The outline of the film’s plot is simple enough. Set in the 1890s, it follows its protagonist through three different phases of his life: as a boy working as a bell ringer; a pubescent experiencing the first stirrings of the revolution; and finally as a young man and an artist.
Of course, this simplistic summary doesn’t do the film justice. In the wrong hands, this could be another of those films made by filmmakers who wouldn’t hesitate to exploit our nation’s unfortunate history solely to impress foreign critics and gain a foot inside the door to international festivals. Martin is different.
Despite having studied abroad (as the first Filipino to have been selected for the Cinéfondation Residence du Festival de Cannes in Paris), Martin is conceivably still striving to connect with Filipino audiences. Although the form of his film is decidedly difficult, the content is not heavy-handed and – uncharacteristic of most art cinema – has humor. Without resorting to gimmicks or slapstick, Martin cleverly evokes the charm and comedy of the silent era’s best movies to subvert a local audience’s resistance to a silent film. Also, it is shot in loving tribute to early films. Any Filipino with access to a textbook on Philippine history will appreciate and recognize the effort by Martin and his production designer, Joy Domingo, to recreate the time. If anything, it’ll almost be nostalgic.
To his credit, Martin is not a prosaic director. He is not out to be the Amorsolo equivalent of new cinema. He makes sure that Indio Nacional is not a series of unfortunate events but rather – despite the bleakness of its setting – reveals to us wonders and miracles. The appearance of the Virgin Mother in one of the vignettes is nothing short of astounding. Simply observed and depicted, it is also one of the most believable moments in recent cinema, quite comparable with the achievements of Carl Th. Dreyer in classics like Ordet and the short films of Raymond Red.
Martin though has difficulty in handling his actors. Bodjie Pascua’s overacting and lack of real impact in delivering his lines ruined what would otherwise been a perfect introduction. Also, the extraordinary sight of children observing the phenomenon of an eclipse was somewhat undermined by the actors unable to keep their focus on their roles, frequently stealing grins and looks at the camera. Both scenes demonstrate Martin’s command of his camera but sadly not his players.
Another bum note was the woefully unimaginative score played by a pianist. Devoid of originality, it failed to match the visuals on the screen, content to go about the music as if by rote. However, it’s heartening to find out that Martin has decided to use different scores for each future screening. Hopefully, he will find an imagination that will supply the appropriate soundtrack to his.
Indio Nacional will hopefully put the ghost of Brocka to rest. That revolution is over. And it failed. The subsequent years after 1986 proved that. This is not a slight on the National Artist and admittedly brilliant filmmaker. His films about on the subject of our country’s problems cannot be bettered in the same way. Our present-day filmmakers would do well than remake Maynila sa mga Kuko ng Liwanag to less convincing effect. Martin’s film shows us the possible path of addressing the same issues but with the power of imagination. With his film, Martin has transcended the mundane and perhaps offered a solution. Or at least, the possibility of envisioning one.