When murdering his victims, the cross-dressing serial killer (Mon Confiado) wields his weapon with his pinky finger pointed upwards! (The title refers to the limp hand movement that's supposed to be a telltale sign of homosexuality. Right.) This detail is the sole cool thing about Pilantik, a movie that ought to be scarier and funnier, but is only a mess.
It makes the great mistake of many psycho killer stories: The drama is all in the past. Here, an abusive, homophobic stepfather (Pen Medina) and a stepbrother broke his hand bones permanently when he was a kid -- but even this is staged like a bad afternoon teledrama. (It's directed by TV veteran Argel Joseph.) Meanwhile, in the present, what exactly is going on? For all the loony-fag hamming of Mon Confiado, the character operates without logic. What in the world is he doing with his life, and why? He's rich, takes care of his crazy mom, has a boyfriend, hangs out with a parlorista friend (Lito "Shalala" Reyes), and on the side, hacks people into parts. None of the elements connect. The movie is so lost that somewhere in the middle, we are introduced to three gay killers (as in, straight men who kill gay men), and in the "climactic" action chase that follows, one of them (Jao Mapa) may have suddenly turned into the movie's new lead role we root for. Or not. Your frustrated guess is as good as mine.