misunderstood experience of defining oneself on your own terms.

The cinematography? Slick. The energy? Electric. The vibe? Unapologetically queer, Pinoy, and powerful.

What makes Flower Girl special isn’t just its boldness—it’s the way it makes you laugh and think. It asks: "What makes a woman a woman?" But it doesn’t force an answer. It just wants you to ask better questions.

This is not your Tito’s slapstick. It’s fresh. It’s gutsy. It’s a whole damn vibe. And it might just be the most important Filipino rom-com of the year.

Rated R-16. Now showing in cinemas nationwide.
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ out of 5 – but 10/10 for being a brilliant, campy, heartfelt mess. Go see it. Then take your friends. Then see it again.

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Redemption with a Smile: Samahan ng mga Makasalanan Delivers Heart and Humour

I’ll admit—walking into Samahan ng mga Makasalanan, I wasn’t expecting much. A satirical comedy with a title like that? I braced myself for slapstick. But to my surprise and delight, what I got was a thoughtfully crafted, warmly delivered tale about grace, change, and the power of second chances—with just the right dash of wit.

Directed by Benedict Mique and written in collaboration with Aya Anunciacion, this 2025 Filipino film is set in the fictional town of Sto. Kristo, a place plagued by vice and moral decline. Enter Deacon Sam (David Licauco), a well-meaning young clergyman determined to make a difference. As he forms the “Samahan ng mga Makasalanan” or Sinners' Club, we’re drawn into a world where humour and heart go hand in hand.

What makes this film shine is how earnestly it carries its message: that no one is beyond redemption, and everyone has something good to offer. Through Deacon Sam’s belief in the outcasts of society, the story reminds us that compassion, not condemnation, is what steers true change.

Licauco proves he’s not just another pretty face. His portrayal of Deacon Sam is grounded, empathetic, and deeply human. He holds his own alongside a stellar ensemble that includes the always-excellent Joel Torre as Fr. Danny, Sanya Lopez, Buboy Villar, David Minemoto, and Soliman Cruz—each bringing charm and weight to their roles.

There’s also a powerful moment where Fr. Danny confides in Sam, saying, “We make sacrifices, and we love all instead of one.” That line struck a chord—it’s a poignant reminder of the loneliness, strength, and humanity in the life of clergy.

More than a feel-good flick, Samahan ng mga Makasalanan is a warm-hearted tale that balances satire with soul. It invites laughter while asking us to reflect on our own capacity for change, and the importance of those who believe in us—even when we don’t believe in ourselves.

It’s not perfect, but it’s sincere. And sometimes, sincerity is the most powerful thing a film can offer. I walked out with a smile, and a little more hope in humanity. That’s worth the ticket, don’t you think?

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A Confusing Collaboration That Fails to Connect

"Co-Love," directed by Jill Singson Urdaneta, is a 2025 Filipino romantic comedy featuring Alexa Ilacad, KD Estrada, Jameson Blake, and Kira Balinger. The film centres around two content creators navigating their messy romantic entanglements while attempting an unlikely collaboration. With themes of love, friendship, and the complexities of modern relationships, the film holds promise but falls short in execution.

From the get-go, the film struggles to establish a clear vision. The editing is haphazard, the lighting inconsistent, and the sound design grating. Ironically, despite the protagonists being content creators, the quality of their "content"—and the film's overall technical aspects—is subpar. Awkward framing, poorly edited sequences, and clunky transitions make the viewing experience visually and aurally jarring.

The plot is equally chaotic. Events unfold without cohesion, with forced scenarios and shallow storytelling that lack emotional weight. The characters repeatedly deliver quotable lines, but without meaningful scenes to support them, the dialogue feels hollow. Attempts to tackle social media addiction and self-discovery are muddled, failing to deliver any profound commentary.

