Right off the bat the thing that sticks out the most from Wantawsan is the way it depicts something that most Filipinos from low income communities experience - the act of taking debt and giving and repaying loans. As soon as Chito (Joross Gamboa) gains some money, he loses that money to a number of debts that he holds, this time not entirely out of his own volition. The problem this time is that money, received as a handout from the local mayor, is fake.
The debt trap consumes the life of not only Chito, but every other person in the movie: everyone owes everyone else something, because the money that they earn is not enough for them to live, and say less about simple luxuries like a birthday party. In order to pay off their existing debts, they take on more debts to cover that deficit, and it becomes an inescapable, inevitable cycle. With such a milieu, every man starts to look out for himself. When it becomes uncertain where your next payout's gonna be, it's reasonable to hold on, no matter what, to the money you do have.
And ayuda systems like the one perpetrated by the omnipresent mayor directly feed onto this ecosystem of eternal debt, creating and fostering a relationship of dependence. Throughout the film the characters of Wantawsan gaslight themselves into thinking the mayor is still working in their best interests. And when Chito gets the mental wherewithal to realize he's being scammed, he is unable to gain solidarity with anyone else but himself.
Joross Gamboa gives a committed performance here, though at times his bronzer makes him stick out like a sore thumb compared to his co-actors. It's weird because he doesn't have to be that dark skinned, there are definitely lighter skinned day workers and the tan one gets from perpetual day work doesn't look like this.
Wantawsan's depiction of the debt ecosystem then turns into a moral question for those still in debt, rather than turning it against the people who perpetuate that system in the first place. At multiple times in the film Chito is tempted to spend his remaining (fake) 1000 peso bill and change it for real money, even if it means taking advantage of someone else. At one point, he asks questions to an ice cream seller about relatives and family, just to make sure that the person he's negatively affecting will have the least collateral damage possible. Thankfully his son (Zion Cruz, no the other one) serves as his moral compass. Our children do truly change us.
It's not a stretch to say the Filipino farmer is the backbone of the country. The products of their labor helps feed us and sustains our people. It is the most profound irony that we as a society do not see them in that way. The Filipino farmer has been subjected to all sorts of indignities: forced to farm in lands that aren't theirs, exploited and killed for standing up for their rights, relegated to the back of societal consciousness.
In Law Fajardo's Beast, the Filipino farmer is just as much a beast of burden as their carabao partners. Omeng (John Arcilla) tells fanciful tales to a young child he treats as his own. He learns that the person who owns the land is selling it to have it redeveloped, which means many decades of harvest have come to an end. He is sad about the news but as he goes to sleep he notices that his steadfast carabao Bob (voiced by Lou Veloso) is suddenly able to talk and sing. The two then decide to head for Manila to search for Omeng's long lost niece, who lives in the city. There's just one thing: Omeng is only traveling using Bob, and his home in Pulilan is at least 40 kilometers away.
What follows is a series of short stories-within-a-story as Omeng takes on a number of passengers as he embarks on his journey. Here the film takes on a surreal, magical realism-tinged tone, and while Arcilla gives a good performance, the film itself lacks the whimsy it needs to work. It's also home to an extended, interminable sequence with a bunch of vloggers that had me plugging my ears. And although the film is a road movie, it is paced very slowly, with large stretches of the film having nothing interesting going on.
It soon becomes evident to the attentive viewer that the people helping Omeng on his journey are familiar faces, and there's more to the trip than meets the eye, and the film's twist ending reframes the proceedings as an imagining of a better future for people like Omeng, a way for storytellers to give them the life they deserve.
However, all of that is held back by various aspects of the production. Testimonies from some crewmembers who worked on the film relate the film's usage of AI to animate Bob talking. It is ironic that a film made as a tribute to farmers uses tools that actively harm them and causes the same damage that the film decries. It's also a shame since the film would have worked just fine (and probably would have saved budget too) if they just shot it the way they did Fulgoso from Marimar or any number of talking animal movies and media over the past several decades.
