Political Parodies and Impersonations

A recent SNL episode where Will Farrell and Tina Fey played such convincing impersonations of US political personalities reminded me that a tradition of impersonating political figures somehow never took hold in the Philippine comedy scene. The few TV comedy productions that managed to land here locally (i.e., in Canada) are basically sit-coms, more slap-stick style, depicting Filipinos in their familiar social angst, romantic encounters, and so on, generally made as if the comedies of Chichay, Dolphy, Pancito and their irks of the 50s never evolved, and caught agonizingly in an artistic time warp. A few parodies of, say, GMA or Miriam Defensor, including some political ads, had appeared on YouTube; although some are side-splittingly funny, in the main these are amateurish productions and not meant for the mass media. The obvious gestures, facial distortions, and speech patterns of trapos are a gold mine of materials and surely easy pickings for accomplished Philippine comedians or actors, but why is that there is a complete absence of SNL or MadTV type of political humor in the Philippine TV landscape? Could it be that the Philippine art scene is not ready for this genre? Or are political impersonations something considered off-limits by conventional artists?

There is something therapeutic about watching political impersonations. Tina Fey’s impressive amplification of Sarah Palin’s every swagger, provincialism and Alaskan accent makes me see Palin as a more likable, very human, personality. As for George W, Kelefa Sanneh writing for the New Yorker, says, “Will Ferrell played the second President Bush as a cheerful idiot who had been thrown into the deep end; he captured the winsome earnestness of a guy doing the best he can.” While the jury is still out about the benefits of political parodies on people’s political understanding, in my opinion edification of political issues and platforms somehow still results. To me, parodies humanize, instead of demonize, their subjects. Of course, the circumstances and issues portrayed in these comedies are half-truths, but then when do we see the whole truth anyway?

I have heard though a certain sophistication or intelligent level by the audience is needed to truly make political impersonations popular and some may argue that the common Filipino has not attain that level of political maturity. After all, it has to be devastating to a comedian for someone to respond with “I don’t get it” after the punchline is delivered. But is the Filipino audience really unable to appreciate political humor? I am not sure. Just imagine a petite actress playing GMA while she makes her ‘The Lord puts me here” speech, complete with her smirk, the facial mole that rises and falls with each emotional outburst, and the finger-pointing punctuations, would you not hear the roar from the audience? Since I am not familiar with the current line-up of actresses, I wonder who can play her to the T?

There was a movie about the downfall of the Marcos dynasty a number of years back. Made by a North American company, it ended with the ousted Imelda on the evacuation plane singing “New York, New York” to herself, almost like a Verdi aria of a person heading for the gallows. But then this was a serious drama. However, the poignant portrayal of the Marcos downfall seemed such a parable to me about power and its corruption, in addition to my contradictory sympathy for the fallen First Lady. So I thought watching it was worthwhile and educational. I can’t remember now who played Imelda but she was skillful.

So, I ask you again: why is political parody such a rare thing in the Philippine media scene?

Canadian Thanksgiving

While there was much rumbling, most notably the bears tearing down the markets on a global scale, it was good to sit down for a quiet family thanksgiving dinner, with all the trimmings. The FEC presented a thought-provoking concert, with a mezz0-soprano giving us some glorious tunes -- not Brahms, but close enough. Dubbed "He Has My Voice -- Psalms from the Heart." As m.c., I borrowed from theologian Richard Foster, in the middle of the program, with a simple story:
One day a man was walking through a shopping mall with his two-year-old son. The child was in a particularly cranky mood, fussing and fuming. The frustrated father tried everything to quiet his son but nothing seemed to help. The child simply would not obey. Then, under some special inspiration, the father scooped up his son and holding him close to his chest began singing an impromptu love song. None of the words rhymed. He sang off key. And yet, as best he could, this father began sharing his heart. “I love you,” he sang. “I’m so glad you’re my boy. You make me happy. I like the way you laugh.” On and on he sang as they went from one store to another, quietly singing off key and making up words that did not rhyme. The child relaxed and became still, listening to this strange and wonderful song. Finally they finished shopping and went to the car. As the father opened the door and prepared to buckle his son into the car seat the child lifted his head and said simply, “Sing it to me again, Daddy! Sing it to me again.
"I added the following comment as closing:
If you think about it, prayer is like that simple father’s song. So with simplicity of heart, I hope you have allowed yourself to be gathered up into the arms of the Father and let him sing his love song over you.

