The interpretation of a dream

I finally had my initiation into a Raya Martin film when the UP Film Institute featured 2 of his earlier films as part of the so-called World Audiovisual Heritage Celebration last Oct. 24. The films were "Maicling pelicula ng ysang indio nacional" (2006) and "Independencia" (2009). I barely had an idea how a Raya Martin feature film goes - the themes that preoccupy him, the methods that he uses in carrying out his preoccupations, his philosophical mindset and his technical concerns. I was actually hearing about him already before, but it was something that didn't really occupy my attention. Probably because "experimental" cinema isn't really my cup of tea. Thus, this film junkie was basically clueless as to what he was going into when he finally decided to take a shot at the young filmmaker's works. I deliberately avoided reading anything about the films previously mentioned so as to not have any prejudgment in regards their value. I just wanted the films to unfold themselves right before my own eyes. And now, how did this "baptism of fire" go through? Let's find out. 

"Indio Nacional" 

The first 20 minutes or so of this film is a real test of the viewers' patience, an endurance exercise even for those who may have already been accustomed to a Bela Tarr set-piece. But whereas in a Bela Tarr film, such long stretches of time evoke a character's inner state, in Raya Martin's above-mentioned film, such a stretch appears to serve no purpose at all, a longueur for its own sake. And that's what makes it more taxing. But for its sheer bravado, I was still perplexed. And when the male character (played by Bodjie Pascua - Kuya Bodgie - whose scene couldn't have suited him more perfectly, if we were to recall his "Batibot" days) starts to tell a seemingly interminable story to his sleepless wife (husband and wife, so I assume they are), I somehow sensed that I was in for a trouble. For the husband's tale appears to make no damn sense (akin to the feeling one may get upon hearing the prologue in David Lynch's "Dune")! Then, after the lengthy opener comes the title card and the film "proper". 

As it turns out, what we have here is a black-and-white "silent" movie whose lovely accompanying musical track appears to have been played in order from a full-length Filipino album (guessing from the brief "stops" in between). At this point, this is where I think the real "treat" of "Indio Nacional" begins. Assuming that the agitated wife in the film's opening stretch was finally able to find a good night sleep, the images that flow from the silent movie assume the quality of a dream, of the subconscious, of the latent workings within the deep recesses of the mind. That all the visual imagery are bathed in a monochromatic hue (following one psychological dictum that dreams are "colorless") enhances the dream-like atmosphere even more. To tell the truth, I was totally awash with the film's strange and, at times, eerie visuals, complete with intertitles written in Spanish-Tagalog, that I was completely negligent of the "historical" and/or "philosophical" significance that such images may bear upon us Filipinos, our nation and nationality. This time around, I was watching the images for their own sake that it never really came to my mind that what could've been transpiring before me was the Filipino's "identity crisis", its different phases and forms, at the time of the Spanish colonial rule. A dissection of the Filipino identity not entirely different from Lav Diaz' preoccupation in his 5-hour opus "Batang West Side". If 3 centuries of Spanish colonization were really something that could easily be shaken off, as easy as throwing a friar on the river at the count of 3 (in one of the film's bizzare scenes), then such a selective amnesia could be understood. On the other hand, this was just in consonance with my above-mentioned aim of letting the visual aesthetics unfold itself, without any pre-formed conceptions and analyses. And that was how it came out to be - a beautiful phantasmagoria. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose. 

"Independencia" 

I don't know if "Indio Nacional" and "Independencia" were meant to be companion films, because the historical phase in the former appears to have been "followed" by another historical phase in the latter - that is, the American take-over. And just like the former, we have here another black-and-white film that could almost qualify for a "silent" movie with a number of near-wordless scenes and some stilted performances (ala-"Last Year at Marienbad"). Aside from the fact that the film runs for only about a little more than an hour that seems to follow Aki Kaurismaki's ideal length for a film (considering that the Finnish auteur also made a film that harks back to the silent era, "Juha"). Initially, the film appears to have a "straightforward" narrative, a clear "plot". But once the mother and son (portrayed by Tetchie Agbayani and Sid Lucero, respectively) become fully settled in their sheltered life in the forest, away from the American occupiers and from all the chaos and confusion, and upon the arrival in their lives of a wounded stranger (portrayed by Alessandra de Rossi) who eventually becomes the son's wife, things start to take a strange turn. The mother dies without explanation, the son becomes a cautious hunter who looks like an eagle in his garb, the wife is shown in not a few instances deep in sleep, the mid-section of the film being suddenly "interrupted" by a newsreel and there are a number of shots of the ''studio'' forest just "being there". And just like the visual imagery in "Indio Nacional", that in "Independencia" looks like something that is culled from dreams, the subconscious, the id. Not that the young filmmaker aims to take a psychoanalytic look at the Filipino identity - the film is definitely not that kind. Nor does he aim to achieve the level of surrealism in a Luis Bunuel masterpiece - there are no religious or satirical touches in the film. Rather, the mood and composition of scenes in "Independencia" closely approximate those in a Nuri Bilge Ceylan film (like ''Once Upon A Time in Anatolia''). But whereas in the latter, I was coming face-to-face with the mental and emotional states of a character through the subtle images, in the former I was again watching the images just for themselves. Much like in dreaming, where we experience things as they are and much of the interpretation only comes after, my experience of watching "Independencia" was like a visual appreciation for its own sake, without any rambling thoughts as to its possible significance on our nation and nationality. If there would be any analysis and interpretation, much of it comes afterwards. But then, I'm not that adept at interpreting a dream.