Smaller and Smaller Circles

Director Raya Martin

SMALLER AND SMALLER CIRCLES                 B+                  

Philippines  (117 mi)  2017  d:  Raya Martin

Time and forgetfulness are the allies of abusers.                    

―Father Jerome Lucero (Sid Lucero)

Adapted from F.H. Batacan’s award winning novel originally published in 1999, though expanded considerably in a 2015 update that doubles the length from 155 pages to 355, its influence is considered groundbreaking, the first Western-style crime novel in the Philippines, though it’s entrenched with a cultural identity unique to the Philippines, in this case an intersection of Catholicism with forensic police procedures, both guided by identical principles of extracting a confession.  Set in Payatas in 1997, prior to an age of cellphones or highspeed Internet, the town is known for a massive landfill, including a poverty-stricken slum culture of malnourished preteen boys that distribute low-end waste products sorted out from the trash, with many living off the rotting food products discovered there, suggesting an unseen wealthy upper class that is completely oblivious.  From the outset, we hear an eerie narration from an unidentified source, while at the same time a mutilated body of a young boy is found dumped in the landfill.  The central characters of the film are two Jesuit priests, Father Gus Saenz (Nonie Buencamino) and Father Jerome Lucero (Sid Lucero), where the familiar ease with one another is exemplary, with Saenz a renowned international expert in forensics, having formerly taught in Paris, now working independently from the police, where the two are diligently examining a naked corpse, discovering an initial blow to the head, preventing the victim from fighting back, and then their faces, hearts and genitals are removed with surgical precision, everything that makes them human, and then dumped like garbage.  In no time we’ve discovered multiple victims, where the unrecognizable narrative voice may be that of the killer speaking to us from what appears to be his confession or his disturbing inner conscience.  This sense of disorientation adds to an overwhelming feeling of dread, a dark and often terrifying journey into the void of the unknown, as the killer remains out of reach, probably living among them, seemingly untouchable, yet the combined powers of the Church and State can only muster feeble efforts in response, actually caught in an antagonistic relationship with each other, distrusting each other’s efforts, where one of the police detectives offers his cynical response to Saenz, “You’ve been watching too many foreign movies, Father Saenz.  We all know there are no serial killers in the Philippines.”  The incredulous stupidity of this thought hangs over the film like a misguided prophecy, where digging one’s way out of the abyss becomes the narrative arc of the film.

Overly grim, dark and moody, sort of a cross between David Fincher’s Se7en (1995) and Bong Joon-ho’s MEMORIES OF A MURDER (2003), the first half of the film follows a recognizable path, identifying a series of murders, introducing the characters involved who follow the clues, making small steps of discovery, encountering difficulties, adding one piece at a time until a recognizable pattern comes into view, where it’s important to remember this is all happening prior to any advanced CSI-style technology.  Adding to the cultural malaise is deeply rooted institutional corruption, where the Jesuit priests can more easily forgive the misguided acts of a heinous murderer, offering a certain amount of sympathy for what drives him to do what he does, but they show absolute disgust and disdain for abuse of authoritative power, whether it be Church higher-ups that steal from the coffers or politicians that do the same.  All pledging to serve the poor while helping themselves instead, engaged in elaborate cover ups to deceive the public, presenting a benevolent public image while behind the scenes one finds self-serving motives of avarice and greed, including molesting priests that the Church simply keeps moving to different locations to avoid detection, avoiding all moral responsibility.  The uncontrolled violence exhibited by the serial killer is a profound reminder of the unabated sexual abuse inflicted by the Church, in each case targeting innocent children.  Father Saenz has had his own run-ins with hierarchal Church authorities, specifically one offending Cardinal, to the point where Father Lucero finds it a futile exercise, but Saenz insists on following his ethical obligations, wherever that may lead him.  In this sense, the film is a universal story transferrable anywhere around the world, as we’re all plagued by sinister acts from powerful leaders who are little more than pretenders, practiced in the art of deception, failing all tests of moral character.  Intrigued by the mysteriousness of Catholic priests leading a police investigation, this film delves into its own murky waters, offering a religious take on Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, where a probing scientific method mixes with theological Catholic compassion in equal measure, taking a sharp turn from the cynical film noir territory of Raymond Chandler, exploring instead the depths of a disturbed and depraved, seemingly irredeemable human conscience that feeds on little children, that exorcises his own inner demons by carrying out such monstrous acts.  Yet at the same time, when finally coming face to face with the killer, unlike the police, a priest’s first response is to forgive him.  The spiritual realm explored by this film is as dark and shadowy as the visual production design shown onscreen, much of it shot in the dark, or in a pelting rain, using flashlights as lone beams of light.  The search for redemption is elusively ambiguous, more a goal than an end in itself, as it’s mostly a process, taking one step at a time in the right direction, offering ideas and strategies instead of final answers, bolstered by building a strong moral foundation.

