Razor-sharp in its satire and social commentary, and creatively bold in its vision, Rafael Manuel’s Filipiñana rejects conventional storytelling and is all the better for it, saving its master stroke for the final ten minutes in a movie that proudly defies simple genre labels.
I do not doubt that some of you reading this review are avid golf fans and possibly players. So let me open this review with a statement that is bound to upset some. I have always found the very idea of the golf club slightly disturbing. These vast green spaces, that could have been lovely public parks, are false, elitist, detached from society and exclusionary, where mainly older men meander, flaunting their wealth. Maybe you think I am being unfair? But writer and director Rafael Manuel clearly supports my thoughts with his artistically bold, striking and contemplative debut feature Filipiñana.
In the sweltering heat of a Philippine summer day, we meet Isabel (Jorrybell Agoto) as she begins a new job as a tee girl at a lavish, elitist golf club outside of Manila, run by Dr Palanca (Teroy Guzman). It’s a club built on the Philippines’ colonial past, catering to wealthy businessmen and tourists. There, Isabel, in an outfit that wouldn’t look out of place on a 1960’s air hostess, is expected to sit at the feet of each man holding a club, placing the small yellow golf balls on a tee for them as they swing inches from her head.
She is a mere servant to the golfer dressed in white, who is incapable of teeing up their own balls, and a slave to a club where individuality and self-determination are strictly against the rules of employment. It’s only her first day, but within minutes, Isabel is already aware of the sinister culture that runs through the club. A culture she will continue to uncover as the day progresses.
As we follow Isabel, our central protagonist, we are also invited to view club culture and norms from an opposing perspective: that of the privileged American niece of one of the club’s top backers. Clara’s (Carmen Castellanos) uncle is desperate for her to move back from New York and help run the club. Yet, Clara feels out of place from the moment she arrives, as her every need and wish is serviced by brightly dressed female caddies, who collect each ball, even if it’s in the middle of a lake, serving the needs of their golfing masters without question.
Filipiñana is a film about the observations of both women: one a Tee Girl who is determined to uncover the truth amid the sweltering heat of a Philippine day, and the other an outsider, uncomfortable with the club and its colonial culture, yet unwilling to challenge the elitism at its heart.
Manuel’s film lives and breathes, as every detail of the club comes to life through Xenia Patricia’s exquisite cinematography and Manuel’s bold direction. From the juicy mangoes that provide brief relief from the heat, to the imported pine trees removed and replaced at will, the blind musicians who trek around the site welcoming guests, and the ever-present shadow of Dr Palanca, who rules his kingdom like a king, Filipiñana is a sensory adventure in both vision and sound.
As Isabel wanders the land of Palanca’s creation, one can’t help but be reminded of the 1967 British TV series The Prisoner, for that is precisely what she has become: a number rather than a person in a disquieting fantasy world. In Palanca’s sinister paradise, colonial rule continues to thrive in the guise of wealthy visitors, in a club separated from reality: a club built on the labour of Filipinos and Filipinas, who never share in the wealth.
Manuel isn’t interested in conventionality, and as a result, many will find Filipiñana a frustrating watch despite its beauty and artistry. Instead, Manuel invites the audience to become silent members of the golf club, watching from a distance as the secrets of this closed community, built on Spanish, American, and Japanese rule, unfold.
Filipiñana is a portrait of centuries of oppression that continue to haunt the Philippines and its people post-independence. Razor-sharp in its satire and social commentary, and creatively bold in its vision, Manuel’s film rejects conventional storytelling and is all the better for it, saving its master stroke for the final ten minutes, in a movie that proudly defies simple genre labels.
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