Virgin Forest (Peque Gallaga, 1985)

Enchanted Forest

The film's opening minutes are stunning. Cinematographer Conrado Baltazar seems to take his cue from Vittorio Storaro's work in Apocalypse Now, suggesting the vast seascapes and sensually textured sunsets of the Filipino countryside. A longboat glides down a river through eerie fog (another callback to Storaro) while a narrator sketches details of the American Army's true-life attempt to capture President Emilio Aguinaldo.

It's 1902; the Philippines having shaken off the centuries-old yoke of Spanish colonization is now trying to shake off the freshly imposed yoke of American colonization. Caught in the midst of this turmoil is Chayong (Sarsi Emmanuelle), her lover Alipio (Abel Jurado), her prospective love interest Alfonsito (Miguel Rodriguez). Chayong and Alipio have been caught in flagrante delicto by Chayong's employer/owner Chua Tek (Rey Ventura) and imprisoned; they're freed when the Macabebes, disguised as Aguinaldo's soldiers, enter the town (Alfonsito, who had been beaten and arrested for resisting the soldiers, is also released). The three flee on a bangka (our version of the outrigger canoe), are re-captured, are then led deep into the forest.

That's a recurrent problem throughout the film: our three hero-lovers are captured by Filipino townsfolk, released, captured by Macabebe scouts, escape. They meander, first in a boat out at sea, later on foot in the rainforest, and you eventually wonder: what's all this about? Why do we follow these three sadsack fugitives from one side or another? Are they meant to reflect the Filipino common man's lot, bouncing like pinballs, imprisoned, pursued, tortured, raped, massacred? Which wouldn't be an invalid point-- Filipinos often find themselves caught between opposing sides: Spanish vs. American, American vs. Filipino revolutionaries, American vs. Japanese, government vs. Muslim insurgents, government vs. communist insurgents. Not sure using allegorical figures literally stumbling through the varied Filipino wilderness falling in and out of scrapes is the best dramatic approach. 

I understand the dilemma, though: the delicate art of posing fictional characters against a grand historical backdrop, in this case a love triangle against the Philippine-American war, the highlight of which was the attempt on Aguinaldo. All the heroism was performed by  Americans not Filipinos, whose biggest significant role in the adventure was to collaborate with the enemy, be captured, and die-- not exactly the most attractive storyline to sell to Filipino viewers*. The three protagonists, in effect, play multiple roles: as representatives of their social types (Alipio for the Malay lower classes, Alfonsito for the Spanish upper classes, Chayong for the Filipino-- woman? Disenfranchised middle class? Unwilling sex worker?); as reluctant alternative to the treacherous Macabebe; and as cosmic comic scapegoats suffering the Filipinos' usual miserable luck.

*(To add insult to injury the American commander Gen. Frederick Funston, unlike his onscreen equivalent, goes on to enjoy a successful military career)

Doesn't help that details feel wrong. The three escape the Macabebes by simply rowing out to sea-- don't the rifles have a longer effective range? The second escape involves stepping out of the firelight into the trees-- shouldn't the soldiers (veteran scouts, supposedly) be able to track the fugitives in the dark? Alipio ends up in an extended wrestling match-- why is the soldier silent? Can't he simply cry out for help? When a village is being burnt to the ground, why should the three escape and not the villagers who lived there all their lives? Why does Alfonsito singlehandedly fire on a troop of soldiers, and why can't said soldiers flank him and trap him, instead of scattering in random directions so they can be challenged one-on-one? Seems to me the Macabebes, at least as depicted onscreen, aren't very competent-- which doesn't say much for the Aguinaldo troops the Macabebes eventually overwhelm.

The psychology occasionally doesn't make sense either: Alfonsito weeps not once but twice because-- I don't know, because he's lost his elite status? Because great forces are arrayed against him? Because he misses his family but must heed the call of history? Chayong weeps for the dead villagers-- but why should she care? We barely saw her interact with them, beyond accepting food and medical aid. Miguel Rodriguez and Sarsi Emmanuelle are excellent actors who have little to work with here-- their characters are barely sketched in; likewise the villagers feel more like plywood targets to be mowed down by artillery than real people. 

