REVIEW: ‘Moro,’ a tedious and lugubrious simulation
This creative decision to move away from his docu-like treatment and present a ‘normal-looking film,’ albeit artsy and slow-burn, does not bode well with a thin script meant for a fly-on-the-wall experience.

Brillante Mendoza, ever since his 2022’s Bahay na Pula (starring Julia Barretto and Xian Lim), has been shifting away from his usual style.
From his cinema verité, shaky-cam, nitty-gritty and hyper-realistic treatment that lent rawness and authenticity to masterpieces like Ma’Rosa and Kinatay, he switched to stable camera movements.
With Mendoza’s penchant for magical realism, as witnessed in Sapi (2013), he seems to have permanently adopted a new visual language. This includes dream sequences, premonitions, foreshadowing, symbols and plenty of moody nature shots.
In his 2023 Busan drama Moro, now streaming on Netflix, the auteur also employed a good deal of slow-motion, with his camera remaining steady.
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The cast and director of ‘Moro.’
This creative decision to move away from his docu-like treatment and present a “normal-looking film,” albeit artsy and slow-burn, does not bode well with a thin script meant for a fly-on-the-wall experience.
Moro is set in Maguindanao and follows a Muslim mother, Mangindra (Laurice Guillen), who is perpetually distressed by her fighting sons, Jasim (Piolo Pascual) and Abdel (Baron Geisler). Driven by a prophetic dream of her dead husband (Christopher de Leon), she tries to resolve the two men’s conflict. But a bigger conflict arises when the Special Action Force (SAF) of the Philippine National Police arrives, leading to the fact-based Mamasapano clash.
Mendoza and screenwriter Honeylyn Joy Alipio aimed to take the viewers through the perspective of the Maguindanaoans during the clash — specifically Mangindra’s family. However, it is difficult to sympathize with the family as they are one-note characters who speak forced, unnatural Maguindanaoan.
The film is scarcely plotted with broad-stroke storytelling, which deprives the audience of an intimate relationship with the characters and unfolding events.
Clearly, Jasim and Abdel’s hostility towards one another stems deeper than mere land titles. But, again, Mendoza’s attempt to put the audience as an onlooker, with events and interactions crafted as if they are “naturally unfolding,” does not work with a stylish and nonlinear treatment. This limits the audience’s emotional experience of the story’s themes and commentaries.


