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Cavite
May 26, 2006
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 and runs out of creative oxygen<br />
long before its putative climax. Why? Because <b>the filmmakers have<br />
nothing to say</b>. Rarely has 80 minutes, which includes significant<br />
bookends in the United States, felt this long and tedious. </p>
<p><b>A pseudo-documentary pastiche</b>, <i>Cavite</i> is meant to be a<br />
torturous, labyrinthine death march in which the out-of-frame gunpoint<br />
threat that drives our protagonist also serves as the impetus for his<br />
own personal examination of identity and a larger meditation on the<br />
interconnectedness of poverty and terrorism. The problem is, <b>it’s<br />
utterly false — ornamentally “exotic,” yes, but false</b>; a complete and<br />
slightly condescending narrative jerk-off. Oh — would that the movie<br />
held onto its didacticism on the cultural and economic status of the<br />
Philippines as a result of globalization with more fervor! Instead, <b><i>Cavite</i> is an arbitrarily arranged experience, its preachy <i>bon mots</i><br />
leavened by repetitive, equivocating tough guy talk</b>. Gamazon, too, it<br />
must be said, is not a particularly convincing or compelling guide. He<br />
sweats, squints, huffs and, when dramatic occasion requires, repeats in<br />
the same mock-agitated tones, “Just tell me what the fuck you want!”<br />
Just you to be quiet, quite frankly. <b>(Truly Indie, NR, 80 mins.)</b></p>
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