Masquerade (1967)

1967 – Masquerade (BZ Productions/Emar Pictures)

[Release date 31st December 1967]

Director “DLZ”/ Danny L. Zialcita Producer “BZ” Cinematography Mars Rasca Music Demet Velasquez Editor Teofilo de Leon Sound Supervision Luis Reyes Field Soundman Sebastian Sayson Production Manager Max Rivera Assistant Editors Benigno de Leon, Ike Jarlego Jr Assistant Camera Jun Rasca, Arnold Alvaro Unit Manager Emilio Ay-Ay Special Effects Silvano Baligas Makeup Rosita Dizon Stillman Alejandro Forno? Titles Bert Nepomuceno Assistant Director Fred F. Castro Chief Laboratory Technician Johnny Fornoles Printer Simeon Amado

Cast Bernard Bonnin (Philip Monteverde), Marlene Dauden (Veronica de Villa), Liberty Ilagan (Emily Verzosa), Ben Perez, Vic Salayan (Judge Dante Soriano), Alfonso Carvajal, Martin Marfil, Vic Andaya, Maria Hernandez (Matilde Africa), Eddie Arenas, Jack Davis (Jonathan Dreyfus) [also referred to as “Rayfus”], Eddie Fernandez, Perla Bautista, Nancy Roman, Elvie Gonzales, Eddie Mercado, Nel dela Ysla, Baby Alvarez, Paquito Benitez, Douglas Prieto, Bert Asuncion, Bert Samonte

Review by Andrew Leavold

[Special thanks go to SOFIA's Teddy Co and Monchito Nochon for providing a copy of the film, and to Video 48's Simon Santos for the poster and screen captures]

One of my favourite Bollywood films from the Sixties is the 1965 murder mystery Gumnaam, a rip-roaring plundering of Agatha Christie’s Ten Little Indians bathed in saturated Mario Bava-esque lighting and featuring a butler with a Hitler moustache (the late, great comedian Mehmood) and a musical number every twenty minutes. It’s not the first time Dame Agatha’s plot has been adapted by enterprising producers inside and out of the English-speaking film world, as it’s a hoary, occasionally effective device - a group of strangers with hidden pasts are brought together in an isolated environment, and are killed off one by one until the killer is ultimately revealed – which demands limitations budget, cast and locations, often requiring little more than a single studio set. For a competent filmmaker, a considerable amount of tension and any number of unexpected narrative twists can be wrung from meager resources.

Such a filmmaker is former cause celebre Danny L. Zialcita, a writer-director whose career trajectory bears more than a passing resemblance to the revered Celso Ad. Castillo. Both graduated in the public’s mind at some point in the Seventies from gifted, gimmicky populists to genuine auteurs. Like Celso Ad. Castillo, he started in the pulps, directing spy thrillers and lurid bomba dramas; his 1965 debut, a Bond riff titled Lady Killer, kickstarted a whole series by Zialcita which propelled Romano Castellvi to stardom, and he also helmed two popular spy films with Bernard Bonnin as secret agent Hammerhead (Hammerhead and Incognito [both 1967]). And like Celso, his films from the Seventies and Eighties were more of a Happening, in the Sixties’ sense of the word, than just a premiere. Celso’s peak has long passed, and it’s no doubt due in part to his relentless self-promotion that long-unseen films like Nympha (1971) are recalled with such clarity. Not so Zialcita, who only recently emerged after years of self-imposed exile (due, word on the street tells us, to a decades-long drug problem), and whose name continues to slip under the radar of many cineastes.