Considering the gruesome nature of the genre subject matter, the skillful way the director handles it would be described as neo-noir, as it veers off into its own direction, not really a whodunit, but an exploration of the larger social ramifications, using the haunting sound of a children’s chorus singing liturgical music as a recurring theme, creating a profound effect, somber and reflective, plunging the depths of the soul, like washing away the sins.  The ineptitude of the local police authorities reveals itself when they hastily make an arrest, apparently to save face in the community, offering a perception of safety when in reality there is none.  Even the Church attempts to stifle the influence of the rogue priests, depleting their funding, hoping to silence them and thwart their efforts.   But when the murders continue and the authorities have no answers, only the untainted reputation of the priests seems to be able to guide them out of this moral crevasse, like spiritual mercenaries offering a front line of defense against a powerful near satanic adversary.  Written and filmed prior to the rise of such detestable authority figures as American and Philippine Presidents Trump and Duterte, both unleashing much of their own corrupt dictatorial power against their own citizens, protecting a status quo of self-interest and exploitation, where the needs of the weak are literally steamrolled by the interests of the rich, creating a disposable underclass, yet this film is all the more remarkable for accurately predicting the current alignment of the stars where absolute power corrupts, leaving a devastation in its wake.  Here, in response to the depravity of the crimes, a despondent family member asks, “Is God a Sadist?”  To which Father Saenz replies, “No, but man often is.”  One should note, the Spanish colonization of the Philippines lasted over 300 years, with few Spaniards ever venturing there (which accounts for why Spanish is considered an elitist language in the Philippines), leaving long-lasting effects that are still being sorted out.  While Catholicism has spread to more than 80% of the residents, in some Philippine villages the priest and the mayor may be the only white residents, creating a perception of power by race or skin color, a condition that remains toxic in such a racially diverse country.  In the book and the film, the priests are described as mestizos, or tisoys, mixed race Filipinos with foreign ancestry, whose Western attributes include not only their education but their ability to speak English, which is spoken throughout the film right alongside dialogue spoken in Tagalog, so two languages merge as one (Taglish), creating a mixed culture of the future, where the uncompromising search for answers by the priests is a parallel for the ever evolving search for a Filipino identity.   

Norte: The End of History (Norte, hangganan ng kasaysayan)

