The Metaphors We Play Golf By

Rafael Manuel’s “Filipiñana” has finally arrived in New York theaters, and it’s clear that the film is more than just a story about a young girl working at an elite golf resort. It’s a scathing critique of the class divide that has haunted the Philippines for centuries.

The country club setting may seem like an unusual choice for a commentary on societal inequality, but Manuel knew exactly what he was doing. In an interview with Variety, he noted, “When you think about it, it’s a good metaphor for the country.” The golf course, a symbol of privilege and exclusivity, serves as the perfect backdrop to explore how power is exercised over those who have little.

One of the most striking aspects of Manuel’s film is its use of visual language to convey the complexities of colonial history. By framing characters against the sprawling landscapes of the Philippines, Manuel highlights how imperialism has projected its own narrative onto the country. This theme echoes through the work of Susan Sontag and Simon Schama, who have written extensively about the role of photography in shaping our understanding of power.

The deliberate pacing of the film is not merely a stylistic choice; it’s meant to capture the lethargy that comes with living in a country where change seems impossible. The stifling heat and humidity of the Filipino summer may be a physical manifestation of this feeling, but it also speaks to how people have become accustomed to waiting for change.

Manuel wants viewers to take away from watching “Filipiñana” a sense of stasis – the idea that nothing is changing. By stripping away traditional narrative structures and creating space for viewer autonomy, Manuel encourages us to think critically about our own complicity in systems of power. As he notes, conventional narrative can be seen as a form of gentrification – imposing one’s values and perspectives on others.

The golf course in “Filipiñana” is more than just a setting; it’s a metaphor for the ongoing legacy of colonialism in the Philippines. By slowing down the pace of the film, Manuel forces us to confront how we become accustomed to waiting for change. We’re forced to ask ourselves: what do we mean when we talk about “change” and “progress”? Is it simply a matter of waiting for someone else to act, or can we take agency for ourselves?

The slow pace may be frustrating at times, but it’s also a reminder that true change requires patience, persistence, and a willingness to confront the status quo. As we watch Isabel navigate the treacherous waters of her golf course job, we’re forced to confront our own complicity in perpetuating systems of inequality.

In the end, “Filipiñana” is not just a film about the Philippines – it’s a film about us. It challenges us to think critically about our place within systems of power and encourages us to take action towards creating real change. As we watch Isabel struggle with her circumstances, we’re reminded that true power lies not with those who hold positions of authority, but with those who have the courage to challenge them – and play golf by different rules.