The target of the anti-porn movement–and the front line of the Philippines’ raging culture war–is not Liam Neeson’s exposed rear end or Meryl Streep’s bare breasts. It is the Movie and Television Review and Classification Board, the government agency that Mendez used to head, but that is now led by her mirror opposite, anti-censorship advocate Armida Siguion Reyna. Under Siguion Reyna, a former singer and actress, the board last year eliminated censorship for the first time in 50 years and adopted a rating system much like that used in Europe and the United States. It might not seem like a big deal for a country that is already, by Asian standards, exuberantly free. But for filmmakers conditioned by censorship, it was like a prison break. In the past 18 months, they have released a torrent of explicit films, some of which bear a closer resemblance to smut than art. Siguion Reyna admits that filmmakers are acting like a “herd released from their corral.” But she remains unrepentant, leading some conservatives to deride the 69-year-old grandmother as “the porno queen.”

This story itself may sound like the premise for a racy Filipino movie: two unjustly maligned women–rivals, in fact, whose roles have been reversed–help turn a raucous battle over sex on screen into a war over the nation’s identity. (One can even imagine the ads: “It’s sexy, absurd, wildly entertaining–and deadly serious!”) Well, that’s not too far from the truth. And what else would you expect in a country whose colonial history has been described as “300 years in a Catholic convent and 50 years in Hollywood”? Ever since the first days of colonization, when Spanish friars preached Catholic morality but took Filipina lovers, the Philippines has been a place with a split personality–both prudish and prurient, sensuous and straitlaced, high-minded and high-spirited. In the current conflict, the two sides of the Filipino soul are locked in mortal combat, with neither gaining the upper hand.

But why now? For centuries, Filipinos have been able to manage the contradictions without losing their sense of balance or humor. This is, after all, a place where girlie bars almost outnumber churches; where a movie actress (Ara Mina) tells the Senate that she prays for forgiveness every time she disrobes for the camera; where a notorious womanizer (Joseph Estrada) was voted into the presidency last year by an overwhelming majority. (Estrada puts Bill Clinton to shame: the former actor has at least seven children out of wedlock, as well as three by his legal wife, but he had no qualms hosting the National Day of Prayer and Fasting last month.) Filipino analysts compare the current clash to the release of pressure built up between tectonic plates–the longing for freedom after years of state censorship on one hand, and anger over a slide in morals on the other. There’s no doubt that Estrada, who flaunts his enormous appetites and his freewheeling style, has left the country ripe for a cleanup crusade. As political analyst Joel Rocamora puts it: “People feel a sense of moral disorder.”

Eighteen months ago, when the Review and Classification Board dropped its censorship role, it all seemed so simple and, yes, so orderly. In a recent letter to Estrada, Siguion Reyna explained the changes matter-of-factly. The new rating system was designed “to offer parents advance information about a motion picture… in order for them to decide what they will allow their children to see,” she wrote. “The Board does not classify movies on the basis of quality or lack of quality. That is for critics and the audience to decide.” It was a momentous decision, no doubt. Movies, to which admission typically costs $1, are the country’s most popular form of entertainment. But at the time, most of the attention–and, for some, the anger–was focused on the depictions of sex, nudity and violence in foreign films, which were moving from small, art-house venues to Manila’s multiplexes. Few Filipinos could imagine then that the true challenge would come from within.

But Filipino filmmakers had been waiting for just such an opening, and gleefully charged into the void. They have produced dozens of movies over the past year that deal with every taboo, from “pumping” (the censor’s word for sex) to pedophilia, from incest to homosexuality. Artistic freedom, of course, is not the only factor behind the boom in so-called bold films; economics plays a big role. The Filipino film industry has been hit hard by the Asian financial crisis, as well as by the flood of foreign films, and many producers are turning to sexy films for a quick buck. They are easier and cheaper to make than action films–with no-name actors they can cost as little as $125,000–and the public, for now, seems eager to be titillated by new forms of entertainment. “Hollywood films have mastered the art of film as an event,” says respected film director Mel Chionglo, who ventured into the genre himself with his latest release, “Burlesque King.” “Our events are now sexy films where we can see an actress disrobe for the first time.”

Not every new Filipino film is a sex flick masquerading as art. Many “bold” movies are serious and creative, including a few (like “Burlesque King”) that have appeared in international film festivals. The latest addition–and the one that has riled conservatives the most–is “Silk,” the first sexually explicit film by Romy Suzara, an award-winning director best known for his action films. “In the past, our hands were tied,” Suzara says. “For the first time, I felt free to express myself in a movie.” The film about a family with a dark past opens in a silk factory, with the camera zooming in on cocoons sitting on a bed of leaves. Schoolchildren listen to the factory owner explain how silk is made, when suddenly there is a cut to a graphic lovemaking scene in a cave, where the factory owner’s daughter, completely nude, is shown with her lover. The theme, in case you got distracted, is about Filipinos coming out of their cocoons.

