A rose by any other name
Lav Diaz's Phantosmia turns on the simple conceit that a man who has experienced trauma will carry a trace of that trauma for the rest of his life, sometimes in the form of a smell. Doesn't have to be a real smell-- people have searched his surroundings at his behest looking for a dead rat or snake, find nothing; the stink is in his mind, a manifestation of guilt for committed sins.
In this case one Master Sergeant Hilarion Zabala, of the First Scout Ranger Regiment of the Philippines (Ronnie Lazaro); recruited in March of 1953, presumably active during the Martial Law years (1972 - 1981), since retired. Zabala can't eat, can't drink, can't keep his gorge down (at one point he's bent over in an alley, retching and heaving at the stench that fills his nose).
Guilt is a central theme in Diaz's films, in particular guilt manifested physically, as a somatic symptom, an active malady. In his first released film Kriminal ng Baryo Concepcion (Criminal of Barrio Concepcion, 1998) Serafin Geronimo must endure a toothache so intense it swells the side of his face; in arguably the picture's most disturbing moment he's driven to punch his cheek till the abscess bursts, the pus spurting out the side of his mouth. There's Hermes Papauran, legendary Filipino police investigator (Complains Peter Debruge in Variety: we're never shown "what makes (Hermes) the 'greatest.'" My reply: in the Filipino context 'greatest' doesn't mean smartest or most effective; it simply means someone who doesn't give up) with his acute psoriasis as seen in Kapag Wala Nang Mga Alon (When the Waves are Gone, 2022) and its prequel Essential Truths of the Lake (2023), a horrifying skin condition that suggests Hermes is rotting before our eyes.
Serafin Geronimo could do little about his condition except perform penance; Hermes in his early years asked his sister to treat the dermal eruptions. Zabala seeks help but his therapist Dr. Corazon Valle (Lhorvie Nuevo) suggests psychotherapy-- a callback to Diaz's Melancholia, where former rebels attempt to exorcise psychological demons in the form of role-playing. Dr. Valle's is a less radical suggestion: a return to active duty which, in Zabala's case, means assignment to the remote Pulo Penal Colony, hopefully to jog his memory into revealing the inciting trauma.
Maybe the therapy is even less radical than that. On Pulo Island, Zabala meets all kinds of types: simple Setong (Amado Arjay Babon), who cooks well but can't think beyond obeying his adapted mother Narda (Hazel Orencio); Nika and Brando (Heart Puyong and Mitzi Comia) who come to the island to pitch tents and participate in the annual hunting season; Marlo (Dong Abay), a poet who literally sets up a soapbox where he stands and delivers on-the-spot verses; Reyna (Janine Gutierrez)-- beautiful and young and slowly growing blind; her adoptive mother Narda, who pimps Reyna out to the men on the island; and Major Ramon Lukas (Paul Jake Paule), the colony's garrulous commanding officer, who nurses an obsession for guns and power.
As Reyna, Janine Gutierrez plays an updated version of Hazel Orencio's memorable Florentina Hubaldo in the film of the same name, and gives us what may be the most accurate depiction of psychological and sexual abuse-- and its grievous aftereffects-- in recent memory (Orencio, who was victim in the 2012 film, is here the victimizer). As Major Lukas, Paule gives us yet another fleshed-out parody of Diaz's bete noir, the late president Ferdinand E. Marcos-- not just his charisma but his eloquence, his massively self-righteous hypocrisy, his relentlessly cheerful early-morning (and late evening) propaganda greetings. Unlike Rodrigo Duterte, who was an unimaginative brute, Marcos didn't just want to exercise control over your physical self he wanted to win over your mind-- to possess you body and soul.
Zabala represents yet another Diaz archetype, the anti-hero seeking redemption. Diaz seems to gravitate to sullen loners, some more sullen than others (Hook Torollo in Ang Hupa (The Halt); Hugo Haniway in Panahon ng Halimaw (Season of the Devil; the eponymous hero in Hesus Rebolusyonaryo), but these quiet protagonists also divide into two types: the dissolute poet-warriors seeking meaning in their lives (Hugo, Hook, Hesus), the former military men seeking forgiveness for their crimes (Hermes, Juan Mijares in Batang West Side (West Side Avenue))-- Zabala falls into the latter type: an expert marksman, a by-the-books soldier who survived Scout Ranger training when barely out of his teens, a youth forged by his father to be stone, to follow orders without flinching, to kill without hesitation.
Zabala may be the capstone to Ronnie Lazaro's career-- hard to tell, as he's done so much tremendous work, so much of it under Diaz (one only has to remember his out-there performance as former mentor turned demented killer Primo Macabantay in Kapag Wala Nang Mga Alon). Here Zabala stands self-contained in his suffering; gradually the others on Pulo Island draw him out-- Marlo with his poetry, Nika and Brando with their enthusiasm and cigarettes; Setong with his kindly innocence; Reyna with her great need. Even Narda and Major Lukas are an influence, negative reminders of what Zabala's military discipline can become, if he's not careful.
A pause to note that Diaz not just writes and directs but fully shoots and edits his films now, and the results couldn't be better-- the black and white cinematography add a stylized patina to the locations (the wooden tinroofed shacks and spaghettified power lines of cities, the leafy canopies endless rain limitless skies of the countryside), lingers long enough to capture dramatic changes in sunlight. The action when it happens can be sudden and vicious yet pitiless, viewed through an impassive lens.
Throughout Diaz sprinkles references to Filipino foods and dishes from all over-- sweetened budin or cassava cake from Quezon; pinais (shrimp and grated coconut wrapped in banana leaves, slow-cooked in coconut milk, then grilled over coals for a smoky char), also from Quezon; bulalo (classic Batangueno dish of bone marrow and beef shank in broth); adobong bayawak (another Batangas classic, monitor lizard stewed in soy vinegar garlic peppercorns); and a few enigmas (Fried gram? A misprint-- that's actually fried gurami, a rare fish. Ar-aro stewed in vinegar and ginger (paksiw)? Also known as popoyo, and found only in the Liguasan marshes of Cotabato. And ginulat na dalag? Mudfish shocked to death by being dropped in boiling oil). It's as if Diaz wanted to celebrate Filipino cooking, didn't have the budget to properly light and plate such delicacies, ended up referring to them only in passing, as incantations to evoke a mysterious magical culinary landscape-- one Zabala can't share or delight in, thanks to his condition.
As for the closing sequences-- a rare bit of suspense on Diaz's part, reminding us that early in his career he was a prolific komiks writer and wrote for veteran action directors like Manuel 'Fyke' Cinco and Augusto Salvador-- Zabala's most heroic act may be in suppressing the best part of himself, all the military abilities and instincts (unwavering support of authority, unflinching response to crisis) he's cultivated since young. After a lifetime's experience of betrayal he attempts the ultimate betrayal, and comes full circle to what he's been seeking all along.
Best of the year? We still have four months left, but this is possibly one of the better titles, easily one of the most uncompromising, and-- for me at least-- one of the most substantial and exciting to date.
(Lav Diaz's film will premiere in the 2024 Venice Film Festival on the following days: public screenings-- 9/2 @ 14.30 (Sala Casino), 9/3 @ 9:00 (Astra 2) and @ 20:00 (Astra 1); passholder screenings-- 9/2 @ 9:00 and 14:30 (Sala Casino), 9/3 @ 9:00 (Astra 2), 20:00 (Astra 1))
First published in Businessworld 8.30.24
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