WHY do I like Emily in Paris? Because it is shameless. Because Emily is shameless. Shamelessness here, however, should not be construed as negative; rather, it should be seen as a sort of soi di-sant moral recklessness. When have you ever watched a TV show or a film where political correctness does not have a place, where ethnocentrism is a daily consumption?
Paris is a fantasy land for Emily and, until her Brit lover comes along, she never sees the place as an illusion. For a marketing person, Emily does not even see Paris as a product that has been developed by similar-minded persons like her.
For Emily to be real, she has to contend with a Paris that really exists. That becomes the business of this series, to prove that there is this city for lovers. Like in all frothy narratives, viragos ultimately become allies of Emily, our lead character, in one sweep of a trench coat.
For the episodes of Emily in Paris to work, Emily herself has to be a bit dumb. She reports to the office and acts like Sylvie’s serf, all because of Emily’s fault. Didn’t she understand that her US office has acquired this Paris agency, and Sylvie is not technically her boss? But where would the Emily of Lily Collins be without the Sylvie played with such aplomb by Philippine Leroy-Beaulieu?
To enjoy Emily in Paris, the hit Netflix series, is to not take it seriously. That was my state of mind during the last days of 2022. Suspension of disbelief is the tool for this presentation. Here in this old city of possibilities, everyone is disarming. From Emily’s “men” to the women she encounters‚they all leap from pages of stereotypes and only their bravado stops them from being caricatures. There’s the Gabriel of Lucas Bravo to the Alfie of Lucien Laviscount, the Mindy Chen of Ashley Park to the Camille of Camille Razat. All conscious of how they feel but not how they think. Logic is negotiable.
Speaking of looks, there are rumors going around that Lucien Laviscount is one of the top contenders for the next James Bond. C’est la vie. As for the other supporting actors in the series, give me Ashley Park, singing and everything, anytime.
Strangely enough but maybe not strange at all, there were other artifacts of divertissement I indulged in before I ran out of my Christmas fruitcake. These were the old Filipino films from the late 1940s and 1950s, readily available online. The films were: Himala ng Birhen and Pasiya ng Langit, both directed by the underrated and unheralded Susana C. de Guzman; Kung Ako’y Mahal Mo by Dr. Gregorio Fernandez; and Kundiman ng Lahi by Lamberto Avellana.
Himala ng Birhen is the oldest (1947), with Rosa del Rosario playing a barrio girl, which is quite a stretch given her strong mestiza features. She also has this low voice, making her appear domineering even in light moments. Gloriously lovely, her build and glamor could have been the reason why she would then be asked four years after this film to essay the first Darna.
Pasiya ng Langit has Celia Flor and Priscilla Cellona. Fate is all over the plot of this film. Two sisters are separated by the fact of adoption: the younger one goes to a wealthy but kind (the qualifier has to be there) couple, while the older one becomes the adopted daughter of a music teacher, played by Jose Corazon de Jesus, Jr., the son of the legendary poet. Between the two sisters is Mario Montenegro who, in the film, is a doctor who rushes to the barrio because of an epidemic. There is only one word to describe Montenegro, the Filipino-French actor, and that is “debonaire,” an adjective reserved for men who are elegant and suave.
The other two films (Kung Ako’y Mahal Mo and Kundiman ng Lahi) share a leading lady, Charito Solis. These two films prove to be rediscoveries, with the first running on a compelling screenplay, and the latter by cinematic presence and daring direction.
In Kung Ako’y Mahal Mo, a man (Nestor de Villa) saves a woman (Charito Solis) from being raped but ending in jail after killing accidentally the “villain.” The coincidences are there but how Fernandez stages them with such ease and suspense must have charmed the audience then used to a predictable unfolding of stories. While Solis has always been a good actress, De Villa in this film rises above that famous boy-next-door charm to mold a credible character. He was nominated three times for FAMAS but not for this film.
With only his name, Avellana, on the screen, the director captures Charito Solis at her rawest, sensual mode. Solis is this young girl who seems oblivious to the fact that her physicality is torturing her tio (Joseph Cordova in a role that could stand with majesty along the same roles done by Van de Leon, Eddie Garcia and Vic Silayan), lusting at her. How did Solis escape the moralist’s wrath of the early 1960s everytime she bent down with half her breast exposed to all the bad men out there? Was it because her beauty was most ethereal in close-up shots, with the camera in love with her?
If there is a theme that runs dominant across the four films, it is that of poverty. Films of the period were not interested in entering the world of the rich, the way our present cinemas and romcoms are obsessed with. The directors of the period seem interested in understanding and romanticizing the world of the poor. Or could it be that to be miserable in life while remaining impoverished is the perfect fodder for drama and tears?