NORTE:  THE END OF HISTORY (Norte, hangganan ng kasaysayan)       B+                                  

Philippines  (250 mi)  2014  ‘Scope  d:  Lav Diaz 

The title and 4-hour length of the film makes one presume this will be a long, drawn-out historical drama, but instead it closely follows the lives of a few people in a  meticulously detailed, novelesque approach, becoming an intimate character study loosely based upon Raskolnikov from Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, while also covertly paralleling the political influence of former Philippine dictator Ferdinand Marcos.  This director has a history of making films with extended length, where seven of his earlier films since 2001 are over five-hours in length, with three of them pushing the nine-hour mark.  Suffice it to say, the director is also his own film editor, which may explain his apparent unwillingness to part with anything he’s shot, but length creates a more relaxed, slower-paced cinematic approach where the director has the freedom to play with the material, to tinker or experiment with his storytelling techniques.  What might be surprising is how few characters are featured throughout, spending the majority of the film on just three of them, the most prominent of which is Fabian (Sid Lucero), a disillusioned young law student that drops out, despite being at the head of his class, disenchanted with the nation and its failings, considering himself above the law and any existing morality, where we see him in discussions with two former classmates who remain in awe of his views, particularly his criticism of the establishment, where his results-oriented idea of decisive action is killing the perpetrators responsible for all social ills, simply eliminating them from society, thus cleansing the entire nation of its dead weight.  In Fabian’s eyes, Marcos got it right under a brutal dictatorship (1965 – 1986), but failed because eventually he got too soft, caving in to various special interests.  While it’s easy to theorize and develop a nihilist view, spouting Nietzschean philosophy to justify why one prefers anarchism to the prevailing order, in the Philippines the current system has produced little else but widescale governmental corruption and greed.  While Fabian may pontificate at length on “the destruction of anything that is inimical to morality,” he’s seen more as a loud-mouthed provocateur who enjoys being at the center of attention, especially after having a few beers, while later seen agonizing over his alleged moral conflict by sleeping with his best friend’s girlfriend.  True to form, as if feeding his own vanity, he gets this off his chest in the most obnoxious means possible, revealing the affair in a drunken outburst embarrassing both the girl and her boyfriend, making him something of a detestable lout. 

While the initial discussions are between the young urban elite, there is a parallel story providing a view of the dispossessed, featuring an impoverished family where the husband Joaquin (Archie Alemania) breaks his leg in an accident, preventing he and his wife Eliza, Angeli Bayani from Ron Morales’s Graceland (2012) and Anthony Chen’s Ilo Ilo (Ba Ma Bu Zai Jia) (2013), from being able to start up a food cantina, where instead they are drowning in debt just trying to get the business started.  He’s forced to peddle bootleg DVD’s on the street while supporting two young kids and Eliza’s sister.  The class distinction couldn’t be more pronounced between their near destitute status, where they’re forced to pawn everything they own, and the supreme arrogance and haughty contempt on display by the wealthy pawnbroker, Magda (Mae Paner, a theater actress and political advocate), who acts like she’s doing them a favor taking these worthless items off their hands, including Eliza’s most prized piece of jewelry.  Shortly afterwards, Joaquin revisits Magda demanding she give the jewelry back, realizing it’s value to his wife, going so far as to start choking her when she refuses, but stops himself once he realizes what he’s doing.  As the police are called, he’s forced to flee, working a construction job pouring cement in a neighboring town, hiding out in the partially constructed home, seen alone on the second floor looking out over the vastness of the empty fields nearby, where the viewer can all but see him falling into his own moral abyss.  Fabian has also accumulated considerable debt with Magda, as she is keeping one of his credit cards.  He witnesses the distraught Eliza weeping uncontrollably on the street, not knowing how her family will survive, where out of the blue he generously gives her what money he has.  Some time later, he’s seen paying a visit to Magda one evening in her massive home, claiming he’s there to pay off his debt, but instead he brutally stabs her to death, along with the only witness to the crime, her teenage daughter, quickly burying the money, packing his bags and moving into the heart of Manila where he is essentially an exile, living in a self-imposed existential prison, shown with iron bars on the windows, eventually blotting out all light in the apartment in a gesture reminiscent of the final scene of Béla Tarr’s SÁTÁNTANGÓ (1994).    

