When did cinema become Filipino? Deocampo’s answer to that question is “When the medium came into the hands of native Filipinos.” (Deocampo interview, 2006). He maintains that the invocation of “Filipino”, which was meant to end the discussion during debates on national identity, is a problematic term. He says that the category of Filipino is
“mixed in the colonial past” (2003, 19) and the nativist assertion that Philippine cinema can only be done by an ethnic Filipino filmmaker is deeply flawed as it neglects the filmmaking traditions that influenced the cinematic articulation that informed the creation of films in succeeding decades. Furthermore, Deocampo asserts that Philippine Cinema has always been Tagalog Cinema because of the dominance of films that were completed with Tagalog as its choice of language. This supports the issue that films were produced in Manila because it is the center of the Catholic culture, which is the most enduring legacy of Spain.
Cinema in the regions outside of Manila produced sporadic output through the years. Most of these films were never shown outside of the region in which they were created. However, Tagalog-language films have been shot in regions outside of Manila, such as
Zamboanga (South Seas, 1937) in Mindanao. Cebuano and Hiligaynon cinema in the central Philippines have each created films, but these were considered to represent regional cinema as they are not in the hegemonic language of Tagalog. The erasure of regional cinema has placed the efforts of filmmakers who are operating outside of the Metro-Manila outside the reach of radar, and therefore absent. This absence is mainly due to the fact that the so-called regional cinema output never became part of the circuits of circulation in Philippine film distribution.
In recent decades, a smattering of films have kept cinema from Cebu, Iloilo and Bacolod in the Visayas from becoming extinct. More recently, films like J.P. Carpio’s Balay Daku (Big House, 2002) and Elvert Bañares’ Alipo-op sa Animo (Fog in the Consciousness, 2007) have revived interest in Hiligaynon films (Figure 24).
Aside from the full length feature called Alipo-op sa Animo, Bañares has completed 32 short films. A native of Iloilo City, his brand of guerilla filmmaking involved what he
calls “one-man production”. He is quick to admit that his films do not have social relevance because “others can do it better than me”. Influenced by Mike de Leon and the Hiligaynon- speaking Peque Gallaga, he considers Manila-based and Tagalog-centered films as ‘cliquish’
Figure 24. J.P. Carpio, Balay Daku, 2002.
because they contributed to the de-emphasis and possible neglect of regional cinema. Long associated with Eksperimento,57 Bañares said that part of the attraction for him to make films in the Visayas was a chance to visit his hometown in Iloilo in the central Philippines. He greatly admires the structure and rhythm of the Hiligaynon language, which has allowed him to experiment with its textures and myriad of possibilities. The “beauty of the culture of Iloilo” encouraged him to make a film that showcased its splendor from a native’s perspective. He claims that most of the Tagalog films that were shot on location in his hometown were watered-down versions of the place, because those filmmakers only wanted a regional setting to frame their story. The lack of immersion in local culture disregards the tensions inherent in a place, Bañares opines.
While admittedly part of the Digital Revolution that swept the country, Bañares is not reliant on digital technology alone. His films combine new and expanded media to
accommodate the surreal demands of his themes. He is dismissive of the new batch of digital filmmakers who think they can make a film just because the technology is accessible and affordable. “There should be a respect of the medium and the material,” he says. Philippine cinema to him is currently un-coordinated and it shows all the worst traits of disunification. He feels that, despite all the regional differences of emerging filmmakers, there should be a ‘unified front’ for both mainstream and independent filmmakers. Bañares is excited about the proliferation of regional film events which he considers ‘unprecedented’, mainly because of the avenues that have been opened up by the Digital Revolution.
Co reports that the Guerilla Filmmaking Workshops and the Mindanao Film Festival in Davao City, Mindanao, was organized in 2003. Rudolph Ian Alama, one of the group’s organizers, communicated with me through email that the goal of the group is “to empower and capacitate [sic] budding filmmakers, enthusiasts, hobbyists or film buffs in the art of making low-cost indie productions with a crash course in filmmaking, with different modules in story development, scriptwriting, cinematography, non-linear digital editing, producing, directing and acting”. Alama says that the group wanted to present Mindanao in a vastly different light from the Mindanao portrayed in popular Tagalog films. He observes that films made about Mindanao have a “tendency to be irritatingly preachy … symptomatic of a black- and-white understanding of the complex situation in Mindanao” (email correspondence with R.I. Alama, October 10, 2007).
Deocampo insists that if we are forging a national cinema, then it should consider the contributions from the nation and not just from the Tagalog-speaking regions of the country.