Diary ng Panget

The general observation for Andoy Ranay’s Diary ng Panget is that it can be viewed as a substandard Cinderella byproduct — and it is — where the youth revolt for reasons no greater than excess pimples and earlier Mac book generations.

Though one particular scene gleams in utter radiance and nags of biting reality: in a student council meeting, an unsuspecting student of the lush Wilford Academy flaps open her laptop. Hers is only one model behind the latest, but her friends lay her pronouncing leers anyway , and she shrinks in receiving their quiet verdicts. It becomes clear to her: in some mutely savage way, she is being excluded from the circle.

This is the only moment in the film where you can feel anything at all. Where it is exactly right and sadly so; judgement these days, it appears, is easily made through the Apple devices that you currently own. It is the needle in Ranay’s haystack that stings should you touch, if only for a quick second; a sting that wanes out just as fast, as the film moves tediously along the ramshackle script-work.

Based on the viral Wattpad story, the film finds a pimply college student Eya (Nadine Lustre) who gets caught up in a wobbly tangle of infatuation and crushes.

There’s a pervading sense of awareness from the film on all its faults; and thus it feels a conscious decision to rely on its biggest commodity — its cast. There’s desecrating use of James Reid’s body too, and that is fine, says the hundreds of screaming fans from behind the first four rows against the screen from where I sit. The reason for their admission to the film are theirs and only theirs indeed, but luckily for the rest of the audience, the film proves fiendishly charismatic that we can move past its lows.
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Should the film’s origins be any indication of its inferiority? No.

It is a collective success (if somewhat little), as it is a collective failure — like the map of acne set upon the protagonist’s face. The critical derision towards Wattpad is confusing: my impression is that it is a community as legitimate as YouTube, where publishable art sees not as many stricter standards; where publishable artists such as Sky Ferreira first saw fame, and publishable filmmakers such as Neill Blomkamp attracted financing in the realization of his political sci-fi piece District 9. It is the same with Wattpad, where Michael Whitehouse and Derek Phillips begin, genre writers who emerge with tinges of classicism resonating in their voice — the former echoes of Victorian romanticism, the latter of O’Conner-esque styling. But then in the end, publishable today has dissolved into mere splotches of blur. It feels like a moot argument to kindle.

Regardless, the script (written by Mel Del Rosario) is formulaic and flat, with little character and conflict to compel motion through the film. The direction is similarly distancing; Ranay’s previous work Sosy Problems serve as portent to his poorly executed, upper-middle class humor displayed here. If anything, the film is driven with pure charisma — and what charisma should it take! — that for just a quick moment, you are willing to submit to the euphoric jeje-ness of Panget.