The First Impulse

by Laurel Flores Fantauzzo

The First Impulse is about the still-unsolved murder of Filipino-Canadian film critic Alexis Tioseco and his girlfriend, Slovenian film critic and magazine editor Nika Bohinc, as retold by Laurel Fantauzzo.

This book recounts the love and life of Alexis and Nika, the circumstances surrounding their murder in September 2009, the investigations, and what happened for the people related to the couple before and after the incident, aside from some commentary on the Philippine film industry.

Genres: Nonfiction, Asian Literature

Paperback

First published December 1, 2016

Reviews

[Spens (Sphynx Reads) · Rating 3 out of 5]

Disclaimer: I received a complimentary copy from Anvil Publishing in exchange for an honest review.

I have many complicated feelings about this book, so I shall attempt to simplify them into two parts: the first half of the book made me uncomfortable, but the second half is quite compelling.

Much of my experience of the first half left me with so many questions. Why did the author feel the call to tell Alexis and Nika's story? And was she the right person to tell it? These are questions the author herself grapples with later on in the book. Perhaps it's because I understand very little of her relationship with the Tioseco family, but from what I've read, something about the telling of Alexis and Nika's story felt quite invasive. My impression of their lives as told in this book is that they enjoyed relative peace prior to their murders, but they could not rest in that peace not just because of a failed justice system but because of a book that felt cluttered with personal anecdotes and reflections on their lives.

It's as if a stranger decided to take the liberty to tell the story of someone who, beyond a shared ethnic identity, they did not have a relationship or any sort of real affinity with, and added numerous inserts of what might have been and what could have been.

But the second half redeems this book somewhat. I initially felt some measure of cynicism about the way the author presented the Philippines' failed justice system. I get it, it sucks. It has been this way for so long. Countless people have died and left to rot without getting any justice. What makes Alexis and Nika's story so special when many of a less privileged background don't get to have their stories told? But as I read on, I came to realize that that was exactly the point of the book. It's not that the Tiosecos were special, it's that even though their story gets to be told, justice still has not been fully meted out. And what hope could the masses cling on to when they come from a social class deemed lower than that of the Tiosecos?

Fantauzzo in the latter half of the book effectively illustrates not just the broken justice system of the Philippines, but also touches on why the poor turn to crime because of a government that refuses to take care of them. She dives into the world of Philippine entertainment and the politics involved with awards and media critique. She appropriately displays Alexis and Nika's humanity—they were lovers, dreamers, and film-enjoyers. She expresses frustration with the failed system in a manner that feels compassionate and like a call to action.

May we never reduce victims of murder and other crimes to mere numbers and names. Their stories need to be told. Every single one deserves their justice. And in a country that repeatedly fails to serve it, may we reflect on what needs to be done in order to fix the way things are.

[Angeli Juani · Rating 3 out of 5]

I want to read more Filipiniana, convinced that I will one day find a book set in the Philippines that’s worth rereading and treasuring. I thank Rhena for hearing me out on this and lending me The First Impulse by Laurel Fantauzzo to start my journey into reading more Filipino. This nonfiction book is about Alexis Tioseco and Nika Bohinc, lovers and film critics who were murdered on Sept 1, 2009 inside Alexis’s house on Times Street, QC.

It is inevitable that a book revolving around two film enthusiasts has Filipino culture as one of its themes, films being important illustrations of a society’s culture. The book takes on Filipino values such as pakikisama, the fascination with Fil-Ams and mestizas, and the practice of “grief-tinged amusement”. Along the way, I loved that I am being introduced to the works of Filipino filmmakers in this book. Now I want to watch the Batang West Side by Lav Diaz, if I can get a hold of it.

I liked how well-researched it is. In capturing even the thoughts of reporters such as Che Che Lazaro, it has signalled to me the numerous interviews the author must have done for the book. I also liked that it’s divided into sections featuring the different POVs of the couple’s friends and family.

