Jason Paul Laxamana’s 100 Tula Para Kay Stella (2017) was memorable for being a rare offbeat entry in local romantic cinema. Clearly influenced by Hollywood downbeat romances like 500 Days of Summer and the manic pixie dream girl trope, the movie introduced audiences to Bella Padilla’s Stella, an aspiring emo rock star, and JC Santos’ Fidel, a stuttering, socially awkward student hopelessly infatuated with her. The film stood out for its indie vibe and for famously launching the enduring Santos-Padilla love team.
Nearly a decade later, the sequel revisits Fidel and Stella in their 30s, with the story set 15 years after the original. Laxamana has affection for his character creations, whom he reunites in this sequel. Of course, the central character remains the introverted Fidel, the socially awkward everyman obsessed with his dream girl, the silent, creative type who pours his feelings into his artistic craft. In the first film, that meant poems. In the sequel, it’s songs.
This time, Laxamana brings in the concept of “limerence,” a term popularized in today’s social-media discourse on attachment styles. Fidel remains the anxiously attached admirer, while Stella emerges as a textbook avoidant, narcissistic figure who thrives on admiration while keeping intimacy at arm’s length.
Padilla plays her with nuance — shifting between genuine affection and ego-driven flirtations — and it keeps the audience guessing what Stella really feels for Fidel. That’s where the film gets its richest tension.
The intrusion comes with the introduction of Clyde Pelayo (Kyle Echarri), a much younger third-party character who benefits from Fidel’s words as songs for his own pop career. His presence feels like a studio imposition rather than an organic narrative choice. Viva Films’ intent to raise Echarri’s profile is obvious, reinforced by his equal billing on promotional materials. Unfortunately, his performance—a crooning, Elvis-styled persona and teenage vibe—steals what could have been a deeper study of Stella and Fidel’s dynamic.
In this sequel, we find Stella and Fidel now financially stable, but it is revealed that Fidel is still harboring feelings for her after all these years and she remains his inspiration for writing. He is gifted with words but mostly earns passive income as the owner of an events venue, and lives in a romanticized “man cave” in his backyard, where he writes songs about Stella in her absence. Those words become the very material that fuels Clyde’s career as a pop star.
Stella’s character is more fleshed out here. Her backstory is believable, even heartbreaking, but she is unmistakably a narcissist. She thrives on admiration and validation from both Fidel and Clyde. She strings them along — not because she doesn’t care for Fidel (she does, in her way), but because even avoidant types still crave some emotional connection.
The pull of the film lies in whether Stella truly loves Fidel. That ambiguity —heightened by Padilla’s subtle expressions, moments where heartbreak and ego blur — makes her fascinating. Laxamana gives us a character that leaves a lot to chew on.
Because it’s a Viva film, the pacing leans mainstream, with intertitles showing Fidel’s growing collection of songs. We only hear a handful, but the suggestion is that his obsession goes way beyond that—that he might have written thousands more songs about Stella, unable to let go. It’s obsessive, but also touching.
While overlong, lacking in feels, and not as groundbreaking as its predecessor, the sequel still offers compelling character work. Fans of Santos and Padilla will find satisfaction in their continued chemistry. For others, it may come off as an uneven but still thoughtful revisit of familiar characters under a more psychological lens. Laxamana manages to capture the messiness of love, the ache of longing, and the difference between connection and emotional abuse.
2.5 out of 5 stars
Now showing in cinemas