Bravo and farewell, Ms. Jaclyn Jose

THERE was only one personal encounter I remember of Ms. Jaclyn Jose, and this was during the Gawad Urian of 2017. As usual, the night was much-awaited for the competition among the nominees for Best Film (there were two dark horses: Eduardo Roy Jr.’s Pamilya Ordinaryo and Sheron Dayoc’s Women of the Weeping River, with the latter getting the top prize). But in this land, there is a more awaited moment—the declaration of the year’s Best Actress. That night, it was made more special because in contention were some of the stellar performers in the industry, with Jaclyn Jose leading the pack for her memorable title role as Ma’ Rosa, the character that brought her the reputation of being the first Southeast Asian and Filipino actress to win the Palme d’ Or from Cannes.

We were all absorbed with the preparation at the ABS-CBN theater when I heard the voice of Gigi Alfonso, one of the Manunuri, greet someone with a surprised “Hi Jane. What happened?” We all turned around and saw the lovely Jaclyn Jose, elegant but her (was it the left or the right?) arm in a sling. “I was afraid I would be late,” she said while speaking in that lazy drawl of hers how she fell down and everything. That night, the rumor was brewing that she would get the Gawad Urian for Best Actress. She would not win—hasmine Kilip, relatively unknown, would get the nod from what pundits have always described as the “unpredictable” Manunuris—but many would remember her for being a trouper that she was known for and would be known by many.

By the time I saw her in Jun Lana’s Kalel. I was already an admirer of her acting style that has been caricatured so often that many already started believing what the impersonators and copycats were doing. And yet, in Kalel, you don’t see any trace of the so-called “non-acting acting” of hers; what you would witness is this brisk essaying of the character of a woman, a mother who has been through all sadness and scandals that she might as well breeze through life with the bravado of a thug. She was terrifying as the mother of this boy who hid an affliction that had wrongly been stigmatized.

In Kalel, Gigi Alfonso writes: “Jaclyn Jose is as usual effective as the mother who wants a life of her own, quite outstanding in the family drinking bonding scene and consistently believable with effortless performance to push the narrative forward.”

Jaclyn Jose was always an excellent actor. There is a big difference though between effortlessness and the much vaunted but simplistic description of her approach to characters by way of a one-note inflection or an almost tepid recitativo. She is more than that; she was more than that.

It is quite unfair that when we talk of the art of acting according to Jaclyn Jose, we are limiting ourselves to the dark although excellent portrayals she did for films in the latter years. We neglect to recall the filmic excursions she was part of in the ‘80s when she entered the scene and left it with her indelible mark as a thespian.

Her debut was through films defined as “adult dramas,” a genre she would excel in for two exceptional reasons: she had the body for it and she possessed the soul to create the depth that would make those performances that had been the hallmark of merely bodies beautiful both singular and remarkable. For example, there was William Pascual’s Chicas and Chito Roño’s Private Show. She would secure a FAMAS Awards nomination for the latter. The next year, 1985, she would be Lino Brocka’s star in White Slavery, a role that would call the attention of the Manunuri. She would be nominated for that film. It was in 1986, though, in the film called Takaw Tukso, that she would get her first Gawad Urian for Best Actress.

Her “adult” personality would gradually fade; she was just one of the best actors there was in the country. The period would see Jaclyn Jose being paired with some of the best actresses in the industry. You almost get this feeling, she was being pitted against the declared best but in reality the other big actresses were being tested against her presence, her undeniably exciting volatility onscreen rarely seen in other performers.

Thus, we see her with Gina Alajar and, predictably, with Nora Aunor in many films. In her last film, Adolf Alix’s Pieta, she is with the two actors, presences that have become a memorial, a gift to cinema.

But let us go back to her recent past. Her versatility is in full display in the oft-forgotten and underrated Mulanay (with Alajar) where as the doctor to the rural area, she introduced us to an idealist whose gumption and sense of humor carried her through the tragedy of underdevelopment and poverty. Without being facetious, Jaclyn Jose must be in her prettiest in this film, the sparkle in those eyes not even preparing us for the hot mama she would become in future, bleaker undertakings as she stepped short at the gates of hell, in films like Emmanuel de la Cruz’s Sarong Banggi and Brillante Mendoza’s Serbis. She won her Gawad Urian for Best Actress in Sarong Banggi.

It is, however, as the mistress of Flor Contemplacion’s husband that people would talk about Jaclyn Jose’s famous delivery of lines as she meets up with Nora Aunor, who plays Flor, on a rice paddy. And yet people forget that it is not her “declamation” that deserves a citation here but in those charismatically awkward gestures—they are fragile, minute dances of the body—as she retreats from the frame to give way to the real wife confronting the erring husband. It is a brief confrontation that, to the credit of Joel Lamangan and Jaclyn Jose, did not redound to a vulgar fight but painted the portrait of a defeated other woman. It is so stunningly embedded in filmic consciousness that it easily becomes a chamber theater for comedians.

But in the end, while there are others who continue to reduce her legacy to a quirky acting skill, we can only remember in awe of this persona being described as down-to-earth—a vulnerable, beautiful soul, selfless and devoid of any trappings celebrities cannot live without.

Victor Kaiba Villanueva, who directed Jaclyn in Patay na si Hesus, a turn that showed further her range, recalls how Jaclyn and he would argue a lot over a few scenes all because she was always thinking of how to create her character. Victor also said they were planning a reunion but that would, of course, never happen anymore. “I miss her dearly...i owe a great part of my career to her...” were the words from the young filmmaker.

We all will miss her. Jaclyn Jose was a gem—a star—and our firmament has grown a bit dimmer with her passing. To quote her daughter, Andi Eigenmann, her mother’s obra maestra is her life. By this and more, she will be unforgettable. n