MANILA - Introducing the men and women behind “Manila” before its full run at the Main Theater (Nicanor Abelardo) of the Cultural Center of the Philippines Friday night was no different from the rest of premiere showings in any commercial venue.

“Manila” was the opening film of the 5th Cinemalaya Independent Film Festival.

Part producers of the film, Arlene Cuevas and Edgar Mangahas, typically parroted speeches of past filmmakers, this time, players were of different set. Directors Adolf Alix, Jr. and Raya Martin thanked people who supported them in the endeavor, acknowledgments already hackneyed.

Members of the cast, Rosanna Roces and Jay Manalo stood like wallflowers, while their erstwhile fellow sexy star Cherry Madrigal, totally ignored by the emcee, threw her weight around. She literally went up the stage and presented her self just well enough.

At this point, young actor and matinee idol Piolo Pascual made a difference, not by his thank you speech, but more so by familiarizing the fans that CCP, as the primal cultural edifice of the nation, also belongs to them.

People from all walks of life trooped to CCP to watch “Manila,” a film about looking back and seeing forward the similarities and differences of the city of Manila from the vantage point of masters Lino Brocka and Ishmael Bernal and the vision of young artists Alix and Martin.

Mere mention of the name Piolo Pascual easily elicited shrieks and swoons from a big chunk of guests at the festival, a not so ordinary sight and sound at a usual decorous and still atmosphere of the center.

An equally behaved part of the so-called cultured, if not erudite, audience was just held in awe.  

Presumably, mostly female students and budding, if not at all, new film artists, they were nonchalant in displaying their emotions and wits especially when Pascual popped up from the side, walked up the proscenium and stood before the audience.

The actor wore a semi-formal geometric vest-like top over a subdued long-sleeved polo shirt and jeans and snickers.

His mere presence on stage guaranteed a victory of the representations of the masses among the artists or lovers of art who flocked to the actor’s solo movie.  

The fans couldn’t wait for him to talk, their screams, in between his pauses, drowned his smiles.

It was like reliving a not so long ago frenzy among Noranians, Nora Aunor’s ardent supporters, and Vilmanians, Vilma Santos’ dyed-in-the-wool followers, during local film events, like awards nights, when the rival actresses were nominated in a same category, also done at CCP.

These shrieking fans, the other night, made the CCP a common ground among the ordinary folk, to make them realize, it was first and foremost, theirs to savor artistic creations to enhance our understanding of what life is all about.

When “Manila” reeled off, the truest, the worst and the ugliest side of the city was once more rubbed in our consciousness.