In revisiting Mario O’Hara, Vera not only honors his idol, he also invites a new generation to see him anew.
Noel Vera—banker by profession, film critic and raconteur—remembers the moment he first encountered the work of the late Mario O’Hara, whom fellow filmmaker Mike de Leon once described as “the complete artist.”
His brother had urged him to watch “Condemned,” the 1984 Nora Aunor starrer, describing it as “the perfect noir.” Having missed its theatrical screening—much to his disappointment—Noel made sure not to repeat the mistake when “Bagong Hari”—headlined by Dan Alvaro and featuring Elvira Manahan—was released two years later.
“I made it a priority, and I left impressed,” says Noel, who until that point had been accustomed only to the scale and spectacle of Hollywood action films.
Dissecting O’Hara
Thus began Noel’s lifelong engagement with O’Hara’s work. He soon discovered how the filmmaker’s “action was more human in scale, more character-based.” Where typical action films relied on car chases or gunplay, O’Hara treated combat as skill, as dance—“an expression of one’s will and emotions.”
“The violence was intense but also beautiful, and I thought that disturbing,” Noel adds.
From there, Noel realized that O’Hara’s artistry extended far beyond the action genre. His dramas proved even more compelling, offering what he describes as “a bifocal view of people”—simultaneously intimate and detached, compassionate yet unsparing.
“He had a way of using melodrama to make you identify with his characters,” Noel says. “At the same time, he keeps them at arm’s length so you can see them in the round—not as good or bad, but as flawed people fulfilling their role in a larger, more complex scheme.”
The second golden age
It is worth noting that O’Hara, who was Aunor’s favorite director, emerged during what is often dubbed the Second Golden Age of Philippine cinema, where comparisons with his contemporaries become inevitable.
“In drama, I’d say he’s at least equal to Lino Brocka, Ishmael Bernal, Mike de Leon, Laurice Guillen,” Noel says, adding that the differences lie mostly in flavor.
“Bernal was the cynic, De Leon the intellectual, Brocka the passionate lover, Guillen the sensualist,” he continues. “I’d call O’Hara the understated Gothic storyteller—dark and morbid, but with a tenderness, a sense of humanity that is often kept hidden as if it were a weakness.”
Furthermore, Noel notes that while Brocka embraced political activism, O’Hara was more circumspect, “preferring his films to speak in metaphor and allegory rather than overt messaging.”
Noel also describes O’Hara’s visual style as “as surreal and experimental as the best of them.”
Drawing from David Lean
I mention to Noel that O’Hara once cited David Lean—he of Lawrence of Arabia fame—as an influence, even expressing a desire to make a film in the mold of Doctor Zhivago. “I thought he was better than Lean,” Noel says. “I do think he shares with Lean a love of understated acting, subtle mise-en-scène, and the use of the quiet, telling moment to drive home a point.”
When asked which of O’Hara’s films deserve restoration and remastering—”Tatlong Taong Walang Diyos” and “Bulaklak ng City Jail” have already been restored—Noel is unequivocal:
“I’d like to see all his films restored, but if I had to choose, in ascending order of priority, I’d want to see ‘Kastilyong Buhangin,’ ‘Babae sa Breakwater,’ ‘Babae sa Bubungang Lata,’ ‘Sisa,’ ‘Pangarap ng Puso,’ ‘Condemned,’ and ‘Bakit Bughaw ang Langit?’ The latter two survive only in video, I believe, though I can’t vouch for the condition of the prints of the other titles.”