The Great O’hara
Supreme remembers Mario O'hara (1946-2012), respected writer, inimitable director, and one of the most important figures in Philippine cinema.
He was seated in front of us, inside one of the many rooms at the Cultural Center of the Philippines. Mario O’hara, respected writer of most of Lino Brocka’s greatest works, inimitable director of such classics as Tatlong Taong Walang Diyos and Fatima Buen Story, outstanding thespian, and arguably one of the most
important figures in Philippine cinema — he was there in front of us, convincing us to greenlight
his next film entitled
Henerala.
I was then part of the committee that gave grants to filmmakers wanting to make films, and I was ashamed to be in the unjust position of listening to the great O’hara explain why his proposal would make a good film. I was already convinced then. Henerala could have been a masterpiece, the one film that painted heroic Gabriela Silang — always seen angry while mounted on her even-angrier steed — as a sensual human being who was horny for and madly in love with Diego. Still, there I was, listening to him as he animatedly serenaded us with what the film that would now never be made could have been.
TOO SOON
The great O’hara was taken from us too soon. At age 68, while the entire country was steadfastly praying for Dolphy, he quietly said farewell. It is quite amazing how he died the same way he magnanimously lived his life, just there, quiet in the background. While Lino Brocka was being praised everywhere, while Nora Aunor was amassing legions of fans, O’hara, an Adamson graduate in a country that was dazzled by the liberal geniuses of the State University and the conservative wisdom of Ateneo, was just humbly working, churning out masterpiece after masterpiece with hardly a sense of the acclaim those masterpieces should have garnered for him. Sure, he was championed and earned the respect that he deserved. However, he never became a celebrity, or even a figurehead. He did not need it. He only needed to work.
His films are never personal vi--
sions. They never felt trapped in a world that he and the people who knew him
inhabited. His films were either artful crowd-pleasers or relatable art pieces. They evolved whenever the audience or the market evolved. In the ‘70s and ‘80s, when the Philippines was busy struggling under the dictatorship, he wrote Insiang and directed
Bagong Hari , showing a world of characters that struggled even harder. In the ‘90s, when the only
films that could compete with Hollywood were children's fantasies and soft pornography, he gave us Johnny Tinoso and the Proud Beauty, Manananggal in Manila,
and Sisa, which featured a Sisa who had breasts the size of melons.
HE PUT PINOYS BACK IN CANNES
He made Babae sa Breakwater, which brought the Philippines back to Cannes after decades of absence. Ang Paglilitis ni Andres Bonifacio had him experimenting with digital cinematography and the result was more than exhilarating. When the country decided to leave the cinemas for the comforts of their homes, he directed Sa Ngalan ng Ina, a television series that not only heralded Aunor's return to Philippine show business but also showcased the artistic capabilities of television, which most local networks could never imagine because they are too busy pandering to the stupidity they have cultivated.
The characters that O'Hara wrote and gave life to were never heroes or villains; they were imperfect human beings victimized by circumstance. The Japanese soldier who raped a village girl of
Tatlong Taong Walang Diyos is capable of real love. The baby-faced killer of Bagong Hari graduates from his violent encounters as a hero. The leper he played in Brocka's Tinimbang Ka Ngunit Kulang is the film’s most tragically human figure. The unfortunate dwellers of the breakwater in Babae sa Breakwater had joie de vivre the most fortunate of us can never even imagine. The courageous founder of the Katipunan in Ang Paglilitis ni Andres Bonifacio had the humanity to cry and beg for his life.
O'Hara's astute understanding of our collective imperfections is laudable. He had no qualms about breaking perceptions, defying conventions, shocking conservative sensibilities, to point out that the weaknesses that are only part and parcel of our being only made in the likeness of God are not something to be masked or hidden but
exposed and expressed in film and fiction.
A FAREWELL
After his pitch, O'hara said his farewell and uneventfully exited the room. I could not help it. I had to excuse myself. Like a rabid fan, I rushed towards O'hara and awkwardly attempted to start a conversation. “Hi, Mario, I am a big fan. I thought Ang Paglilitis ni Andres
Bonifacio was absolutely great.” That was all I could say. In my mind, I wanted to probe his creative processes, I wanted to ask so many questions, I wanted to die out of sheer embarrassment of being put in a position a few minutes ago that I didn't deserve. But sadly, those short and uncreatively constructed sentences were all that my brain could process to deliver to my mouth. Embarrassed, he laughed and politely said thank you. He then asked me where the nearest restroom was. I pointed him towards the one beside the gift shop. He again smiled at me and whisked away towards the restroom. I then returned to the one of the many rooms at the Cultural Center of the Philippines, ready to hear a dozen more pitches. Henerala would eventually get the green-light, but because of lack of investors, he could not make it. I guess we just live in such an unjust, unfair world.
Mario O'hara had to pee. He also had to die. He was human after all. In fact, there was so much humanity in him, his works radiate with it.
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