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Barung, swords made in Mindanao. Photo by Jay Ignacio.

History tells us that when Ferdinand Magellan sailed onto these shores in 1521 not all the natives who would later be called Filipinos were impressed at his global circumnavigation project. Nor were they lining up to get baptized. Instead of saying “Mabuhay!” and hanging garlands of sampaguitas around the foreigners’ necks, the tribal chieftain Lapu-Lapu said “Hell, no”, except that being pagan he was not burdened with visions of souls getting stir-fried in subterranean ovens by cackling demons.

Magellan, thinking he was invincible because all the other native chiefs had thrown parties for him, announced that he would teach this Lapu-Lapu a lesson. That didn’t happen. Lapu-Lapu and his warriors beat Magellan’s troops so hard the survivors fled back to Spain and reported that their captain had been eaten by a giant fish. Seriously, why is the first Filipino hero named for a fish (or the fish named after him, with the same effect)? How are we going to instill respect and awe when the mention of his name makes people think of a delicious escabeche in sweet and sour sauce?

Going back to the Battle of Mactan, some believe that Lapu-Lapu and his warriors used the Filipino martial art called arnis to vanquish the Spanish invaders. This information is unverified, but so are the facts in the life of Lapu-Lapu. It is certainly not implausible.

Filipino Martial Arts Grandmaster Dan Inosanto taught Bruce Lee how to use nunchaku. That is beyond awesome. Photo by Jay Ignacio.

The Filipino Way of Whoopass appears in my column, Wide World of Pain, in the November issue of Esquire. It’s somewhere in the middle pages. If a table of contents exists we could not find it.

You deep-thinking types will probably say Vertigo. How could we not love Vertigo when its hero is a raving neurotic? As the raving neurotic: Jimmy Stewart—icon of decency and old-fashioned family values. Kim Novak has never looked more beautiful, and neither has the city of San Francisco. For the upteenth time here’s the Chris Marker essay on Vertigo.

Frames from Film Quarterly

You might say North by Northwest. How could we not love North by Northwest when it stars Cary Grant in one of his finest performances? Cary on a train with mysterious blonde Eva Marie Saint, Cary being chased by a small plane, Cary in a fight right on the faces of Mount Rushmore: happiness. We adore Cary Grant, he is perfect; his imperfections only make him more perfect. Hitchcock remarked that Cary was the only man he’d ever loved; we relate totally, for we look upon George Clooney and are seized by disappointment. Here for the upteenth time is that Pauline Kael essay on Cary Grant. Kael! Grant! We are aplotz.

A portion of 1000 Frames of North by Northwest

There are too many candidates: Psycho—the definition of “twisted”, Rear Window—Grace Kelly is right in Jimmy Stewart’s face and all he wants to see is the neighbor’s apartment, Strangers On A Train—the “hero” is a tennis player competing at the US Open!, Notorious—Don’t drink the milk!!! We have a special affection for The 39 Steps, described at length in The Catcher in the Rye, and Spellbound—Gregory Peck sweating at fork tracks on a tablecloth.

But our favorite Hitchcock, the one we watch on long weekends, is The Lady Vanishes.

It is everything we want a movie to be: light and frothy on the surface, dark and menacing beneath. Ooh there’s a column.

You can watch The Lady Vanishes at the Internet Archive.