Pidal and Pidol

E·N·Q·U·I·R·Y
DEMAREE J.B. RAVAL

Pidal and Pidol
Sunday, 08 24, 2003

In our culture where droll humor becomes a convenient substitute for a sense of outrage or proactive decisions in times of crisis, Jose Pidal has yet become another object of an endless stream of jokes and laughable anecdotes passed on from one mobile phone to another. Our reaction to the text message, for example, about actor-comedian Dolphy as denying he is Jose Pidol – Pidol is Dolphy’s other showbiz moniker – sums up the character of this Jose Pidal phantom that has been brought to our consciousness. Thus our emotional chaos remembered in tranquility, as James Thurber would remind us, finds expression in humor.

Pidol, in his various screen characters as screaming faggot, village idiot or bumbling fool, has made us laugh ever since we can remember. In many of his early roles specially, when he was lean in physique and hungry in looks, Pidol has made us forget, if only for a moment, the dreary lives we live in quiet desperation. Indeed, how often has the bumbling Pidol made us believe that there is a greater fool than ourselves – but when we laughed at this fool we might as well have been laughing at ourselves!

The Pidal character, however – with an ego that is as corpulent as his body, and a voice that makes us wonder whether he took infection lessons from a eunuch – is by no stretch of imagination a fool. But he also makes as laugh at ourselves, because we realize that the joke is on us. Being the rubes that we are, we have conveniently turned to humor as a recourse in order to ease the emotional – and economic – chaos of living with the scourge that has been inflicted upon us for the past 32 months now.

The emergence of Pidal in the movies in our minds has opened our eyes to the reality of corruption that has long been staring us in the face, from an overly expensive boulevard to corporate takeovers that defy all norms of decency. The yakking and yakking that we have to endure under Pidal takes us to a convoluted motion picture scenario which we can hardly decipher, but decipher it we must if we are to confront reality.

Pidol the actor does us proud as Filipinos, because he manages to let us experience humor as an escape, not from truth but from despair. Through this humor we stage our narrow escapes into the secret caverns of a faith that tells us that the Filipino will not only endure his privations – he will prevail. Like all great comedians, Pidol treats comedy as a serious business, and he has apparently been successful in this regard that we start laughing at him even before he opens his mouth. Perversely, the same case is true with regard to Pidal – we also laugh at him, but only when he opens his mouth to tell someone to take him to court. Now, that’s a real joke!

Notoriety might as well be Pidol’s middle name. His incursions into bedrooms outside of his own have earned him a niche in the Filipino machismo hall of fame. Pidal, however, doe Pidol one better. Women, specially the beautiful ones, are hardly the acquisitions that make up Pidal’s claim to power and fame. Money – lots of it, far beyond the dreams of avarice and coming from all sources – is what makes him notorious. The money keeps streaming in from underlings that he has conveniently installed wherever there is a deal to be made, an accommodation to be arranged, or a corporation to be grabbed.

All too often, we love Pidol one time and hate him the next for poking fun at our miserable lives. Pidal should equally be the object of such a love-hate attitude. After all, shouldn’t we give him our grudging admiration for being the epitome of an individual who believes in the pragmatic philosophy of carpe diem? Seize the day - and everything that comes with it, whether they be bank accounts or lucrative telecommunications outfits. Let Pidal live, therefore, in that palace by the stinking river, on a P321-million (and still growing) bank account, while Pidol squats out his last remaining days dreaming of a white Christmas in that home along da riles.

Pidal is the phantom who wears so many faces, and lives in our midst. He is your next door neighbor who praises to high heavens the dubious achievements of his cronies in government, the number of luxury cars his drivers drive, the membership cards in exclusive clubs he carries in his fat wallet and the dollar accounts he has stashed somewhere in Europe.

Pidal, too, is the self-righteous opinion writer who writes about narcopolitics, condemns it, but is himself sullied by the powder of his exposé.

In his alter ego, Pidal is the virago who berates the people in the press even as they go about in trying to make a living under a supposedly strong democratic republic, where alleged villains should also be given access to the media. And that is not even abetting rebellion.

Pidal, whether wittingly or not, makes his voice heard through the legislator who flaunts his anti-corruption stands but finds every reason to stonewall an investigation into the lifestyle of those who commit corruption under his very nose.

Pidal is also the overeager cop who brings bad news to a newspaper publisher, and proceeds to effect arrest at a time and in a manner that violates all rules in the book.

Pidal need not be coaxed to come out. He exists. He is here, there and everywhere. He embodies all that is venal and execrable in us. All we need to do now is to give him a nice, hearty kick in his fat butt so he will not harass us ever again.

Meanwhile, a word from this cynic: There’s so much aggravation all around us that we don’t have to go to the movies for it. The saga of Pidol and Pidal continues…


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