The Norte of the title refers to the Philippines’ rich northern province of Ilocos Norte made famous by capitalist clans and political dynasties that perpetuate a culture of social stagnation in the region, making a point of filming the movie in Ferdinand Marcos’s hometown of Paoay, where despite his downfall is still treated like a national hero.  Like Fabian, Marcos was a brilliant law student who also committed murder when he was younger.  Marcos was tried and convicted in 1938 before successfully arguing his own appeal, winning his acquittal in 1940 while studying for his Philippine Bar Exams, where he achieved the highest score.  Fabian acknowledges a certain admiration for Marcos, claiming he was on the right track when trying to eradicate communism, but eventually got distracted later in his career.  While Fabian is nowhere as smart or as brutally ruthless as Marcos, who like Stalin before him maintained his rule by silencing and eliminating his opposition, but may be a by-product of his legacy, where this film focuses upon the Raskolnikov-style murder and its effects, where Fabian finally acts upon his own beliefs, murdering a malignant element of society as if it was his moral imperative.  His actions, however, change nothing in the “new” social order, where instead he is besieged by grief.  Diaz interestingly does not follow the guilty mindset of the criminal, but leaves the predicament of Fabian behind and concentrates instead on the real victims of his crime, Joaquin, who is unjustly charged with the murders and sentenced to life in prison in a seemingly open and shut case, as he was earlier seen making threats to the pawnbroker, where he is imprisoned too far away for Eliza to visit, creating a broken family torn apart by the crime that must fend for itself, as Eliza gets up at the crack of dawn to sell vegetables on the street, barely eking out a living.  Returning to color for the first time since BATANG WEST SIDE (2001), a director who traditionally shoots in black and white, the pace of the film is established using long, langorous, often wordless shots by cinematographer Lauro Rene Manda, allowing the audience to familiarize themselves with the emotional interior of each character, where the director eschews the use of music throughout.  There is plentiful use of aerial shots contrasting the pastoral elegance and beauty of large plantations with the more squalid beach shanties that are little more than a series of huts strewn together, much like the multitude of fishing boats hugging the shore.  Still, there are moments of rapturous beauty, such as a scene of dawn rising over the seaside village.  

It’s interesting that the film sustains its momentum throughout, becoming a more ponderous experience, where there are heartbreaking moments, especially expressed by the unusual grace and transcendence of actress Angeli Bayani, who Taiwanese director Ang Lee called a “national treasure” (Ang Lee calls 'Ilo Ilo' star Angeli Bayani a 'national treasure ...) while awarding her the Filipino Gawad Urian Best Actress award, who is seen on the verge of suicide at one point, bringing her children to the edge of a perilous cliff, while utilizing an effective change of pace through a continuing stream of black and white dream images coming from Joaquin’s cell, as he continually retains a subconscious connection to his hometown roots despite his displacement.  While he is forced to suffer the inevitable indignities foisted upon him in prison, he fends off evil with benevolence, where both Joaquin and Eliza are depicted as saints, which couldn’t be a greater contrast than Fabian, the man who gets away with murder.  By separately exploring the lives of Joaquin and Fabian, Diaz exposes a glaring gap that separates the economic classes, where the poor are often forced to suffer for the crimes of the wealthy, which serves as a metaphor for Philippine society, which is ruled by a wealthy aristocracy, where power is retained in the hands of a few, that all but ignores the plight of the majority working class.  While the film is an impressive achievement, it is not without faults, where the long, sustained build-up is better than the eventual climax.  The film sputters with the introduction of a new character late in the film, Fabian’s sister Hoda (Miles Canapi), who embodies an upper class emotional distance and detachment from the real world, living in a self-induced bubble of cheerful religious cliché, protected by the enormity of her inherited estate, including an immense plantation mansion where she lives alone, inviting Fabian to stay and help her farm the tobacco fields.  It’s here we learn that Fabian is the product of extreme wealth and upper class arrogance, who often believe they are morally superior, yet staring him in the face is the misery he has inflicted on undeserving souls, leading to a breakdown of moral order.  The film is highly rewarding until it resorts to the kind of needless Bruno Dumont brutality and faux spiritualism that we saw in HUMANITÉ (1999), where exaggerated distortions, including levitation sequences, replace hard-earned notions of intellect and social realism.  Perhaps the most uniquely impressive visual cue is an unexplained catastrophe late in the film leaving dozens of people lying dead sprawled out over an extended region, shown in black and white where the camera pans over the massive space.  While this mysteriously takes the life of one of the major characters, the source of the tragedy, whether it be a hurricane, an explosion, or toxic fumes in the air, is never revealed, left lingering in one’s imagination.