We’re introduced to the world of renowned Filipino director Lav Diaz and taken on a voyage of introspection with one man’s mission for peace. Diaz has become celebrated for thought-provoking art cinema that lingers contemplatively over society’s deeper troubles. His trademarks include minimalist black-and-whiteinematography forming a solemn canvas and lengthy runtimes that immerse us in lived experiences.
Our guide is Hilarion Zabala, a retired soldier tormented by olfactory delusions reflecting past trauma. Known as phantosmia, these phantom smells transport Zabala back to horrors witnessed as a military and police officer during a turbulent era. Diagnosed with a condition both physical and emotional, he embarks on a non-traditional form of therapy—reliving his career to exorcise demons through writing.
Zabala’s journey leads to a remote penal colony where new injustices are brought to light as old wounds are reopened. But might redemption also be found?
Diaz uses the intimate portrayal of one man’s healing process as an allegory for a nation and its people still recovering from violence while seeking atonement. Across four melancholy hours, we witness both individual strife and societal ills through Zabala’s determined steps along a difficult road of reconciliation.
Visual Voyages
Lav Diaz crafts his films with a very distinct visual flair. He handles the camera himself, preferring a stark black-and-white palette to draw our focus to emotional subtleties. With shots held longer than most directors dare, we observe detailed scenes that unfold naturally rather than being chopped into bits.
This allows the atmospheric world to envelop us, as if we’ve been transported inside Zabala’s haunted memories. Standing witness through those piercing long takes, we share in characters’ inner turmoil. A heavy rainstorm barely masks anguished yells as father and son clash, painful secrets bared open beneath dark skies.
Pacing is paramount to Diaz’s storytelling. Scenes linger at a contemplative pace, eschewing excitement for immersion. We absorb surroundings like the brooding landscape itself, attuned to fluctuating moods. Zabala’s fractured psyche comes to life through this rhythm, as choppy cuts take us back and forth in his therapy.
Flashing between eras, we piece the plot nonlinearly just as he does. It’s disorienting yet dynamic, mirroring a mind scarred by trauma that can’t stay present. Through editorial maneuvers mimicking memory itself, we feel the isolating effects of his condition by being stranded amid past and present alike. In these voyages, Diaz seamlessly blurs perspectives so we see with the eyes of a tortured soul.
A Soul in Turmoil
At the center of Diaz’s complex tale sits Hilarion Zabala, a man burdened by his past. Played with depth by veteran actor Ronnie Lazaro, Zabala’s pained journey is one we keenly feel. Both victim and victimizer of violence, he emanates a restless soul forever haunted.
Lazaro poignantly conveys Zabala’s unease through body language. He frequently shields his face with a scarf, a barrier between his troubled mind and the outside world. His furtive eyes convey a man near breaking from horrors replayed endlessly in memory. Yet beneath anguish remains a hint of humanity, a flicker of hope for absolution.
Watching Zabala walk amongst ghosts of his making, we view a man evolving. Early scenes find him lost and submissive, drifting where fate leads. But as he faces skeletons and comes to understand his role in larger tragedies, a softening occurs. Purpose forms from ashes of his past, guided by empathy awakened in quiet moments of newfound clarity.
No scene better portrays Zabala’s catharsis like his desperate plea for a son’s forgiveness in a downpour. Rage and regret pour forth as family wounds finally see treatment. Here Lazaro distills the profound intimacy of repair, a man rediscovering what once gave life meaning before duty tore it away. By the story’s end, Zabala emerges freed, washed clean, and ready to offer others the peace he has found.
Suffering in Silence
Within Diaz’s somber world lay harrowing truths. We witness the brutalizing effects of power and corruption through both individual hardship and societal decay. A quiet village succumbs to warfare, its residents likely still haunted by what replaced their peace.
On Pulo Island, new injustices emerge. As Zabala acclimates, the oppression governing this place becomes clear. Under Major Lukas, a facade of order obscures base desires. None suffer his malice more than Reyna, subject to vile exploitation. Her muted screams echo the silenced pleas of others crushed under tyranny.
Subtle details expose deeper rot. We see the penal colony’s true face behind pretenses of rehabilitation, spotting complicity where complacency should stir outrage. Here law is bent to serve lust and greed alone. The fragile are left prey for predators assigned to protect.
Through delicate scenes, Diaz pays witness to suffering left untold. Hands rarely touch, yet implications stir the soul. We feel the suffocating futility of lives reduced to mere surviving. A lethargy hangs heavy as resignation where resistance once stood. All decays when the people’s wellbeing is treated as a privilege, not right. In this silent suffering, a nation’s scars remain exposed.
