Exhaustless the galaxy may be, understanding could still be grasped between two cosmically twined best friends — Fuffy (Piolo Pascual) and Fream (Alessandra de Rossi) in "My Amanda." Their platonic relationship spans an hour and thirty minutes because they really are caught in the breeze of each other's milestones that the world goes by rather rapidly, forgetting to age Pascual, also co-executive producer with de Rossi and Philippine cinema pundit Bb. Joyce Bernal under production company Spring Films (which Pascual and Bernal reportedly co-founded). Albeit in his 40s, the actor plays a youthful spirit in Fuffy who, by his lifestyle, is assumedly in his 20s to early 30s. Pascual is made to appear hip — in tailored skinny jeans or modern-fit shorts, sporting a double man bun, and drives a white Ford Mustang, has a soft spot for his hamster, and lies in the beach on a Dream Catcher sand blanket. This fashion confuses the actor with his actual age and the character. He might be too mature-looking for the jetsetting Fuffy. Though the linen button-down and triple lobe piercings with the man buns establish him as an indie style icon in the over two-year in limbo movie, ultimately put on Netflix to assuage cinephiles from the COVID-19 pandemic.
"My Amanda,” de Rossi’s first directorial work, is heralded with an about 2-minute sequence of whooshing across starlight and space dust in a virtual simulation of the cosmos harkening "Uncut Gems" (Safdie Brothers, 2019), until it conspires into the starry evening beneath which Fuffy and Fream cozy up on a hammock in some remote meadow. The film is evidently an exemplification of cosmology as the film puts under the microscope the alarmingly passionate friendship. Filipino cinema may have branched a sub-genre called conversational, with movies like "Meet Me in St. Gallen" (2018) and "Mr. & Mrs. Cruz" (2018) motioned mostly by dialogues — "My Amanda" is its latest. De Rossi has a simplistic screenplay for her second writing project (2017’s “12” was her screenwriter debut). When the conversations seem to delve deeper, its depths reaches just at its surface. "Marunong ba siyang mag-alaga ng hamster?" asks Fream to Fuffy who drives the Mustang to the countryside where they will transient at the villa with Fream’s granny Inang (Luz Valdez). "Wala ka kasing alam sa commitment, nakakapikon ka," Fream scolds him in a frank script hence a sharp prick it shoots by its cleanness. The hamster is Pancho, and Fuffy is upset that his ex-girlfriend is taking the miniature pet from his condominium unit as a break-up takeaway. This he has to learn via text message whilst driving, so Fream convinces him to pull over to a Petron station by the expressway to get...Fuffy with whipped Fream — one of the paradoxically partial metonymies of their terms of endearment. Fream offers the beverage, but Fuffy is more angered now having texting with his former fling about the disputed hamster.
Admirable shots are dispersed througout "My Amanda." Poignancy is steaming in the yellow horizontal of Fuffy and Feam at the beach, — chimeric cinematography by Boy Yniguez — so sunny with tinges of black rock formations to signify perfection is often with blots as much as their platonic base. They are aware they cannot maintain the type of friendship eternally, so they are festered with contemplations of what ifs that could lead to them becoming decidedly romantic. It is echoed in the dramatic voiceover: "'Di maiwasan, lahat ng bagay ay may hangganan. Balang-araw lilipad ka. Hanggang sa 'di na matanaw." These narrations of Fuffy are also throughout the film, verses written by de Rossi that reverberate the yearning even though what is desired is possessed all along. The voiceovers Fuffy curates into an anthology, “1001 Letters to Amanda,” which could or could not be for Fream. Inexplicably an open address, the book-in-progress supplies a pang in “My Amanda” incurable, for it does not need to, the heartache is a good indicator of aliveness; the pith of their friendship. More admiration is directed when Fream invades Fuffy in the bathroom in the midst of a shower. Ranting about her on-again-off-again boyfriend, she nonchalantly barges in and swipes the curtain for a glimpse of Pascual's statuesque abdomen. Out of the bathroom he comes for an extended view of him shirtless because it apparently is a stipulation on his contract. For equality, de Rossi shortly flaunts shirtless in the topped-down Mustang, Pascual flagging about her blouse in the windy slow-motion sequence. Prolonged embrassment for Fream, slowed gag for Fuffy; even and platonic. The Mustang is the vessel of his fast, worry-less agenda. For Fuffy, the muscle roadster is a heart-racing approach to nowhere, the destination of her destiny. But for both of them, the car is their quickie — all the pleasures whirling so swift as if they crave to outspeed the universe's axis, only if they knew that whilst peeding carefree, they are absorbed into the will the of the cosmos. There may not be a finality to any of the continuity in "My Amanda," still it brings an honest smile without presumptions.
