Zero spoilers ahead, promise. Cross my heart, hope to die.
A chorus of "Amakabogera" gets repeated until the final lyric flourishes into a crescendo. Ten vans make their way up a winding hill as Lilith (Eugene Domingo), with eyes bluer than the depths of the sea, rally her fellow servants to prepare for their arrival. By pairs, stilletos sprout out of the vehicles, as each passenger steps into frame in larger-than-life ensembles plucked straight out of a dystopian closet.
Magenta (Carmi Martin) and Babet (Pokwang). Helga (Agot Isidro) and Diva (Kris Bernal). Because (Adrianna So) and Sparkle (Kate Alejandrino). Aura (Arci Munoz) and Lady G (Christian Bables). Coco (Iana Bernardez) and Moon Young (Sharlene San Pedro). Each a keyholder into a specific section of mega-billionaire Valentin's (John Arcilla) promiscuous heart. They enter his abode and immediately start barking his name, and subsequently, barking at each other. Was attending a soiree with your forbidden lover's other other women ever in your bucketlist?
The idea is as ridiculous of a thought as it is a product of pure genius. The "kabit" narrative has been an integral component of Philippine contemporary media for the longest time. They provided the backbone for teleseryes aired after 8:00PM, a.k.a. bedtime for kids who shouldn't be anywhere near a lady who sleeps with married men.
It was almost like a rite of passage for actresses such as Maja Salvador, Anne Curtis, and Bea Alonzo to put on (or rather, take off) the clothes of girls labelled as "dirty" and "desperate." Characteristic to these titles were the whirlwinds of hair-pulling, the catty exchanges over champagne glasses waiting to be thrown, and the occasional demises caused by a woman scorned.
Ten Little Mistresses has all the trimmings of a kabit story, but places them on their heads. It's a painfully Pinoy take on a whodunit, sprinkled with progressive Gen Z ideals, an eye-candy wardrobe, and more twists than a winding staircase in a mansion.
It seems fitting that the first-ever original Filipino production on Prime Video is composed of the pillars of local cinema. Aside from the dearly beloved plot of a man having extra-marital affairs, it also banks on our people's natural inclination to laugh, and to make those around them laugh, too. It's an in-your-face type of comedy. If you didn't get the joke, the scene will replay until it gets even just the slightest chuckle out of you.
Comedic heavyweights Pokwang and Eugene share the stage with primetime-honed stars Kris and Arci, who each hold their own as their assigned mistresses. You'd see the perpetually-in-pink Diva swiping her guasha on her face after she liberally passes it through her underarms. Aura's mouth widen bigger than her eyes when she gets a vision from her crystal ball, signalling a revelation. It's the type of non-verbal comedy that'll force you to take notice of it. And you always do in the end.
Flowers have to be offered to Donna Cariaga, who plays Lilith's second-in-command Chiclet. The way she delivers the most random statements at the most unlikely of times, with no inflection in her voice whatsoever, deserves an ovation of its own.
The campy genre proves to be the perfect vehicle for what I believe to be director Jun Lana's thesis with this film. The feminist understones aren't subtly hidden, because, in fact, they're situated in plain sight. Iana's Coco has dialogue that literally spells it all out for you. "This reeks of patriarchal culture. He's asserting his dominance over us!" she waxes as they receive exorbitant gifts from Valentin. The way she says it almost makes it seems like its a joke, when we all know it's technically not.
When the man-of-the-hour is presumed dead, motives start to arise and fingers start to point. While the movie does experience a topsy-turvy incline after a confession was made a little bit too soon, it makes up for it with the equally-as-topsy-turvy twists. It presents scenarios that, IRL, could never possibly occur. There was absolutely no way the mastermind behind the murder could have actually orchestrated the whole thing, but the movie tells you, "Hey, suspend your reality for a bit, would you?"
It's this very ingenuity that makes the film's message a bit more poignant. On a white banner, it writes in red ink: "Stop pitting women against each other." Trying to get a message like this across requires no bells or whistles. You have to say it like it is. But sometimes when you do, it's taken with a hint of sarcasm or humor, at least in today's society.
The movie takes those hints of sarcasm and humor and puts them on steroids. It uses them to propel forward the moral of the story without sacrificing a bloody good time for the viewers. By the time the credits roll, the message is expressed loud and clear by Lilith. There's something novel, and somehow, effective with how it just throws the gift of women empowerment at you rather than offering it with a neat bow on top.
For more reasons than ten, there isn't any piece of Filipino cinema quite like Ten Little Mistresses. And that's saying something, given how openly it submits itself to cliches we've all grown familiar with. It's inate irony becomes its ace. For a 2-hour watch about ladies participating in an affair, it deserves a ring on its finger.
Ten Little Mistresses is streaming globally on Prime Video.
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