Masquerade, a 1967 mystery “inspired” by Ten Little Indians, is an odd duck, appearing at a time in Pinoy cinema during an avalanche of spy films, westerns, war films, karate actioners, Hollywood parodies, musical comedies and both teen and mature weepie dramas. Zialcita hides here behind his eponymous “DLZ”, as does the producer “BZ” (a rich relative, perhaps?), and rounds up an impressive cast of top-shelf Pinoy names and character actors to play eight strangers tempted to a masquerade on secluded Diablo Island by an unseen benefactor known only as Mr X, and his enigmatic American proxy Mr Dreyfus (Jack Davis), a strange bird complete with brolly and bowler hat. Hammerhead’s Bonnin plays dashing celebrity and man-of-few-words Philip Monteverde; glamour comes in the comely shapes of Marlene Dauden as the manipulative Vera, and a lovely, if somewhat bedraggled, Liberty Ilagan as boozehound Emily. Veterans Vic Salayan, Alfonso Carvajal, Martin Marfil and Vic Andaya help round out the list of suspects which include a judge, a General, a nightclub singer, a doctor and industrialist playboy. None of them suspect a connection between each other; they are more interested in Mr Dreyfus’ offers of money, women and sport (and for more than one character, the three are inseparable).

As the ferry leaves the island and the eight guests are trapped in a sprawling mansion along with Dreyfus and two bemused servants, they all find themselves unwilling participants in, as one puts it, “a Masquerade…of DEATH!” One suffocates in a glass-topped coffin and another lands a cleaver in the face, while their hidden host plays upon each of their insecurities, suspicions and paranoias. No-one has been judged innocent, it appears, and their killer has stacked eleven funereal wreaths in the basement and published their death notices in the previous week’s newspaper. Eventually the characters are whittled down to just two, and still there’s no sign of an easy resolution. “Who could it be?” demands the narrator, as a ragged yet effective recap of the film’s murders swings the footage into negative stock. “You have been given ample time. Now be prepared for a SHOCK!”

Zialcita attended a 2010 screening of the film’s only surviving print from its distributor, JE Films’ Joseph Estrada, and during a Q&A session afterwards trashed his efforts as “short of rubbish”. I can understand why – I’m sure he prefers the post-bomba films he’s more famous for, in which he had found a far less forced voice, and a maturity in theme, form and technique. On the evolutionary scale of a filmmaker, Masquerade is the showy, self-conscious attempt by a young auteur-in-waiting at breaking out of the restrictions of local story-telling and attempting a more sophisticated, deliberately European-influenced or Welles-ian work. A telling sign is that almost half of the dialogue is spoken in English (delivered at a leaden pace for those less familiar with the language), which immediately sets the film apart from its Tagalog contemporaries. It’s also in the noir-ish lighting from below casting shadows on ceilings, in the deliberate framing, and perspective tricks. The film is certainly impressive for a young director working within such a rigid star system, audience expectations and formulaic genre, but Zialcita’s stylistic ploys are often forced and aggressive, and cry out for attention. It’s far from “rubbish”, however, and Mr Zialcita is either being unnecessarily humble or self-critical to the point of self-immolation. Masquerade is not great and, despite the nods to Welles, can in no way be considered his Citizen Kane. Instead it’s “clever” (and I mean that with no disrespect), zippy and intriguing, and crammed with shadows of films to come.

INTENDED VICTIM #1: Philip Monteverde (Bernard Bonnin)

INTENDED VICTIM #2: Vera/Veronica de Villa (Marlene Dauden)

INTENDED VICTIM #3: Emily Verzosa (Liberty Ilagan)

INTENDED VICTIM #4: Judge Dante Soriano (Vic Salayan)

INTENDED VICTIM #5: Dr Hernando Marquez

INTENDED VICTIM #6: General Dan Moreno

INTENDED VICTIM #7: wealthy playboy Allan Alindogan

INTENDED VICTIM #8: nightclub singer “Rusty”/Rustico

INTENDED VICTIM #9: Jonathan Dreyfus (Jack Davis)

INTENDED VICTIMS #10 & 11: servant couple Telesforo and Matilde Africa (Maria Hernandez)

Pinoy James Bonds: Bernard Bonnin as Hammerhead

1967 – Hammerhead (Bonanza Productions/Puzon Film Exchange)

[Release date 30th May 1967]

Director “DLZ”/Danny Zialcita Music Demet Velasquez

Cast Bernard Bonnin (Hammerhead), Liberty Ilagan, Elsa Bouffard, Leni Trinidad, Vivian Lorrain, Eva Marie, Ben Perez, Eddie Arenas, Johnny Monteiro, Martin Marfil, Flor Bien, Renato del Prado, Eli Salas, Andy Canares, Mario Paje [other sources also list Vera Vargas, Eddie Mercado, Mary Ann Murphy, Bino Garcia]

