How Celebrated Filmmakers' Cinematic 'Theories' Undermine History

By Joel Paredes

It is already disheartening that the Philippines continues to lag behind in global filmmaking, and yet some celebrated filmmakers seem more invested in stirring controversy than in producing world-class feature films that challenge and enrich our understanding of Philippine history.

Take, for instance, the films Quezon and Magellan. These works appear to be driven more by cinematic "theories" than by a commitment to historical accuracy, further distorting an already fragmented and often misrepresented national narrative. For many critics, the latest wave of revisionism—such as the suggestion that Lapulapu was merely a political creation of Rajah Humabon—is not an intellectual exercise but a deeply frustrating attempt to undermine the historical foundations of our nation and its people.

This frustration is compounded by recent reassessments, including the alleged "unmasking" of Manuel L. Quezon as a power-hungry leader. Such portrayals have led many to feel that our history is being increasingly "bastardized," stripped of its dignity and truth.

At the heart of this dispute lies the nature of film itself. As a focused medium, cinema is uniquely powerful, commanding the audience’s attention through deliberate choices in visuals, sound, and narrative structure. Unlike written history, film creates immersive experiences that can cement controversial interpretations in the public consciousness.

This inherent potency, however, does not justify the use of artistic license when dealing with historical truths.

My admiration for Lav Diaz’s craft is now overshadowed by a growing sense of deception, stemming from his film’s direct contradiction of primary sources. Historical records, particularly the accounts of Antonio Pigafetta—the chronicler of the Magellan expedition—clearly identify Lapulapu as the chieftain of Mactan who led his people to victory in 1521. Yet Diaz’s interpretation, which he claims is the result of seven years of research, proposes Lapulapu as a fabricated entity created by Humabon, outright rejecting this critical account. His defense? That the film is a cinematic reimagining—a "theory" rather than a historical document.

This echoes the controversy surrounding the film simply titled Quezon, which faced backlash for its historical liberties and portrayal of Quezon’s era.

The filmmakers defended their choices by labeling the film as satire. In both cases, genre labels are used to justify significant departures from historical fact. Diaz’s "theory" seeks to deconstruct the myth of Lapulapu and, by extension, the very foundations of Filipino resistance. Similarly, in Quezon, filmmaker Jerrold Tarog, with the backing of a "public historian," appears to use the medium to critique the political climate of the time, implying that Filipino politics has always been steeped in corruption.

This recurring pattern of revisionism validated the neocolonial narrative about the Philippines. If our foundational heroes like Lapulapu are reduced to myths, and our revered statesmen like Quezon are portrayed as mere power-hungry figures, then the struggle for genuine self-governance seems perpetually undermined.

The effect of these cinematic distortions could subtly reinforce the notion that American colonial rule was justified, or worse, that the Philippines is inherently destined to remain a neocolony due to internal political failure. The result is a cynical and anti-nationalist assertion that erodes our national identity.