The saving grace of "Co-Love" lies in its cast. Alexa Ilacad shines with her effortless comedic timing and emotional depth, balancing humour and drama with finesse. KD Estrada brings intensity to his role, and his musical performance (the song "Di Ko Pinili") is a standout moment. Kira Balinger's over-the-top antics add a layer of charm, and Jameson Blake's understated portrayal quietly resonates. Despite their efforts, even this talented ensemble cannot salvage the film from its messy script and direction.

"Co-Love" teeters on the edge of satire, almost parodying itself with its exaggerated portrayal of influencer culture. While the concept of juxtaposing social media's frivolity with deeper emotional narratives holds potential, the execution here is far too disjointed. The movie ultimately feels like a missed opportunity—what could have been a bold, refreshing take on modern relationships instead devolves into a forgettable and frustrating watch.

The film's attempts to pander to Gen Z audiences with trendy tropes and superficial romantic beats feel patronising rather than engaging. It’s disappointing to see promising actors saddled with such lacklustre material, leaving viewers longing for a more thoughtful and cohesive story.

In the end, "Co-Love" isn’t a collaboration; it’s a chaotic clash of ideas that fail to connect—both with its audience and within itself.

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Mananambal: A Haunting Dive into Filipino Folklore with Nora Aunor at Her Best

Adolfo Alix Jr.’s Mananambal is a gripping exploration of Philippine mysticism wrapped in an eerie horror-thriller package. Set on the enigmatic island of Siquijor, the film follows a group of vloggers on a reckless hunt for viral content. Their target? Lucia (the legendary Nora Aunor), a traditional folk healer, or mananambal, who quickly proves to be far more than they bargained for. What starts as a sensationalist stunt soon spirals into a terrifying reckoning, as the island’s supernatural forces demand their due.

The mananambal tradition, rooted in Visayan folklore, represents the dual nature of healing and harm, bridging the physical and spiritual worlds. This duality plays out brilliantly in Aunor’s portrayal of Lucia, a woman whose silence is more chilling than any spoken curse. With her face deglamorized and her signature expressive eyes doing all the talking, Aunor once again proves why she is a National Artist for Film. Her presence alone is reason enough to watch Mananambal—she doesn’t need words to convey power, sorrow, or menace.

Bianca Umali delivers a compelling performance as Alma, Lucia’s daughter, whose inner conflict provides the emotional core of the story. Yearning to escape the constraints of her mother’s mystical legacy, Alma’s arc is both tragic and enthralling. Her chemistry with Aunor is electric, particularly in the film’s latter half, where familial duty collides with personal ambition in unexpected ways.

On the other side of the spectrum, the city-slicker vloggers—played by Edgar Allan Guzman, Jeric Gonzales, Kelvin Miranda, and Martin Escudero—embody the recklessness of modern social media culture. Their arrogance and disregard for sacred traditions set the stage for a supernatural backlash. Miranda, in particular, shines as Liam, the reluctant outsider within the group, providing a grounded contrast to his more hedonistic companions.

Alix’s direction ensures that Mananambal never meanders, balancing horror with cultural introspection. While the story treads familiar revenge-horror territory, the execution is precise and atmospheric. The cinematography takes full advantage of Siquijor’s haunting beauty—dense forests, cascading waterfalls, and shadowy caves serve as both picturesque backdrops and ominous warnings.

That said, the film could have leaned even further into the emotional conflict between Lucia and Alma. There were moments hinting at a deeper confrontation between the power of healing and the temptation of vengeance, but the narrative opts for a broader supernatural horror climax instead. Nevertheless, the final act delivers a shocking gut punch, an elegant tragedy befitting its themes of fate and consequence.

Mananambal is a must-watch, not just for fans of horror, but for those interested in the rich tapestry of Filipino folklore. Alix crafts a film that is both thrilling and thought-provoking, offering chills and cultural resonance in equal measure. And, of course, there’s the inimitable Nora Aunor—whose eyes alone could haunt audiences long after the credits roll.

