By:
Paolo Sumayao
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Source:
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There is of course
very little room for a Valeran edifice to be erected right in the middle of
Pasacao's quiet waves, nor the rolling hills of Camarines Sur's middle earth,
but we identify the Pantoned-down story of costumes in this poetic film
starring the Superstar from Iriga(a city known for ostentatious beading on
gowns, but that isn't where our seams are heading). First, coccooned in the
sorrows of a widow's blouse, embroidered to the hilt with detailed lace cut outs
on sleeves as she looks up to Lukas' trifecta of ghosts, we note that this is
the film's key piece: quiet blossoms against a background of sadness. Her dewy
nape, what with the heat of the Pacific sun, informs us that this piece of
clothing was not purchased elsewhere but the segunda mano stores lining the
streets of nineties Naga. We are then taken to canaries and taupes and faded
maizes in outgrown tailoring to remind us of the thinly-veiled intricacies of
provincial life--something that registered on her face everytime a collar tip
falls on the wrong place on her neck, with her hair slightly curling up when
they tough the fabric. And then the high, torrential contrast of chiffon veils
and velvetine religious tailoring on macabre statuettes against a backdrop of
meadows and hills and ricefields would precipitate into post-colonial
discourse, to an indefinite return. "Hinulid" as a film did not in
any way insinuate the musings of a Coleen Atwood nor the accessories of a
Patricia Field, but it sang a song only the old-schooled seamstresses can
sing--that of a sewing machine relentlessly roaring into the night--hauntingly
beautiful, provincially grand.
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