EIFF blog: Natural Forces – The Philippine New Wave

As I sit deep within the Cimmerian sweatbox of Edinburgh’s Traverse theatre 2, the past, present and future of Philippine cinema collide. Manuel Conde and Lou Salvador’s 1950 feature Genghis Khan projects silently on the wall. Providing live soundtrack are The Brockas, a band whose name is their tip of the hat to Lino Brocka, perhaps the Philippines greatest ever director. They are helmed by Khavn De La Cruz, very much the present, and in their ranks stands the unassuming Emerson Reyes, a potential future. It’s a mind melting experience fuelled by a wall of heat and sound. And not helped by the surreal image of EIFF creative director Chris Fujiwara (the man who, in a bold move, programmed a full strand of Philippine new wave cinema for EIFF 2012) slapping bass, resplendent in full tux.

Unlike previous film movements there are no thematic norms or visual motifs inherent in these collective works. Nationality and vogue seem to be all that is universal. “It should be Philippine new waves because each filmmaker is a wave of a sort,” suggests De La Cruz, director of Mondomanila, a splatter-punk assault on both the audience’s senses and sensibilities. On the surface this film has very little in common with Florentina Hubaldo, CTE, Lav Diaz’s six hour titan; few similarities to art house wunderkind Raya Martin’s psychedelic road trip Buenas Noches, España; no comparison to the grit of Mes De Guzman’s deeply affecting drama Of Skies and Earth. Some of these waves bob calmly, some pull you under, as for De La Cruz, he crashes you ferociously to the shore. So what holds these disparate tales together? One element is fierce independence and a distancing from mainstream funding and interference, something previously lacking. “In the 80s until the 90s everyone was stuck with formulas and TV companies were definitely no help. You could even call them the main culprits for feeding and brainwashing the Filipino audience.” De La Cruz has an infectious laughter and it peaks as he terms mainstream studios "the enemy."  In a later appearance at the festival, when questioned about the positivity within the current film scene he terms it as a nation’s "congested energy" after being bombarded with soulless soap opera for so long. “I think it’s like diarrhoea,” he tells the room.

Probably the most significant catalyst for this uprising is the advent of digital film. “If you want to make a poem you can just grab a pen. Cinema before the digital revolution, you needed lots of funding. With the technology now you can even use your cell phone.” This technological leap has cracked cinema open for a fresh breed of filmmaker and made it possible for new stories to be told, some which may be unsanctioned by the establishment and unpalatable to their tastes. These are tales whose significance towers above their commercial viability. The independent director can now challenge societal ills such as corruption, colonial hangover and the child sex trade. [It needs to be "something the filmmakers feel strongly about, just getting it out there. Not thinking, will it earn, will it make us rich?” In a recent statement on digital film in the Philippines, De La Cruz suggested “if you want to see how technology has democratised cinema, here is the tip of a massive iceberg.”

This new democracy in film has dragged fresh realities into the light, truths for discovery and moral ailments for disinfection. In De La Cruz’s new wave documentary This is Not a Film Movement Lav Diaz expresses his belief that “the biggest sin of the industry is to maintain the very fascist belief that cinema is simply entertainment.” Khavn agreed that film should “wake you up, move you to change things.” This is a sentiment fused into the DNA of every feature I saw in the strand. These were films with purpose but each communicated their intentions with differing voices. Of Skies and Earth is a solid, truthful depiction of child poverty with a socio realist edge while Mondomanila uses extreme caricature to communicate the alienation at society’s bottom rung. Probably the most subtle take came from Emerson Reyes, whose MNL 143 is my pick of the bunch. This is a beautiful, gentle love story which still manages to touch upon a myriad of national concerns. In place of force feeding, Reyes serves the audience weighty issues as delicate canapés. A minibus driver follows his daily route around Manila, continually searching for his lost love. In many ways he is a vehicle for the narratives of the many passengers who board his bus, each presenting their distinct slice of Philippine life. “The first one symbolises religion, the second one symbolises politics...the third one represents family,” Reyes tells me. “I think these are the top three things in the Philippines.” It was important for him to show a true cross section, everyday people with everyday issues. My favourite was a religious old woman who provides a master class of foul mouthed exclamations (‘Satan’s cunt’ being my insult of choice). Here is a view of the Philippines often ignored by those outsiders interested only in the extreme. “The international media like CNN always shows the bad side of the Philippines. I guess watching these Philippine films will show that there’s more than just poverty.” This new wave strand presents a fuller picture to a new audience, a key part of its significance for Reyes. “When you make people see what you see it’s a very important thing. It’s like giving people your eyes.”

There are facets of their reality which are important for them to reflect. Reyes and De La Cruz are keen to use their work to expose corruption, a problem prevalent throughout Philippine society. Here the story behind MNL 143's lens provides a greater example than fiction ever could. When attempting to enter the Cinemalaya film festival in 2011 (malaya ironically meaning freedom) he was told his promised grant would be withheld unless his lead actors were changed to those they were keen to endorse. “They want to promote some actors and they want market viability but it defeats the purpose of independent film. The festival should support independent filmmakers but what they’re doing is trying to change the director.” Thankfully he remained resilient, following his own path with Allan Paule who delivers a pitch perfect central performance. There is a four minute scene where he just emotionally disintegrates to a taped love song. I doubt this would have remained in the film with commercial interference, or after seeing this that anybody else could have delivered it quite so affectingly. I mention my impression that his film could travel well outside the Philippines and also that other films in the strand can permeate the consciousness of international cinema. The great Brillante Mendoza is the only name which rings out as yet, with Cannes and Berlin awards under his belt. “Oh, Brillante” quips Reyes offhandedly, “he’s my godfather.”

This loose collection of artists is continually evolving. Several of the EIFF selection do not even appear in De La Cruz’s 2010 film on the movement, they simply didn’t exist as filmmakers at that time. We can only imagine then what the future holds. Many are untrained, developing naturally. But perhaps support would create too soft a bedding, quell the punk spirit of rebellion. These films are only a taster De La Cruz tells me, his EIFF curation just a flavour of the new wave. The list continues with Jewel Maranan’s documentary Tondo, Beloved; the harsh fiction of Amok and inbetween this Christopher Gozum’s blending of fact and fantasy in Forever Loved. These are tales of break dancing dwarf pimps, motley glue sniffing kids, fish births, family, history and love lost and found. This is not a film movement, but one of laudable ethos. A move beyond mainstream dilution of the truth and towards the reality of Filipino life. These are stories served neat.