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A Fresh but Flawed Take on a Filipino Folk Hero

Jason Paul Laxamana’s Penduko reimagines the classic Liwayway character for a modern audience, blending folklore with a contemporary supernatural underworld. Released as part of the 2023 Metro Manila Film Festival, the film follows Pedro Penduko (Matteo Guidicelli), the son of a powerful faith healer, who rejects his heritage in pursuit of a more materialistic life. Drawn into an organisation called Hatinggabi, he uses his mystical gifts for profit but soon faces a deeper struggle—one that forces him to question his identity and destiny.

One of the film’s biggest strengths lies in its adaptation of Filipino mystical traditions. The portrayal of albularyos, manggagaway, mananambal, and hukluban feels both authentic and visually compelling. The astral-plane battles, where healers combat hexes, offer a creative and culturally rich take on supernatural combat—refreshingly distinct from the usual Western fantasy influences. Additionally, the film avoids the tired “good vs. evil” trope, opting instead for a morally complex protagonist. Pedro isn’t a noble hero—he resents his father’s legacy and is even willing to resort to violence to achieve his goals. The film also resists turning his relationship with Liway (Kylie Verzosa) into an overplayed romantic subplot, which is a welcome departure from predictable storytelling.

However, the film struggles with thematic cohesion. Pedro is told he fails as a healer because his intent is to harm rather than to heal, yet there’s no clear moment of transformation. By the film’s end, he’s still resorting to brute force, making his supposed character growth feel unearned. The narrative builds toward an epiphany that never quite materialises, leaving the resolution feeling hollow. This may be setting up a sequel, but as a standalone story, it’s frustratingly incomplete.

Matteo Guidicelli brings physicality to the role, but his accent can be distracting, and the writing doesn’t help—Pedro’s character arc feels inconsistent, making it difficult to fully invest in his journey. Some dialogue is clunky, and a few performances border on cringeworthy, but the film still delivers enough charm to make it an entertaining watch. The villain is given a motive beyond sheer malice, which adds depth, but his "superpowers" could have been explored more effectively.

Visually, the film has its moments, but some CGI effects feel outdated, reminiscent of '90s fantasy films. That said, Penduko succeeds in world-building and injecting layers of social commentary, particularly on land grabbing and greed. Despite its flaws, it’s a step in the right direction for Filipino superhero films, and with some refinements, a sequel could truly elevate the franchise.

Would I watch a Penduko Part 2? Absolutely—but with the hope that it leans further into its strengths and tightens up its storytelling.

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Love, Language, and Lingering Looks

"See Your Love" is a Taiwanese romantic drama that thoughtfully balances lighthearted charm with moments of emotional depth, offering a unique love story that highlights the importance of communication—both spoken and unspoken.

At its core, the series follows Yang Ji Xiang, a wealthy heir sent to Taiwan for business, and Jiang Xiao Peng, a hearing-impaired caretaker who unexpectedly becomes his lifeline. What starts as an uneasy partnership evolves into a tender romance, enriched by a narrative that delves into trauma, healing, and the complexity of human connections.

The Strength of the Leads
The standout feature of this series is undoubtedly the chemistry between Raiden Lin (Yang Ji Xiang) and Jin Yun (Jiang Xiao Peng). Jin Yun’s portrayal of a hearing-impaired character is so authentic that it’s easy to believe he shares his character’s condition. Lin complements him brilliantly, and their on-screen connection is palpable. Their journey from strangers to lovers feels organic, with each actor bringing layers of vulnerability and strength to their roles.

Supporting Cast and Subplots
The supporting cast adds texture, particularly Lin Chia Yo’s Cheng Feng Jie ("Jonathan"), whose witty banter and camaraderie with Ji Xiang provide much-needed levity. The secondary couple, while charming, doesn’t get enough screen time to fully develop, leaving their story feeling rushed and under-explored.

