Of late, local cinema has been enjoying an upsurge of favorable reception. It was an especially good year for Cinemalaya, its problem no longer relatively stagnant ticket sales but a deficit of seats and screening dates. On top of that, Erik Matti’s recently released On The Job had audiences waxing enthusiastic both here and abroad.
But where do movies like these go once their cinema audiences have dried out? For many other foreign film industries, archiving is second nature. Here, however, it simply hasn’t been industry SOP—and this is worrying for reasons far beyond the need to quell the wistfulness of film geeks.
Pragmatically speaking, this negligence might have been forgivable if the hitch was merely one of cost. Archiving is a shockingly expensive practice. On top of the maintenance of buildings that require round the clock temperature regulation, funds also have to be poured into the restoration, preservation and cataloging of the films themselves. Considering all the other items that find their way into our national budget, calling the establishment of a national archive “ambitious” is a laughable understatement.
While an undervalued cultural arts fund is disturbing, it is still more acceptable than the other, much more alarming explanation for our neglected archive: We simply didn’t care enough about its implementation.
In an article that appeared in the Philippine Daily Inquirer, the president of the Society of Filipino Archivists for Film, Clodualdo del Mundo, recounted how, not long ago, film was used to make New Years tooters. Until the ‘70s, he said, it was common practice for TV networks to tape over finished broadcasts. There was also a producer who would supposedly sell his negatives because he was in the business of recovering silver.
Today, we do have an operational—though obscure—public filing system. It’s called the National Film Archive of the Philippines (NFAP), though, at present, that title seems like it was given more out of wishful thinking rather than actual merit.
The NFAP is on a mission to accomplish “the retrieval, restoration, and eventual digitization of the best works of Filipino filmmakers.” While it’s too soon to pass proper judgment on the two-year-old organization, what it’s managed to accomplish so far has been quite commendable. It’s attempting an undertaking massive enough to cow and tire even the most dedicated of film enthusiasts—yet it’s stubbornly plowing forward, and it is right to do so.
As with Noli Me Tángere during the Spanish occupation and OPM during Martial Law, our films fill in the blanks that our history books don’t cover. For brazen commentary on Filipinos’ faith, there is Ishmael Bernal’s Himala. For discussion on the media’s misguided romanticization of poverty, there is Marlon Rivera’s Ang Babae sa Septic Tank. Even mainstream cinema’s current obsession with mistress movies says something about our cultural identity.
Serving a purpose far more consequential than simply catering to people’s nostalgia, the documentation of our films is integral to the cultivation of our cultural identity and the preservation of our heritage.
Whether they be fictional or factual, mainstream or independent, films are historical elements in their own right, and that should be reason enough to come to their rescue.