In some editions of the 11th century novel The Tale of Genji, there is a chapter called Kumogakure. The word literally means to "hide behind a cloud" but in this particular context it is used to denote the disappearance of a person. In the case of the novel, it consists of a title and a blank page - as it denotes the death of its central character, Genji. Prior to that chapter, Genji's final appearance in the novel has him contemplating his eventful life so far, He laments the absence of his late wife Murasaki no Ue, with whom, among his many wives and paramours, he has formed his closest emotional attachment. At one point he wakes up and sees an empty spot next to his bed. Overcome with loneliness, he remarks:
I long to melt like snow, to disappear
from this world of sadness... but snow still falls
and I still live on against my wishes
The compulsion to leave a world that has overtaken you, where death seems like the easy way out, is an understandable one - and it lies at the center of BC Amparado's Mono no Aware. But even from the very start of the film, there are signs of resistance against simply fading away. Most notably it is seen in the stains left by the kodokushi, elderly or isolated people who die a lonely death. These stains are persistent, seeping through the tatami mats and into the floor below. Without a community to support them, whether it be family or friends, these people often go unnoticed for days before they are discovered, and special cleaners are contracted to clean the place up.
Ichi (a committed JK Labajo) is one of these cleaners. He's in Japan, trying to eke out a living and raise a family. Despite the blood and gore he encounters on a daily basis, he perseveres for the sake of his wife and newborn baby. His baby has a bunch of complications, and Ichi pours all of his resources into keeping the child alive. On the other hand, he meets George (Perry Dizon), a Filipino retiree who has spent his life alone after the death of his Japanese wife. With his hand mangled and with no way to work or to leave meaningfully, he wishes for death, and George asks Ichi if he can help him do so, pouring all of his remaining resources into his death wish.
For a film steeped in death, Mono no Aware is life-affirming and gentle, punctuated by a sparse, yet effective soundtrack and visuals that help one take step back, take a breath, and consider these characters' struggles. It treats both life and death as the natural rhythms of our existence. Through its various characters, it explores the reactions to those events to those rhythms, embodying the concept of aware (哀れ). For example, at one point, social worker Mori Iwai (Momoko Kobayashi) relates the story of why she decided to engage in laborious, thankless social work - because of the traumatic experience of her grandfather dying. Though the word is rendered with 哀, the kanji for sorrow, it does not necessarily mean that aware is associated only with tragedy or sadness. The ending of the film is evidence that our being moved by the utter transience of life - all its regrets, its tragedies, its resolutions unanswered - can lead into something cathartic and joyful, especially if you have someone walking alongside you.
It is perhaps my biggest mistake in this film festival to watch Mikko Baldoza's Stuck on You immediately after Mono no Aware, as they exist in completely different frames of mind: while the latter is solemn and serious, the former is a wacky, unhinged comedy that wouldn't be unusual in the filmography of someone like Wenn Deramas (this is a compliment.)
Describing the film feels like describing a tesseract, but I'll try. Sheryl (a completely game Xyriel Manabat) works at a nail salon. On her way to work, she gets mistaken for a fellow coworker and is put in the service of Max (River Joseph), a rich dude who just wants his ingrown nail removed. Unfortunately for playboy Max, he's got a target on his back: a group of disgruntled men have put a hit on the hunky love interest, and Sheryl has mistakenly taken her place. Many, many shenanigans ensue.
It's futile to nitpick any inconsistencies in the story, as it operates on comedy rules. If (operatively speaking) this is anything like Baldoza's genre exploration of the sexy/horror genre in 2025's Haplos sa Hangin, this would be a homage to brainrot, mainstream comedy films, the antithesis of films like the one I just watched before this.
I don't think it all gels together in the end, but the film is still supremely entertaining thanks to Manabat's performance, and to be fair to River Joseph, he takes one for the team as the relatively sane straight man to Manabat's funny man.
The days following my mother's death were a blur, and it didn't help that the death was sudden and unexpected. All I remember from those days were a sense of trying to regain normalcy in a state where normalcy was the furthest thing from the status quo. It all eventually settled on the fact that it's never going to be the same as before, and whatever form our family's lives will take from now on, it will be one without my mother actively in it.
I felt the same feeling with Thop Nazareno's Apol of My Ai, where the titular Apol (Zion Cruz, yes this one) deals with the death of his mom and the belated return of his OFW dad Poli (Zanjoe Marudo). He's understandably distant from his dad, and the two struggle to connect with each other. Thanks to his normal homeroom teacher going on maternity leave, Apol comes across and is smitten with the new substitute teacher Ai (Rochelle Pangilinan), and decides to join the school chorale in order to impress his new crush.
