To justify censorship, state institutions usually chatter about protecting the filmgoing audience–whether it be from security threats or potentially dangerous ideas. They wall off film spaces, preventing ideas from flowing uninterrupted into the city’s organic bustle. Alternative films–those produced outside the mainstream industry–have had to trudge on through these blockages, continuing their conviction that far from being irrational and powerless, their potential mass audience holds cultural and political power.
The films “Alipato at Muog” and “Lost Sabungeros" were the latest ones to face such roadblocks. The former was initially given an X rating for telling the story of Jonas Burgos, an activist abducted by members of the military in 2007. The latter’s premier, which would have been an exposé on businessman Atong Ang’s link to the disappearance of 34 cockfighters between April 2021 and January 2022, was cut short by Cinemalaya due to “security concerns.”
While “Lost Sabungeros” was eventually shown at the QCinema Film Festival in early November, and had another screening at the UP Film Institute later that month, the entire exercise is just one example of roadblocks that alternative films, and their collective audience, have to overcome.
Cinema City
When a film is censored, it is not only the content that is blocked, but also the space where it is shown. Going to the cinema, after all, is a collective affair; by censoring a film, the lively hum of exhibitions is deafened, and the motions of a festival stopped in its tracks. Beyond its legal definition, censorship is a “spatial practice,” as legal commentator Scottie Beanie argued. Through this practice, censorship hits film spaces first, like theaters and exhibitions.
The Marcos family did so when they attempted to mold the cinema metropolis into their distorted image of a New Society during the Martial Law years. But critical films did not vanish then–they moved to the hidden alleys that the state could not reach, in private homes or secret theaters. Some, like Lino Brocka through the Sineng Bayan, continued to create films in educational and alternative spaces despite limited budgets for productions.
In place of the city’s organic film spaces, the Marcos family commissioned the construction of film centers–the Cultural Center of the Philippines, currently the central hub for Cinemalaya, was constructed in 1966. These spaces act as the beating hearts of the city, facilitating the exchange of information from the theater to Manila’s winding streets.
By imagining the film scene as an urban space, as film academic Jasmine Nadua Trice does in her book “City of Screens,” we can understand why censorship is focused on restricting spaces. It makes the flow of information easier to control in a city that otherwise has its organic rhythm, something that the Marcoses used to stay in power.
Today, cinema’s city map is demarcated with several independent sanctuaries: Cinemalaya films, as long as they are shown within their festival and not in commercial runs, are self-regulated in all theaters without supervision from the government. The UP Film Institute in Diliman, claiming that the films it shows are for academic purposes, also has a self-regulation agreement with the government. Community-led spaces, such as the Pandayang Lino Brocka Film Festival, continue to make films more accessible to audiences who are otherwise out of reach.
Building diverse film spaces promotes the organic flow of information supposedly present in all urban areas. But alternative films and film spaces have had to contend with a state artificially controlling this flow. The latter in its efforts has subsumed most of the country’s film spaces into one hegemonic regulating agency: the Movie Television Review and Classification Board (MTRCB).
Silenced Screens
Atop its high-rise skyscraper towering above the cinema cityscape, the MTRCB has continually tried to restrict alternative film spaces to “protect” its audiences from supposedly subversive thinking. In the relationship between the state, institutions, and the viewing public, the regulatory bodies view the state and themselves as the rational protector of the public. But as shown in the case of “Alipato at Muog,” when state institutions censor films, the rational public is the one that has to contend with the censor’s absurd reasoning.
MTRCB Chairperson Diorella Sotto-Antonio has hidden behind the defense that filmmakers are allowed to apply for a second review. But those same filmmakers have to pay for each review, which could mean death for movies with a low budget. “How could [the MTRCB] justify one version of one film getting two vastly different ratings in so short a time?” one of the producers of the X-rated film “Holy Bingo” said about the rating back in 2007.
The MTRCB has used the “undermining faith and confidence in government” card for decades, especially for films that are critical of actions by the government. In fact, the same excuse was used to censor the 2007 film “Rights.” The short film advocated for the safe release of Jonas Burgos—an eerie echo for Director JL Burgos, director of both the film and “Alipato at Muog.”
By prohibiting public exhibitions of “Alipato at Muog,” the MTRCB has undone a decade of improvements to reviewing films since the Arroyo administration, according to Trice. It has reintroduced in the city’s veins the authoritarianism that defined the Arroyo era and the Marcos dictatorship. It has also continued the irrational practice of its censorship, proven by the different ratings in different reviews given to the same film.
Resisting Reels
In stark contrast to the MTRCB, alternative films, by being critical of existing structures and events, have imagined an audience more reasonable and logical. Filmmakers and producers distributed the film in educational settings, held a series of public screenings, and leveraged public pressure and media coverage in service of the “people’s right to know.”
Alternative films can act as spaces of critical engagement and political discussion. Through these actions, they show a desire to reach audiences beyond their small borders–beyond classrooms, microcinemas, and festivals. By resisting attempts at censorship, these films take on a new form—impeded circulation itself can generate new meaning and discourse, like taking a detour and rediscovering vibrant art on a forgotten alleyway.
Rediscovering these alleyways starts by introducing critical filmmaking for student filmmakers. After all, student filmmaking is part of alternative filmmaking, according to director JT Trinidad. Films here must speak out against injustices by the state and join the fight against its censorship.
Looking into the future, new digital platforms, and modes of distribution like streaming, or crowdfunding could also be utilized by alternative films. But above all, collective efforts by both filmmakers and the filmgoing public in propping up alternative film spaces in previously unreached places, and resisting attempts at censorship is needed. By echoing the resistance of the Sineng Bayan during Martial Law can we keep alternative film spaces lively, buzzing, and vibrant.
Despite roadblocks, alternative films have been used throughout history as a vehicle through which information could flow organically to the filmgoing public. By constantly reinventing ways to distribute and present themselves, alternative films could inject renewed energy into the entertainment cityscape and tap into a more critical public. ●