Themes and Representation
One of the series' greatest strengths is its representation of the deaf community, a rarity in mainstream media. Xiao Peng is not a helpless stereotype but a resilient and multi-dimensional character. The drama also touches on subtle biases faced by people with disabilities, though these themes sometimes feel under-utilised, serving more as a backdrop than a fully fleshed-out commentary.

Where It Falls Short
The pacing is uneven, with a playful, almost silly tone in the earlier episodes clashing with the heavier drama later on. The finale, in particular, feels rushed, with unresolved conflicts and a somewhat implausible resolution. Subplots involving assassins and business rivalries feel tacked on, detracting from the more compelling personal struggles of the leads.

Additionally, the frequent reliance on near-kisses, prolonged stares, and melodramatic flashbacks sometimes borders on cliché, while side characters like the fiancée and Xiao Peng’s parents remain one-dimensional.

The Heart of the Story
Despite its flaws, See Your Love thrives on its emotional resonance. The love story is heartfelt, and the leads' efforts to overcome their personal traumas and find solace in one another are genuinely moving. The series shines in its quieter moments, where small gestures and sign language convey more than words ever could.

Final Thoughts
If there’s one thing I would tweak about See Your Love, it would be giving Shao Peng a chance to showcase his Taekwondo skills in the final episode. It would have been a fantastic way to surprise Jonathan’s men and emphasize that Shao Peng is far from an ordinary person with a disability. A quick, action-packed moment could have highlighted his resilience and strength, adding an extra layer to his character and giving the finale a bit more punch—literally! It’s a small touch, but one that could have made an already memorable story even more impactful.

See Your Love is a heartwarming, if imperfect, drama. Its strengths lie in its leads’ chemistry, its meaningful representation, and its willingness to explore themes of connection and resilience. While the pacing and subplots could use refinement, the series offers plenty of laughter, tears, and feel-good moments to satisfy BL and drama enthusiasts alike.

It’s not groundbreaking, but it’s a solid, enjoyable watch—particularly if you binge it. If you’re looking for a love story with depth, heart, and a touch of quirkiness, this one’s worth a go.

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School Days and Second Chances: My Take on My Teacher

My Teacher (2022), directed by Paul Soriano, stars Toni Gonzaga as Emma Bonifacio, a teacher navigating her way back to the profession after a wrongful dismissal, and Joey de Leon as Solomon Bienes, a 70-year-old student chasing his long-overdue high school diploma. This film, which premiered as part of the 2022 Metro Manila Film Festival, has found a second life streaming for free on GMA Pictures' official YouTube channel. And let me tell you, it’s a mixed bag, but one worth unpacking.

Like many, I initially passed on this movie, thinking it wouldn’t be worth my time. However, after giving it a chance, I can say this: it’s not as bad as the critics suggest, though it doesn’t quite rise to the occasion either. The story has its heart in the right place, with themes of forgiveness, second chances, and unexpected connections that manage to resonate, albeit in a somewhat surface-level way.

Toni Gonzaga shines as Emma, portraying the dedication and sacrifices of educators with genuine warmth. Her journey from a teacher with unconventional methods to someone deeply inspired by her own student is the emotional core of the film. Joey de Leon as Solomon adds charm, offering a unique perspective on lifelong learning and the idea that education doesn’t have an expiration date.

The film’s strongest moments come when it highlights the humanity of teachers—both their nobility and their flaws. It reminds us that teachers are not just authority figures but also individuals navigating their own struggles. However, it misses opportunities to dive deeper into pressing issues, such as systemic problems in education or the deeper motivations behind Solomon’s late pursuit of his studies. These themes, while touched on, remain frustratingly underexplored.

My Teacher is a feel-good tribute to educators, painting a nostalgic picture of school life while delivering its share of emotional moments. Yet, it often falters when trying to be profound. Some scenes feel forced, overly philosophical, or simply unnecessary, which detracts from the film's overall impact. It’s pleasant enough, but it lacks the depth to leave a lasting impression.

