Lullaby
Contagious fears, rampant lies, tedious wandering, monotonous lights, haunting melodies, restless silence, and messed up locality— the film feels so real.
Watching one of Lav Diaz' films is a displeasure. He's the director that brings viewers into a paradox, where disturbing stories are captured solemnly. During the past weeks, I was curious and thrilled to see Hele sa Hiwagang Hapis, which is a crazy eight hours long film. Hesus Rebolusyonaryo, Walang Alaala ang mga Paru-paro, and Norte: Ang Hangganan ng Kasaysayan were some of his pieces that I’ve come to endure, and to me, they're like a poetry that lingers. Lav was known for his square-framed, black and white cinema, with a really eccentric, yet natural tale; thus provides a distinct approach to socio-political issues and to the cinema. His work isn’t an art for the art’s sake, but an art that reflects culture.
The film reminds me of my province. It has portrayed the outlying feeling of living in the countryside, in terrifying woods, where it made me feel like I was actually there too. I remember when I was a child how weary it feels lurking in the greenery with farm animals, hearing the rustles of cicadas, and the whispers of the wind— a beautiful experience, apparently. It also manifests deception in a satire; how we Filipinos lived with lies, and how easily contrived our culture is. It's a painful and nostalgic portrayal of a never-ending commotion. Hele depicted the irony of a conditioned society, by interlacing the stories of fictitious and true-to-life characters. I believe he used and played myths, especially the role of three allegorical creatures i.e. tikbalang, to ridicule the fallacies of a written history. Rizal’s works were inspired by true characters and some true events. And stories were manipulated therein. It lulls you from the natural world, giving us a lot of time to decipher every light, every stanza. One thing is certainly addressed; for the Filipino people and the youth to realize an untainted dream, then, to break free.
Lav's Hele isn’t just a plain recreation of different tales. It isn't a piece of narration, clearly, but an implication. Isagani represents the youth, whose wit and curiosity is worth fostering regardless of idiocy. We understand Isagani. The technicals are bare with apparent flaws. The contrast is heavy, and the scenes are protracted. It can be more enduring if the edit is concise. Even so, the story is compelling and suggestive, perhaps to disturb sleepy souls. The film has left me stunned, particularly in the last soliloquy of Crisostomo Ibarra and Gregoria de Jesus—both victims of sorrow— who knew that the country's loss is greater than their own.
