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, capturing the vast seascapes and sensually textured sunsets of the Filipino countryside. A longboat glides down a river through thickets of mist (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 the 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 this all about? Why do we follow these three sadsack fugitives? Are they meant to reflect the Filipino'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 Filipino wilderness is the best dramatic approach. 

I understand the challenge, though: the delicate art of posing fictional characters in a love triangle against a grand historical backdrop, in this case the Philippine-American war, the highlight of which is the hunt for Aguinaldo. Problem is, all the heroism is performed by Americans not Filipinos, the most significant role of the latter being to collaborate with the enemy, be captured, and die-- not exactly the most attractive storyline for Filipino viewers.* Despite being deprived of an active role, the three protagonists do play multiple roles: as representatives of their social types (Alipio is the Malay lower classes, Alfonsito the Spanish upper classes, Chayong the Filipino-- woman? Disenfranchised middle classes? Hapless sex workers?); as reluctant alternative to the treacherous Macabebe; and as comic cosmic scapegoats suffering the usual Filipino bad 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 first escape the Macabebes by simply rowing out to sea-- don't rifles have a longer effective range? Their second escape involves fleeing the firelight into the trees-- shouldn't the soldiers (veteran scouts, supposedly) be able to track fugitives in the dark? Alipio at one point engages in a wrestling match with a soldier-- why is the soldier keeping quiet? Couldn't he cry for help? When a village is burning to the ground why should the three escape but not the villagers who've lived there all their lives? Why does Alfonsito singlehandedly (and stupidly) fire on a troop of soldiers? Why don'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 lofty class 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 knocked down by rifle fire fire than real people. 

And what's with all the sex? I'm for frank depiction of every form of human activity onscreen 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 cruelty in particular, granted we're meant to mull over our country's mistreatment by our colonial masters, and granted there's a transgressive 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 being manipulated 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 forest* the images are harder to parse, especially in 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). What you do see however  is impressive-- cathedral trees with 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 included footage of eagle-owls and flying foxes, and thrown in a scene where Alipio wrestles a crocodile) 

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 the film touches on surprisingly it's the sexual 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 the same time she loves ('needs') Alipio's earthy strength. She accuses the two of playing mind games with each other using her as pawn and prize, and insists all this will pass and they will go their separate lives. She's even allowed that she could be wrong, that she knows nothing, that maybe Alipio and Alfonsito genuinely love her; all she's certain of is that she needs them both right here, right now. The resulting threesome snaps the film into focus, justifies the random give-and-take between characters (they didn't know what they wanted till she explained it to them), 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 the Y Tu Mama Tambien moment where Alfonsito and Alipio acknowledge the sexual tension between them-- obvious the moment they started grappling with each other, their blows representing displaced affection. I know I know; I'm irredeemable.

Can Gallaga top that? I think he does, with a single line spoken during the film's closing narration, summarizing the remainder 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 our most enduring legacy from the Spaniards is our Catholic faith which, for better or worse, shaped our guilt-ridden sensuality-seeking natures; our most enduring legacy from the Americans-- and still going strong-- is our cinema, a for better or worse favorite way of telling stories and developing the narrative of our lives.

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 prodigious sex and overlapping dialogue and fashion his true masterpiece, made that same year: Scorpio Nights.