Hele sa hiwagang hapis

Imagine walking into a museum of the Philippines Revolution. It is filled with dioramas or tableaux vivants of famous scenes and people from the revolution, portrayed by actors who act out the events. Each diorama is behind a glass wall: you can only watch from a distance. You walk from one scene to another, spending the same amount of time at each tableau. The museum goes on forever....

That's what watching this film is like. If that sounds like your idea of fun, the A Lullaby to the Sorrowful Mysteries is the film for you.

All the scenes are shot in black-and-white with a fixed camera set to middle/long shot. There are no traveling shots, no close-ups, no long distance shots, no zooms, very few slight pans, and no editing. And it goes on forever.

Why did they make the film this way? My guess is that because the revolution occurred at the end of the 19th century, the director was trying to give the impression of what it would have looked like had it been filmed at that time. That was before editing had been invented, when all shots were the same length and just spliced together, and when cameras were only fixed focal length. The only special effect is an overused fog machine (perhaps a metaphor for "the fog of war"?) The actors don't actually act or speak dialogue: instead, they strike poses and declaim in highfaluting literary language. This was, I guess, the style of acting at the time.

I don't know why they didn't go the whole hog, and film it silently with dialogue cards. Perhaps they should have used nitrate stock, which could then burn up in the projector.

It could be that the film gets better as it goes along. I don't know. I escaped after two hours. The film lasts for an unbelievable eight!

While I wouldn't compare the two stylistically speaking, Lav Diaz is to the Philippines what Ken Loach is to Britain. Both their filmographies represent a cinematic historical accounting of under-discussed woes infecting the societies of their respective nations. It's practically their brand, with Diaz even saying in interviews that art (specifically film) is how we make a record of culture and hopefully change the world.

A Lullaby To The Sorrowful Mystery, to me, is a magnum opus of comprehensive historical fiction - an unstoppable giant born of love and despair for one's country with a pleasurable style thrown in for good measure. On top of being a masterpiece of minimalist cinematic language and mise en scene (like all Lav Diaz films it is so minimalist, in fact, that it more or less reaches over to the other side of the spectrum and becomes an unusual form of maximalism), it's as important to the foundation of the Philippines as Shoah is to the Holocaust.

Lav Diaz has a devil on his shoulder, one that is constantly taunting him with disappointment in his beloved homeland, and he needs to satiate it by telling stories. His 2014 effort, From What Is Before, dealt with the effect martial law had on even the most remote of spaces - areas that were, in theory, as far removed from the troubles of militant fascism as one could hope, and Lullaby feels like somewhat of a political companion piece. It showcases an earlier stage in the domino effect that is this country's past, and gives you an idea as to how the martial law ever became a reality.

Set against the backdrop of the Philippine revolution of the late 1890's, we follow a handful of characters on different paths - alternately affected but equally devastated by the cataclysm engulfing the country they call home. The most notable of these hapless heroes being Gregoria De Jesus, as she embarks on an odyssey into the wilderness to find the body of Andres Bonifacio, a hero to the revolution. The story is a parchment, atmosphere is the quill, and what a ghostly atmosphere it is. As though mother nature has secretly transported our characters into purgatory, just to see how far their wild goose-chase will go before hopelessness completely ransacks their humanity.

Along the way we encounter bizarre half-human, half-horse forest spirits (loosely based on Philippine folklore), who revel in tormenting, maybe even manipulating the players of the revolution. In one particular scene they laugh like naughty school children after frightening an entire cinema congregation (a new concept of the time period) out of the building and screaming into the streets. Another narrative thread sees a non-revolutionary, with his feet firmly dug far away from the drama of the world, suddenly thrust into the middle of the chaos when he must help transport a critically injured (and highly important figure - a hero to some, a criminal to others) across the jungle and into unknown territory.

The film's eight-hour runtime is quite literally as big as the elephant in the room. So you can imagine there is quite the branch-addled tree of a story running up the backbone of this beast of a motion picture; and, while i'm sure it contributes massively, it isn't just the usual Lav Diaz trademarks and penchant for deliberate slowness that draw the film out. I am a big fan of Diaz, i love his aesthetics, his infinitely unique style, and I never miss an opportunity to devour his films like a bottomless brunch because they're so difficult to find sometimes - and you never know how long they'll be available for. Point being: I am very familiar with his methods, and such runtimes no longer induce a slapstick-esque double take. But here I do believe he has woven his most colossal narrative; not about any one thing - but many different bits and pieces, all fitting together to complete a vision of history and its repercussions on the modern world. No other filmmaker does this with such lucidity, and playfulness so subtle you almost don't know it's there.

