At a time when Philippine independent cinema continues to search for bold, authentic voices, one young filmmaker is quietly carving his own path — one story, one frame, one deeply personal truth at a time. Clyde Capistrano, the mind behind the feature film Lanaya, is not just another emerging director. He is a storyteller shaped by memory, loss, and an unrelenting desire to create something that feels real.

From classroom project to calling

Soft-spoken yet deliberate, Capistrano carries the composure of someone who understands both the fragility and power of storytelling. His journey into filmmaking did not begin in film school or on a professional set, but in a high school classroom — tasked, like many Filipino students, to reinterpret El Filibusterismo. What began as a simple group project became a turning point. He wrote the script, acted, edited, and assembled the piece himself. In that moment, something clicked.

“It felt natural,” he recalls. “It was something I enjoyed doing.”

That instinct — to create, to shape narratives — may have deeper roots. Capistrano speaks of his father, a quiet artist whose paintings surfaced during a time of grief after the passing of his mother. Art, in the Capistrano household, was not always visible, but it was always there — waiting to be rediscovered.

Loss, in fact, would later become one of the defining undercurrents of his work.

The story behind ‘Lanaya’

His debut feature Lanaya, a 90-minute film set in his hometown of San Pablo City, is more than just a crime thriller. On the surface, it follows a struggling nursing student tasked to assist in investigating an elderly woman suspected of murdering her husband. But beneath its narrative lies a more introspective exploration — of morality, of grief, and of the gray areas that define human choices.

Capistrano’s vision is clear: stories are not meant to offer easy answers.

“Hindi laging malinaw ang tama sa mali (It’s not always clear what’s right and wrong),” he says. Right and wrong are rarely absolute. In Lanaya, audiences are invited to sit with characters who are flawed yet familiar — capable of wrongdoing, but also of humanity.

Grief as a creative force

The film’s emotional core, he later realized, was deeply personal. Losing his mother at the age of seven left a quiet imprint on his life, one that unconsciously found its way into his writing. Only after completing the script did he fully understand the connection.

“Sometimes you write because it feels right,” he reflects. “But deep down, it’s your subconscious telling you how you actually feel.”

That emotional honesty extends to his filmmaking process — one that is as grounded as it is collaborative. Like many independent productions, Lanaya faced its share of limitations, particularly in budget. Scenes were rewritten on set. Locations were adjusted. Plans were reshaped in real time.

Yet, rather than seeing these as setbacks, Capistrano embraced them as part of the creative process.

“A lot of it is compromise,” he admits. “But you learn to make it work.”

Creating amid constraints

Guided by mentors and supported by a team that believed in his vision, Capistrano navigated the challenges with humility. He credits much of the film’s success to collaboration — actors, producers, and crew members who trusted a young director finding his footing.

That trust paid off. Lanaya earned a place in Sinag Maynila Film Festival, signaling not just recognition, but arrival.

Still, Capistrano remains grounded. For him, filmmaking is not about accolades — it is about continuity.

“I just want to keep making movies,” he says simply.

A new chapter: Love stories ahead

His next project marks a shift in tone: a romance film, more intimate and closer to his own experiences. While Lanaya explored morality through suspense, his upcoming work promises to delve into love with the same sincerity and emotional depth.

Even as he looks ahead, Capistrano carries with him the influences that shaped him — not only personal experiences, but also the films and television shows he grew up watching. He cites actors like Angel Locsin as dream collaborators, recalling how their performances once felt “raw” and “real” to a young viewer who didn’t yet know he would one day direct stories of his own.

Staying true to the story

For aspiring filmmakers, his advice is refreshingly simple: consume what you love and create from it.

“If you want something to exist,” he says, “you should do your best to create it — even in the smallest way.”

It is a philosophy that reflects his own journey — from a student with a camera to a filmmaker with a voice.

In five years, Capistrano does not envision a radically different version of himself. No grand declarations of blockbuster ambitions or global domination. Instead, he offers something more grounded, more telling.

“I see myself still making films,” he says. “To the core, I’m a writer-director.”

In an industry often driven by spectacle, Clyde Capistrano’s strength lies in his quiet conviction. His stories do not shout — they linger. They ask questions rather than provide answers. And in doing so, they remind audiences that cinema, at its best, is not just about what we see on screen, but what we feel long after the credits roll.