Citizen Jake

Mike de Leon's first film in almost two decades begins with its titular character standing in front of us: he is Jake Herrera, son of a powerful senator who was a Marcos crony during the time of Martial Law. He lays out the kind of movie that we are about to watch, almost like a confession. This will be a story depicted using the elements of cinema, we are told. And while the final product may not tell us anything we don't already know, it tells us a lot about the person behind the film.

Citizen Jake feels like a mishmash of different things - documentary, murder mystery, political cinema, and the type of film that was popular in de Leon's heyday - a broad family melodrama that is distinctly Filipino. Yet there's something about the film that feels off. There are photomontages from out of nowhere - introducing characters that have yet to be formally introduced. There are documentary style interludes that both provide context and also distraction. The fourth wall is broken multiple times. Certain talking points are made again and again, making the film feel like a rant or sermon instead of the subtler cinematic experiences we are used to. From the start, during Jake's introductory 'confession,' we are made aware of the film's artificiality, a Brechtian convention made to distance ourselves from the work, allowing us to think critically about its themes and the lessons it tries to impart. Brecht's works inform how the film operates: the relation between space and actor, the film's form, the film's way of characterizing its players; in fact, the film uses a lot of conventions from that particular type of political theater. The ultimate effect, however, is mixed. The film will not be to everyone's tastes, but at the very least it creates discourse.

In my opinion, the film works best when it's not being didactic - it makes good points about the relationship between friends of different social classes, there's also subtle commentary about how hypermasculine our culture is, and there are jabs at proper police procedure (which none of the cops in this film seem to follow). But there are shortcomings. There's a side plot involving Jake's missing mother that doesn't really go anywhere, which is disappointing given that her existence informs a lot of Jake's decisions. The decision to cast Atom Araullo, a journalist and rookie actor, as Jake, mostly works, but at times his acting prowess leaves much to be desired.

The film is an indictment of societal ills, as Jake's crusade to find justice is hampered time and time again by entrenched systems of corruption and abuse. It is not solely a polemic about the Marcoses, as it talks about corruption in a broader sense, in that these systems are cyclical and seemingly endless. It will not come as a surprise to many, and it will not shake the convictions of any oligarchs currently (or, still) in power. But in the world of Citizen Jake, as well as in the real world, silence is the ultimate sin. Silence perpetuates corrupt systems and allows injustice. Silence allows malicious people, and their malicious children, and their children's children, to continue to stay in power. It might sound tired and repetitive, but there's merit in repetition, because we as a society are far too prone to forget the lessons of history.

And there's a word that I regularly hear whenever this film is discussed: complicity. Jake the character is fully aware of the role he plays in the continuation of these corrupt systems, as he is shown to work within its bounds: we are all Citizen Jake. In another, metafictional sense, it holds a different meaning altogether. I cannot help but draw comparisons between this film and another piece of political cinema due to make its way into theaters in two days: Lav Diaz's Ang Panahon ng Halimaw. Here are two masters of the craft, looking back at a long and storied career, and perhaps wondering, 'have I done enough?' De Leon's films in the 70's and 80's were powerful works of cinema, many of them ahead of their time. They were protest songs; works that rebelled against injustice and oppression. But, after 2000, nothing.

Silence.

The ultimate sin.

And here we are, at a precarious state, where we may lose the very freedoms that our predecessors worked so hard to achieve. The cycle of oppression goes on, whether we stay silent or not. But, as Francis Edward Sparshott relates to us in his book, The Theory of the Arts, "the judgement of history is unknowable and in a sense, indeterminate since fruitfulness can be denied and lost." It is folly to claim clairvoyance; there is a ridiculousness in conclusively saying whether these works will have any lasting impact now or in the future, and I think (or at least, I'd like to believe) these two directors know that. As artists, their only recourse is to make their art and let history decide. That's why in the last sequence of this film, I do not see Jake Herrera, journalist - I see Mike De Leon, filmmaker, telling us: I will not stay silent. This is the art I have chosen to create.