Jo-ann Maglipon: The Unsung Revolutionary Who Mastered Showbiz (And Why You Should Care!)
Have you ever felt misunderstood in your career? Like your passion project isn’t taken as seriously as someone else’s? Well, get ready to meet a true legend who has navigated that very challenge her entire professional life. We’re talking about Jo-ann Maglipon, a name that reverberates with both political gravitas and entertainment glamour in the Philippines.
Picture this: you walk into a room, a seasoned professional, and as soon as people discover your beat is “showbiz,” there’s a subtle shift. A slight tilt of the head, perhaps an indulgent half-smile, and suddenly, the conversation drifts away from what some might deem “serious” journalism. Sound familiar? Maglipon has experienced this pause, this quiet dismissal, throughout her illustrious career. She candidly admits that, even today, the Philippine media hasn’t quite shed the notion that entertainment journalism is somehow a “lesser” beat.
“You still get a bit that they’re indulging you,” she shares, a twinkle in her eye. But then, she drops a truth bomb that immediately shatters any preconceived notions. “If it weren’t for the fact that I went underground during Martial Law, and I went to prison, I was interrogated and my life has been lived in communities where activists thrive, I think they may even dismiss me half the time.” Talk about an unexpected resume builder for a showbiz editor, right?
The Unseen Battle: Elevating Entertainment Journalism with a Revolutionary Spirit
Jo-ann Maglipon isn’t just a journalist; she’s a force of nature. Her political convictions aren’t merely a footnote in her biography; they are the very bedrock of her being, an indelible thread woven through every piece of her work. “It’s just that politics, in terms of prison, ideology, and the like, is so deep in my system that it will always be there no matter what I’m doing,” she asserts. “Whether I’m doing a cinema book or a children’s book, it will always be there, so I will never be separated from my beliefs.” Can you imagine bringing that level of unwavering conviction to every story you tell?
Her past speaks volumes. A student of Comparative English Literature, she plunged into the underground movement when Martial Law was declared in 1972, enduring imprisonment and interrogation by 1974. Yet, for three decades after, she dedicated herself to covering Filipino stars with the same fierce intellect and seriousness she applied to everything else. This isn’t just reporting; it’s a profound commitment to understanding the human condition, whether on the streets or on the silver screen.
A Masterclass in Contradiction: Glamour, Grief, and Unyielding Greatness
Maglipon’s incredible ability to seamlessly hold together seemingly contradictory worlds is her superpower. She has penned expansive, hard-hitting Martial Law narratives in books like Not On Our Watch and Serve, works that pulse with the political heartbeat of the nation. Simultaneously, she has spent decades meticulously documenting the lives of the brightest, most complex stars in Philippine entertainment. Think about it: the glamour and the grief, the dazzling spotlight and the shadowy struggles, all existing within her professional purview.
She exemplifies this philosophy when discussing Nora Aunor, a quintessential Filipino icon. Maglipon acknowledges Aunor’s well-documented “bad habits” in her personal life but can still celebrate her brilliant, heartbreaking portrayal as the doomed heroine in the cinematic masterpiece, Himala. For Maglipon, these are not paradoxical; they are simply distinct. “Those will not affect how I will see her as Elsa,” she says, referring to Aunor’s character. “They’re very different things.” It’s a testament to her nuanced perspective on film and art, a rare quality in a world often quick to conflate the artist with their creations.
From EIC to Author: Unveiling “100 Sine. Film. Pelikula.”
Recently, Maglipon made a significant shift, stepping down as editor-in-chief of the popular entertainment news site PEP.ph to assume the role of editor-at-large. Her reason? To clear her calendar for the exhilarating world of books. And boy, has she delivered! She co-authored the captivating new book, 100 Sine. Film. Pelikula., with film scholar and critic Joel David, whose own Amateurish! already delves into some 250 Filipino films.
“Honestly, I think it’s a false dichotomy to say that one writer is only an entertainment writer, is only a political writer, was only a cinema buff,” Maglipon declares, debunking the very labels society tries to impose. “I have done books about politics. I have done books about the cinema, I’ve done other pieces in my lifetime that cover not just movies or show business, but every other aspect of the sociopolitical life. So, I really don’t make that kind of distinction.” Her work is a vibrant mosaic, reflecting the multifaceted reality of life itself.
At its launch, Maglipon proudly held up her new book, affectionately calling it “pretty.” And it truly is! Hardbound, full-color, a substantial 9 by 9 inches, and boasting 300 pages, it’s designed to be both a stunning display piece and a beloved companion. The cover, a masterpiece by art director Paul Villariba, ingeniously features characters from 30 different films. It’s a delightful game: Maglipon urges readers, “Try the game of identifying the movies via the pictures on the cover, and see if you get the 30.” Go ahead, give it a shot!
