Adapted from Himala: Isang Musikal, the 2003 stage play, Isang Himala (CreaZion Studios, UxS Stories, Kapitol Films, CMB Film Services, 2024) is a film that stubbornly refuses to shake its theatrical roots. Director Jose Lorenzo Diokno strives mightily to make the material cinematic, trying any number of tricks at his disposal. Even more successful are the film’s complicated long takes, encouraging an ebullience in viewers that’s likely of a similar (if lesser) character to what audience members in 1982 felt when experiencing the film, Himala firsthand. It’s bound to Nora Aunor whose performance adds a note of tragedy to the character’s fate. It’s a lot of weight for a musical and as a film, Isang Himala feels like a play that is weighed down rather than a film that unfolds naturally. But here the seams of the theater keep showing at every turn, so on film, Isang Himala rarely feels free. Not in the way Aicelle Santos' Elsa seems too studied in her opacity – not a sign of Ricky Lee’s own sly handling of her on the page – as a character, she plays to sensibilities that seem out of place. Elsa seems too keyed into the projections and not the central complications of the role, but it’s a stolidness that is centered by the surety of the music. And that’s something the film hedges on and that Santos' performance flounders with. Isang Himala is a heavy musical. It is unrelenting in the way that its ending gives us no catharsis. Everything is so tightly wound; even the hints of levity sustain themselves on undercurrents of desperation. Diokno’s direction leaves the actors carrying that weight and it’s too much to carry. The film is aesthetically and tonally flat, with a sheen of browness which is the worst thing for the kind of pulsating crescendo that informs Diokno’s drama. But that’s not to say that Isang Himala isn’t still a partially successful adaptation, if only for the pleasure of hearing Lee’s bracing words delivered by Bituin Escalante and Kakki Teodoro. In fact, Teodoro is a live wire that ping pongs from manic outbursts to soulful, tear-streaked monologues, from carnal lusting to tragic resignation at a moment’s notice. Teodoro commands the film, leading the vast majority of scenes and staking her claim in the story. Her character Nimia recounts traumas and dreams, and opines about the ambition she has to transcend the limitations of imagination. Escalante and Teodoro's efforts reflect a performative staginess that doesn’t entirely work within the cinematic setting, even as they remain accomplished efforts.
That dissonance is further punctuated when considered alongside the work from co-star David Ezra playing Orly, who deliver no less affecting but a comparatively subdued performance. But it’s the lead role that’s severely lacking and no amount of fabricated prestige can change that. It’s this inadequacy that suggests Diokno and his team weren’t all entirely on the same page, which makes for a frustrating viewing experience. Isang Himala's digital filmmaking likewise serves to highlight the artifice of the entire production, lending the ironic semblance of a stage play despite all of the nifty camerawork. And yet, Vincent de Jesus’ music consistently make their way to the fore; Lee has a remarkable ability to effortlessly and eloquently weave such varied topics as religion, art and exploitation into powerful unity. Lee’s work is as relevant as it ever was, revealing both the subtle and obvious ways that power is wielded to stir anger and hopelessness, which is in turn too often unleashed upon those facing the very same struggles and hardships. And therein lies the problem: this adaptation is unwilling to risk much in cinematic transposition and thus putting all of the responsibility on the performers to provide the juice. It’s the same problem audiences have watched play out across any number of film adaptations. There’s a jarring oddity to the filmmaking when each pivotal turning point is framed with the same kind of boxed in camera work. This story is about people and the ways they externalize their grief, pain and anger. And, yet, Diokno privileges close-ups. His instincts seem out of sync. Yes, the story is moving towards that final operatic tragedy but we are not marking time until then. The story needs to live, breathe and feel. On screen, everything feels small and crowded. A story of rape retains the same cadence. When the music begins to play, the actors sell the enthusiasm but the filmmaking itself doesn’t feel like it’s tapping out keys or feeling rhythm. It’s dutiful and earnest but it’s not lively. Santos' hurt and pain, even when the direction traps her – can be unpredictable. It can be desperate and it can even be unhinged. Escalante and Teodoro holds the key to the film’s engagement. They inhabit the tiredness of their existence without announcement. Diokno insists on opening up the muscal, literalizing Elsa’s heartache, but the moments with Nimia have a naturalness that does not need to be emphasized. They just are. The real miracle comes in the brief moments the film allows them to just exist. As filmed theater, Isang Himala lacks the exciting personal dynamics seen in the art-making processes.
Screenplay By: Ricky Lee, Jose Loreno Diokno
Lyrics and Music: Vincent de Jesus
Production Design: Ericson Navarro, PDCP
Cinematography: Carlo Canlas Mendoza, LPS
Film Editor: Benjamin Tolentino
Music: Teresa Barrozo
Sound Design: Albert Michael M. Idioma, Emilio Bien Sparks
Direction: Jose Lorenzo Diokno
