Nothing Deep

by Richard Bolisay

In his second collection of essays, Richard Bolisay speaks to personalities from Philippine cinema and shares their stories. He goes to a film shoot and observes the fortuitous meeting between its star and director. He pays tribute to a beloved filmmaker. He rhapsodizes about love teams and examines the movies of two of the biggest pairs of the era. He visits the house of an actor known for his ease and effortlessness. He writes an encompassing appraisal of the career of an influential screenwriter. Weaving together incisive critique and tender storytelling, Nothing Deep contains these instances and other dispatches from the alleyways of Filipino film in the 2010s and offers time capsules of its joys, sorrows, and transformations.

Genres: Essays, Nonfiction

125 pages, Paperback

Published September 3, 2022

About the author

Richard Bolisay is the author of Break It to Me Gently: Essays on Filipino Film (2019) and Nothing Deep (2022), and the editor of Daang Dokyu: A Festival of Philippine Documentaries (2020). As a writer, film critic, and programmer, he has participated in film festivals in Berlin, Locarno, Hong Kong, Jeonju, Berwick, Edinburgh, Brighton, Cebu, and Manila.

Reviews

[Richard · Rating 5 out of 5]

Rating your own book 5 stars is called self-love ☺️

[John · Rating 5 out of 5]

Contrary to the title, Richard Bolisay went deep in his sophomore collection, deeper than where his brilliant debut led. Whereas Break It to Me Gently was focused on his wit in dissecting and critiquing films, mainly as an audience, a receiver on the other end, Nothing Deep had placed Bolisay, still as an audience but, in a much closer proximity to that of the artists and their processes.

Opening with an illuminating profile of Joel Torre, Bolisay's essays in this book are less film reviews and more centered on the people, the art, the exercise of filmmaking. And I find it much more personal, intimate even, for the subjects Bolisay profiled, but also for him. And by having him write about the behind-the-scenes, one can appreciate and perceive his understanding of the craft more, and also his love and respect for it.

Bolisay writes with sincerity and intelligence, something I truly enjoy and like about his works. These radiated especially bright on my favorite essay in this collection: the one he wrote about Lav Diaz and Charo Santos and their meeting and eventual collaboration. He crafted it with so much awe for the director and the actor that it translated as fully and as vehemently in the pages, and that I could not help but share that same sentiment.

In the book's Introduction, Bolisay asks, “When the act of writing disappears, what do I become?” It is a rhetorical question, but as one finishes the book, the answer is clear: someone who knows, respects, and loves films and the art of filmmaking—and someone who will always do.

[Ina · Rating 5 out of 5]

I've seen Himala once when I was in grade school. I've had the image of Nora Aunor screaming, "walang himala" on my mind for as long as I can remember. If I conjure up the memory correctly, I can see my younger self sitting at the edge of the bed with furrowed eyebrows, wondering what she meant by that. Bakit walang himala? Sino ba nagsabi na mayroon? Until now, I have no idea. But the snapshot remains: a girl ruminating about an icon, a theme, a semblance of a god, in the film.

I have realized that not much has changed since then: Within me is a girl who still thinks about the film beyond its inevitable ending, beyond the lights being turned on once again, the act bleeding into the other parts of her day. There remains a notable actor, a steadfast character who you'll recognize almost immediately. You'll comment, "ay grabe, tatay roles na pala pineplay niya. Ang tanda na natin", as if the passage of time does not exist outside of films. And then the thoughts grow further and deeper like roots spreading underneath cement. Once it ends, once I am out of the theater, I am left with more questions than when I came in.

From this collection of essays, Richard Bolisay does not answer my questions. Rather, he encourages more and more, and more out of me. Shedding light on actors and directors and their relationships, there are more ways to ask now. He has given me the freedom, the liberty to ask more about what goes beyond the screen, beyond the act of filmmaking, beyond everything I knew about Philippine cinema.

This is an intimate snapshot of our local cinema, akin to a photograph of a lover on a bed. It talks about the proliferation of love teams, about capitalism acting as a puppeteer. It talks about icons like Joel Torre, the birth of Meng Patalo, and JaDine as a symbol of home for OFWs. It tackles the greatness of Lav Diaz, Kidlat Tahimik, and Ricky Lee with so much sincerity and honesty, that I felt like it was a great loss for me to have not seen their works on screen.

