Give Me Alaxxxan!

Driven by a friend's endless nagging and threats of bodily harm and mainly looking for steamy distraction from my insane life I went to see Roxxxane. The movie's poster/premise/trailer seemed promising. Given that it was done by notable auteur Jun Lana whose credentials include having penned Jose Rizal, Muro Ami, and Sa Pusod Ng Dagat I predicted another smart movie to challenge my perspectives (and biases) on human nature, social issues and possibly get out of the theater with a massive hard on.

But let's not get all too excited and dive right into the smut.


Roxxxane is a calamity not because the auteur found it proper to slap the title with two extra Xs. It is a disaster because he made the phenomenal Elizabeth Oropesa (one of the highly-capable thespians this side of the universe) talk like Janice Dickinson on amphetamines and perpetual dysmenorrhea.

The movie orbits around the lives of three mismatched protagonists: Marlon (Jay Aquitania), a closeted college student; his buddy and primary source of nocturnal emissions Jonas (Janvier Daily) and the eponymous Roxxxane (a nymphet who goes strictly on first name basis, Sheree.)

Given the sharp, perceptive capabilities of Lana, this movie strikes me as the probable effect of overdosing on Papaya when what you wanted was Viagra. This is mainly because the movie's actors have the same chemistry as putting together a doorstop, a parachute and a fork. The ensemble trounced what could have been a great script and a great opportunity to do a celluloid commentary dissecting the general populace's rampant appetite for sex scandals. It's not far from being invited to an orgy only to find yourself in the middle of a Prayer Meeting.

Marlon tosses his lines like a badly-dubbed anime character and at times he strikes me as someone on the grips of palpitations. Either that or he's fluctuating between a stutter and a hiccup. However his acting borders towards sincerity and can be affecting in his naïve lack of restraint. For a newbie he exhibits a promise which an unforgiving directing could have molded. Instead we get an erratic dose of earnestness and botchy dash towards finishing his scenes like a bored teenager in a rush to finish his homework for the neighborhood Dota tournament. But he has his moment: take for instant that scene where he shoved his head in the freezer to dispel his escalating erection. Classic. To convey the cryptic nature of his being closeted he keeps on constructing a huge MonaLisa puzzle. I am all for metaphor, but that particular bit didn't lead me into the mysterious depths of his sexuality; it tells me he has no social life.

Jonas wins hands down as the rightful heir to channel Ice Cube in Anaconda. He ambles all throughout the movie in that consistent facial expression: part incomprehension part constipation. I am unsure who is the target demographic he's supposed to appeal to but I can safely assume it's not women, gays or PLUs. For a supposed beefcake his body type can double as the USS Intrepid to launch warships in a Korean Peninsula. He makes you laugh in his most intense moment and for sheer entertainment you forgive him.

Sheree however is my ultimate favorite: she's the only talent I've known who can build an acting career out of an overbite. She delivers her dialogues in steady monotones like she's shoved into the screen by the facialists who formulated Botox. Her character is such a source of fun: she insists on being respected and hangs her panties as curtains substitute. And to reinforce her quest for neighborhood respect she cavorts with his hormone-crazed boyfriend usually right in front of wide-opened window.

If your nerves aren't shredded by the shrill nagging of Elizabeth Oropesa's character (Marlon's mother and Roxxxane's landlady) the movie's scene transitions will catapult you into that Tourette-inducing shakiness of The Blair Witch Project and most of the parts in Dancer In The Dark. I had the impression that the whole film is projected using the beta version of Powerpoint running on Pentium 1 and Windows 84 by a nervous movie projectionist struggling over an advance stage of Pasma and Tendinitis.

Roxxxane is the kind of movie that keeps you begging for more. You have high hopes for it to work and like most premature orgasms you end up in a letdown mood. However none could best essay the whole point of this provocative cinema verite than Marlon's random female fling who, in the throes of pumping an orgasm out of him in a steamy scene, moaned a sterile “Siggeee paaaaa, ayannn, may nararamdaman na akoooo.”

I still think of her and get scared of irreversible impotence.