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Tom! Tilda! Jim Jarmusch!

Vampire enthusiasts, this is a Jim Jarmusch movie, so whatever you expect, that’s probably not going to happen.

In the months that followed, we couldn’t get Otso out of our minds. What the hell was that, and why did we like it? We know that it’s about the writing process, but who is the writer? Is it Lex, the Fil-American aspiring scriptwriter played by Vince Tañada (who actually co-wrote the screenplay of Otso)? Is it Brent (Gabby Bautista), Lex’s bright and nosy 10-year-old neighbor who critiques his script-in-progress? Is it Alice Lake, the seemingly all-knowing owner of the building who also happens to be the actress Anita Linda (and is played by the actual Anita Linda, whose real name is Alice Lake)? And when she tells Lex, “You don’t have a mother, but I have played mother to Fernando Poe, Jr, Joseph Estrada, Nora Aunor and Vilma Santos, and I can be your mother…” is she just being a batty old lady, or is she giving us the key to crack the code of Otso?

Read our Best Filipino Films of 2013 series at InterAksyon.com.

Movie #5 was Breakfast at Tiffany’s, our umpteenth viewing. Movie #6 was Take the Money and Run, also our umpteenth viewing.

This review was inspired by Monsterpiece Theatre’s stunning production of Me, Claudius.

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Me, Cookie Monstress, watch Me, Frankenstein for one reason: Aaron Eckhart. Harrum-nom-nom-nom. Aaron Eckhart, best known for Two-Face, brilliant at playing super-articulate assholes (In the Company of Men, Thank You For Smoking) and he have granite-y handsomeness me love. Aaron look like Nikolaj Coster Waldau, me think they twins. Me still mad he not punch anyone in the face in stupid White House attack movie Olympus Has Fallen. Why? Why?

No, wait. Me have other reason for watching Me, Frankenstein. We in Church of Whedon love demon-slaying and angels vs demons stuff like the one with Viggo Mortensen as Lucifer. Cookie! Me not watch Underworld movies but the makers of those bake this one, too. Instead of vampires fighting werewolves, gargoyles fighting demons. Original!

Aaron Eckhart play Frankenstein’s creature in 21st century. For someone 195 years old and stitched together from parts of eight corpses, him hot! Mmmm, six-pack. He not eat cookies, me think. In case you finicky, creature’s dad is Frankenstein so that his name, too. Frankenstein monster delicious as long as no smell of putrefaction. Me hate that.

Demons in suits led by Bill Nighy out to get him so they can figure out reanimation technology. Why they need that, demons have no powers? Gargoyles led by Eowyn of Rohan try to stop them. Yes, scary statues in cathedrals are really forces of good. Gargoyle general is son of Bruce Willis in crap Die Hard in Russia. Mmmm, cookie! Demons can be destroyed with sacred objects like swords with gargoyle sigil or holy water.

Me ask: Why not bombard demons with holy water cannon? Oh right, this dumb movie. But fun! in bananas way. Mmm, bananas. Me like bananas but me like cookies more. There should be Aaron Eckhart cookies and Nikolaj Coster Waldau cookies.

Me recommend Me, Frankenstein if you like Aaron Eckhart, Nikolaj Coster Waldau, demon-slaying and popcorn with extra butter. And cookies. Sesame Street, please don’t sue me. Mary Shelley, maybe you should sue Me, Frankenstein but creature in public domain. Oh right, it’s Frahnkensteen!

First, call out sexism in red carpet coverage.

Then demonstrate certain qualities of awards season.

Althea Vega is the star of the Cinemalaya historical sex-drama Amor y Muerte, and of Metro Manila, the British-Filipino production which was the Audience Favorite at Sundance, and Best Film at the British Independent Film Awards.

Yesterday we had coffee with Althea and Amor y Muerte director Ces Evangelista and AD Arman Reyes. We had requested a dvd screener for Amor, which we’re pitching to the Far East Film Festival in Udine, Italy (in the distant event they consider our suggestion). Of course we’re fans of Althea, a powerful screen presence; we think she could have a good career in foreign films (think Tetchie Agbayani).

We figured that with all the attention and awards Metro Manila has garnered abroad, Althea would already have an agent in Europe and the US. It turns out that she hasn’t had a chance to tour with the movie—she hasn’t been to a single film festival outside of Cinemalaya. Our indie filmmaker friends travel with their movies, and they’ve explained that festivals usually invite the directors and defray their airline and hotel expenses. The bigger events will invite actors and crew, but for the most part costs are shouldered by the producers and Metro Manila is a low-budget indie.

“But I’m going to the BAFTAs (the British Academy Awards, their Oscars) next month!” Althea announced. The awards ceremony will be held on February 16.

“That’s great!” we said. Metro Manila is nominated in the Film Not in the English Language category.

“Who are you wearing?” asked Chus.

Designer Ito Curata is very kindly sponsoring Althea’s gown for the Baftas. “I had to buy my own ticket to the awards night,” Althea said. “It cost 810 pounds (Php60,376 at today’s exchange rate)! Luckily, I had commissions coming in.” Althea is a real estate agent, a flamenco dancer, and a martial arts practitioner.

“You bought your own ticket to the Baftas?” we chorused.

“Yes, I really want to go,” she said. The girl is obviously thrilled.