Ultimately, Bolisay's love for cinema pours out of the pages, and I have nothing but respect and awe for him, for materializing this affection into words, for giving so much justice, in my opinion, to the industry.

Now, despite nursing a heartbreak for all the works I have not seen, and will never see, I have renewed interest in films in general, and to act upon this feeling. Feeling invigorated, I turn to my notebook. Feeling inspired, I begin gliding my pen.

"What if the Filipino is given the freedom to think and to imagine?" [Ricky Lee asks]. One student, thinking it is not a rhetorical question, will raise her hand: "The Filipino will write. The Filipino will tell their story." Surprised, Ricky Lee will smile, knowing his job, even before it begins, is done.

[PATRICK · Rating 5 out of 5]

This was such a fantastic read! I found it on my bed at my mom's house: I forgot I asked her to buy it for me from the Philippines. This was just a love letter to Philippine cinema and all of Bolisay's heroes and experiences. What a beautiful ode! Honestly, needed this to be longer. It is also accessible (I would argue w the other review here) that it is not in fact academicky (new word I just invented).

[Jahnie · Rating 2 out of 5]

I might not be the right audience for this book. The topics were interesting, but I found the writing academic, uninviting, and less engaging especially for a non-film critic like myself. Good research and knowledge, though.

[enzo · Rating 5 out of 5]

I missed thinking about— more importantly feeling cinema. An easy read of things short of being nothing deep as it claims. Sir Chard, galing mo talaga!

Favorites: Why Ricky Lee?, Moving Forward by Going Back to When Two Worlds Meet, A Good Love is Hard to Find.

[Pia · Rating 5 out of 5]

Richard Bolisay’s Nothing Deep is a collection of essays about film and media he wrote between 2011-2020. Despite the wide range of years, and the somewhat eclectic subject matters, Nothing Deep feels very cohesive. The book’s sense of harmony emanates from its writer’s passion for the medium, substantive observations and engaging writing style.

Above all, there’s a distinct voice in the work. Richard Bolisay’s Nothing Deep is the perfect storm of having a person with access to prominent film figures, having the initiative to ask them productive questions on their art, putting to paper these experiences, and being educated on the media/film theory that deepens these experiences to insights. The fact that he writes formal essays with a melodic flow (a feat I’m still awed by) is the cherry on top that made me finish this in 4 hours.

”Teaching granted me an authority I disliked. The honorific "Asst. Prof." which my name did not carry before, was uncomfortable for its vanity. The privilege of being looked up to by my students, as opposed to being their equal, was indeed my loss.”
—Page 2, Introduction

There are lecturers and professors who say they are on the same level as the student. Bolisay says the same thing. While I have never taken a class from him before, this welcoming attitude with media workers/scholars/students suffuses throughout the work. He’s analytical, and he also considers the validity of subjective experiences. He likes underground art and experimental films, and he also seriously approaches mass-appeal movies. He’s a critic of film, and he’s an advocate for film workers and leaders.

The sequencing of the essays “Outside the Split Screen”, “A Good Love is Hard to Find”, and “Post/Script” reflects Bolisay’s nuanced perspective on media. All three essays are about love teams, and the various faces it has. The theoretical underpinnings utilized in these three essays—the detracting role of profit, the humanity of the audience, the championing of artistic merit—run through the other parts of the work as well.

“Outside the Split Screen” critiques the AlDub phenomenon, focusing on how their brand transforms from TV to film. Bolisay is critical of the blatant commerciality of the first AlDub movie, but he appreciates the second film’s improved artistry. His critique stems from a deep understanding of the cultural and financial factors behind love teams. He, importantly, engages directly with love team media in his critique of it as a cultural phenomenon.

“A Good Love is Hard to Find” moves the love team from the discussions’ center. It primarily explores how love is depicted in two Filipino films: Milan and Never Not Love You. It discusses how love intersects with social issues, particularly labor export economy. He implicitly points out that love teams can be a medium for art, and uses two generations of love teams to explore broader cultural shifts in Filipino culture.

