One very bad movie
After this, Bong Revilla will no longer be known as “Ang Panday,” he will be known as “Ang Maninira.” It’s a bigger fantasy than “Ang Panday.”
Revilla went to the Senate last Monday hoping to do a Jinggoy Estrada. Having nothing new to say, however, he decided to try to look original, maiba naman, by producing a bigger movie, with a more elaborate story line and a more elaborate script. In the end, all he produced was, well, a Bong (or Ramon) Revilla movie.
How bad the script is you see in the part where he talks about his meeting with P-Noy in Malacañang, with P-Noy exhorting him to vote against Renato Corona. He begins by shrouding his story in an atmosphere of intrigue, arriving on invitation at “Balay,” Mar Roxas’ Cubao headquarters, and then being driven by Roxas himself (“Boy Pickup”) to the appropriately cinematically named presidential rest house, “Bahay Pangarap.” Before they left, Revilla said, Roxas took out his SUV’s license plate.
I don’t blame him for dragging Roxas into the story; the fellow does have a shadowy presence and reeks of intrigue. What in hell was the DOTC head doing arranging the delivery of things and people to a breakfast meeting?
After breakfast, Revilla said, Roxas led the discussion, stressing the importance of convicting Corona. “Then before we were done, I was surprised by what the President told me, ‘Pare, parang awa mo na, ibalato mo na sa akin ito. Kailangan sya ma-impeach.’” To which Revilla said he replied: “Mr. President, I will do what is right. I believe that we should fight for what is right, and I will do what is right for the country.”
It’s not the easiest thing to translate into English what Revilla said P-Noy told him. It’s something like, “Bro, for pity’s sake, do this for me as a favor. He really has to be impeached.” But even that loses the flavor or nuance of Filipino. No one who has met P-Noy can imagine him talking that way in 10 lifetimes. That doesn’t sound like P-Noy, that sounds like Erap. Although Erap would probably have said “erap” in lieu of “pare,” which was how he, Da King, and their close friends called each other. Indeed, no one who has met P-Noy can imagine him pleading with, of all people, Bong Revilla in this way. The monumental presumption there is that P-Noy actually takes him seriously.
Not quite incidentally, P-Noy knows his law and would have said “Kailangan talaga sya ma-convict,” not “ma-impeach.” Corona had already been impeached by Congress and was being tried. Only Revilla would not have known the difference.
But if that is bad, Revilla’s dialogue is even worse. That’s the sort of crude, in-your-face, line that characters who are supposed to be kagalang-galang are given in local action movies. Again, no one who has met Revilla can imagine him talking that way in 10 lifetimes. “Ang Panday” at least does not have this breathtaking reversal of roles, P-Noy as a petty Cavite hoodlum and Revilla as, well, Ninoy Aquino, saying things like, “I will do what is right for the country.” Jinggoy at least had a sense of limits and never cast himself in that role.
You really have to wonder why legislators insist on having a “right of reply” when they have the privilege speech which allows them to lie through their teeth without fear of libel. Revilla concluded from his presentation: “If P-Noy could do this to CJ Corona, he could also influence the Ombudsman and Sandiganbayan to rule against us.” In fact, the more logical conclusion is: If Revilla can spin a tale like this, he can spin a tale about anything. Including not having anything to do with Janet Napoles, including not being a crook, including being persecuted for doing what is right for the country.
What can one say? Comedy repeats itself, the first time as farce, the second time as slapstick.
I’m glad the administration isn’t taking this seriously. Or being defensive about it. Which was what it did when Jinggoy premiered this same show the first time, which response turned it into an extravaganza, and which nearly brought the administration to its knees. This time around, the administration is right to tell Revilla, “Bumenta na ’yan, you’re nothing but a second-rate, trying-hard copycat.” Or less show-biz-y, it’s right to put the onus where it belongs, which is on Revilla’s guilt or innocence. This is not about P-Noy, this is not about anybody else, this is about Revilla.
A couple of weeks ago, Jinggoy simplified the problem by issuing a counteraffidavit denying the charges against him, saying he absolutely had nothing to do with Napoles, reducing the equation to a determination of evidence. Revilla has simplified the equation even more by reducing it to a question of credibility. He has merely opted to pit his say-so against that of his detractors. While depicting himself as a truthful man and Benhur Luy and the other whistle-blowers as liars, while depicting himself as a principled senator and P-Noy a dishonorable president.
Alas for him, life does not always imitate art, or trash. Luy may look like a modern-day version of Antonio Sanchez, the long-haired giggly, Mama-Mary-worshipping mayor of Los Baños who was jailed for rape and murder, and Revilla the sword-wielding scourge of oppressors and aswang, but the public knows the real hero and villain in real life. As to his characterization of himself and P-Noy, even the most fantastic fantasies cling to some verisimilitude of the truth. This doesn’t. To buy it, you have to submit to a lobotomy.
Before he came out last Monday, Revilla advertised his appearance heavily, telling his countrymen to watch him, he would tell the truth about everything. He would have done better to take his cue from another movie, with Jack Nicholson telling him:
“The truth? You can’t handle the truth.”
