We have seen many directors deliver great pieces of work through modernized folk horror, however, many more have gone under the radar. All of these capture a wide variety of tales about isolation, religion and the essence of nature by using elements of folklore to invoke dread, fear or a sheer sense of unease in their audience. Going through a similar route comes Adolfo B. Alix, Jr.’s Mananambal (BC Entertainment Production, 2025), creating an atmospheric sensation that immerses you in the story more than the viewer initially anticipated. It might get under the audience’s skin, however, both in frustration because of its slow-burn approach and narrative repetition. Some montages take more time than they need to. The film is at its best when it embraces its environment that fills the screen with unease–the sensory experience that the story brings. Alix builds tension not necessarily slowly, but calmly and cautiously. He waits and lets the film’s ideas gradually carry the story and its characters, only to then raise the hairs on your neck when you least expect it. Mananambal focuses on the repercussions of hiding from danger instead of recognizing its existence. Alix has a unique directing style and it translates here. And the film has this drama that is sorely missing in most modern horror. Lucia (Nora Aunor), conceals her daughter, Alma (Bianca Umali) in the forest, devoid of contact with other people. This is not a story I can relate in any detail without giving away the twists that occur when Alma is pushed into a corner. Mananambal has less gratuitous violence than the average horror movie. Every bloody episode advances the story. There’s a cold beauty in the way the film has been shot, allowing us to experience the rawness and wonder of nature through Alma’s eyes. Alix has created a brand of horror film that poses lots of imponderable questions about the relationship between mothers and daughters. It asks if there is an inviolable core of goodness or badness within people that can survive the most bitter, violent experiences.
Lucia has an instinct striving towards the good while Alma has been permanently scarred, both physically and mentally. When Lucia is first recognized for instance, nobody spells out for the viewer what her significance is. Her presence alone and the reaction to it says everything. Much later, we do learn more in a situation where such knowledge would naturally come to the surface. Alma benefits from social change in a way Lucia either cannot or will not. Alix highlights why forgiveness and reconciliation is often a responsibility foisted upon the next generation, while it’s perhaps obviously easier to forgive someone who didn’t try to burn you alive, even if they did it to someone else, Alma explores the world with a cleaner slate than her mother, at least for a while. Aunor's remarkable performance as Lucia reminds us once more of how completely devoted she is to every role. She can do more with a glance, a simple shift in her eyes, than most actors can in an entire film's worth of screen time. She is capable of slowly revealing her vulnerability - another trait that sets her apart from other actors. Umali shines in a convincingly distressing performance, one that hopefully gets her many more offers for other dramatic roles. From the intimate cinematography to the score reminiscent of a creeping, hooded danger following us on a lonely road at night, Mananambal excels at providing a very different level of fright. It’s through this dynamic that Alix examines the reverse perspective as children learn to forgive their parents, be it for beliefs they attempt to pass on. Alix and his editors don’t hold your hand as they guide you through the trickier, stream-of-consciousness final passages of the movie, whose scares are punctuated by moments of transcendent visual poetry. Eventually, Alix miraculously finds a way to make you feel pity and tenderness for Alma, as she rues her life and what she’s destroyed and lost. A harrowing story for Alma emerges that brings us closer to understanding her own trauma and why she’s resigned herself to a life of ritualistic destruction. Mananambal is a decidedly unorthodox type of horror, one that won’t work for those seeking superficial jump scares. But taken on a metaphysical level in tandem with the film’s motifs and themes, it all works together to create a symphony of dread, right up until the moment when it all comes to a head and real blood is shed.
Sound Design: Jannina Mikaela Minglanilla
Editing: Xila Ofloda, Mark Sucgang, Mark llona
Music: Mikoy Morales
Production Designer: Jhon Paul Sapitula
Director of Photography: Nelson Macababat Jr., LPS
Written and Directed By; Adolfo B. Alix, Jr.
