Actor Ace Vergel died last year to little fanfare. Here’s to raising hell on his behalf.

Ace Vergel was the first person onscreen that truly scared me. I use “scared” not in the artificial vampires-and-aliens sense of the word, but in the same likelihood that a mischievous older cousin might wound you with scissors or a drunken uncle with a heavy belt. Disturbing, because it felt real. I did not see Pieta in a rat-infested Cubao moviehouse but on afternoon television. It was one of the most frightening things a 10-year-old could experience in daylight.

In Carlo J. Caparas’ 1983 film adaptation of his own komiks series, Ace plays Rigor, a name that rings about as brutish. Pieta is the story of a young hooligan who torments—not only the neighborhood—but also his own mother. The legendary Charito Solis plays the mother with the right tenor of helplessness and sorrow. But you can’t blame a man for sexually harassing Vivian Velez—whose criminally curvaceous body and alleged videotaped dalliance with a governor from the North were equally legendary (Le scandale originale!). Incidentally, Velez was also Pieta’s producer.

Pieta was an hour and a half of pure discomfort. Not because it was directed by Caparas, but because of the total absence of sympathy for Ace Vergel’s character. There have been countless Pinoy movies with dark characters as bida—from FPJ to Erap to Ramon Revilla to Rudy Fernandez to Aga Mulach. But nobody was calling them “Bad Boy” (Robin Padilla? Prison = baaaahhk bahk bahk bahk baaahk). Most action stars and leading men—no matter how nefarious the role—at least manage to project a glimmer of compassion and the seeping residue of charisma. Ace Vergel in Pieta was a master class in onscreen impenitence, as if drawing from some inner reservoir of belligerence.

Pinoy culture has a deeply anatomical notion of evil. We see it as something lodged in the marrow, something that flows in the veins. In short, one is either born bad or good.

What good is a resurrection in an industry that champions mediocre dramas? Today’s cinema does not deserve Ace Vergel.

In Pieta, Ace Vergel felt like someone who had ill intent inscribed in his tissues. It did not help that many of his films had such titles as Sagad Hanggang Buto, Huwag Kang Papatay, Galit sa Mundo, Pusakal, Suicide Force, Kamusta Ka, Hudas? Ace Vergel seemed to wear a perpetual scowl, and in many of his photographs, always presented the impression of someone who had something smoldering internally.

It also did not help that Ace Vergel was devilishly handsome. The devil always had impeccable skin and excellent grooming. Oftentimes, the devil can be more frightening than George Estregan, Paquito Diaz, and Max Alvarado. The purest personification of bad. The devil, after all, is in the details, felt in the slightest twitch of the lips, a raised eyebrow, a sneer.

He was “bad,” yet at the same time, it was not an adjective you could use to describe his talents. He emerged at a time when actors could actually act. He was no ordinary action star. He could growl, shoot, and punch a goon as convincingly as he could cry or brood despairingly. He was no B-movie icon either. Ace shared stellar billing with the likes of Maricel Soriano, Nora Aunor, Rudy Fernandez, etc. Fuck it—Ace Vergel was one of the biggest stars of 80s

Pinoy cinema. But there is indeed something truly spine-chilling about a YouTube video showing a dapper Ace in a bowtie and coattails, singing “You To Me Are Everything” with Sharon Cuneta. Spine-chilling because he can actually sing. More: he and Sharon Cuneta look good together. Imagine the dark possibilities.

He stopped making movies years ago, his last being Masamang Ugat in 2003 with Eddie Garcia and pudgy presidential son Mikey Arroyo. Last December 15, Ace York Aguilar, at age 55, died of cardiac arrest. Obituaries, as expected, were marked by those middling words: “The Original Bad Boy of Philippine Movies.” As if a life can be summed up in a single convenient catchphrase. Fifty-five is not exactly the most ideal age for dying. It was even reported that the man—who had kept his illness private—actually planned a comeback. But what good is a resurrection in an industry that champions brainless computer-generated thrills and mediocre dramas? Today’s cinema does not deserve Ace Vergel.

Getting in character is something actors and coaches have always regarded with the utmost degrees of seriousness. In the same way, they have also stressed the importance of evacuating a character at the directorial imperative “Cut!” Failure to do so often results in tragedy. The late 80s saw Ace Vergel landing on the wrong side of the law. He appeared on prime-time news for alleged drug possession and rape. Yet it is unfair to pigeonhole him in that category of a celebrity who has blurred the boundaries between life and art. Nora Aunor has often been accused of shabu-use and other instances of erratic behavior, but no one’s calling her “The Original Bad Girl of Philippine Movies.” The history of genius, after all, is a long, lonely road with its own ambuscade of demons.