Liberating the unliberated: How local film screenings illuminate unseen narratives

by IVAN ENTRAMPAS | illustrated by ART ANTARAN

Through a love for the arts— and in this case, for film and cinema—the stories of the unliberated and the unseen find their medium, weaving threads of connection among those who share the same struggles, reminding them that they are not alone.

Every time I step into these small or makeshift cinemas, I am greeted by darkness, illuminated only by the soft glow of a screen projecting a local film I know nothing about. I sit and wait to be transported, to be stirred and momentarily freed from the outside world by whatever emotion the film chooses to awaken. As the audience settles, the faint light catches their glimmering eyes, which are also curious, expectant, and ready to be carried into another timeline that lasts no longer than twenty minutes.

At Pelikulaya, what is spotlighted at the front before the audience is not just the bright projection of the films but also the colorful presence of written protest. Placards line the stage and around the projection, clamoring for an end to violence and inequality against women, children, and members of the LGBTQIA+ community. This is an explicit reminder that no true art is only for art’s sake. Art is political, personal, and deeply intertwined with the collective pulse of society showing all its sorrows, hopes, and quiet defiance.

The films featured in Pelikulaya are poignant yet courageous tellings of queer lives, with some using comedy not to trivialize and make fun, but to reach the audience with warmth and thus making the dramatic moments all the more heartfelt, as seen in May Kulay Rosas ba sa Bahaghari (2024).

Colorful, vibrant, and filled with heart, the film directed by Marian Jayce Tiongzon follows a young boy who knows early on that he is unlike his peers of the same sex. While other boys are hardened by the pressure to conform to masculine expectations, he remains soft yet steadfast, strengthened by his father Lino’s unconditional love—who, as the story unfolds, is revealed to be a drag queen.

The title speculates, “May kulay rosas ba sa bahaghari?”, and as the boy peers at the world through his heart-shaped and rose-colored bag, what echoes are his father’s words: “Basta makita mo kag gapati ka, wala gid may madula sa imo.” These queer children are victims of violence at a young age, and the film does not suggest that we view these injustices through rose-colored glasses; rather, it urges us to let these children see the world in undaunted and unashamed hues, not drain it into the mundane gray of denial.

Many of these films weave religious imagery into their storytelling as a truthful reflection of how the Philippines’ Catholic conservatism continues to shape, and sometimes suffocate, identity. The characters were imprisoned in these conservative expectations, yet through the telling of their stories, the audience finds liberation. In A Catholic Schoolgirl (2023) by Myra Angeline Soriaso, the protagonist Kaya, a model student in an all-girls Catholic school gifted with a beautiful talent for singing in a choir, embodies perfection within the rigid walls of a heteronormative institution.

However, the film knows that perfection is fragile when one’s love does not align with expectation.

Through meaningful allegory, the film portrays concealment like being in the “closet” as both a sanctuary and a prison. In a moment as Kaya hides to watch Sister Agnes change clothes, the audience in the cinema and Kaya become reflections of each other— silent in the dark and watching as lives unfold, undress, and reveal their truths.

Three of the showcased films center on same-sex relationships, unfortunately with two ending in sorrow, one on a lighter note. The Ballads I Wish You Listened To (2024) by Vic Arroyo is a realistic and heartbreaking story of Miko and Wesley whose affection falters under the weight of reality. “’Indi na ko magkanta kung indi ikaw ang piyesa,” Miko confesses, but he could only hope as his life continued, his ballads left echoing for a muse no longer there to hear them.

Heatwave (2024), directed in General Santos City by Henri Marie Belimac, tells the realistic yet tender story of Rhea and Erich, whose love is tested by disapproval of Rhea’s family— a familiar pain for many sapphic couples. One side faces rejection from the family, and then love becomes a beautiful act of defiance. In real life, some of these relationships end in heartbreak, while others lead to family’s acceptance and realization that love should never be restrained. Notes, Beer, and Everything in Between (2025) by Jozhed Reyes tells the painful story of two former lovers still haunted by what once was. Time may heal wounds for some, but for sapphic love where bonds tangle deeply and intimacy is woven into the soul, some wounds linger as beautiful ghosts.

Lastly, in Agi-Agi (2024) by Sean Dominguez, breathtaking shots of rivers and rice fields witness a young man’s coming-of-age and becoming amid a turbulent family. Jiro’s mother may love him, but her affection can never make up for the abuse he endures from his father. He is isolated and withdrawn not only because of this harsh circumstance but also from the alienation that comes from being queer in a conservative home. The film’s stillness speaks louder than words: the silence of isolation, the yearning for freedom.

These local indie films often seen by only a few dozen or a few hundred people tell stories of injustice that deserve to reach thousands. It is a paradox that tales of oppression are often confined to intimate screenings, while the box-office charts are dominated by formulaic productions driven by propaganda.

Yet, film screenings and festivals like Pelikulaya and Cinematahum persist, giving these narratives the dignity of being seen.

Director Myra Angeline Soriaso also understands this, as it was said that she expressed her desire for her film to be screened freely. As filmmakers like her use their craft as sanctuary for oppressed voices, local film screenings allow these voices to echo farther beyond their small beginnings and resonate with audiences who might finally see themselves represented.

Ivan Entrampas is a third year Statistics student under the Division of Physical Sciences and Mathematics. She became a member of Pagbutlak in 2023 and currently serves as the culture editor, with her work often exploring the intersections of film, music, and visual art with broader social currents.