Unconditional Love

Stella and I were at some friends' house for dinner a few weeks ago. After the wonderful meal, my host excused himself to go pick up his mother and daughter. When he was gone, their pet Maltese waited by the veranda door, eagerly waiting for 'Daddy' (as my host fondly refers to himself to his dog whom he regarded as his son). The dog was transfixed with his eyes gazing out the sliding door, watching the dark street where his master would appear hopefully soon with his van. I noticed how excited the dog got when my friend finally came home, rushing to him, truly like a son anticipating his father's return. This was unconditional love in action I said to myself. Should we be so lucky to have our own children rush to us like that when we walk through the door!

Odysseus and Eumaios converse in front of Odysseus' palace:

Now as these two were conversing thus with each other,
a dog who was lying there raised his head and ears. This was
Argos, patient-hearted Odysseus' dog, whom he himself
raised, but got no joy of him, since before that he went to sacred
Ilium. In the days before, the young men had taken him
out to follow goats of the wild, and deer, and rabbits;
but now he had been put aside, with his master absent,
and lay on the deep pile of dung, from the mules and oxen,
which lay abundant before the gates, so that the servants
of Odysseus could take it to his great estate, for manuring.

There the dog Argos lay in the dung, all covered with dog ticks.
Now, as he perceived that Odysseus had come close to him,
he wagged his tail, and laid both ears back; only
he now no longer had the strength to move any closer
to his master, who, watching him from a distance, without Eumaios
noticing, secretly wiped a tear away, and said to him:

"Eumaios, this is amazing, this dog that lies on the dunghill.
The shape of him is splendid, and yet I cannot be certain
whether he had the running speed to go with this beauty,
or is just one of the kind of table dog that gentlemen
keep, and it is only for show that their masters care for them."

Then, O swineherd Eumaios, you said to him in answer:
"This, it is too true, is the dog of a man who perished
far away..."

So he spoke, and went into the strongly settled palace,
and strode straight on, to the great hall and the haughty suitors.

But the doom of dark death now closed over the dog, Argos,
when, after nineteen years had gone by, he had seen Odysseus.

October things

The morning beckon
With water praying and call of seagull and rook
And the knock of sailing boats on the net webbed wall
Myself to set foot
That second
In the still sleeping town and set forth.
-Dylan Thomas, Poem in October

I suppose the poet Thomas and I have something in common: we're born in the rainy autumn and walked abroad in a shower of all our days. I did my morning walk by the Steveston dock where conversations with sea gulls and sandpipers are unavoidable. Today was particular gloomy, I suppose reminding me that summer and sunshine are over. Like that condemned reading gaol prisoner, I too look wistfully at the sky.

A few more days, my big Six-O and the glee of being able to apply for early CPP benefits. In some places, I might even be entitled to a senior's discount, if not some respect from girl scouts willing to escort me across the terrifying road. I prayed though as I walked, always hopeful that the inward walk was as fruitful as the outward one. This morning, I remembered my father who passed away in 1994. He too dreaded the October wind and the greyness of the Vancouver sky. I recalled the poem I wrote and a tinge of sadness came over me:

This same power that grants me sighs at dawn
Makes me remember his absence
One year aftter he was planted in the greener lawn.
I watch the green blooms in his grave plot
mark busy growth that struggles for the shot.
Under Oceanview are his bones submerged
In a site they named Calvary
Much like the mount of skulls
When Death saw its own abdication
And the Word that sets men free
Dying for him too was my absolution...
The mourning son is brave in his narrow love,
He begs to return to past conversations
In the ancient minutes when his limbs were fresh,
When like sugared, red robbed birds,
His words sprouted wings, although without direction.
The talks were nothing but were seeds of everything -
And mourning seeks the buzzing,
the sound of breathing
Of the familuar mourned.
"But a man is not made for defeat -
A man can be destroyed but not defeated,"
echoed his Hemingway borrowing.
I suppose he is as gentle in his leaving
As he was in his entrance.
The elegy for a father does not lie unsaid.
And the prodigal soon forgets the welcome feast
But retains forever
The gentle echo of his father's voice.