‘Just a Stranger’ review: Purposeful excesses

At first glance, Jason Paul Laxamana’s Just a Stranger seems beholden to formula.

Thankfully, there seems to be more to the film than meets the eye.

In place and further piling

All the tropes are not just in place. 

They pile upon each other, making it seem like Just a Stranger is a comedy that thrives in exaggeration, in depicting the most ridiculous of romances. Laxamana’s film, however, does not subscribe to the thrills, intrigues, and fantasies of the scandal-ridden romances that it exploits. Instead, it puts a daring spotlight in the absurdity of it all. Perhaps even more fascinating is that it is nearly impossible not to lap it all up and greedily consume all of its blatant excesses all for the purpose of instant gratification.

Mae (Anne Curtis), a thirty-something woman, hooks up with Jericho (Marco Gumabao), a boy half her age, in historic Lisbon. What’s supposed to be just a May-December fling set in a romantic European destination ends in an affair. Mae is married to Phil (Edu Manzano), a businessman who is himself much older than Mae. Back in the Philippines, the foreign-set one-night stand evolves into a full-blown illicit affair where both Mae and Jericho are forced to sacrifice certain comforts all for the sake of love.

Again, the plot isn’t at all new and novel. 

This has all been done before, perhaps with more seriousness, elegance and grace. What ultimately separates Just a Stranger from all the other love stories that tread dangerous soil involving age gaps or marital vows is that Laxamana seems to know fully well that what he is crafting is preposterous. He doesn’t resort to disrespect the genre with express campiness, but only peppers the film with bits and slivers of humor, just enough jabs and witticisms to tip the scale in an otherwise serious scene to result in giggles. 

The fantasy, the delusions, the reverie

Laxamana admits to the fantasy, the delusions, and the reverie.

Despite Just a Stranger’s affinity for titillation and sensationalism, it still manages to allow restraint. A lot of the film is left as questions, eliciting discourse within the framework of plebeian and escapist entertainment. 

For example, Mae’s character before she was married to Phil was never really revealed, putting the past lives of protagonists as irrelevant in their quest for redemption. The cause of Jericho’s eventual fate in the film is left in the shadows, opening an avenue for discussions on the state of politics in the Philippines or the extent of toxic masculinity in marital relationships.

The performances are consistent.

Curtis is a spectacle here and while her diction seems to betray her presumed past, it also adds to the ludicrousness that is the film’s primary asset. Gumabao is a revelation here, as he unflinchingly allows himself to be a subject of caricature, a man baby who is not just believable but also charming in his immaturity.

Irony and sarcasm

There is enough in Laxamana’s film to convince that it isn’t a simple rehash of storylines and stereotypes. 

There are traces of ambition beneath all the cheap pleasures and grandiose melodrama that the film sells as its assets. The wit and savvy never really overpowers the film’s pulpiness.

However, the film never surrenders to being downright dumb just to tickle the imaginations of its audience. There is irony and sarcasm. There is camp reminiscent of the soap operas of decades ago. — Rappler.com

 

Francis Joseph Cruz litigates for a living and writes about cinema for fun. The first Filipino movie he saw in the theaters was Carlo J. Caparas’ Tirad Pass.

Since then, he’s been on a mission to find better memories with Philippine cinema.