The one hour and 42-minute runtime of Darryl Yap’s semi-documentary and political dramedy Martyr or Murderer — the second installment of his true-to-life Marcos trilogy — zips by, with the screenwriter-director exhibiting a more confident command of his craft.
Unlike last year’s ultra-melodramatic Maid in Malacanang, here Yap dials down his histrionics, the lines more concise and the cuss words reduced only to where they made sense.
Even the camerawork, albeit still slightly amateurish in some areas, has significantly improved in this sequel, with cinematography aid from the guys behind Marvel’s Black Widow.
His intertitles are now down to one-liners. His trademark humor, which made his KPL shorts popular, hits the bull’s eye here, appropriately used in one hilarious scene (recalling it still makes me laugh).
Yap infuses fun jabs hinged on our collective experience. A young Ninoy tells Mel Mathay, “Let me educate you!” A priest, instead of preaching the words of God, uses the pulpit for other reasons, which “fondly” takes you back to the 2022 election campaign season.
The controversial title gives the impression that MoM is the story of Ninoy Aquino versus Ferdinand Marcos Sr. Who was the real martyr? Who was the real murderer? Who killed Ninoy?
But lest you forget, it is the face of Cristine Reyes, who reprises her role as Imee Marcos, that gets the biggest space in the movie’s poster. Not to mention that Senator Imee shares story credits with Yap and serves as the creative producer.
MoM is chiefly Imee’s story — a heartbreaking tale of a daughter of an overthrown president. The movie takes us to Morocco post-EDSA People Power, where an Imee-in-hiding is visited by her cousin Maricar (Rose Van Ginkel).
Maricar, who is an emotional “Marites,” is used as a storytelling tool to squeeze out information from Imee regarding family and political controversies — the biggest of which is the murder of Ninoy Aquino. But instead of Imee answering Maricar, the movie takes you to the topics in question — spanning five different eras, before and after the EDSA Revolution.
‘Martyr or Murderer.’
Clearly with a bigger budget this time, MoM is more visually captivating. The opening credits are delightfully stylish: Giant red letters smacked on the screen while the camera flies and snakes its way through Ilocos, to accompanying band music.
The attempt to humanize heroes in Philippine contemporary cinema has already been done by Jerrold Tarog in the now-forgotten Heneral Luna (2015) and Goyo (2018), but Yap’s distinct edge is his wit and wider contribution to a Filipino viewer’s historical and political awareness.
In MoM, he incorporates footage and historical documents both as hard-hitting evidence and for emotional resonance. Being a pro-Marcos movie, it obviously fights for justice for the Marcoses. You want to hear their side? Then be our guest, the movie simply says.
If Imee is the heart and heroine of the movie and the Marcoses are the protagonists, Ninoy is clearly the antagonist. Ninoy’s character is not assassinated here (pun unintended) but is dissected.
The movie exposes Ninoy’s unpleasant traits, courtesy of Time magazine (which the movie erroneously calls “Time’s”). It also dives into the origins of Ninoy’s relationship with Ferdinand and Imelda, serving as a springboard to a series of expositions on Ninoy, backed by actual footage of his speeches, to allow the viewer to form their own judgments of him, on top of that thrilling confrontational scene between Ferdinand and Ninoy.
Yap’s style of directing his actors still remains melodramatic. It still lacks subtlety and nuances, but is now far less irritating than the non-stop shouting and ugly crying in MiM.
The theatrical style of acting becomes appropriate one time — Imee’s scream of agony in the deserts of Morocco, before Maricar, as she breaks down in the midst of boundless sand that might as well symbolize her endless grief.
It is Isko Moreno, in his short screen time, who brings the most human performance in the movie as the older Ninoy, and you wish there was more of him.
There are production flaws, such as costumes and hairstyles not accurate of the era, including Filipino women in a 1980s setting with bleached-blonde or dyed hair. And while most of Yap’s comedy hits the mark, there is one scene where it is impossible to apply suspension of disbelief, involving radio music supposedly confused for actual piano playing.
But these flaws are forgivable. Because if Yap aims to make you see the human, vulnerable side of a family stoned with accusations, then he succeeds. The poetic scene with Imee in Morocco talking about her longing to become free as a bird, while lost and aimless in a foreign country and fearing that she might never see her motherland again, put tears in my eyes.
MoM, sprinkled with indirect messages, also injects a running subtext that the Filipino people are no idiots. That if you’re an idiot, it’s because you choose to be one, what with observable facts and research materials accessible to you. MoM gives you clues through historical materials, but nudges you to finish the puzzle yourself.
Yap manages to balance the fun and seriousness in MoM.
Thought-provoking, well-written, and with emotional impact, it is Yap’s best work to date. And with the film concluding with a bewildered-looking Aga Muhlach? I’ve never been this excited about mainstream Philippine cinema before.
4 out of 5 stars
In cinemas nationwide