If such scenes are what is meant by artistic freedom, then Henrietta Mendez would prefer to stay in her cocoon. In fact, it was the release of “Silk” in September that prompted Mendez and other conservatives to establish the God’s People Coalition for Righteousness. The group has been on the warpath ever since. Their wrath is directed not at filmmakers or viewers but at the Review and Classification Board, which they are demanding to resign en masse. “The loosening up of morals starts in the board,” says Mendez, dressed primly in white slacks and white shoes. “We will make life difficult for them.” Indeed they have. On Nov. 8 about 5,000 protesters staged a rally in front of the Senate, brandishing placards that read board of demons; we want righteousness, not art! and get out in jesus’ name! In her speech, Mendez spoke to the board. “You are not representative of our people,” she said as the crowd cheered. “Your morality is different from ours.”

Mendez, in fact, is far from alone. Some 86 percent of the nation’s 73 million people are Catholic, and while most are not devout, the church still has a strong influence over the population, especially the middle and upper classes. Conservative evangelical sects, which are spreading quickly in poorer communities, have also embraced the cause. The result: the coalition, though barely a month old, is making big waves. Members of Congress have threatened to cut the board’s budget in half; a senator wants the board abolished because it has “failed miserably” in doing its job. Renato Luz, with the Alliance Against Pornography, sued the board for “dereliction of duty.” Other citizens are taking matters into their own hands: an upper-class village association is carrying out “raids” of sexually explicit movies in neighborhood video shops and a rural town revived a film-review board to pursue the cause of “moral advancement.” The coalition’s most powerful ally is Manila Archbishop Cardinal Jaime Sin. In a letter, he asked Estrada to appoint new members to the board. “Save our children, Mr. President, from these complacent government servants,” he wrote. “They are ruining our cherished values.”

Estrada, a former actor, hasn’t revamped the board, but he has given them a stern warning to be “sensitive to public sensitivities.” And in the wake of the protests, he ordered the confiscation of four “bold” movies that the coalition cited as “pornographic” –including “Silk.” Critics say Estrada’s change of heart is typical of the yo-yo politics recently ridiculed by former president Fidel Ramos. They say Estrada, whose popularity plunged from a high of 65 percent in June to 44 percent in September due to perceived cronyism and corruption, was desperate to avoid another blow to his moral image. But before the confiscations could take place, producers pulled their films from theaters. Said one producer, Jun Suarez: “We wanted to keep the peace because the controversy was dividing the country.”

Siguion Reyna has described the uproar as a “wake-up call.” Taking her cue from Estrada, she and her colleagues have classified two new movies as X-rated for “excessive sex scenes” and given two others an R rating only after producers removed long sex scenes. “I don’t want my grandchildren exposed to this filth,” she says. “What happened to that open space for the ordered expression of feeling that is the activity of art? It has become the cockpit of the rawest passions.” Siguion Reyna has not wavered in her opposition to censorship, but she is pleading with filmmakers not to abuse their freedom. “This liberalism did not just drop into our laps overnight,” she told producers in early November. “It cost a lot, particularly for those who fought long and hard for this new freedom. Let’s not take this for granted.” She added: “This board can only fight for films worth fighting for.” Some filmmakers have responded. Prominent director Joey Reyes toned down the local version of his new movie, “Live Show,” by cutting a frontal nudity shot. “Why add firewood to the fireplace?” he asked.

The blaze, however, won’t be burning out soon. The coalition, which is still growing, is preparing another protest this week. And Mendez is planning to file a case against the board for approving movie posters, billboards and trailers that are unsuitable for the public–and thus against regulations. (She keeps a file of racy posters as evidence.) But the movie industry is gearing up for a fight, too. “The moral terrorists are [scaring] people, holding them hostage with their fire-and-brimstone harangue,” says director Carlitos Siguion Reyna, the board chief’s son. “It has gotten to a point where people who want to speak against censorship don’t.” But that may be changing. In early November, actors, directors, writers and producers formed the Movement for Free Expression to lobby for film classification–and to combat the calls for a return to censorship.

The fight, of course, ultimately goes far beyond sex in the movies. In politics, as in film, Filipinos have only recently discovered the joys–and dangers–of freedom. The question now is whether they will build on that freedom or be forced, through fear or scandal, to return to the days when a central authority was the guardian of might and morals. Mendez believes society must be protected from immoral influences; Siguion Reyna thinks society–and the film industry–must have the freedom to mature so that it can govern itself. “This is not about pornography,” says leading director Peque Gallaga. “This is about growing up. We’re asked to make choices as artists and as a moviegoing public. We have to take responsibility. It’s time to be adults.” But in a land so divided, that may not happen soon. Better get ready for round two.