With respect to Sari Dalena's 2001 experimental documentary Memories of a Forgotten War, Cinemartyrs functions in many ways like how Les Blank's Burden of Dreams (1982) supplemented Herzog's Fitzcarraldo (1982). One film creates meaning from the production of the first, and something entirely new emerges. Both Cinemartyrs and Memories tackle the same subject matter and themes, but the fictionalized reimagining of Cinemartyrs considers the point of view of the filmmaker: that is, what is the filmmaker's role in recreating forgotten histories?
The first act of Cinemartyrs starts off rough. Echoing the nostalgia of films like Raymond Red's Mga Rebeldeng May Kaso (2015), it portrays its filmmaker-protagonists as chain smoking, kooky eccentrics who shoot scenes with three different cameras just because. I'd be turned off by all the pretension and self absorption if it weren't all so tongue-in-cheek. This part also serves as necessary setup for what is to come, and as a point of contrast to the kinds of filmmakers our protagonists will eventually become. That said, this part still suffers from a certain messiness that doesn't do it any favors.
Still, once our protagonists reach Sulu to talk to the people there, Dalena comes across something magical. Her author avatar, Shirin (Nour Hooshmand) takes in the experience of lost histories as she learns of what happened in Patikul (and elsewhere in the island) during the Philippine-American War. It is the kind of moment that expands consciousness; Shirin's cognizance of these events broadens her earlier, Luzon centric perspective of 'freedom'. Filmmakers are history-makers as well - as storytellers throughout the ages have shared the experiences of those who came before them, filmmakers are simply the latest iteration of that. In the first half of the film, Shirin and her filmmaker colleagues watch Zamboanga (1937), which is an inaccurate and orientalist depiction of Mindanaoan culture. What Shirin (and by extension, Dalena) creates is something more accurate and respectful of the culture. Film and filmmaking, thus, is also a process of reclamation.
It would be remiss not to mention the film's feminist point of view. Shirin deals with patriarchal society, regardless of where she is: for example, the committee that suggests she go to the south in the first place is composed entirely of men - one even condescendingly prescribes that she stay at home and make babies instead. The 'martyr' in Cinemartyrs entails a sacrifice of some kind, and indeed you do give something of yourself whenever you create something out of the void. Whenever a mother gives birth, she expends her own resources in the creation of that child. It is true not only scientifically but also spiritually - the very act of giving birth transforms a mother in deeply profound ways.
And that leads into the one thing that I loved while watching Cinemartyrs. The film contains many cameos that in the grand scheme of things do not mean anything. But there is one particular 'cameo' that is the most important to the film's central thesis: Ligaya Fernando-Ambilangsa, a renowned dancer and artist whose trajectory mirrors Shirin's: after visiting Sulu and witnessing the pangalay dance, she dedicated the rest of her life to studying and teaching traditional dances like the pangalay. I've seen a pangalay once, during my cousin's pagkawin or wedding ceremony, and seeing that dance again took me back to memories I've long forgotten. Filmmakers (and other artists) transform and translate experiences into something beautiful. They are teachers who accumulate knowledge and share it to the next generation. They are keepers of history, and in showing clips from three women filmmakers whose legacies are all but forgotten, Dalena shows the power filmmakers have to keep the flames of seemingly lost memories burning.
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