Notes on Daang Dokyu Film Festival: Taboo

 

Taboo is a word that carries a lot of weight. In some ways, it implies silence, because it relates to people or things that are simply not talked about. In some ways, it implies invisibility, ghosts moving about a hidden world. But to be silent or to confer invisibility denies people their dignity; and the documentarian's job then becomes one who speaks or lets others speak, and one who shines a light on invisible people.

Nick Deocampo's Oliver (1983) does just that thing, showing us in all its unfiltered glory the life and trials of its titular subject. While Oliver gyrates, impersonates and does all sorts of entertaining, at times shocking acts, we are reminded that he does this for the sake of his family. Ultimately, his acts are a transaction, exchanged for monetary gain. But beyond that  the film explores how its subject grapples with identity and gender, topics that would have been normally talked about differently in 1983, making this film a radical act in itself.

One constant running through both Oliver and the next film we will discuss is the limbo where sex workers dwell. The promise of what looks like easy money in exchange for flesh is a trap, and societal structures are rigged against these people escaping the trap, ensuring that the cycle will perpetuate itself anew. In Pabelle Manikan's Dreaming in the Red Light (2019), this trap extends across generations. The mother-daughter subjects of the film know that sex work brings with it certain prejudices and connotations, but the lure of sex work draws some of them like moths drawn to a red-lit flame.

People stay silent because of societal taboos, an internalized shame built on wrong or misguided assumptions. With this silence comes an anxiety at the thought that either one's self or a loved one may be afflicted with something considered taboo, and the documentaries Invisible (2019) and All Grown Up (2018) tackle this in different ways, and the latter in particular leads to particularly heartwarming and profound moments.

There are people who are invisible but want to be seen, in the case of Jose Antonio Vargas' Documented (2013). I saw this in Cinemalaya and it is even more resonant in Trump's America, where the status of immigrants, illegal or not (and also by choice or not) is more gray than black and white.

Child soldiers occupy invisible spaces. They are embroiled in conflicts often not by their own choice. They join these conflicts forcibly, or through social pressures, or in some cases, through a personal desire to fight oppression. Mga Batang Mandirigma (2004) chronicles the transition from normal life, to child soldier, back to normal life - or at least a life as normal as possible.

To end this batch of documentaries we have Dory (2017), a short glimpse into the life of an aging trans woman near the end of her life. While before we talked about invisible people and silence, we get a glimpse of what it feels like in reverse: to live a life where friends and family have mostly passed on, where almost everyone we know is gone or silent. The result is a heartbreaking look into loneliness and the double bladed sword of old age.

Daang Dokyu is a month long film festival celebrating 100 years of Filipino Documentary film. For more information, visit their official website.

Notes on Daang Dokyu Film Festival: Ecology

 

An interconnected system links environment with people and people with each other, and that idea is behind Daang Dokyu's first lineup of documentaries. This first batch of films not only deal with the idea of ecology in the biological sense, but also in the sociological sense. These films show the effects of both colonialism and neocolonialism on Filipino society, and how corporations exploit people for monetary gain.

The oldest films in the lineup, Native Life in the Philippines (1914) by Dean Worcester and Glimpses of the Culion Leper Colony and of Culion Life (1929) by Merl La Voy, are fascinating historical artifacts. But the former was borne out of racism and even white supremacy - the film was made because Worcester wanted material to support his idea that we are a people of savages and thus should not be made independent. He owned land in the Philippines as well, and as such didn't want to lose that land to anyone. The latter, while perhaps far more benign in its intentions, does not completely show how some patients are deprived of their liberties in the island.

Generational oppression is seen in films such as Sabangan (1983) and Dam Nation (2019), filmed 36 years apart, facing the same problem: the impending construction of the Kaliwa Dam, a project that will destroy their way of life if it ever comes into fruition. Over generations, oppression through war is replaced by the neocolonial aims of corporations, such as in Jin Takaiwa's The War We Were Not Taught About (1994).

And there are films that show the human response to trauma in the form of natural disasters: Balud and Ang Pagpakalma sa Unos are responses to Typhoon Haiyan/Yolanda by exploring our relationship to disasters, superstitions and myth, while documentaries such as Pinatubo: Pagbangon Mula sa Abo (2011) presents our resilience as a people.