Reflections of a Nation
Zabala’s ghosts hint at shadows haunting an entire people. His olfactory visions serve as more than medical mystery; they symbolize the scars of a country yet to find a remedy for past errors. In these phantoms, we glimpse the Philippines still wavering with memories of authoritarian rule and revolution’s bitter fruits.
Diaz draws purposeful parallels between individual and community. Just as another protagonist combats a worsening skin ailment, Zabala faces his inner damage. Both afflictions convey, on physiological planes, the psychosocial wounds of post-traumatic societies. Through intimate portraits, a national psyche comes into focus.
Violence breeds violence, while its roots spread cultural acceptance of abuse. Breaking cycles demands recognizing the legacy of harm as Zabala comes to terms with his. Diaz scrutinizes such themes through nonlinear storytelling, unfolding the present but one step on history’s winding road.
In this vein, folkloric mysteries like the fabled Musang symbolize issues evading fix but worthy of pursuit. Though never sighted, its legendary prowess remains a temptation, motivating the hopeful, if perhaps hopeless, hunt. And so do societal changes feel—infinitely demanding yet rewarded by any ground gained.
Across cloudy dreams and wispy visions, Diaz finds philosophical clarity. Individual cases reflect shared agony, and personal triumphs hint at the healing of a wounded land. His nuanced allegories gift insight to lives and nations still walking dark paths, learning life’s lessons in gradual, grassroots ways.
Interpreting Diaz’s Vision
Some felt the four-hour journey lost its way, stories left too open without resolution. But others argued Diaz intentionally keeps contemplation breathing, refusing easy answers for life’s dilemmas.
Where assessments united was in appreciation for the film’s all-consuming atmosphere. Through dilapidated sets and faces expressing volumes, Diaz transports us deep into his characters’ inner worlds. In this, Lazaro excels as the complex soul of Zabala, embodying conflicted morality with subtle, soulful grace.
Debates emerged too around Diaz’s depiction of women. While aiming critiques at authoritarian systems, some felt Reyna received marginal focus as a victim archetype. But distinguishing malicious tropes from intended social commentary remains tricky. Diaz’s desire may have been sparking discussion, not definitive conclusions.
Ultimately, reaction reminds us that no author ignites solely praise or blame. Diaz invites us into haunting spaces to share discomforts, not solve them. If stirring mixed interpretations, perhaps this means his cinematic journeys, like humanity, contain complexities we’re still learning to see with empathy and nuance. Some may find answers, some questions; together, we continue the work of broader understanding.
Lingering Visions
With Zabala’s footsteps fading but his soul remaining resonant, Diaz’s four-hour voyage at last concludes. We’d traveled far, through trials of a nation and one man’s turbulent past. Steeped in an auteur’s distinguished style, this journey lasted longer but left impressions unlikely to withdraw soon.
Not all find comfort in Lav Diaz’s slow cinema, yet for those embracing its embrace, rewards emerge in ways words fail to fully capture. In slipping inside another’s shoes, we gain glimpses of shared struggles beneath skins not our own. Questions linger where answers once lay, for life holds more nuance than solutions.
Phantosmia invites what all great art does—nnot response but response-ability. Though bleak in portions, hope emerges wherever hatred is challenged and victims seen as equals. Diaz gifted us time to feel another’s wounds as our own and, in compassion, perhaps find balms to soothe scars of history not yet healed. If his films depart unresolved, it is because reality remains so. All we can do is keep talking.
The Review
Phantosmia
While Phantosmia may not resonate with all viewers due to its ponderous pace and occasionally diffuse narrative, Diaz's film offers a visceral glimpse into the national trauma of the Philippines through the profound internal journey of its tortured protagonist. Zabala acts as a symbol of a society seeking to understand past wrongs and build a more just future, with Diaz inviting us to contemplate these complex themes through his signature style of lucid slow cinema. Despite some flaws, the film succeeds in its goal of immersive characterization and thought-provoking allegory.
PROS
- Deeply moving performance by Ronnie Lazaro as Zabala
- Evocative visuals and atmosphere that immerse the viewer
- Thought-provoking allegorical themes about national trauma and healing
- Effective use of nonlinear storytelling to mirror the protagonist's state of mind
- Provokes discussion on issues of violence, justice, and social change.
CONS
- Very slow pacing may test patience of some viewers.
- Narrative focus waves in the latter half of the 4-hour runtime
- Reductive portrayal of some female characters