In terms of how it’s written, its strengths lie in the author’s use of the third person, weakness when it shifts to the second person. There was the tendency to overwrite, especially when employing the second person in some sections, as if the author is directing the audience on how to feel about the book. I am not sure if the author’s narration of her experiences in the country as an outsider, connecting her own with that of Alexis and Nika’s experiences, is essential. The storytelling might have been stronger without those parts, with the focus mainly on the trajedy.

The book shows how broken the criminal justice system is in the country — it took almost a decade to catch one of the accomplices in the crime. One of the murderers is still at large up to this day. There were questions left unanswered as the investigators seem reluctant and uninterested in figuring out the truth about the killings. There is hopelessness.

But as a takeaway, I want to remember Alexis’s attitude towards Philippine Cinema, that he wanted to showcase the best of it: “the first impulse of any good film critic...must be of love”. Here lies the optimism. And it’s one reason why I want to hunt more Filipino books. I have my eyes set on Carlos Bulosan’s America is in the Heart, the memoir of Rafael M. Salas by Butch Dalisay and Carmen Sarmiento, and Tikim: Essays on Philippine Food and Culture by Doreen Fernandez.

[Lina · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is the product of six years of investigation, introspection, and intertwinement of multiple countries, families, and relationships. It was a heart-wrenching read, beautifully written.

It's a biological narrative of the ghastly murder of a young couple, two films critics in their late twenties, Alexis Tioseco and Nika Bohinc. They were killed in cold blood in the Tioseco household in Quezon City (Philippines), on September 1, 2009, during a premeditated robbery. What makes this story even more intimate is how Laurel Fantauzzo interweaves the personal lives of the couple (and bits of herself) into the text, transforming it to "galaxies of grief, affection, outrage, injustice and resistance that arise from every violent, unnecessary loss."

As I kept reading, becoming more outraged by every few pages, it dawned on me that the story is more about Alexis than it is about Nika. I could form a solid impression of who Alexis was, not just as an individual, but also as a brother, son, friend, boss, teacher, and colleague. Not so much as Nika, only as an individual and as the intimate partner of Alexis. I suspect it is because the author have chosen to respect her family's privacy without explanation. This is implied in the acknowledgments: "...the Bohinc family, whose story remains inviolate." Nevertheless, the asymmetrical framing of the story doesn't render it flawed, only makes it more intriguing and leaves the reader to read between the lines, fill in the blanks, and tap into their imagination.

My only complaint is the font size. It's vanishingly small, perhaps as tiny as a 8 point size, making it impossible to read without bright light or even at nighttime. I am a persnickety reader, often the aesthetic appeal (or the lack thereof) of a book influences my decision to start reading it and finishing it. But perhaps the font size is something the author didn't have control over. I noticed that she used a publishing company in the Philippines, which could be interpreted as another way of giving back to the country that has been and is still devastated by the ongoing mass murders.

[Gonzalo Ferreiros · Rating 4 out of 5]

Definitely something you have not read before. A beautifully written introduction to a metropolis, a country and its social dynamics, particularly the modern Filipino diaspora, told through a story of love and violence. The book is intense, but just not too much. The interactions in first person sometimes feel like they interrupt the reporting, but they are one of the things that make this book different. There is a lyrical tone, a poetry in the way Laurel tells the story, insecurity, nostalgia. It feels like the author managed to perfectly translate herself and her feelings into her prose. Great read.

[John Paul · Rating 5 out of 5]

So I started reading this because I wanted to bring a paperback to my travel at the end of July. I didn't think it would take me this long to finish the book, but because of work and TV shows, it took me more than a month to finish it. I only realized as August closes that the 9th anniversary of the murder was approaching (September 1). There were only less than a hundred pages left for me to finish, so today, on their death anniversary, I decided to finish the book.

When I picked this up I thought it was going to be a true-crime novel with a local flavor. I did not expect the book to be very emotional, a tragic love story set in the decaying, corrupt society of the Philippines. It made me realize that behind the beautiful smiles and resilient spirits of the country's people is a hidden disease, a cancer, being blatantly ignored by its citizen. Instead of working together to solve the country's ills, many are living for themselves. But we can't really blame them, especially when a person's first goal is survival. How could you expect someone to care for others if they themselves are not sure if they're going to eat tomorrow?

