IGME Files

“Heremias: Ang Alamat ng Prinsesang Bayawak” (The Legend of the Lizard Princess) title description as “different” is understated for a number of reasons. First, it’s very Lav Diaz, an independent Filipino filmmaker (notorious) for his non-conforming views about the commercialization of art. And when it’s a Lav Diaz film, it’s longer than the usual viewing fare. Heremias, a nine-hour (you got it right, 9 hours!!) film I saw was a sleeper hit from among the audience who stayed up until the last name of the credits was rolled.

A closing film at the Cinemanila International Film Festival, Heremias was screened two nights ago from 2 to 11 pm at Greenbelt, Makati. Good thing I don’t have much at stake for viewing the film because I have the power of time (read: don’t have a 9-5 job) in my hands. It is the third and final installment for his series of films on the meditation of our country’s state of affairs, previous films were: “Batang West Side” (a four-hour film I saw a month ago at UP) and “Ebolusyon ng Isang Pamilyang Pilipino” (Evolution of a Filipino Family, an eight-hour film I regretfully missed).

It’s a unique example of character-driven story. Heremias tells the story of Heremias…

(At the time of this writing, I had to pause for a break and reflected more about the film. Nature, particularly the drizzle now has comforted me and unknowingly heightened the sense of loss and isolation I felt for the character on one hand; and the promise that all will not be lost forever, that justice will be served on what things we leave behind, on the other. And moments after, I cried real hard, let it all out…Why I got so emotional about the film was because there were bits of truth in comparison between the character Heremias and me. Or could it also be between Lav Diaz and me is put in question. Or maybe both. Anyway.)

…a seller with the help of cow-carriaged transport. He sells his wares of baskets, broom, fan, etc. that’s mostly made of abaca. Heremias, together with a pack of four sellers and the small family of one seller, plies their trade at a remote highway of hilly terrains and verdant mountains. He is always in deep-thought, doesn’t join the nightly boozing and merry-making pack to ease the coldness and for companionship. He is neither here nor there. Like the cows that slowly stretch and lead the paved roads, something’s profoundly amiss in him. The pack can only surmise what’s gotten of Heremias – continuous traveling without seeming end for all his troubles made him closed off. Or so they think. An older character who serves as the more caring of the pack, checks him out every so often can only do so far. It’s only a matter of time until he breaks out from the pack, giving no excuse or explanation at all given.

This is where the solitary journey to self-discovery begins. Heremias, alone with “Jordan the cow,” chooses the road less traveled, literally and figuratively. He meets the path of worst circumstances imagined – from even remoter places to muddy routes, from stormy weather to toppled branches that block their way. He relishes being alone in the world, but the worse things seemed to have no end for him. When he finds an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere for temporal shelter amid the rain, he then meets farmers who stopped-over for the night. They drink the stormy night away, sharing different views on the life of a former Japanese general who hid in their town and many Japanese soldiers during the Second World War, hence the town’s name, “Barrio Hapon.” When Heremias wakes up, the men left, all his wares gone, cart burnt, and the cow stolen. He frantically searches and cries over what was left of it. This scene is so heartbreaking and deeply wrought, there’s no other actor like Ronnie Lazaro who plays Heremias who could have done justice to it. We hear Heremias cry out “he…he…,” his call of command to Jordan. He has nothing left. This is one of my favorite scenes.

The search for who stole his cow becomes Heremias’ impassioned task. He goes to Barrio Hapon’s chief and the pot-bellied alcoholic police for help, who slowly becomes more corrupt and real than society’s portrayal of him. This is where Heremias’ quest for justice stimulates his mind and spirit. Disillusioned about the world and with nary a resolution to his case, he finds himself living a recluse in the forest across the abandoned area to find out if the culprit would come back to steal from another would-be victim. On his stay, he hears stories of abuses and everyday problems from people who hang out there; he almost struggled to knife a suspect at his back but could not do it. On the third night, things change when a bunch of four male teenagers occupy the abandoned house with graffiti and cussing all over the place.

In this scene that lasted almost an hour you could hear the most number of cuss words flying in the film. In a voyeuristic fashion, we see what we see in Heremias’ eyes, taking in what these teens high-inducing “pops” could allow – the needless fraternal angsts, frustrations and rants. After their energies subside, he hears a plot by one of the boys to gang-rape a girl he’s been rejected by, kill her, and put a cement to her body so that she wouldn’t float when thrown off into the river.

It is in this revelation that Heremias comes to the rescue. He informs the police to rescue the girl in two days’ time, but was shrugged off in his attempt when the police informed him that the name of the mastermind he brought up is the son of the congressman in that town. He said Heremias’ no match and is told to be mum about it. After that, he tells a parish priest, but the latter only gives him a veiled act to offer prayers for her safety and he should take the matter to the police. Heremias goes back again to tell the police, but is taken to a forest, badly beaten and nearly killed by him. Badly bruised and feeling the insurmountable odds, he cries out to God and His power if he’s really a true God, to save the girl from the boys’ clutches. Heremias comes up for a bet with God — he’ll walk for forty days without eating until he dies, in exchange for the girl’s life. In the final scene, we see Heremias walking slowly and languidly up the road to the mountains. Was the girl saved by God in the nick of time and Heremias now doing his death wish? Or was Heremias’ walk a sign of futility and hopelessness? Now, we fill in the answer.

How could one not be affected by this film? It is so pregnant with meanings and layers of discourse that one is not a human being not be affected for all the injustices this state has committed to her own people. There are quite a number of scenes that I think should be “edited out,” but since Lav Diaz has no concept of that, I fully respect his uncompromising art is as important as much as showing it to the audience. I know that Lav Diaz has been called many names, “crazy, pretentious” or hailed by critics as someone exhibiting artistic arrogance. Maybe he has some artistic excesses, but the other derogatory remarks don’t all add up to me. In fact, he has more artistic integrity than other directors around. Still, I believe in his work, most of it…even if I’m just one of the twenty-five shadows in the dark theater who patronize his films.

“One must cross the desert and dwell in it to receive the grace of God. It is here that one drives out everything that is not God. The soul needs to enter into this silence…It is in solitude, in that lonely life alone with God…that God gives Himself to the soul that thus gives itself whole and entire to Him.” — “Meditations of a Hermit” by Charles de Foucauld