In the labyrinth of Good and Evil

MANILA, Philippines -  Well, those international critics were right after all in saying that “Norte, hangganan ng kasaysayan” is unlike no other Lav Diaz film because for the first time in a long while the director departs from his usual black and white to shift to full color, however rather subdued; also it is an oddity in the Diaz filmography because he doesn’t have complete creative control, with scriptwriter Rody Vera, cameraman Larry Manda, and the Origin 8 Media team of Moira Lee and Michiko Yamamoto (“Maximo Oliveros,” “Zombadings”) brought in to curb whatever excesses inherent. Jury is still out whether this is a masterpiece, though certainly this is the breakthrough film that will bring Diaz’s work, its keen cinematic sense intact, to a wider audience. No small feat for one as uncompromising and philosophically discursive as him.

There’s the usual tip of hat to the Russian masters Dostoevsky and Tarkovsky, as far as plot (Crime & Punishment) and composition (tracking shots of reflections and juxtapositions of fire and rain) are concerned, for it wouldn’t be a Lav Diaz film without this influence, but questions raised about how Filipino Norte really is are neither here nor there. Certainly it is one of the shortest of his recent works, which generally have a running time of anywhere from six to nine hours. Yet at four hours, it proceeds at a seemingly faster clip than say, the hour-long “Butterflies have no memories,” considered a classic maze of a short film.

The main players whose lives are inevitably intertwined in a small town in Ilocos after one of them commits murder are Fabian (Sid Lucero), law school dropout who hangs out with his buddies swigging beer and engaging in endless discourses; Joaquin (Archie Alemania), the poor man finding it difficult to provide for family and who eventually takes the rap for the killing of a usurious pawnbroker; and Eliza (Angeli Bayani), Joaquin’s wife who must raise a couple of children by selling vegetables on a cart after her husband is sent off to prison for Fabian’s crime. It is a potential powder keg in terms of conflict and the dynamic of small town Philippines, but trust Diaz as master of slow cinema to allow the characters to grow in the audience’s imagination in the successive dioramas and occasionally breathtaking patina that are a given in this labyrinth of good and evil.

Yet there is no mistaking this is a Lav Diaz film, his most accessible since “The Criminal of Barrio Concepcion” of pito-pito days. But then again, what exactly does being accessible mean? Does this mean being able to “fit it in your schedule,” or that you must necessarily find time to watch it, away from Google plus and Facebook? A Diaz film is never meant to be rushed, and that more people will now be able to see the work of an acknowledged modern Filipino master we only have Origin 8 to thank. It is just about the right marketing arm for Diaz, the right packaging for the man’s films with a minimum of compromise, if any.     

And all the usual suspects are present for color and depth: Soliman Cruz, world actor, as the kakosa Wakwak and prison bully, whose rendition of “O Holy Night” is as harrowing as his singing of the national anthem in “Death in the land of encantos” while torturing the protagonist Hamin; Perry Dizon as one of Fabian’s café habitué buddies in the interminable discussions; Mailes Kanapi as the ebullient, slightly batty elder sister of Fabian; Hazel Orencio as Ading the yaya of Joaquin’s kids; Mae Paner the greedy pawnbroker, even the beer drinking Ian Lomonggos who helps define friendship and camaraderie.

What is patently disturbing about Norte is that not only must evil have its day, it must have its fair share of nights as well. Doing good will still persist in an unbalanced, off kilter world, even if it barely stands a ghost of a chance against such odds. But this seeming lopsidedness comes with the territory, and bleakness is second nature in the Diaz oeuvre.

The imbalance, aided by exceptional camerawork, can only magnify the beauty in the midst of terror. In slow cinema, what’s lacking in frenetic velocity is made up for in patience and perseverance. There can be no understating either the rewards that await the patient, persevering viewer, and we don’t mean free ring tones. The charge of pretentiousness has already been answered tongue half in cheek by Dante Perez’s director’s role  in “Century of birthing,” where he says no matter what you do you will always be accused of pretension.

It is not even a matter of a lack of trust wanting to dwell on a particular scene, with the characters gently hovering into view. It is not a matter of “look ma, no hands” or “take that, Tarkovsky” that drives the cinematography to be imprinted in the moviegoer’s minds. If there is one strength undeniable in this film it is that it forces the viewer to act or, indeed, not to act. Even in inertia a whole lifetime can pass, can in fact prove collapsible.

Diaz too is not one to pass judgment, never the moral arbiter, because his anti-heroes must seek out their just desserts even if it leads them to the ends of this earth.

Or of history. Never has tragedy been so palatable, so in step with the yin and yang of it. We’ve been saying this all along but we always thought it would be only a matter of time and physics before the rest of the silent cineastes caught up with Lavrente Diaz and his cinema of labyrinths. Purists and fans of his older work may be slightly put off but rest assured, more people heading north of nowhere and appreciating the art of slow film cannot but be a good thing. Beware the minotaur, these things take time.