This film eschews a conventional narrative structure, opting instead for a series of vignettes that coalesce around a dilapidated movie theater. This theater, the true protagonist of the piece, pulses with life, inhabited by its operators and a diverse clientele, all bearing witness to its faded glory. Nanay Flor, portrayed with remarkable resilience by Gina Pareño, stands as the film’s unwavering matriarch. Amidst divorce proceedings, she remains composed, a stark contrast to the subdued resignation of others merely going through the motions within the theater’s walls.
Set against the backdrop of the early 2000s, a period marked by the proliferation of internet pornography, the theater stubbornly persists as a haven for sleaze. Its porous nature allows for easy passage in and out, amidst the urban din – a noisy environment that, while potentially overwhelming, serves a deeper purpose, intentionally or not. Immersion is key to appreciating this cinematic experience.
As someone who grew up in the Philippines, I relate to the experience of solo cinema-going, a practice I first embraced in my mid-teens in upscale mall multiplexes and continue to this day. This viewing habit, however, feels increasingly precarious in the age of streaming services. While streaming offers convenience, it lacks the unique charm of theaters, despite their occasional drawbacks like disruptive patrons. The theatrical experience, overall, tends to be more enriching.
This film evokes a sense of nostalgia reminiscent of Tsai Ming Liang’s “Goodbye, Dragon Inn” and Giuseppe Tornatore’s “Cinema Paradiso,” both cinematic love letters set within theater spaces that acknowledge the less savory aspects of these environments. However, Brilliante Mendoza’s socio-realist masterpiece diverges from these films. It forgoes sentimentality, directly confronting the grim realities of the Family Theater. The film titles displayed within the theater itself are telling. Mendoza thrusts the viewer into the uncomfortable realities endured by the marginalized who frequent such establishments, providing a form of entertainment for the lower classes, particularly in the pre-internet era. A moment of levity arrives in the form of a goat scene, arguably the most memorable animal cameo in cinema, surpassing even the chicken chase in Fernando Meirelles’ “City of God” in its comedic grace. Yet, this remains a singular instance of lightness within an otherwise stark film.
Mendoza’s work solidifies his position as a vital voice in Philippine cinema. While initially underwhelmed by “Kinatay,” his Cannes directorial award win gained clarity after viewing this preceding film. The shared aesthetic of decay and grit in both films suggests they form a cohesive statement, presenting an unflinching portrayal of Filipino life. This cinematic courage is commendable.
Ultimately, this film operates as a poignant document, giving voice to the silent despair of the marginalized, those resigned to their circumstances and bereft of tears. Mendoza and his team act as facilitators for their unspoken laments. Even as these dilapidated theaters fade with time, films like this ensure their memory endures. Numquam obliviscar – I will never forget.
Rating: (Beta-plus).