Aside from this unfortunate problem in the Philippines, the book also showcases indie film makers, as the victims, Alexis and Nika, were film critics. Most notable is Lav Diaz. I only know of him because of his 8-hour film Hele sa Hiwagang Hapis, which when I heard of it first, I thought it was ridiculous. From this book I found out he had made other long-running films. (I then had a tangential thought that an 8-hour film is similar to watching 8 1-hour TV episodes on Netflix, so maybe Lav Diaz and Netflix can strike a deal.) I have loved watching movies since I was a kid, but I admit I rarely consume art movies, much less Filipino ones. Reading this book made me curious about our local indie movies. (I have Birdshot saved in Netflix, so maybe I'll go watch that later. Not even sure if it can be considered indie. Maybe I can scour the Internet for Lav Diaz's movies.)

I recommend this book to anyone who's into Philippine indie films, as well as those who wants to learn more on how police investigations are done (or not done) in this country.

[Kyle · Rating 4 out of 5]

This has been my most annotated book this year, perhaps due to my personal bias being a Journalism graduate.

Fantauzzo’s book proves that the common rule “you’re not the story, you’re just the storyteller” does not apply to all journalistic endeavors. Here, Fantauzzo blurs the line between reportage and investigation — supplementing evidence and testimonies with not only her own appreciation of the incident, but also with her own experiences that ran parallel with her subjects.

Fantauzzo turned this real crime story into a page-turner, harnessing and maximizing all of its suspenseful turns and revelations. The material she had was already interesting and the book show she knew how to elevate it.

What I do not like, however, are certain passages written by Fantauzzo, which I would argue lacked Filipino nuances.

For instance, Fantauzzo invoked the native cultural concept of “pakikisama” in certain parts of the book to explain tendencies of some Filipinos to just comply to avoid offending your fellows.

What Fantauzzo missed is that “pakikisama” could not be separated by our concept of “kapwa” and “hindi ibang tao” — and that those in positions of power (the president, the authorities, etc.) are exempt from this. Because if “pakikisama” always meant compliance as to not step on anyone’s foot, the Filipino people would not have ousted a dictator nor impeach a corrupt president.

Fantauzzo also noted her personal experiences of being at the receiving end of piercing stares and potential scams due to her otherness as a white foreigner. I would have appreciated it more if Fantauzzo took a step further by acknowledging that this gaze is not coming from a place of “oddity” or anything discriminatory, rather it is more of a privilege thing or a matter of amusement.

There is no such thing as reverse oppression. Filipinos look at white people not with disgust but interest thanks to centuries of colonization.

I have no issues with journalists inserting themselves in the narrative because there are indeed times that the two are and should be inseparable. In these cases, however, extra caution must be exercised in the personal arguments, realizations, and pieces of stories that will be injected into the material :)

3.5

[Sai theengineerisreading · Rating 4 out of 5]

I picked up this book last holy week break and I think this is my second read that time and though my experience with reading nonfiction is very limited, I can say that reading this is equally cleansing and thought-provoking.

For those who are not familiar, The First Impulse is about the still-unsolved murder of Filipino-Canadian film critic Alexis Tioseco and his girlfriend, Slovenian film critic and magazine editor Nika Bohinc, as retold by Laurel Fantauzzo. This book recounts the love and life of Alexis and Nika, the circumstances surrounding their murder in September 2009, the investigations, and what happened for the people related to the couple before and after the incident, aside from some commentary on the Philippine film industry. And the second edition comes with new information about the case since the first edition was published in 2017.

True to its tagline, The First Impulse is a love story first. I enjoyed reading about Alex and Nika’s fateful encounter and how their journey as film enthusiasts in their respective country converged to one when they met and realized that they are each other’s perfect match. TFI touched the backstory and experience of the lovers (mainly from Alexis’ POV) and how they lived their lives.

The First Impulse is a memoir. I also like how Laurel narrated the spark that ignited her to write this book. The narration from the author’s to Alex and Nika’s experiences was intricately woven and there are bits of information all throughout the book where Laurel mentioned why the case spoke to her even without knowing Alex and Nika before.