Ordinarily if someone says they’re going to the Academy Awards, the first thing we would do is help design a catapult to launch them at Tom Hiddleston or Michael Fassbender. However, there were more pressing issues to consider.

“You’re not part of the official delegation for Metro Manila?”

“No.”

“So you’re not sitting with (director) Sean Ellis and company.”

“No, I’m far from the stage. Up in the balcony. But I’m so excited!”

“If you’re not with the group, then you’re not walking the red carpet,” we said. “You’re going a long way, you can’t sit in the back. You’re the star of an acclaimed movie! You have to walk the red carpet and get photographed.” (Clearly we were more stressed than she was. Yes, we do this a lot: interfere in other people’s lives.)

“You have your visa, plane ticket, hotel booking?” Chus asked.

“Yes,” Althea said. She didn’t have an official invitation from London, but she collected news features and reviews of Metro Manila and submitted them with her visa application. Smart.

“Okay, please message Sean Ellis and ask him to include you in their group.”

“Good idea,” she said, reaching for her phone.

“Who’s doing your make-up and hair for the BAFTAs?” Chus demanded.

“I’m doing them myself.”

“Do you have friends in London who can arrange photo shoots and interviews? As long as you’re there, might as well get some coverage. Hand out your portfolio or something. People love your movie.”

“Well…I have one friend there, but she’s not in show business…”

So there’s the situation. Althea Vega is going to the British Academy Awards on her own. She doesn’t need financial aid—the girl kicks ass—but she needs help to make a little noise while she’s in London, to get recognized for her work, and to get some really cool red carpet photos with Cate Blanchett, Leonardo DiCaprio, everybody.

We’re calling on our friends and readers in London, their friends, the friends of their friends, to drum up support for Althea—media coverage, styling, public appearances, introductions to agents, even a simple mention on Facebook and Twitter.

Let’s get Althea Vega to the BAFTAs in style.

Please post your suggestions/ideas in Comments or email us at saffron.safin@gmail.com and we’ll relay your messages to Althea.

How compelling is Martin Scorsese’s latest film The Wolf of Wall Street? We opinionated, slightly mouthy people (pilosopo) went to see it—and it shut us up. (Also there was a pretty good audience for a weekday afternoon and we couldn’t really talk.)

The Wolf of Wall Street—not for nothing is its acronym WOWS—is so big, loud and outrageous, we can imagine Scorsese telling DiCaprio: “Leo, I saw The Great Gatsby. You were good, but the movie…too subtle. Too small.” The Wolf of Wall Street could be a re-imagining of The Great Gatsby, if Daisy Buchanan were a stash of Quaaludes.

It’s supposed to be a biopic of Jordan Belfort, the stock-swindling, money-laundering, securities-defrauding, mega-whoring scam artist whose crimes had inspired an earlier movie, The Boiler Room. A huge subject for sure, given the protagonist’s legendary excesses and mass consumption of drugs, but too small for Scorsese’s purposes.

Marty—we’re presumptuous—is in an odd position: he has to out-Scorsese all his cinematic spawn, including Paul Thomas Anderson, Quentin Tarantino and David O. Russell (whose American Hustle is practically Goodfellas). So instead of telling the tale of one criminal, he makes a satire about a land of opportunity, where you can be anything you want to be if you have the stones and an On/Off switch on your scruples, and where making money is the religion, as we are reminded every time Belfort addresses his troop of stockbrokers like an old-time preacher. “Stratton Oakmont (Belfort’s company) is America,” he declares. You can’t get much clearer than that.

No wonder Wolf was placed in the Comedy or Musical category at a recent awards show. It’s wildly, hysterically funny, and its cast is in take no prisoners mode. Leonardo DiCaprio throws himself into the Belfort role—literally—and reveals unsuspected skills in physical comedy. He’s hilarious. His scenes with Jonah Hill as his cohort Donnie Azoff just blow up the screen. Watch for the bravura sequence involving quaaludes, a Ferrari, a telephone and some ham.

Matthew McConaughey appears early on as Belfort’s mentor Mark Hanna—when did he get this brilliant? We call him a talentless hack, and then he steals Magic Mike and delivers a series of excellent performances that might lead to one or two Oscars this year. Margot Robbie comes on very strong as the antihero’s wife, Jean Dujardin is the perfect sleazy Swiss lawyer, and Joanna Lumley holds the copyright on fabulous.

Working with cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto and frequent music collaborator Robbie Robertson, Scorsese evokes the pumped-up, coke-addled, testosterone-fueled insanity of the boiler room where aspiring masters of the universe con regular people out of their hard-earned money. Later, they adopt the posh name and target rich people. As Hanna teaches Belfort, nobody knows why stocks rise and fall, the thing is to sell the hell out of them.

This is a movie that makes the viewer ask, “Am I on drugs?” Belfort and his crew are high on drugs, sex and money, and when they come down they don’t have existential crises. That would require more depth than their three thousand dollar suits (in 90s prices) can contain.

It’s impossible to watch Wolf and American Hustle and The Blue Jasmine without connecting them to the frauds, failures and abuses that broke the global economy. Why target the small operators like himself, Belfort asks FBI Special Agent Denham (the ever-reliable Kyle Chandler), when Lehman Brothers, Goldman Sachs and other big players were collateralizing debts? Belfort is no good guy by any stretch of the imagination, but in a world where money rules, what’s illegal?