1967 – Incognito (Zeta Productions/Dan-Sil Productions)

[Release date 4th August 1967]

Director/Story “DLZ”/Danny L. Zialcita Music Demet Velasquez

Cast Bernard Bonnin (Hammerhead), Perla Bautista, Ronald Remy, Timi Yuro, Ben Perez, Eddie Arenas, Nort Nepomuceno

Pinoy James Bonds: Bernard Bonnin as Secret Agent M-1 and Agent 707

1965 – Doble Talim Secret Agent M-1 (Paraiso Productions)

[Release date 31st October 1965]

Director/Story Felix Villar Screenplay Eliseo S. Corcuerra Producer Moises U. Lim Music Restie Umali

Cast Bernard Bonnin (Secret Agent M-1), Stella Suarez, Rosalinda, Ramon D'Salva, Charlie Davao, Jose Garcia, “Bert”/Roberto Gonzales, Gabby Paile, Perry Baltazar, Silvio Ramiro, Ben Manalo, Abelardo Dacer, Joe Canlas, Ben Licup, Darmo Orbase, Mike Lozano, Fernando Marin, Gorgonio 'Dagul' Se, Vic Evangelista, Rico Del Mundo

1965 – Karate Sa Karate (BB Productions/Tagalog Ilang-Ilang Productions)

[Release date 20th July 1965]

Director George E. Rowe Producer Bernard Bonnin Music Polding Silos

Cast Bernard Bonnin (Agent 707), Alberto Alonzo (Agent 69), Lyn D'Amour, Bessie Barredo, Ely Ramos Jr, Johnny Stuart, Margie Tanquintic, Vic Silaya, Max Alvarado, Lorretta Rocco, Jose Garcia, Jose Vergara, Philipp Coo, Eddie Baydo, Carlito Varca, Joe Cunanan, Ben Datu, SOS Daredevils, Gorgonio 'Dagul' Se

Synopsis (from the Filmography of Philippine Films 1959-1989): “The ultimate karate technique known as ‘atemi-uchi-kudaki’ meaning ‘karate attack to pulverize’ is brought to the screen by Bonnin and Alonzo in the roles of Agent 707 and Agent 69 respectively.”

1965 – Lambat (Dragnet) (BB Productions)

[Release date 12th February 1966]

Director/Story George E. Rowe Music Polding Silos

Cast Bernard Bonnin (Agent 707), Von Serna, Jose Vergara, Rocco Montalban, Alona Alegre, Alberto Alonzo (Agent 69), Johnny Monteiro (Franco Castro), Abelardo Dacer, Darmo Orbase, Tiva Lava, Mike Lozano, Jimmy Roldan, Boy Estrella, Gorgonio 'Dagul' Se, Erning Almanza, Danny Medel, Leo Longalong, Roger Dado, Eduardo Rodriguez, SOS Daredevils, Carlito Varga, Eddie Baydo, Rolando Varga, Luz Angeles

Synopsis (from the Filmography of Philippine Films 1959-1989): “Revolves around the search for a smuggled diamond believed to have been hidden in an island resort.”

The following Bernard Bonnin film MAY be an Agent 707 movie…

1967 - Clandestine (Adroit Productions)

[Release date unknown]

Director Ruben Abalos

Cast Bernard Bonnin (Agent 707?), Liberty Ilagan, Eddie Fernandez, Alona Alegre

The Arizona Kid (1970)

1970 - The Arizona Kid (Premiere Productions)

[Philippines release date 5th September 1970; filmed in the US and Spain, and released in Italy as “I Fratelli Di Arizona”]

Director/Story Luciano B. Carlos Producer Cirio H. Santiago Screenplay Lino Brocka Cinematography Felipe Sacdalan Music Restie Umali Lyrics Levi Celerio Editor Ben Barcelon Sound Engineer Demetrio de Santos Sound Effects Tony Gozalves Assistant Director Jose Angel Santos Pa? Production Chief Valentin Panero S? Production Manager Manuel Sanchez Script Girl Olga Muller Liason Man Jose Panero San? Cameraman Felix Miron Martinez Assistant Cameraman Ramon Plana Excurre Stillman Claudio Gomel Grau Makeup Artist Francisco Ramon Ferrer Hairdresser Manuela Domenech Casting Director Adolfo Cofino