More Than Just a List: A Journey Through Filipino Cinema
Don’t let the title fool you! While the book proudly proclaims The 100+ Greatest Movies of Philippine Cinema, co-author Joel David playfully calls “100” a “false number.” In his introduction, he even expresses a hope that readers will eventually be “liberated from obsessive canonizing.” It’s a delicious contradiction, isn’t it? This productive tension is precisely the point. Across hundreds of pages, the book embarks on an act of canonization, but one that invites dialogue and critical engagement, not just passive acceptance.
The 127 films selected (yes, more than 100!) were chosen through rigorous parameters set by Maglipon and David. Each film had to have an existing, viewable copy (sadly, some lost treasures like Gerardo de Leon’s 1965 Daigdig ng mga Api were excluded). They also needed to run at least an hour and be the authentic work of Filipino creatives, irrespective of funding, shooting location, or language. The result is a vibrant tapestry that doubles as a Who’s Who of Philippine cinema.
You’ll find legendary directors lauded time and again: Lino Brocka with nine films, Ishmael Bernal with ten, and Mike de Leon with six. Actors like Nora Aunor and Vilma Santos appear in nine and eight entries, respectively. But leading the pack, with an astonishing 16 writing credits, is National Artist for Film and Broadcast Arts, Ricardo “Ricky” Lee. What an incredible legacy!
The book’s scope is truly breathtaking, spanning a century of Filipino filmmaking. From Fernando Poe Sr.’s 1937 Zamboanga: A Fanciful Tale of Moro Sea Gypsies to gender-fluid director Dolly Dulu’s 2020 queer romance The Boy Foretold by the Stars. It transports you from the burning fields of Peque Gallaga’s Oro, Plata, Mata to the gentle, heartbreaking black-and-white world of Lino Brocka’s Tinimbang Ka Ngunit Kulang. You’ll laugh with the neurotic meet-cute of That Thing Called Tadhana and the absurd comedy of Kimmy Dora: Kambal sa Kiyeme. The book doesn’t stratify these films; it simply celebrates their greatness, whether canonical or crowd-pleasing, devastating or delightful.
Bite-Sized Reviews, Unflinching Truths
Every entry in the book is adorned with stunning photographs and stills, bringing each film to life. The accompanying reviews, as Maglipon describes them, are “bite-sized” by design, yet they are anything but superficial. They are unapologetic and direct, unafraid to tackle uncomfortable truths.
For instance, the book takes direct aim at Chito Roño’s two entries, interpreting them as “a chronicle of a country’s continuing descent into social and moral depravity.” When discussing Tu Pug Imatuy / The Right to Kill, a powerful 2017 film about a Manobo woman forced to guide soldiers through a relentless forest, Maglipon expresses a profound longing “for more stories like this – ethnic peoples unschooled, neglected, tyrannized, rising to their just anger.”
Another entry, Hesus Rebolusyonaryo, a 2002 film set in a Philippines under a military junta, receives an unambiguous verdict. On the question of dictatorship, no matter its form, the book’s message is clear and resounding: “Never.” These short reviews may be concise, but their conviction is undeniable, a clear reflection of a nation whose art often mirrors its turbulent climate. It’s truly difficult to be vague about power when one of the writers has personally faced its iron fist.
The Future of Filipino Art: Hope, Hurdles, and Heart
Maglipon leaves us with a powerful reflection on the resilience of art. “Despite the wars going on, you still have a place for the arts to prosper,” she muses. “And besides, it is always true that in times of repression, the artists come out.” She even draws a contemporary parallel, suggesting that if certain political tensions escalate, we’ll see an explosion of art: cinema, painting, essays, novels. It’s a hopeful, yet stark, reminder of creativity’s enduring power.
She holds immense faith in the new generation of filmmakers. “I will have to give it to the generation today that is making film,” she adds. “I think they will show us wonders. We must never undercut what is to come.” Yet, her experience tempers this excitement with a dose of reality. She pauses, then says, “Except that the economy is so bad. And political conditions are so rough. I don’t know how their struggle will go.”
This candid blend of excitement and dread, neither canceling the other out, is the hallmark of someone who has truly lived through difficult decades. It’s a testament to Jo-ann Maglipon’s profound understanding of her country, its art, and the intricate dance between struggle and triumph. Her life and work remind us that passion, conviction, and a truly open mind can bridge any perceived divide, proving that some stories are too important to be labeled “lesser.”