On the positive side, the film’s message of hope and perseverance does hit home, especially for students and teachers alike. It’s a gentle reminder that learning is a lifelong process and that education is a powerful tool for change. The ending ties things up neatly, offering a satisfying resolution to Emma and Solomon’s intertwined journeys.

While My Teacher doesn’t reinvent the wheel, it does offer a heartfelt tribute to teachers and the lessons they impart—both in and out of the classroom. It’s not groundbreaking cinema, but it’s a decent watch if you’re in the mood for something light and inspirational. Will I rewatch it? Probably not. But for a one-time viewing, it’s a charming, albeit imperfect, slice of life.

And yes, learning truly doesn’t stop, no matter your age. That’s a lesson worth carrying.

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A High-Potential Fantasy Romance Undermined by Format and Execution

“The Director Who Buys Me Dinner” delivers an intriguing premise: a young employee, Dongbaek, finds himself entangled in a centuries-old curse with his enigmatic CEO, Min Yu Dam. Adapted from the webtoon by Toesa and illustrated by Yang Eun Ji, the series had all the ingredients for a standout South Korean BL drama—fantasy, romance, and mystery. Unfortunately, it falls short of its potential due to its constrained format and underdeveloped storytelling.

The short episode runtime—a staple of Korean BL dramas—proved to be a significant disadvantage here. With only 10 episodes, each averaging 16 minutes (minus credits and recaps), the series simply didn’t have enough time to delve deeply into its characters or unravel its fantasy elements. The result is a story that feels rushed and undercooked, leaving viewers with more questions than answers.

The fantasy premise is ambitious and unique, hinting at a love story spanning centuries. However, key elements of the curse remain unexplored: How did the curse originate? Why is it a curse at all? What happened during the centuries between the first Dongbaek and the present one? The lack of explanations makes the narrative feel incomplete and frustrating.

Character development also suffers. Dongbaek, the protagonist, often feels like a passive participant in his own story, reacting rather than engaging. Min Yu Dam, despite his tragic backstory, lacks the emotional depth and desperation one might expect from someone burdened with immortality. Denis, introduced as a potential wildcard, ends up feeling like a plot device with unclear motivations.

The series’ title suggests a recurring motif of dinners between Dongbaek and Yu Dam, but this stops after the first couple of episodes, which feels like a missed opportunity to build their relationship. Similarly, the chemistry between the leads is inconsistent, with their romantic moments often feeling restrained and lacking the passion needed to sell their connection.

That said, there are bright spots. The cinematography is polished, with several well-composed shots that enhance the story’s atmosphere. The music complements key moments, although it occasionally compensates for the lack of emotional resonance in the performances. The ending, while divisive, stands out as one of the show’s better-executed elements, offering a bittersweet conclusion that feels thematically fitting.

Ultimately, The Director Who Buys Me Dinner is a classic case of a great concept let down by its execution. The short format robbed the story of its depth, leaving viewers with unresolved questions and untapped potential. While the production team’s effort is evident, the series needed more time and resources to fully explore its ambitious narrative.

For fans of BL dramas, it’s worth a watch for the unique premise and some enjoyable moments. However, it serves as a reminder that certain stories require more room to breathe, and perhaps this one deserved a format that could do its fantasy romance justice.

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A Rockin' Ride into the Blue Room

In Blue Room, Rebel Rebel—a progressive rock band of privileged teens—faces a tough choice when they’re arrested for drug possession and taken to the “Blue Room.” Directed by Ma-an Asuncion-Dagnalan, the film features an impressive cast, including Elijah Canlas, juan Karlos, Harvey Bautista, Nourijune, Keoni Jin, and Soliman Cruz.

This movie is a masterclass in filmmaking, with Asuncion-Dagnalan delivering sharp direction, a tight screenplay, and standout performances. It’s a powerful, thought-provoking dive into the consequences of our actions, with moments that are equal parts disturbing and deeply uncomfortable.