Cast Chiquito (Ambo, the Arizona Kid), Mamie Van Doren (Sharon Miller), Gordon Mitchell (Coyote), Mariela Branger (Ramona), Bernard Bonnin (Leonardo), Cass Martin, Dan van Husen, Víctor Israel, Ralphy Arando, John Mark, Felipe Silano, Gene Reyes, Tony Brandt, Vicente Roja, Pilar “Vela”/Velázquez, Ramón Serrano, Zaldo Moreno, Marciato? Revilla, Modesto Cuadra?

Todd Stadtman’s review from his Die, Danger, Die, Die, Kill! blog:

Calling The Arizona Kid a “Filipino Spaghetti Western” might seem a little glib, but, honestly, I can’t think of a more accurate way to describe it. The film -- which sees the unlikely pairing of famed Pinoy exploitation producer Cirio H. Santiago with a script co-written by Lino Brocka, the man who would go on to become the Philippines’ most internationally recognized art house auteur -- seems to consciously strive to combine the Filipino penchant for broad comedy and melodrama with all of the most distinctive markers of the typical Italian oater of its day.

To begin with, there is the movie’s international cast, a must-have for any Spaghetti Western. Probably the most telling inclusion here is that of Gordon Mitchell. One of many American born actors who made their living in Italian genre cinema during the boom years of the 60s and 70s, Mitchell started out in Peplums and, by the time of making The Arizona Kid, had become a mainstay in European Westerns, often -- as is the case here -- playing bad guy roles. Further adherence to the Italo-Western norm is evidenced by the presence in the cast of a post-expiration-date, minor U.S. star, in this case 50s B-Movie bombshell Mamie Van Doren. And rounding out the film’s assemblage of low wattage, non-Filipino star power is former Miss Venezuela -- and 1967 Miss Universe runner-up -- Mariela Branger as our heroine.

Of course, The Arizona Kid’s most prominent roles are reserved for players from the home country. Thus we get a lead performance from Chiquito, a man who holds a place alongside the likes of Dolphy and Panchito as one of The Philippines’ most beloved screen comedians. And to carry out the more traditionally heroic duties there’s Bernard Bonnin, a popular action star who first made his mark as the hero of a series of films based on the exploits of the Diabolik-like Filipino comic book character Palos.

But The Arizona Kid’s bid for Spaghetti Western cred doesn’t end with its casting. Composer Restie Umali provides a score rich with insistent strings and strident guitar strumming, and there is also the requisite use of Spanish locations as a stand-in for the American West. It is this last, I think, that has lead some to describe the film as either an Italian or Spanish co-production, even though my feeling is that that’s not the case. Aside from the sequences shot in those Spanish locales -- as well, reportedly, as some actually shot in Arizona -- the majority of the film appears to have been filmed on sound stages back in the Philippines, with Pacific Islanders standing in for Mexican villagers. In any case, it’s clear that said location shooting constituted a dear enough expense to Santiago’s Premiere Productions that they wanted to get the absolute most out of it for their money, as the film suffers from a few overlong establishing shots and instances of the camera sticking with a rider’s traverse across the horizon far longer than necessary. You could literally take a brief nap and wake to find the journey still in progress.

Despite all of this, there is one, I think very Filipino way in which The Arizona Kid departs significantly from the Spaghetti Western formula. Whereas the majority of such films strove for either a vague feeling of “American-ness”, or, at least, a limbo-like non-specificity in terms of place and nationality, The Arizona Kid exploits to the hilt its star and protagonist’s identity both as a Filipino and an outsider in the film’s turn-of-the-century American setting. Here Chiquito plays Ambo, a cheerful, fresh-off-the-boat immigrant from the Islands who arrives in San Francisco with hopes of reuniting with his uncle. Unfortunately, Ambo learns that his uncle has since moved on to Mexico, and so must make the long stage journey across the border -- along with some white fellow passengers who regard him as if he were some kind of entirely new, and completely distasteful, life-form. (“What nationality are you”, they wonder. “Chinese?” “Japanese?” Once given an answer, it turns out that none of them has even heard of the Philippines.)

