What makes a martyr? Is it what they did in life that turns them into one? Is it what they stand for? Or is it something in between that makes them what they are?
This story needs no spoiler warning because even if we don't know the specific details, we all know how this ends: three priests were executed in 1872 for allegedly fomenting rebellion against the Spanish colonial government. It's captured here in Pepe Diokno's GomBurZa in very precise detail: the film is very much concerned with adherence to historical events and accounts. Much of the first half is just talking; consisting of committees and meetings that don't exactly have the same momentum and drive of other historical films. That isn't exactly a bad thing. It exists in contrast to Jerrold Tarog's approach in his cinematic universe of local heroes, where emotions and themes drive the story forward.
Diokno's approach serves a threefold purpose: first, its emphasis on historicity places value on the nature of truth and truth-telling, in a world where 'alternative' historical accounts meant to serve a purpose fester in the internet and even this year, in cinema; second, in humanizing the three martyrs, they are not glorified in the same way many hagiographies do - they are not necessarily supermen or beings blessed with divine gifts - they are just people like you and me caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The third, and perhaps most important purpose to me stems from something that grew out of a number of conversations I had after watching the film. One point raised in those post-screening conversations is to ask: what exactly did these three men do to deserve such reverence, and how was it portrayed in this film? Gomez, Zamora and Burgos are passive characters in their own movie; things mostly happen to them instead of the other way around. Compared to other Filipino heroes from throughout history, GomBurZa did not lead battalions of soldiers or assassinate key historical figures at the expense of their own life. Instead, they taught their students the value of equality. They preached the word of their God in its purest form - he, after all, welcomed the sick, the poor, the free and the enslaved, the Samaritan and Jew in equal measure, that no man is above another. To the colonizer, nothing is more radical, because in true equality under God there are no hierarchies of race or status, and without hierarchies, how can the colonizer justify his subjugation?
Perhaps more important than the question of "what makes a martyr?" is "what does a martyr represent?" and in the last act, we are shown why these three sparked a revolution. The execution scene is wonderfully shot; possessing a somber tone, mostly absent the histrionics and drama, in a sky with no sun but still with light in the horizon (here, the 'blue hour' represents both twilight and dawn, the beginning and end of ages.) We are made to sit and watch with that audience in 1872 as three innocent men are killed for the ideas in their heads, and the experience is simply intense - the last act of the film is one of the best scenes in Philippine cinema for the year. In their final conversations before their execution, these martyrs-to-be converse about fate, answering the rhetoric of what action did they do to deserve such reverence - that is, their deaths are that action. Their deaths give their lives meaning and fulfillment, enabling them to achieve their dream of equality, of an identity as "Filipinos" - not by their own hand, but by the collective actions of the people they inspired. That's the essence of martyrdom. There's nothing more Christ-like than that, don't you think? Merry Christmas.
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