“Post/Script” is the loosest of the essays, reflecting on an on-location shoot in Italy for Never Not Love You, the JaDine film discussed in “A Good Love is Hard to Find” . Bolisay observes the interactions between the actors, the production team, and the OFWs watching them, offering a human perspective on the love team phenomenon. He highlights the role of Filipino actors as both a source of comfort for the OFWs (and Filipinos as a whole) and a means to a profit-ends.

There are several more essays in Nothing Deep , but I put emphasis on these three essays and their overall effect in particular because love teams are simultaneously really ubiquitous in Philippine culture yet conspicuously absent in Filipino intellectuals’ discussions. I really appreciated the inclusion of mass-media artifacts among independent films as topics in this book, because I feel like scholarly opinions could really temper middle-class apprehensions of Filipino mass media. We can go beyond just saying “Thing Bad!” and stopping there. Scathing opinions are easy to say when you have no skin in the game. But what if this disconnect also makes it uninformed?

Like I mentioned before, Bolisay being professionally involved with many of the subjects in the essay makes him privy to what goes on behind the scenes. This is an obvious benefit that shaped the work.

Another, more subtle effect this has is the criticisms, the praise all come from a place of love. Its the passion that fuels each word. Its the implicit encouragement to do better. Its the cool but celebratory tone in discussing of peers’ and mentors’ feats. Sure, the text is even, maintains a mostly professional affectation. But underneath Bolisay’s writing is a sense of love that thrusts itself forward, and brings the reader along with him, as it looks to a bright future for Philippine film. Bolisay’s familiarity with the subject shows that relationships don’t always defang critiques: it can simply make criticism more productive.

Final Thoughts
This was a really great book about Philippine cinema and culture. I feel like this was exactly what I was looking for. Snapshots of an industry so young yet so compelling. Told by a writer who is a part of it, and who welcomes his readers eagerly to the scene. No confusing jargon, yet no dumbing down either. Nothing Deep educated me on cultural phenomena. It showed me new, exciting sides to overexposed industry figures. It challenged me to rethink my apprehensions toward experimental cinema. It reaffirmed my admiration for artists I liked with personal and professional observations. It did all of that in 119 pages. An approachable entry that anyone looking to dabble with film-making or explore Filipino critical writing can get encouragement from.

[Riann · Rating 5 out of 5]

Can I be completely honest? I'm not one to read and I'm embarrassed to say that this was my first non graphic novel book I've finished in more than a decade. There isn't any other piece of writing that I am proud to have sparked my interest in books than Sir Richard's Nothing Deep.

The anecdotal writing is passionate and genuinely tender. Many of the stories were so sweet. I remember reading the portion on Los Otros and its humble roots to then attending a Los Otros screening a month later by complete accident. The chapter on Himala ending on the description of the very unfortunate weather during the shoot, there was something so human about it that moved me. And the collection of names? Cinema is so so so so so beautiful and this book is a wonderful extention of it.

Sir Richard's love for the arts does not hide itself, as one's love shouldn't. There is true care found in his voice.

To my org's alum who I drank with just before he left for the country, you are one of the nation's greatest critics and I wish I got to know about you more before.

[KianneReads · Rating 4 out of 5]

If film making / production interests you, give this a try.

“But a serious understanding of a national cinema requires going beyond dominant representations, attempting at least to see not only the picture and its scenery but also the process of how it was taken, the struggles leading to its creation and the conditions from which such political art springs.”

[Charmm · Rating 5 out of 5]

I regret not buying Sir Richard's first book because Nothing Deep is sucha bop. I love that he was able to talk about the economy, the Philippine immigration system (and lack thereof), and our love team syndrome as a nation from Milan to Never Not Love You and the films in between.

Reading the book felt like talking to that one film buff friend but that friend is not boring.

