THE “Filipino in film” has been represented in as many colorful and interesting characters as there are works that tackle the problematique of the Filipino nation. An indication of how the field remains an area of contestation are the various characterizations of the condition and travails of memorable characters that represent the Filipino in film.
There is Kulas from Romero’s “Ganito Kami Noon, Paano Kayo Ngayon?” (1976), possibly the most important Filipino film ever made, who manifested the coming-of-age of a nation borne at the threshold of Spanish colonialism’s grip and yet interpellates the continuing past’s contemporary resonance. Julio Madiaga from Brocka’s “Maynila: Sa Kuko ng Liwanag” (1975) is another character that comes to mind that speak about the Filipino’s journey since Kulas. This time he is an alienated working class hero who dies under the hands of his own kind - a veiled warning about the divisive and brutal ways of elite rule then under the Marcoses working at the behest of their neocolonial masters and the intergenerational tragedy that have since befallen the common Filipino. A third proper character installment of the Filipino in contemporary times could be the rapper Hendrix in Montreras’ “Respeto” that highlight the repression and the need for social catharsis in the age of Tokhang.
There is a deep and wide body of work in Filipino films that is now ripe for analysis about the kind of representations that has been made in celluloid of the outward Filipino character and psyche. But then here comes Khavn’s “Balangiga: Howling Wilderness” (2017) that intervenes in this debate by realigning the terms and focus of the national conversation. For Khavn to shake the foundations once again of what is expected and possible in cinema is somewhat expected. He was said to have performed live on the piano the film score to his 13-hour autobiographical film at the Rotterdam Film Festival in 2013.
If the Filipino psyche and character are easily accessible through the adventures and misadventures of Kulas, Julio, and Hendrix as they navigate the national narrative at various historical points, how does one represent the hidden but indelible historical scars that have marred the national psyche? If there ever is a thing as a national subconscious, it is Khavn’s singular and unparalleled achievement that it is now uncovered in the gem of his recent film.
It is a seductive and important proposition: that our troubled history as a conquered people first by the Spaniards and then the Americans has scarred us deeply and painfully as a people. The particular subject of the film on the transformation of Samar into a “howling wilderness” upon the orders of American General Jacob Smith where Filipino men, women, and children capable of carrying a bolo where ordered killed as retaliation after dozens of Americans were slaughtered in Balangiga was the perfect visual vehicle for this brave cinematic experiment. Given the Yankee love that remains to this day, the revelation of the brutal ways of the conquerors speak of a historically reality that has been repressed finally finding cathartic release through the film.
That Khavn was expressing the national subconscious scarred by hundreds of years of colonialism is the only explanation why the visual language, though far-out and fantastic, was accessible. There are flying cows here and disemboweled carabaos which both represent symbolically the steadfast and lofty aspirations at the same time the depths of depravity and violence we have risen and fallen as a people.
While the historical cues point to that period during the American occupation that saw the rise of a fierce local resistance versus a new oppressor, with the Balangiga Massacre taking place on September 28, 1901, the tale of oppression in the hands of old and new oppressors and the staunch unrelenting resilience are constant touchstones in the grand Filipino narrative. The bodies strewn everywhere, wanton abuse of power, and the unending recurring nightmare of our every waking moment as a people balanced by the tenderness of our relations, love for each other - kin and stranger alike, and our unwillingness to give up despite the odds and the tremendous losses we have incurred in the struggle for survival and national freedom are accurate depictions of our continuing past, all of which bleed into the nation’s present just like the red, blue, white, and yellows of the film.
The film Balangiga: Howling Wilderness is a cinematic experience that is difficult to put in words and is better felt than described. By naming the protagonist as Kulas, Khavn points to the continuity in Romero’s character with his own Kulas, excellently played by the young child Justine Samson. If the latter’s Kulas were to have nightmares about how it is to be Filipino under the Americans and then a century after as a neocolony under Duterte, that dream would be Balangiga: Howling Wilderness - a painful cathartic look into how our past bleeds into the present.
It can be a suffocating and self-flagellating ordeal actually, to be reminded of our heartaches and failures as a nation in two-hours of film - all of which was redeemed by the arrival of Kulas in the mythological land of Biringan where day-glo doodles of a revolutionary message promise finally our chance for escape from the recurring nightmare at the end. The end is not to cease but to destroy, or as the film puts succinctly – wazak!