Perhaps one of the most interesting explorations of the idea of Filipino social ecology is Pagbabalik sa Tribo, an installment of the popular Probe Team docuseries, that depicts filmmaker Aureus Solito (now known as Kanakan-Balintagos) as he reconnects with the Pala'wan tribe and fights to defend their right to fish in contested waters. I have been talking a lot about the relationship between man, nature, and other men in this post, and this documentary is a synthesis of all those topics - the Pala'wan are discriminated against, marginalized and oppressed not by foreign invaders, but by fellow Filipinos who desire to monopolize natural resources meant for everyone.

Like so many of the other films in this post, Pagbabalik sa Tribo tackles man's relationship with himself, as both Solito and presenter Howie Severino grapple with their personal and cultural identity, trying to find out what being Filipino means to them.

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Daang Dokyu is a month long film festival celebrating 100 years of Filipino Documentary film. For more information, visit their official website.

Present Confusion Reviews | Heart Attack (2015)

 

After an extended stay in academia, it was time for me to embark on my first real job and contribute to society, my family and myself. Aside from the worry that no one will take me in, I also had to decide if the job was suited for the life I eventually wanted to live. Admittedly, such thoughts are a privilege, since many do not have the luxury of choosing. Between the stability of a salaried, regular job and the freedom of freelance work, I was attracted to the latter. There's something enticing about the prospect of working at your own pace and your own time. That flexibility, at least in theory, allows one to chase after personal pursuits. 

But this ideal setup is a pipe dream, reserved only for the rich and lucky. Capitalist society has corrupted the freelance system, taking advantage of it to allow companies to commodify time as a function of labor. You may have more "free time," but that "free time" can be spent making more money, so people are inevitably drawn to work more instead of resting (and this is a scenario ripe for exploitation). In my case, I had to take on multiple "rackets" or freelance work on the side, or risk not being able to pay the things I need (much less want.) In the end, I had a lot of work and no time, realized that was a bad idea, and eventually settled for a regular, salaried job to keep me financially secure.

Nawapol Thamrongrattanarit's Heart Attack takes that idea to its logical extreme. Yoon (Sunny Suwanmethanont) is THE freelance graphic artist, working multiple sleepless nights to deliver work to clients in record time. Time is a constant presence throughout the film; shots of a ticking clock are a constant reminder to Yoon (and to us) that he is working on a tightrope - one misstep and it's a missed deadline and a potential lost job. 

Yoon consistently submits excellent work, but he overworks himself to the detriment of his health: a mysterious rash begins to appear on his body. This is the strain on his body made tangible, and the film also keeps track of the number of rashes on his body, itself an indirect measurement of his stress levels and overall work-life balance.

The film presents us with a conundrum by introducing the character of Imm (Davika Hoorne,) a soft spoken medical resident who helps Yoon deal with his condition. Yoon knows that he will get better if he follows Imm's advice (and given her terrible track record as a healer, Imm would benefit from that as well), but that eventually means that he will stop seeing her once he's okay. At the same time, Yoon's efforts at taking a break come into conflict with his old workaholic life, and he starts to make mistakes.

That paradox reveals the tragedy of Yoon's character: he lives in a society that encourages workaholics like him, and as a consequence, this a society that does not foster meaningful human interactions and relationships. His relationship with Imm is a start, but even that is a transactional relationship; had he not been sick, Yoon would never have met Imm at all, and it is uncertain if he could meet Imm outside of the walls of the clinic if he gets better. He doesn't have any friends outside of that (at least, to him), because he simply doesn't have the time to sit and talk. This is explicitly seen when Yoon attends a friend's funeral, only to spend the majority of that funeral working from his computer. Yoon soon imagines his own funeral, and he accepts the fact that only a handful of people will be there to attend. This is the worth of a life under such an oppressive system: left alone, forgotten and unloved.

The character that becomes a mirror image of Yoon is Je (Violette Wautier,) Yoon's handler. At first she is trapped within the same oppressive system where the pressure for deliverables is constant. It might appear at first that she, like those above her in the corporate ladder, is exploiting Yoon for her own benefit, but it is clear that she is a dear friend and looks out for Yoon in her own way. Her work life balance is shifted in the opposite direction of Yoon's when she receives a marriage proposal and she chooses life over work. She eventually finds a balance and becomes instrumental in helping Yoon get out of his situation.

The ending is trademark Nawapol; it's giddily uncertain, like one holding a breath in anxious anticipation. It posits: we may be islands in an open sea, but we are all oases to each other. We are, each of us, secluded beaches where others can settle down, look at the setting sun, and exhale.