Going into the film, I had certain expectations based purely on the poster—no trailer for context—but the story turned out to be something entirely different and surprising. The opening act delves into the band’s dynamics and privileged lives, painting a picture of a group on the brink of something big. However, about 20 minutes in, a police checkpoint encounter flips the narrative on its head. The first act’s privilege-heavy tone gives way to a gripping exploration of corruption, as everything the band stood for is tested.

The second and third acts are where the movie truly shines. The tension is palpable, with the claustrophobic atmosphere, stirring performances, and a haunting score coming together to create an unforgettable experience. Elijah Canlas and Soliman Cruz deliver as expected, but Harvey Bautista and Nourijune are real standouts, leaving a strong impression.

The film doesn’t shy away from confronting police corruption, portraying it with unsettling honesty. From fabricated charges to blatant abuse of power, the injustices are laid bare. One particular moment, where Soliman Cruz’s character hides suspects in a secret room, had me cringing at the audacity of the lies and cruelty depicted. While it’s not a blanket condemnation of law enforcement, the story feels all too real, offering a chilling reflection of societal issues.

Everything in Blue Room feels meticulously crafted, from the tight pacing to the emotional weight of the performances and music. It’s an exquisite blend of storytelling and social commentary, delivering a thrilling and thought-provoking cinematic experience.

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A Rush Job with Potential

Bump Up Business is a short South Korean BL series adapted from a webtoon by RK Studio, airing on iQIYI. With 8 episodes of around 15 minutes each, it offers a unique glimpse into the K-Pop world, mixing fanservice with the realities of the industry. The plot revolves around Eden, a rookie idol about to debut, and Jihoon, an older celebrity in the same agency. As a pair, they’re marketed as a "business gay performance" couple—a premise meant to boost their popularity, but one that quickly blurs the lines between reality and performance as they grow closer.

The first thing that struck me was the series’ K-Pop setting, which I found refreshing, though I’m not the biggest fan of the genre. Music lovers will appreciate the soundtrack, but the drama itself struggled to fit its 40-chapter webtoon source into a limited runtime. This was perhaps its biggest weakness. The pacing felt rushed, with too many subplots crammed into too little time, leaving key relationships—especially between the leads—underdeveloped. By episodes 7 and 8, I found myself checking the clock, sensing the show’s desperate race to wrap things up.

Despite these pacing issues, the actors—many of whom are idols in real life—delivered charming performances. Nine, in particular, reminded me of a young Seo Kang Joon, managing to be both endearing and amateurish. There were moments where I almost connected deeply with the characters, but the story didn’t give me enough time to truly care.

What stands out in Bump Up Business is its subtle critique of the K-Pop industry. The show highlights the performative nature of fanservice, a reality that most K-Pop fans are aware of but perhaps don’t always acknowledge. The tension between pretending to be gay for fame while not being accepted as truly queer is poignant, especially in a conservative society like South Korea’s. The series flirts with these deeper themes, but never fully explores them, leaving us wanting more.

The ensemble cast, featuring members of OnlyOneOf, was solid overall, though some, like Rie and Junji, didn’t get much screen time. KB, who played the antagonist, was particularly memorable—so much so that I found myself genuinely disliking his character, a testament to his acting.

The show, while not groundbreaking, has its moments of entertainment. There’s light-heartedness in the way the leads banter and tease each other, and the music, composed by the idols themselves, is a highlight. Still, the absence of a proper kiss scene, for instance, left me feeling a bit cheated—especially when it seemed like the series was building up to one.

In short, Bump Up Business is a decent watch. It’s not perfect by any means—the rushed pacing, underdeveloped plotlines, and missed opportunities hold it back—but it does offer a fun and interesting take on K-Pop and BL. If you’re into K-Pop or BL dramas, it’s worth checking out, if only to see how the genre is evolving in South Korea.

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