Favorite line: The judgment that makes the strongest impact, is the judgment that comes at the right time.
Favorite essay: A Good Love Is Hard to Find

[justin · Rating 4 out of 5]

i needed this book growing up.

a list of 14 intellectually (but not pretentiously) charged essays on filipino scriptwriters, directors, actors, and consumption culture, sir richard bolisay's essays are finely tuned and entertaining. bolisay writes as someone who knows the industry intimately, while sitting in front of the big screen or the lore behind them.

even the introduction of the book has me quite hooked: just like ocean vuong's interview in the new yorker, he has struggle balancing writing and teaching because when he does something, he says "i have to give it my 100 percent," and he gives a hundred of himself to the latter. bolisay knows how difficult, and consequently how rewarding, being a film critic is, and has let go of teaching to pursue his other interests.

but in the fourteen essays that follows, his "I" almost completely dissolves, humbly crumbles away for the sake of analysis (except maybe for one). in his passion-struck and affection-driven frenzy he (re)tells accounts of actors in the Filipino film industry like Joel Torre and Charo Santos, directors like Mihk vergara and Marilou Diaz-Abaya, recalling sweetly Lino Brocka and his influence on contemporary Filipino arthouse directors i.e Lav Diaz. but Bolisay, in his gesture for the masses, never completely dismisses media meant for larger consumption, like the often marketed together relationships such as AlDub, whose films Bolisay necessarily tears apart or deservingly praises when need be.

in his essay Why Ricky Lee? his love for Lee's corpus avalanches, as if writing down all of Lee's works and putting a heart in red ink next to them (fittingly, it was written two years before Lee grabs the title for National Artist of Film this year). Bolisay notes Lee's craft not just for its formalism but for how it depicts contemporary Filipinos, especially women. in the words of Chingbee, Bolisay, although not entirely, foregoes the question "why is an art good?" and switches over to a more important one: "what is the art good for?" in his mention of films he always swerves towards the latter.

but it's precisely the film's inherent quality of swimming its way back to its presentation that makes it such a difficult enterprise to critique, especially in a social sense. i recall sontag's essay on gordard's universally loved Vivre sa vie, when she says "in great art, it is form—or as i call it here, the desire to prove rather than the desire to analyze—that is ultimately sovereign." bolisay praises our contemporary Filipino film directors for almost always balancing the scales between social responsibility and art-making, and it's in these essays that highlights that while the production of film and its distribution is always political, a film, on its own, has to balance what it says by how it says it.

i jokingly said, on twitter, that this book might be my new slouching towards bethlehem, the perfect book that imbues the cultural artifacts of its time. i might not have been too far off. i m glad to have discovered a filipino writer so intellectually succint and generous to share their works, and to have such a large pool of films i have to watch.

[ps.stillreading · Rating 5 out of 5]

Not a review. More like fangirling disguised as a word-vomit-y, parenthetical-heavy reflection of my reading experience. Please manage your expectations. You have been warned✌🏽😘

I am someone who enjoys watching films. And I am also interested in what goes on behind the scenes: how movies are made, who makes them happen, what The Industry is actually like, and all that jazz.

However, I am very much an outsider. I mean I only recently began to think about the films and shows that I watch. And I realized that I don’t know much about Philippine cinema at all. And this is why I loved Nothing Deep. Richard Bolisay’s essays allowed me a peek behind the curtain and for the 10 days I spent with this book, I felt like I was granted intimate access to something I have only ever admired from afar.

The book begins with essays on Joel Torre and Marilou Diaz-Abaya that made me appreciate them even more. Reading about Joel Torre’s connection to Jose Rizal took me back to high school when our Filipino teacher made us watch the Noli Me Tangere series he starred in, playing Crisostomo Ibarra alongside Chin Chin Gutierrez as Maria Clara. Torre would later appear in Diaz-Abaya’s film Jose Rizal as Ibarra/Simoun. And yes, the same teacher also made us watch this film. Back then, we thought that our teacher was a fan of Cesar Montano (who plays Jose Rizal as well as the main character in the film Muro-Ami, which she also made us watch). But after reading these essays it dawned on me that maybe she was actually a fan of Marilou Diaz-Abaya who directed both films. These two opening essays really had me typing “where to buy DVDs Philippines reddit” primarily because I wanted to watch Jose Rizal again, but by the end of the book, I wanted to watch the films Bolisay mentions that aren’t available on streaming. When I fall into rabbit holes like this, I take it as a good sign about what I’m currently reading.