City to beach is a sellable notion in Filipino films nowadays. Skylarking is the blockbuster ticket: the couple dashes to the countryside for respite from their annoying loves. The city is a woodchipper, and the rural area is where the chips are scattered unbothered. What a way to submit to the revitalizing smooch of the provincial gust. How about going from beach to city? Ah, the rambling pounds of jackhammers and the earsplitting honks of EDSA traffic — mimisis of loud, destructive waves. Where is the difference? If tranquility is sought, Fuffy and Fream has it in each other's talkativeness. Places are only sights, the emotiveness is what's transferrable. Surely, a romance film — or at least one pretending to be — must have a theme song. "My Amanda" has "Through the Fire," and Fream is obssessed over it. In the KTV sequence, she keys in her song in the videoke machine, however realizing hers is the twelfth queued. While waiting, she and Fuffy bond over beer at a table, and an out-of-tune voluptuous customer wackily sings the song. Fream deems she's been robbed of a concert performance, and drunk, taps the machine to stop then grabs the mic from the flummoxed lady. She proceeds to ardently croon "Through the Fire," to Fuffy's amusement being intoxicated too. The lady rear-naked-chokes Fream as her gals mob her to the floor. Fuffy, ever the best friend, scurries to rescue to curtain the hilarious sequence. "My Amanda" is a full-length celebration, but what are they celebrating? Occassions can be any day, presumedly. Why not? Back at the cheap hotel, Fream apologizes to an upset Fuffy, overly fearing for the life of his precious companion after the clownish KTV fiasco. Fream appeases him by declaring this is her second life. By that reasoning, every waking day she is born anew. They should be Fuffy and Fetus then.
Relished are their platonic interactions, the unfaltering closeness is comprised of small never-ending encounters, thus are sweeter in their dimunitive indulgences. While they are never intimately independent, they are liberal with their private companionship. The unbreakable attachment reputes “My Amanda” as corny and baduy. Such because it is writer-director de Rossi's branding, or that is her veracity. There are no pretenses; "My Amanda" is unabashedly her, cozying up to Pascual while he buries her in blankets, pillows, throws, whathaveyou. De Rossi transpires. There's a starry-eyed-ness in her that lents Fream the inextinguishable miles to further from intoxication — because the intoxication Fuffy seeps like a charging neutron. Playfully snuggling in another hotel room, he broods through the voiceover, “Lahat tayo malayang mag-isip." Is it because the universe allows free will? Then if freeness is predetermined, ain't it a shackle to be unburdened? A spicy add-on which every other romance film, indie or mainstream or avante-garde or 'woke,' uses to stir the plot is the ex-lover re-emerging. Well, almost an ex until it is divulged that KC Montero is Fream’s fiancé, with a bouquet of contrastingly unexceptional flowers offered to his indifferent lady. The scene is more attentive on Fuffy being the protective best friend, annoyed but supportive, and Fream is odd that her body cannot comprehend the reconcilement gesture.
Amid the bewilderment, de Rossi has displayed her foresight in direction. During the initial act of “My Amanda,” Fuffy and Fream lounges atop a hanging bridge and the camera is in close-up on their reactions. Fream teases Fuffy whether he’d be willing to be her romantic beau — the shot is of Pascual and de Rossi, alternating, in a lens blur. The world surrounding they do not heed for their eyes are only focused on their emotions inscribed in their pining veneers. Pascual almost cracks in his so saccharine admiration, de Rossi anticipates the reply, and she was prepared to precipitate in the warmth, but the conjectural bind rears its defensive playfulness between them. Another contemporary Filipino cinema catcher: cameos from indie darlings: Jess Mendoza as an inquisitive tattoo artist that almost becomes FC; Alex Medina as a reggae-wigged beach bartender from Fream’s bachelorette’s party; plus occasional screen muse Helga Krapf being Fuffy’s last love, and the forenamed Montero. The sometimes-actor-sometimes-host is weirdly the in-between across indie and mainstream yet neither...he's indefineable because his characters are voidable, a black hole which the platonic stars of Fuffy and Fream are invicible to. Will the will-they-won't-they genre ever be cosmically off-trend? From “The Mistress” (2013) to “Kasal” (2014) and “That Thing Called Tadhana” (2014) to “Hello Love, Goodbye” (2019), local cinema’s selling scale tips towards the contemplative conclusion of would-be lovers. Could it be the satisfying nuisance that produces the hangover from this sub-genre of romance? Unending, therefore the wistfulness as the sensations loiter. And “My Amanda" wants hearts to feel something. What exactly, is star-crossed. Leave it to fate, it's the most an emotion can attain to bigness as encompassing as a throb within.
Director: Alessandra de Rossi
Images and trailer ©️ Spring Films, Netflix, @Piolopascual_ph; YouTube.com
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