And what's with the sex in the film? I'm all for frank depiction of all forms of onscreen human activity, but the way Alfonsito and Alipio approach Chayong feels abusive if not ludicrously libidinous. Not once but thrice Alipio propositions Chayong; two out of the three times his proposal feels hilariously inappropriate (the second time she's just been sexually assaulted; the third she's crying in response to remembered trauma and Alipio comforts her, then starts fondling her). Each time you can't help but be uncomfortable for the characters, and for the actors being directed this way. 

The scene that leaves the ugliest taste in the mouth however has to be Chayong's gang rape. Granted we're meant to appreciate the brutality of war in general and American captivity in particular, granted we're meant to mull over our country's mistreatment by our colonial masters, and granted there's a transgressive sexual thrill to the sight of darkskinned Malay ravishing a fairskinned mestiza...doesn't mean I have to like the way I'm being manipulated, or the way I'm being asked to approve of my manipulation for the sake of nationalist (and possibly racist) indignation. 

All that said, there are notable moments. I've mentioned the cinematography, which is easier to appreciate when the film keeps to open space; when it plunges into the dense rain forest* the images are harder to parse, especially on an online streaming platform--you really need to see this on the big screen, in a proper 35 mm print (which may be difficult to impossible to find). Inside, the cathedral trees have the lustrous quality of a masked ball--the costumed guests lit a campfire orange, the surrounding vegetation like luminous ghosts standing in silent attendance.

*(Aguinaldo hid in Palanan, in Isabela Province, in Northeast Luzon; Gallaga shot in various locations in Quezon Province, in Southeast Luzon. Not expert enough to tell the difference in vegetation and fauna, but if Gallaga had shot on actual locations-- in the Northern Sierra Madre Natural Park for example-- he could have had footage of eagle-owls and flying foxes, and thrown in a scene where Alipio wrestles a crocodile. To be fair the forests and coast actually depicted onscreen look suitably impressive) 

Chayong turns out to be the most emotionally resilient of the three-- after her assault she manages to remain alert for escape opportunities; when her companions at one point or another propose sex she doesn't simply spread her legs but accepts or rejects the proposal as she sees fit, explains (or doesn't) as she sees fit. Of all the issues social and political the film touches on surprisingly it's the sexual-- with the woman as admirably progressive figure-- that feels most developed.

All comes to a head when Chayong confronts the men about their relationship (Skip the rest of this paragraph if you haven't seen the film!). She seems to love-- the word she uses is 'need'-- Alfonsito's delicate vulnerability at the same time she loves ('needs') Alipio's earthy strength. She accuses the two of playing power games against each other with her as pawn/prize, that all this will pass and they will go their separate lives. She's even allowed for the possibility that she's wrong, that she knows nothing, that Alipio and Alfonsito genuinely love her; all she's certain of is that she needs (loves?) them both right here, right now. The resulting threesome snaps the film into focus, justifies the random give-and-take between characters (they don't know what they want till she explains), at the very least adds an emotionally satisfying exclamation point ('Ah so that's what it's all about!') to the rambling narrative. Perhaps the only thing missing would have been a Y Tu Mama Tambien moment where Alfonsito and Alipio address the sexual tension between them-- obvious especially when they start grappling with each other, the blows representing displaced affection. I know; I'm insatiable.

Can Gallaga top that? I think he does, with a single line narrated in the film's closing minutes summarizing most of Philippine history: "The Filipinos under three hundred years of Spanish rule was taught how to go to church; under American rule was taught how to watch movies." The quip isn't as facetious as it sounds: arguably the Spaniards' most enduring legacy is our Catholicism which, for better or worse, shaped our guilt-ridden sensuality-seeking natures; the Americans' most enduring legacy-- still going strong-- is our cinema, a favorite way of telling stories and (for better or worse) shaping the developing narrative of our lives.

I'm glad to have revisited this, possibly the most neglected (and most difficult to find) of Gallaga's major works. A mess perhaps but a fascinating mess that mysteriously miraculously at very last moment manages to pull itself together. Gallaga would learn from the experience, take the abundant sex and overlapping dialogue and fashion his true masterpiece, made that same year: Scorpio Nights.