The third essay, The Evolution of Meng Patalo made me tear up. I feel like the journey of the film mirrored that of its characters, and Bolisay wrote about it in such a beautiful way that it made me very emotional. And I didn’t even watch the movie (please where can I watch it???)

When johnreads shared his review of Nothing Deep, I went and bought myself a copy. I even got it signed during MIBF (photo proof included). It stayed on my shelf for A WHILE before I read it, and gurl do I regret waiting this long because three essays in, and I knew that I would be in for a treat. Then shelfandsensibility posted her review, which made me even more excited to read the rest of the collection.

Philippine Cinema on the Map, the last essay in Nothing Deep, unexpectedly made me feel a lot of frustration. It was an eye-opening essay, but it really reminded me of some complaints and pet peeves I had regarding some mainstream movies. The Philippines is such a diverse country, with hundreds of languages and dialects, and of course, hundreds of stories. So when Bolisay wrote “Manila-centric ideologies and narratives have long upheld control and privilege” I FELT that. I may have lived in Manila for years, but I am still and forever will be a Cebu girlie at heart. And yes, I have also used the term “imperial Manila” in conversations with my friends. Stories and films that center cities and languages outside Manila deserve their time in the sun. Another quote from this essay: “There is a huge difference between a Manila filmmaker going to Cebu or Davao and setting a story in these cities and a Cebuano or a Davaoeño filmmaker doing the same.”

Yung totoo, I just want to share how annoyed I get when movies are set in Cebu (or in any other place with a regional language), with characters that are supposed to be locals of that area, but all of the actors are from Manila. Obvioulsy, majority of the film will be spoken in Filipino and they will typically only have five lines of dialogue in the local language, but they will never get the pronunciation or the accent right. It never sounds or feels real, so it makes me cringe and takes me out of the film for a hot minute. Then I will sigh and go “ugh, imperial Manila” CHAROT (half not charot???)

I really enjoyed the mix of “serious” and “unserious” topics because really, one is not more important than the other. They can both be interesting to explore and worthwhile to think and talk about. Yes, essays on AlDub and JaDine can sit comfortably next to essays on Lav Diaz, Kidlat Tahimik, and Ricky Lee. Richard Bolisay did 👏🏽 that 👏🏽

My favorites from this collection: A Man For All Seasons, Impressions, The Evolution of Meng Patalo, Outside the Split Screen, When Two Worlds Meet, Why Ricky Lee?, and Philippine Cinema on the Map. That’s 7 favorites out of 14 essays. Pero syempre, because this is a five-star read for me, I loved all of them talaga.

To sir Richard Bolisay, thank you for work that allows us to “see the imprints of our cinema in a different light” (quote taken from the introduction). Your book has brought me so much joy and has given me a lot to think about. I finished this book and felt a deeper appreciation for Filipino cinema and the people who keep on making the magic happen.

If you are looking for a Filipino non-fiction book, or if you are interested in Philippine cinema, then I highly recommend you read Nothing Deep by Richard Bolisay. And subscribe to his substack!

[Marlu · Rating 5 out of 5]

In Nothing Deep, Richard Bolisay sits out film criticism and instead addresses the role of cinema in society through reportages, character profiles, and reflections. Contrary to the title, the essays in this book capture his deep understanding and appreciation for Philippine Cinema with each piece tugging at one's heartstrings as you read it.

From the outsider's perspective in Break it to me Gently, Bolisay gives us an insider's access through Nothing Deep situating the film critic as a champion of the industry rather than having an antagonistic role.

Nothing Deep is written from a place of love.

As Richard has always told me, I'm always rooting for you and I'm looking towards reading your next book.

THIS TIME I'LL BE SWEETER, WHEN?

[Edwin Del Rosario · Rating 5 out of 5]

Nothing deep, the title says, as it takes readers to a closer look at cinema beyond the lens of film criticism through short reads. Nothing deep, as it discusses and places Philippine cinema in the same vein as the material conditions and socio-political milieu that birthed it. Nothing deep, as it dives into character profiles, ruminations on media representation and consumption, and films with so much astuteness, sincerity, and love for Philippine cinema, warts and all.

