CINEMALAYA REVIEWS PART 1

CINEMARTYRS

Lav Diaz as himself playing Christ, Kidlat Tahimik speaking about inner dwarves as creative spirit, and Angel Aquino as a cigarette-smoking Mother Mary. Sounds deliciously avant-garde?
But Sari Dalena’s Cinemartyrs announces itself as audacious hybrid cinema—but its ambition outpaces its coherence.

A fusion of docufiction, essay film, and supernatural drama, Dalena’s self-indulgent film follows Shirin (Nour Hooshmand), a young female filmmaker seeking a grant to make a documentary on the Philippine-American War. Her journey leads her to Mindanao, where she films the sites of forgotten massacres—only to awaken angry spirits and put herself and the villagers in danger.

The meta-cinematic premise could have bridged history, gender, and guilt, yet Dalena’s execution is a misfire. The reenactments, animation, and archival inserts feel arbitrary, the mystical sequences contrived, and the film’s rhythm constantly broken by cringey juvenile humor and disjointed, unnatural dialogue.

The result is tonally confused, veering between camp absurdity and solemn political commentary, leaving the film fragmented. What aims to portray artistic creation as childbirth instead becomes an exhausting act of self-performance. Reuniting Dalena with Prof. Nelson Dino (Neldy Jolo)—Tausug consultant and actor who also appeared in Memories of a Forgotten War—the film again revisits the Bud Dajo massacre.

Ambitious in scope but incoherent in form, Cinemartyrs confuses provocation for depth, its hybrid vision—more a collage of concepts—crumbling under the weight of its own ghosts.

1 out of 5 stars

HABANG NILALAMON NG HYDRA ANG KASAYSAYAN

Dustin Celestino’s follow-up to his superb 2023 Cinemalaya entry Ang Duyan ng Magiting is a somber, solemn, and genuinely agonized piece of confessional cinema. Starring a powerhouse cast led by Dolly de Leon, Jojit Lorenzo, and Mylene Dizon, Habang Nilalamon ng Hydra ang Kasaysayan is stylishly lensed with an existential-despair color palette. It is dialogue-driven, chapter-structured, and emotionally raw—an unapologetically heartbroken letter to Leni Robredo and a collective voice of the kakampinks.

Although fictionalized, Hydra captures the anguish shared by Robredo’s supporters following her defeat in the 2022 presidential race through the perspective of grief-stricken intellectual characters. It also reveals, at least in the filmmaker’s case, an inability to move on from that political loss, especially when Bongbong Marcos’ win resurfaced the trauma of Martial Law victims and their families.

But while today’s Philippines did not end up similar to the Marcos Sr. era as feared by the pinks, we are enduring a different kind of beast—economic oppression born of corruption. But the pain still burns in those whose trust is in Robredo.

When two characters from opposing political camps become sexually involved, the kakampink man, played by Zanjoe Marudo, remains entangled with Dizon’s character, who carries the lineage of a berdugo. Yet Celestino never fully explores why he chooses to stay with her—someone he barely knows yet who embodies the very system he opposes.

While Hydra is unapologetically propaganda and positions itself as the custodian of historical truth, moral clarity, and collective righteousness, it tempers this with attempts to humanize the other side. Celestino also weaves Greek mythology into dense conversations about hope, patriotism, and disinformation, complemented by stylized visuals that lend the discourse some cinematic grace.

In the film’s final moments—when a tote bag comes into view and the ending becomes inevitable—it signals the filmmaker’s reverence for Robredo as the messianic figure, the beacon of hope, the imagined salvation from a decaying society. An extreme and uncritical devotion to a political leader, ideology, or movement. Underneath all the film’s psychobabble, though, it leaves one aftertaste of political fanaticism—but hey, it’s stylish.

2.5 out of 5 stars

OPEN ENDINGS

First of all, why is Klea Pineda orange?

Nigel Santos’ Open Endings is a queer drama about four lesbian friends (played by Pineda, Janella Salvador, Jasmine Curtis-Smith, and Leanne Mamonong), who were once romantically and sexually linked with one another because, you know, it’s a tiny world.

The film begins with them already in that comfortable friendship stage, which is intriguing, if slightly implausible.

The film’s earthy warm palette and beautiful cast give it a mainstream gloss, featuring some of the prettiest and most popular actresses of this generation (plus the Salvador-Pineda controversy). No wonder screenings are crowded or sold out.

The story gains tension when one of the women announces an engagement, stirring buried feelings and unhealed wounds. One character, clearly an avoidant personality and unable to commit, becomes the emotional anchor — the one you eventually sympathize with.

The writing feels natural and conversational, but the film plays it too safe. The dialogue stops short of true vulnerability and never gets raw enough to cut deep.

The film is clear in its themes of love, longing, and emotional paralysis. Yet despite its premise, Open Endings remains surface-level — more pretty than piercing.

2 out of 5 stars