Nazareno is no stranger to coming of age stories that tackle our complicated relationships with family and society, and this one is no exception. In particular, his films have its characters, go though this coming of age scarred and beated but persevering. It also hasn't gone unnoticed that all of his characters, from Kiko Boksingero to Edward to this one, deal with the repercussions of their fathers' actions. In this case, however, Poli's decisions regarding his son are not borne out of indifference or hatred, but out of love and economic necessity. It is a sad reality for overseas workers everywhere, raising children that will not know them.
And that's what lies at the emotional heart of Apol of My Ai - a boy, masterfully rendered by Cruz's best-of-festival performance, who desperately desires to love and be loved in return by the only parent he has left, forced into a pseudo-adulthood from that feeling of wanting normalcy in an abnormal situation. It's quite fitting that the film uses kundiman as a sort of motif, as they are love songs that can also sometimes be used in a context other than romantic. I'm reminded of Saan Ka Man Naroroon, composed by Restie Umali with lyrics by Levi Celerio, whose lyrics of longing and sadness makes sense in this context.
Granted, the proceedings can sometimes pile on the cheese, at times orders of magnitude higher compared to the relatively grounded Kiko or the very serious Edward, with some kiddie scenes reaching cloying levels, while Apol's sudden crashout in the last act of the film can strike as more than a little cringe. In the film's defense, however, cringe is very much a part of a preteen boy's life, so I'm willing to give it a little slack. I would know, I've been one of those kids.
Part sci-fi, part fantasy, part horror, Multwoh's mishmash of genres feels very much like the vertical dramas its central character, Marcel (Sassa Gurl) creates. Her Philippines is one where the water has dried up, and where the media reports spiritual possessions of queer people doing all sorts of weird things. She has a huge crush on Miguel (Joao Constancia) and constantly thinks up scenarios where they end up together. When Marcel is unceremoniously killed under mysterious circumstances, she gets help from a bunch of (very flamboyant) spirits in order to haunt Miguel, sort out her remaining emotional baggage, and find out the manner of her untimely demise.
The first half of Multwoh has Marcel exploring her relationship with Miguel, establishing the milieu of the world. Like many of director Rodina Singh's other films, it is a world where its central characters' queerness is a given, and is not treated as the punchline to a joke. The people in Marcel's life accept her as she is. I would also say that her attraction to Miguel is judged only because she's indecisive, but the film has a tendency to blend fiction and reality so much that it's not easy to tell which is which.
Still, the film is brimming with campy, outrageous chaos (including some surprising cameos!) that ends in a wonderful, poignant sequence. The only problem here is the obvious and egregious use of AI that isn't completely diegetic nor justifiable. Its existence, pardon the pun, haunts the film from beginning to end.
Like many of Carl Papa's other films, Patay Gutom explores themes of memory (especially forgetting), and repressed emotions (especially desire). But unlike his other films, and maybe thanks to directing partner and star of the film Ian Pangilinan, it is much lighter than those films. In fact, other than maybe Manang Biring (2015) this is Carl Papa's lightest work, which is crazy considering this is a film about ghosts wanting to be remembered.
The film revolves around Art (Khalil Ramos), who has haunted the cemetery in which he is buried for decades at this point. He watches fellow spirits visited by bereaved loved ones, eventually leaving the living world behind thanks to their presence and the food offerings their loved ones feed them, called atang. Art hasn't had anyone visit him since his death... until one day, he receives something: a piece of Burger Machine sansrival. His elation is soon dashed when Tristan (Pangilinan), the delivery boy who brought the sansrival, steals and eats it himself. This has the unfortunate (?) side effect that Tristan can now see and interact with Art, and other, much different 'side effects' ensue as well.
Reminiscent of films like Mike Waters' 2005 film Just Like Heaven, albeit with a unique and interesting quirk, Patay Gutom may not be as deep or impactful as Carl Papa's other films, but it brings with it a bittersweet tenderness to it, thanks to its earnest and endearing characters. Buoyed by its two leads (and some pretty great chemistry between the two), Patay Gutom has a romance that looks ridiculous on paper, but one that ultimately works for me - though it must be said that the twist during the third act will make the nature of Art and Tristan's relationship a bit iffy.
As much as it is a film about remembering, Patay Gutom is also a film about letting go. It centers on the things we leave unsaid, and the regret borne from those unspoken words, reminding us that while we still exist, whether in life or in the afterlife, it's better to let those feelings known rather than keep them bottled up inside.