The First Impulse is an unsolved murder. As expected, the Philippine justice system is the villain in this book. 15 years after the event, the case remains unsettled with only the conviction of the maid (2018) as the last development while the perpetrators are still roaming freely.

[Raze Castro · Rating 5 out of 5]

The novel tells the story of two film critics, a couple bound by their intense passion for their country’s cinema and culture. It follows the life of Alexis Tioseco from his youth to his tragic death, alongside his Slovenian girlfriend, Nika Bohinc.

The first time I turned the pages of The First Impulse was at a stall in National Book Store. My initial thought was, “Oh, a story about Martial Law (it wasn't) —and it’s in English.” I was immediately captivated, even without reading the back cover. Filipino books written in English are already uncommon, and it is even rarer to find one that does not rely on the cliché rom-com genres popular to teenagers. And so I bought it, on impulse.

The first part of the story was able to capture my attention but not hold it. It felt repetitive, like how the point was there, but unnecessarily stretched. I was also confused by the sudden shifts in perspective, particularly the author’s insertion of herself into a narrative I initially believed would focus solely on Alexis Tioseco and Nika Bohinc. Then it dawned on me.

The book uses Alexis and Nika's seeming indifference to expose of the blatant flaws of the country's system. It was obvious. The injustice, crime, social difference, and toxic Filipino culture was already known throughout the country. Yet, seeing it in intimate detail was heart-dropping. The rage and frustration I felt could not be dismissed by comforting thoughts that the events were exaggerated. They were not. This was real. This happened.

As I progressed further, I found comfort in the way the author narrated memories. The storytelling felt personal and tender, like a grandmother recounting moments from her youth—carefully recalling how, where, and why things unfolded. I found myself smiling at even the briefest exchanges between Alexis and Nika. The inclusion of other characters and their perspectives added depth, offering multiple angles that challenged my understanding. It made me question things, and the next page would be its answer.

But of course, let's not forget—films! Amidst the chaos between the lines, the author doesn't forget the core of the book. The drive of Alexis Tioseco in pursuing cultural films and the perseverance of Nika Bohinc in writing about Slovenia's is the heart of this novel. It is a heart that continues to beat for the advocacy of cinema, even as Alexis and Nika’s own hearts are forced to stop.

As a takeaway, Alexis Tioseco and Nika Bohinc's story were more than just a love story, an unsolved murder, and a memoir. The First Impulse stands as an evidence that social indifference—or simply wealth—does not always meet luck. That the problem is not having enough voice, but the people who turn deaf ears.

[Herbie · Rating 5 out of 5]

I can’t really write about this book because I’m so biased, and its perfectly made for me. Laurel Flores Fantauzzo is 1) my childhood friend, 2) half-Filipino, 3) queer, 4) exactly my age and from my exact-ish neighborhood in Southern California. She writes about experiences I have had, and felt so alone in having: being in the Philippines with mestizo fair skin and subtly foreign hair texture; feeling so American and out of place yet searching for a kind of belonging unavailable anywhere else. As the narrator here she makes journeys to the Philippines that are intrepid, solo, searching. I have been on those trips, without family to guide me, trying to make sense of a foreign yet familiar place, trying to make a language I’d heard all my life my own.

The First Impulse is a who-done-it that unfolds methodically, while also being a moving personal essay. Like In Cold Blood, it opens with a horrible crime, but then opens out into much more. I had stunning moments of emotion reading this book including at the most unexpected times: finding out what happened to characters of Filipino society that are so often forgotten: the driver’s wife, the longtime maid, the new maid. The dogged reporting Fantauzzo did here, sitting next to the personal vulnerability and sincerity - there’s an alchemy between them. For me, the takeaway is that the darkness and brokenness in Philippine society makes its way into our very personal lives, and perhaps comes from our very personal lives too. I am very grateful this book exists.

[Liza Marie · Rating 4 out of 5]

I'm still not sure why I was first drawn to buy this book but the raw, instrospective narration of Laurel Fantauzzo made "The First Impulse" hard to put down.