It feels odd to talk about the length in relation to the bulk of the content in that way, because not only is there nothing unusual about a Lav Diaz film sprawling out for this many minutes, but it's not even his longest film! It's shorter than Death in the Land of Enchantos, Heremias: Legend of the Lizard Princess, and, obviously, the mount Everest that is Evolution of a Filipino Family. But this film, in particular, feels like it has the most ambitious story; Heremias, despite being the longer film by an hour, was very small scale by comparison. For the record: I feel inclined to agree with Diaz when it comes to our socially acceptable spitefulness regarding the runtime of movies (my words, not his).

Online movie discourse only gets more thin-skinned with each passing year, just like *every subject that is discussed on the internet, and rarely is there a film component that riles people up more than the runtime. It's seemingly all anyone ever talks about: "too long" this, and "too long" that. It's an unsophisticated and blatantly lazy manner in which to critique a film that forgoes actual understanding of the material within those minutes; hardly the "gotcha" people think it is. Far too many wannabe film journalists, especially on Youtube, rely on this because they have nothing else to say if you truly listen to their arguments (which are far more concerned with knee-jerk clickbate nowadays). I'm not naively implying it's not ever a problem for an individual work, but it wouldn't go amiss if we appreciated film with a perception that went beyond just how long it is, because that's very boring in my opinion. To quote Lav himself: "Art is free, man. Why confine it to a two-hour *thing".

Anyone who has seen a Lav Diaz film should know what they're getting into with Lullaby to the Sorrowful Mystery (what a title), and brace up for his usual list of flourishes. It's black and white, lacks non-diegetic music, has very few cuts, boasts a runtime that would make any unprepared film buff run for the hills, a depressing atmosphere, an almost nonexistent sound design and, most importantly of all, a point to make about life - a point that feels relevant to any structural society on planet Earth. Personally, I never feel that this list of aesthetic choices comes off as either pretentious or repetitive, I enjoy them all like a cheeky snack every time i see a Lav Diaz composition. They almost bully the story out of the conversation and come close to taking over the film's genetic makeup, I suppose that's why it's hard not to talk about them; they are what I enjoy in each effort regardless of the plot.

I feel it's worth mentioning that the pacing somehow felt faster than usual this time around. Lav doesn't completely dismiss the "slow-cinema" label, when he defended this film in Berlin he did say: "it's not slow-cinema, it's just cinema". But I have seen him do other interviews in which he chuckles and seemingly agrees: "of course it's slow". He's definitely self aware about it, but knows when to embrace it - and when to recognise it as not 100% relevant. Did I just so happen to be more engrossed in this particular film than any of his other works? I don't know for sure, it's possible considering I find no issue in selecting this as my favourite Lav Diaz work, and I've enjoyed every single one that I've seen. It's unfair to say it's slow because nothing is happening, that simply isn't true, I think there's more happening than your eyes are letting you believe. It's just a pedigree of filmmaking not enough people are used to, which I do sympathise with, but easy dismissiveness robs one's self of an extraordinary film.

His movies, despite having their fair share of long static single-take sequences of dialogue, are all about feeling through atmosphere and visual storytelling; what the characters are saying is less relevant than the fact that they are talking at all, and it is the cinematic quality that Lav is such a master at stripping down to its most barebones rawness that drives my investment in so many hundreds of minutes. I always felt the static shot, in terms of cinematic language, was the easiest to misconceive, it can very easily come iff as artless and disinterested in itself - but then I discovered Lav and his ability to do so much with so little. I love this film. I love every ingredient in its book, both aesthetically and narratively.

The story is suitably massive for the ideas it wants to convey, the cinematography is refreshing and cool to the touch, the style isn't afraid to get playful by making use of a 4:3 aspect ratio, hazed-up lighting effects, and occasional forays into trippy fantasy elements. It's poetic, sad, audacious, strange, even depressing at times, and above all else - succeeds in bringing to life the pressures and hopes of a filmmaker who wants his country to do better than it has. I've seen it several times now, because, simply speaking: it's just my cup of tea.