Favorite reads: Why Ricky Lee?, The Evolution of Meng Patalo, A Good Love is Hard to Find, When Two Worlds Meet, and Philippine Cinema on the Map (or what if ilista ko na lang kaya lahat?)

[Bomalabs · Rating 5 out of 5]

Despite the un-pedestrian concepts discussed in the book, I somehow enjoyed this more than Break it to me Gently. Maybe because reading it didn’t exhaust me too much and I wasn’t drowning in film reviews. Or maybe I just loved reading all about these artists and what makes them THAT artist, How their lives looked like, and even learned about filmmakers that I haven’t even heard before (hello Rommel Brilliantes). The prose just flowed, and the volume was just right.

[Albert Camoose · Rating 5 out of 5]

I actually had Lav Diaz sign his autograph on the final essay about Philippine Cinema on the Map. I should have had him sign on the Babaeng Humayo piece. Hayst. Anyway, great insights on films and artists. One standout essay was this piece on the 1970 film Kalapati which is quite a rare Godard-inspired film. Not much Google results for it. Strange.

[Aldrin · Rating 5 out of 5]

The second book by the author that I edited, for better or worse.

[Jason Liwag · Rating 5 out of 5]

Richard will remain one of my favorite writers and one of this country's greatest film critics.

[Hazel Praise Vergara · Rating 5 out of 5]

a prompt to complete my thesis manuscript this year ahhh : <

[Sean · Rating 3 out of 5]

just wishing this book had more room for Bolisay's voice (and what a voice!) to meander, take more left turns. overall, it's an pleasing collection that could use a bit more heft to it

[Zymon · Rating 5 out of 5]

It took me more than eight months to finish this book. The problem, however, lies in me; I got disinterested in reading in general sometime in February, and my curioisity led me to other pursuits elsewhere.

This is not a difficult read. When I went back in October to pick up where I left off, I reached the end of the book in three days. Richard Bolisay’s writing, just like in his first book, is simple yet significant. He writes in the most accessible way possible to help the readers easily understand his observations and ruminations about Philippine cinema and the people behind it. Through profiles and reviews that he wrote within a decade, he documents a rich history of Philippine cinema. He acknowledges as a critic the importance of writing about film; it is a way to immortalize the developments that have taken place as well as it is a way to resist erasure.

[jyc · Rating 5 out of 5]

★★★★★ // “at some point, this has become a standard definition of Philippine cinema — the existence of dominant industry that welcomes all but does not necessarily include all, a delineanation dictated by political geography — and this has been accepted since no stronger alternatives have emerged.”

“it is not completely wrong to suggest that there is an uncanny parallelism between the country’s political ground and the film industry, with how filipinos are triggered by social events to take action and make art that reflects on the struggles of living in present society.”

“films have always been a tool of remembrance.”

i am so glad that a book about Philippines cinema exist, and so well-written at that. a documentation of our local film history. Richard Bolisay talks about a multitude of things: from loveteams and romance films, profiles of important actors and directors in the industry, to the past and present condition of Philippines cinema. oftentimes, i find myself in tears or overwhelmed with emotions, vicariously living through these accounts of how the people i look up to continue to do their crafts and make more art.

i have several favourite essays. but i guess my top two were “Impressions” and “Why Ricky Lee”

— in “Impressions”, Bolisay wrote a profile about Marilou Diaz-Abaya and her legacy as a female filmmaker who quite literally made films until her last breath. this one made me think of Agnès Varda in that both directors made art even if their bodies are failing them.

— in “Why Ricky Lee”, Bolisay made a case about how it is high time that Ricky Lee becomes a National Artist (this is an old article, and Ricky Lee is a National Artist now). i have always been a fan, but i never realized how big of a part he is of the film industry. wrote so many classics and continues to be a part of big productions until today. this piece is also a reminder of the importance of writers in any production, when they are so often relegated to the background.

reading this essay collection made me love our own cinema and history even more. i truly cannot get over the fact that such a book like this exists.

[Sei chii · Rating 5 out of 5]

the title is a lie