The book narrates the story of Alexis Tioseco and Nika Bohinc, film critics at the prime of their youth who were victims of a robbery/murder in Quezon City. The subject may sound deeply unsettling, but the author painted a story of love and hope set in the back drop of a chaotic Philippines.

The book doesn't just focus on the crime per se but what the world lost in the form of two young people who fell in love for loving the same thing- film. I felt that I vicariously lived their lives through the accounts of their loved ones and acquaintances. (Personally, I think I would have immensely enjoyed a class of Alexis Tioseco in UA&P where he used to teach one of my favorite subjects- Introduction to Film Theory.)

The author seamlessly interjects commentary on Philippine society- subtle comments on the corruption of culture, of the primacy of commercial viability over creative expression in entertainment, of slow institutions that are quick to pass judgment, and of the inherent recourse to euphemism and pakikisama in the face of confrontation. I don't know how but she was able to fit all these in a 220+ pages paperback.

[Pam Z (Pam's Shenanigans) · Rating 4 out of 5]

Actual rating: 3.5 stars

If not for this book, I wouldn't have been made aware of the case of Nika and Alexis. In the aspect of awareness about the case, I think the book was able to spark and kindle curiosity in me since it got me searching about the case and used those as reference points while reading.

The idea of a true crime x memoir really intrigued me at first, but was followed by a slight confusion as I was reading.

It may be attributed to my being used to true crime shows and documentaries, where they offer a more straightforward recollection of what happened. In this case, there is a personal aspect from the author's perspective. Which, to me, didn't really provide a 100% partial report of the case. There was a part in the book where it felt like it was less of an observation/showcase of evidence and more of an assumption when something about the perpetrators was brought up.

Generally, though, I still liked it.

[Kylle · Rating 4 out of 5]

Attended a book signing event with Laurel herself at NBS Quezon Ave. last week, out of my curiosity of the serendipity that was my boss last month giving me a heart-to-heart about film and her friends Alexis and Nika way back when. It turns out that their story was full of serendipity, and, as Laurel had gracefully illustrated, also full of almosts. Heartbreaking at sobrang nakakagalit haha.

P.S. I also gained a newfound curiosity in book editions. I read the 2nd edition, which came out last year and has updated information on the case. Additionally, according to one of the book signing attendees who actually read both copies and compared them, this edition was also rewritten in a way that added more emotional depth to it. Allegedly, I can only say. But it just goes to show that a work of art is never finished, and that’s okay.

[Gabriela Francisco · Rating 4 out of 5]

Author Laurel Flores Fantauzzo describes this book as the product of a haunting. The 2009 murders of film journalists Alexis Tioseco and Nika Bohinc moved her so deeply that she spent the next six years (eight with revisions) writing about the couple. What was originally meant as an academic thesis became a finalist in the 2018 National Book Awards. With only one of three perpetrators sentenced in 2018, Fantauzzo and Anvil Publishing have now released the second edition of what proved to be an utterly gripping read...

The rest of the review can be found at https://exlibrisphilippines.com/2025/...

[henry · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a difficult book to read. I could only imagine how excruciating it had been to research, write, and live: yet Laurel Flores Fantauzzo (a Filipino writer whom I've never heard of before) manages it with both an unerring clarity and a genuine care for her subjects.

The First Impulse holds up a black mirror to the state of the Philippine justice system, the history of Filipino cinema, and how one inadvertently—and perhaps inevitably—affects the other. It's a critique and a love letter. Most importantly, it's a testimony to the lives of Alexis Tioseco and Nika Biohinc, two glowing personalities whose love for film is rivaled only by their love for each other.

Actual rating: 4.25 stars

[Fatma · Rating 5 out of 5]

What a devastatingly brilliant book. This story sent chills down my spine, and it was written so well! Alexis really had a way with words and the author captured the characters and curated the book so well. An ode to Philippine indie films. I learned so much! Highly recommend this book! My heart aches for the family and what they must have gone through. Corruption is such a vile by product of colonialism. May the Filipino judicial system rise above and do better.

[Jennifer Gargiulo · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is beautiful and painful at the same time to read. You identify with the author as she seeks to uncover the truth about the deaths of the protagonists. Their story will stay with you long after you finish the last page.

