Galadriel In Briefs

Hugot is a cinematic Pièce de résistance. It is a superlative pièce de résistance but for the sake of your sanity I suggest you resist your hormone-induced urge to rent or buy the DVD now that the theater run is over.

[side note to foreigners reading this: The title, Hugot (pronounced hoo-goot), taken on a sexual context is the act of pulling out the penis, and two hours worth of rickety pixels later, the only hugot you'll ever experience is carried out in your mind as you pull out rusty forks from the eyeballs of the producer and director.]

Needless to say I love Hugot because it is a rich digital ore for ridiculousness. It seems to be bidding Salvador Dali for a surrealistic duel with the characters on stern, mandatory obligation to exhibit every possible cellulite in their body.

Take for instance the opening sequence in which the narrator types into a laptop. His expression glaringly suggests complete incomprehension as to what he is doing in this movie. He randomly jumps the narration of the gnarled episodes and switches the stories like an omniscient epileptic with a multitalentless cast, a microscopic budget and a screening deadline. And to visually remind the audience of the fact that this IS an indie flick, the scenes' transitions hiccups along like a slide show projected by a malfunctioning Kodak Carousel operated by an overcaffeinated assistant with terminal arthritis. It is as if instead of linear editing softwares the producers used Powerpoint being assaulted by the Melissa Virus. What can I say: Pure visual smörgåsbord!

Don't attempt to decipher the stories unless you are the anal kind who haven't suffered enough. I am sure there IS a story wedged somewhere in the movie but the scenes and narrative reminded me of how my alcoholic uncle would recount his World War II exploits. Add to this convoluted digital mash a very awful sound editing: throughout the movie your nerves are shredded by dialogs that seemed to be passing through a drum being banged by Incas on marijuana high.

Everyone is hysterical. And campy.

There's this episode where a guy walks around in his underwear in some sort of perpetual trance. He is preceded by his stomach flab. He continues his trek like a sedated salamander, descending a mossy path until he is confronted by a flaming clothesline. (Moses will be pissed.) I remembered that Lothlorien scene in LOTR. So I call him Galadriel In Briefs.

Gladriel In Briefs (from hereinafter refered to as GIB), is tormented by some horrendous memory and the dang flaming clothesline is a reminder of this nightmare. The Flaming Clothesline is like a jilted fag you declined as friend in Guys4Men: Hell-bent for vengeance and wont let you be. To avoid the clothesline he alternates standing in the middle of an indeterminate living room, with another guy nagging him to death, who also happens to be in his briefs. They both speak Oration Style they can rival Phaedra in Hippolytus if Phaedra gargled Botox prior to speaking.

Then there's this classic scene where GIB is trying to write on a yellow pad paper and the screen splits and the Eternal Nagger Guy rattles off a litany of guilt-mongering odes while furiously jerking off.

I was stunned. I wasn't equipped with words to describe it. High Prince of Camp Joey Gosengfiao has finally found his torch bearer in Jonison Fontanos.

In another episode, a queen of a policeman strips to his pants and swirls around singing “May pulis may pulis sa ilalim ng tulay!” with such abandon that will make my tranny neighbor's blood curdle in embarrassment.

Then there's the super chic flaming gay character whose skull got smashed by the Miss Gay trophy he just won. He was so chic he wore a tie dye shawl without giggling.

Not to be out-staged there's another hysterical vignette where two nursing student slash political activists play a psychotic question and answer game with a yuppie who freakishly lacked facial pores. The yuppie reminds me of society matrons who abuse face lifts their eyes migrate to the sides and finally looked like a fish. In this rip off of a strip poker game, failure to correctly answer the question meant they have to shed a piece of their clothing. The questions being asked are beyond absurd. It begs for an alternate universe by itself.

Hugot is an inspired masterpiece. It is so inspired that there is nothing I wish more than the auteur be stricken of irreversible creative block.

That or permanent residency in Alcatraz for all our sakes.

~~~

Joven Tan's Paupahan is another masterpiece in the School Of High Camp. I'll write about it if boredom doesn't bitchslap me into lethargy.