A case for Manila Noir

While there is no existing literature that focuses specifically on the concept of noir in Philippine cinema, some elements of film noir fall under the genre of Philippine action films, also called bakbakan (fighting) films. According to film historian Nick Deocampo (2011) “Almost any film that depicted strong male characters and a lot of action (such as warring tribes, war scenes, high-speed chase, bloody murders and sinister plots) were lumped together as action films.”¹⁷ Film historian Agustin Sotto (1987 p. 2) contrasts American film noir with the emergence of the Tagalog action film, listing “the strict form of morality, the idealism of the honor code, the set attitudes, the traditional values and the folk thinking” as what makes action films “very Filipino in character” (Sotto 1987 p.2). In his informative survey, Sotto (1987) suggests that Filipino action films might be traced to the themes of the moro-moro play during the Spanish period,

17 There are no page markers in the book’s official Kindle version.

a “morality play” that pitted Christians against Muslims that featured battle scenes where the Christian characters emerged victorious. Sotto (1987) goes on to trace the formulaic elements of the action film in the emergence of the male “action stars” in the late 50s: from the gun-slinging local version of the Western hero (Fernando Poe Jr.), the working class hero who hails from the slums (Jose “Erap” Estrada), and the criminal-hero (Ramon Revilla).¹⁸

Not unlike melodramatic films that are marked with excess, the typical Philippine action film is known for hyperbolic displays of masculinity through violence. Critic Emmanuel Reyes (1989 p. 52) echoes Sotto, describing the typical action film as ”an ultraviolent genre that dwells on stories of revenge, insurgency, gangland mayhem and police operations.” He underlines that a common theme in action films is distrust against figures of law and authority.

Reyes (1989 p. 52) suggests that the male protagonist in Tagalog action films is a common citizen reacting to societal woes: “Usually operating outside of the law, the hero of the action genre believes in dispensing his own brand of justice in the bloodiest manner imaginable.” Rafael Guerrero (1983a) similarly identifies the action film as a genre centred on the theme of vengeance that serves to project the Filipino myth of “machismo” in response to the emasculation of Filipino men during the Spanish colonial period.

Although there are similarities in subject matter between American film noir and the Philippine action film, the aesthetics of darkness is rendered in a different manner in the latter. In a brief description of the action film, Joel David (1995) comments on the absence of the typical (American) noir look in Philippine cinema. Referring to Schrader’s noir aesthetics of darkness and shadows, David (1995 p. 13) explains that: “Essential to this definition is the climatic properties of the temperate countries where film noir flourished – the misty

18All three of these action film heroes became politicians. Revilla served in the senate, Estrada became President (and was later on ousted), while Poe Jr. ran for the presidency.

atmosphere and grimy surfaces caused by fog and pollution that tended to acquire brightness and sharper detail in tropical settings.” David (1995 p. 13) credits late Filipino filmmaker Lino Brocka for bringing film noir to Philippine cinema, saying that the filmmaker “settled for a less authentic (relative to the foreign example) version, retaining the shadows but dispensing with the haze, in what has now become the industry norm for gangster films.” This fog and pollution is of course something to be expected from the dense and labyrinthian streets of the urban sprawl of Manila.

From the above description of Philippine action films I derive a strand that might be called Manila noir: male-centred crime films set in the urban space, which are configured by the slum chronotope. If American film noir sensibilities emerged post World War II, it is possible to argue as well that the post-war period in the Philippines saw the emergence of Manila noir, given the heightened visibility of slums in the ruins of the capital. Although the emergence of slums can be traced back to the colonial occupation of Spain and the United States, the post-war destruction of the capital of the Philippines ushered in a wave of rural migrants to the ruins of the capital of Intramuros, turned to rubble in the aftermath of American bombings. A prime example might be Anak Dalita (Child of Sorrow) (Avellana 1956) one of the most lauded films of the 1950s directed by Lamberto Avellana, set in the ruins of Intramuros. As mentioned in the study’s introduction, the film might be considered an early example of Philippine urban cinema. Anak Dalita might also be an early example of Manila noir given the theme of crime that also runs through the film.

In the films I approach as examples of Manila film noir, the city in the shadow of the slum chronotope is configured as a space where crime lurks at every corner, and is an experience that is part of the everyday. While it might have been possible to group these films according to the genre of crime films, to approach them as noir highlights the dystopic “darkness” offered by the use of

the slum chronotope, at the same time that noir puts emphasis on the urban context. Moreover, it is useful to recall that in the Philippines, the term ikswater is widely used to refer to slum inhabitats regardless of technical differences between squatters and slums, emphasising the discourse of criminality that is associated with slum dwelling. Recalling the contextual notes in the study’s introduction, the criminal discourse of squatting in the Philippines provides the state with the legal and moral justification to enact squatter demolitions, which became a frequent occurrence when the Marcos administration criminalised squatting in 1975. Although this Presidential Decree was repealed after two years because of clamor from civil society, the repeal did not actually mean the complete nullification of the imposition of sanctions against squatters.

The precarious practice and experience of squatting lies not just in the location and dangerous conditions of the spaces they occupy — it is also because as illegal occupants of urban space, squatters are always in danger of eviction.

According to geographer Erhard Berner (1997 p. 171): “For the squatters, renters and sidewalk dwellers who are the majority of Manila's population, eviction is a permanent threat and insecurity of tenure the most severe problem.” This “permanent threat and insecurity of tenure” that underpins the criminal discourse of slum dwelling relates directly to the slum chronotope’s configuration of Manila noir narratives with an overall sense of impermanence and insecurity.

While there are similarities to classic noir’s configuration of its male characters as always looking to the past, slum noir’s anti-heroes are heavily invested in the futuristic present. What I mean is that the narratives in Manila noir do not return obsessively to the past; what matters is the present moment that looks to the future. Instead of a return to the past, Manila noir’s characters labour in the present, with a view to the future. Recalling urban dystopia’s taking place in the

“futuristic present” it might be argued that in Manila noir, what frequently occurs

are “returns to the present” rather than returns the past. This is different from the configuration of what we might refer to as a “vicious cycle” because, as I will discuss in my textual analysis, these representative film narratives do not simply go full circle but actually suggest a degree of striving towards the future, usually motivated by the family or the will to survive.

To read noir figures as constantly returning to the present with a view of a better future is a more productive way of interpreting Manila noir narratives as embroiled in the day-to-day, even minute-to-minute politics of survival, despite its oftentimes-fatalistic projection of the future. Manila noir’s returns to the present might actually be related to Richard Dyer’s (1993 p. 53) suggestion that

“The basic structure of film noir is like a labyrinth with the hero as the thread running through it. He starts out on a quest…Yet the road that he chooses, or is chosen for him, does not lead directly [to that quest].” There is constant movement in these Manila noir narratives that strive towards locating exits from the labyrinth, even though these movements often prove futile.

It is the male characters’ relatively increased mobility that differentiates Manila noir narratives from the subjects of the previous chapters. If chronotopes of passage are located in key moments that compel transitions into adulthood, while affective chronotopes are located in moments of excessive emotions, chronotopes of mobility can be located in the moments of transit that engage the myths of masculinity, which in turn reveal imaginaries of spatial in/justice. I discuss this assertion further in the next section.