Committed, fatalistic

It's a big commitment for me. This afternoon I dropped by CCP to take a chance of getting that one thing that eluded me last year, a Festival Pass to Cinemalaya Independent Film Festival and Competition. (Dear one or two readers, you know that I even tried my luck in a reasonably exhausting blogging contest that had this as first prize.) When I left CCP an hour later, the Festival Pass remained elusive.

But I made a big commitment. It's reasonably sizable in terms of cost. For the love of... er... now I don't know what really, per sales pitch cum recommendation of the CCP ticketron, I settled to buy three Day Passes. I tried to shove away my nagger alterego when I made the decision but I silently hoped and prayed that I won't regret the decision afterwards.

For this year's Cinemalaya, the sixth, there will be nine full-length features competing for "New Breed" category, and five for "Directors Showcase." There will be two sets of "Competition Shorts" each featuring five entries. To see all entries in competition, a moviegoer will have to attend 16 screenings. For 1,500 pesos, a Festival Pass holder will get to enjoy watching all entries (at dates, times and theaters of his choice). But the Pass is a severely precious limited commodity.

In comparison, the Day Pass is composed of five tickets, each indicating a screening time (10:00AM, 12:45PM, 3:30PM, 6:15PM, 9:00PM), no feature title, no theater specified, but all dated on the same day. Each Day Pass cost 500 pesos.

I had this feeling that at the moment that ticket selling for Cinemalaya opened, every day that I resisted the impulse to leave everything work-wise and troop to the ticketron and buy, I was increasing my risks. It's such crushing frustration to actually affirm this feeling when one arrives at the ticketron, Festival Passes in view, but the takilyera can't/won't sell.

"Isa pong Festival Pass," my three 500-peso bills thrust almost violently into the takilyera's face.

"Sir, filmmaker po ba kayo? Kasi para sa filmmakers na lang po ang mga ito." Then glassy-eyed, two-second pause. (Big mistake.)

"If I say that I am, will you sell me a Festival Pass?" Takilyera looked bemused then stared at my chest. I was still wearing my DOH ID. I didn't push for a complicated lie/act, it felt undignified.

In fairness, she sounded sympathetic, offered me the Day Pass alternative. Even gave me, very discreetly, the Cinemalaya program brochure to study the options. (At that time, which was minutes before the ceremonial Opening Night, masses of collegiate reaction paper assignees were causing a riot for an also rare program brochure.)

I left the ticketron, went to the gift shop, which has become my and Eon's customary hangout during the VLF6 pilgrimage. Every nook and cranny of CCP seemed abuzz for the Opening Night, even the gift shop transformed into a department store on Midnight Madness Sale mode. The program brochure, hard as I tried, looked incomprehensible. 

Felt pressured at the thought of possibly losing chances even at getting Day Passes. The ticketron, within view from the shop, was receiving a rapidly growing demanding clientele. Single screening tickets cost 150 pesos; this third option is most unappealing for the bulk buyer. Definitely, I won't go for walk-in, on-the-spot ticket-buying during Cinemalaya, I promised myself. I still need to see a shrink to exorcise the trauma of last year's nightmare cloaked as festivity.

So, the Fatalistic Filipino did what he would in consideration of all this. I went back to the ticketron, queued and spent the three 500-peso bills on three Day Passes, July 10,  11 and 17. Next post: the consumer math behind impulse buying.