After the stagecoach is robbed and all of Ambo’s money is taken, he’s left by the coach driver to fend for himself. He finds shelter in a small border town, which he soon learns is being terrorized by the bandit Coyote (Mitchell). Don Jose, the kindly cantina owner who has taken Ambo in, has put the call out for a legendary gun-for-hire by the name of the Arizona Kid, in hope that the gunfighter will not only aid in the fight against Coyote, but also embolden the timid townsfolk to take up arms in their own defense. Unfortunately, while being escorted into town by Ambo, village belle Ramona (Branger) and dashing Leonardo (Bonnin), the Arizona Kid is quite handily dispatched by Coyote’s men in an ambush.

So what to do? Inform the townspeople of The Arizona Kid’s death, and thusly dash their last hope of having their sorrows lifted? Or should a stand-in for the gunslinger be found? Perhaps even a comically mismatched one who not only has no inclination to fight, but who could make no plausible claim to being from anywhere even remotely near Arizona? (Note: There will be no prize for answering correctly.) Another newcomer in town, the buxom ranch owner Sharon Miller (Van Doren), has ideas on the matter, and while Ambo -- gentle and carefree soul that he is -- is not entirely on board with things, it seems Sharon need only aim her el grande boobs in his direction to at least temporarily gain his acquiescence.

In the version of The Arizona Kid that I watched, all of the supporting players spoke or were dubbed in English (in Van Doren’s case, in the disconcertingly shrill tones of a Talking Tina doll), while Chiquito spoke all of his lines either in pure Tagalog or with a mixture of fragmented English (i.e. “Taglish”). I guess it’s possible that there exists an “international” version in which his dialogue is also dubbed in English, though it’s hard to imagine how that would work. While the film’s story is easy enough to follow as is, most of its humor derives from the misunderstandings generated by the language gap between Ambo and his English, Spanish and, at one point, Chinese speaking co-stars. (For one thing, everyone seems to assume that he is speaking their language.) The result is that, while the English-only viewer can easily engage with the simple cowboy movie plot, the film’s language-based humor is such that it can likely only be appreciated by a speaker of Tagalog. And this is not to mention the movie’s other “culture clash” based riffs, such as Ambo’s coach-mates highly displeased reaction to the fragrant pot of bagoong that he’s got secreted away in his luggage.

Now, as any regular reader of this blog knows, the Filipinos love their spoofs, and have certainly lampooned the Western genre on more than a few occasions. Given that, I think I need to make clear that The Arizona Kid is indeed, for the most part, a straight forward Western, albeit one with comedic elements, and not a parody. At least for the first hour or so, the character of Ambo is presented in a plausible, if broad, manner, with the instances of humor arising naturally out of his circumstances. In fact, the air of merriment that the film weaves around Ambo’s ability to create confusion in all around him -- merely by being himself -- comes across more than anything else as a gleeful expression of pride in the peculiarity of Filipino culture. Meanwhile, the traditional Western elements of the story unfold in about as grim and violent a manner as you might expect from the real Spaghetti Western article, with wild eyed and blood thirsty villains praying on the innocent, and bloody vengeance being sworn in return.

Sadly, The Arizona Kid ultimately disrupts this delicate balance, and tips the scales just a bit too far in the direction of comedy during its final act. Ambo’s sudden transformation from gentle innocent to cowardly reluctant gunfighter results in him becoming a tiresome caricature -- and his constant cries of “me no like!” are borderline offensive. Even more disappointing, the final showdown with Coyote ends up being played for laughs despite a sustained dramatic buildup. Still, The Arizona Kid is an odd and interesting film -- perhaps even more so than I initially thought, since I ended up writing a lot more about it than I had planned. There definitely seems to be a war going on within it between the rote and the thoughtful -- to the extent that one could probably make of it several very different films (which in fact might have indeed been the case). Yet there is something singular in its combination of elements, no matter how clangorous their coming together, and that alone is enough to grant it some value.