[Shiandra · Rating 5 out of 5]

A book I can't even begin to describe. The author gave the victims' stories justice. It is a shame we can't say the same about the case.

[kembot · Rating 4 out of 5]

"The first impulse is always one of love."

[Scribbles and Books · Rating 4 out of 5]

What intrigued me most about the writing style is that it did well in incorporating contrasts. It drew me into the story.

[Paula · Rating 5 out of 5]

Felt devastated after reading this 💔

[Bianca Nagac · Rating 5 out of 5]

The First Impulse is a non-fiction book which follows the tragic love story of film critics Alexis Tioseco and his Slovenian girlfriend Nika Bohinc in September 2009. Although years have already passed since their untimely demise when Laurel heard about it, the story is both timely and timeless narrative to share to the world.

The book tells us how one's passion over a certain cause binds his or her carefree heart to someone who shares the same ideals in life.

It would be an understatement to say that Alexis and Nika loved films. These two genuine people took greater steps as advocates of the film industry; that one should explore regardless of the country and/or culture where a film comes from.

Aside from the state of the film industry in the Philippines, this book tackled other issues we encounter in our daily grind but fail to realize until it is presented to us.

The author didn't follow the common structure I've come across with other non-fiction books I read (as of writing). But her style arouses our curiosity and later on our emotional appeal to our society.

We are going through inside the mind of a Filipino who grew up in a different country. Clearly, there is a cultural difference particularly in our and her perspective. I understand if some may raise their eyebrows when she straightforwardly tells the complications in our country. However, these are the matters that we need to look at again and should be taken seriously.

Her writing gives us the feeling of reading an anthology of short stories, woven to create a masterpiece we can relate to as Filipinos. At some point, I even felt I was reading a personal journal of hers.  This is the kind of book that must be read in one sitting so we can take a 360-degree view of our contemplation afterwards.

It is quite technical to say how I love the way Laurel subtly breaks the rules followed by other authors. Readers may sense the freedom that the author has - because it exudes in the way she probes each topic in the book.

There are many reasons why I recommend this book for everyone to read. It is relatable; not too profound and definitely not too superficial. It is honest, although do not expect that Laurel will give us the solutions to the social issues we face each day. It is not the typical dapat-ganito-ginagawa-ng-gobyerno book.

Other reasons why this is the kind of book you will love to pass on to anyone:

- It tells you how Fil-Ams are coping up with different cultures. We, who are born and raised here in the Philippines, often think it is a privilege to be raised in the west. But Laurel hits us straight to the heart on how much they have to endure when being away not only from their families but from the homeland they loved.
- It shows you the frustrating katulong-amo relationship. I may not be familiar with the setup in other countries, but the way we discern social classes is disheartening.
- The case of Tioseco and Bohinc zooms in the dilemmas of our justice system:
1. There are authorities who peril innocent people's lives just to close a case as soon as they can. In simple words, framing up people.
2. Investigators (maybe some or maybe the majority) do not rely heavily on physical evidence and use statements as the basis whether a person is guilty or not.
3. The investigation process of the case shows the incompetence in the judgment and principles of those involved.

On top of it all, Laurel took her time to gather facts and get to know everyone she should; so much so that it seemed she is close friends with Alexis and Nika.

[Bomalabs · Rating 5 out of 5]

Man, this book made it cry for a myriad of reasons: Maybe it was the words Alexis chose to tell Nika as an expression of his love, the struggle of their friends and family to seek justice, maybe it was the helplessness of being a Filipino against its inept justice system - the fact that you have to use pakikisama so that people would actually do their jobs properly, or maybe the exasperation that we lost two bright and kind people who went and risk comfort to contribute to something bigger than them -and they get murdered just because they met the wrong people. I feel that this is one of those books that captures accurately the circumstances we Filipinos had to deal with everyday - and no matter how sad and frustrating the subject mater was, it was something so personal and well written, that I didn't have a hard time finishing it.

[Ness]

It gave a riveting account of the lives of two star-crossed lovers, lost in a their own world of film, art and what-not.