Synopsis: The Bahag Kings set off on a journey looking for something that could be nothing. As they search, the film delivers a sample of the Philippine urban landscape taken with a skewed surreal perception, as visual text prods philosophical inquisition. All this leads to a final discovery, but of what, even we cannot be sure. (Carljoe Javier)
“A rowdy genre-defying feature from the renegade Khavn.” - Anne Ciecko, AFTERIMAGE
“Bringing a little William Castle-like ballyhoo to Rotterdam, Khavn walked around the festival (and its 30-degree January climate) wearing only a “bahag” (loincloth) to promote his Bahag Kings, prompting the sort of shocked stares and discussion that a million-dollar publicity budget could never buy.” - Jason Sanders, FILMMAKER Magazine
“A group of tribal leaders from the jungle search the city like a hard rock band. Or is it a rock group looking for the jungle? The filmmaker was arrested for the film, together with his half naked kings. Funny, unpolished, musical and (hence) also a little bit political.
It looks like a joke that has got out of hand, a kind of contest: who dares walk the street wearing only a G-string? G-string Kings is indeed a cheerful and cheeky film, in the spirit of the other work by this most cheerful, cheekiest and certainly most productive of Filipino film makers, but it is not just a silly joke. Seven sturdy mature men dressed in no more than the bahag, the traditional string with loincloth as worn by the original inhabitants of the Philippines. It couldn't be more Filipino, so why should Filipinos get upset about it? Yet the cheerful procession is regarded as a provocation of good taste and even of good order. The film is a feature, made in the idiom of the silent film, but shot spontaneously on the street, like a documentary. The men go out into the world as kings: King Black, King Red, King Blue, King Yellow, King Green, King Purple and King Orange - seven rainbow kings (bahag-hari) with their ethnic G-string (bahag). They travel in a jolting van from the natural forests to the urban jungle. The Bahag Kings, descendants of noble rulers but also of village idiots, search all over for wala (nothing). In the end, they, along with the film maker, are arrested by the police. What was once traditional costume turns out to have become obscene.” --- Gertjan Zuilhof, ROTTERDAM INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL
“The loincloth is the oldest form of clothing. Since time immemorial and in various civilizations throughout the world it has been used as attire to cover male genitalia. In the Philippines, this piece of clothing is called “bahag,” and its appearance represents a kind of cultural symbol. The bahag worn by the indigenous Philippine population was described at the start of the 19th century by missionaries. Not surprisingly, the spread of Christian morality discouraged its use, viewing it as an unacceptable form of attire. A group of men, the Bahag Kings, leave the countryside behind in their old van and head for the urban jungle. Seven men in multi-colored cloths wrapped between the legs and worn as a symbol of ethnicity pretend to be the descendents of majestic native rulers and village idiots and attired as such experience a series of bizarre incidents in the big city. But this traditional garment, which should not be offensive to any Filipino, is deemed to be indecent, and the director and his group of kings end up spending a night in jail. The loincloth comes to represent a point where different socio-cultural streams collide. This wild punk musical thus takes on a somewhat political tone. Khavn's digital film, shot in a documentary style and with Dadaistically temperamental performances, undermines the established order, and in its gleeful impertinence it shows how an authoritarian mentality is instrumental in the way symbols acquire their meaning.” --- Marek Hovorka, JIHLAVA INTERNATIONAL DOCUMENTARY FILM FESTIVAL
DIRECTOR’S STATEMENT BY WAY OF AN ELEGY
In "Bahag Kings", Elmo Redrico, aka Ka Elmo, continually exclaimed "We are artist!" while we were maliciously detained in the Cubao Police Station (Gateway) just because we were wearing indigenous Philippine clothing. "We are artist!" It was both plural and singular. It was funny and profound at the same time. "We are artist!" Ka Elmo repeated it aloud. Though I don't know if the security officers fully heard, if the passers-by really noticed, or if anyone, including us – his comrades, truly understood what he was trying to say. If he meant anything at all in the first place. But Ka Elmo still said it. Again and again. "We are artist!" Something for him to mouth when he still had one. Something for us to think about while our buddy parties into the Great Beyond.
