If you come in to Angelie Mae Macalanda’s short film Wawa, expect anything but the myth of Bernardo Carpio enduring two mountains apart or the enkantada who entrances unsuspecting male tourists. The heart of the film, while it dwells in darkness, is something far more familiar to us—perhaps all too vividly—than folklore. Its brisk ten minutes are spent entirely following a young boy (Frank Daniel Atutubo) grieving over the loss of his father, a process through which he sets adrift with incredible fraught and wariness.
Yes, Wawa is that kind of film that in all likelihood may be easily and disdainfully dismissed (“pa-deep” is among the adjectives other viewers reflexively staple on the film), in part of the reason that it doesn’t seem willing to reveal much from its narrative. There isn’t much that the film shares of the boy and his family, and perhaps from here is where the short film draws much of its appeal. The whole of it is a mere process of drifting from Point A to B, no matter how heavy and slow the drifting becomes. The river, mutely viridescent, draws this map of bereavement that points to breaking and, eventually, hopefully, moving forward.
Whatever details one seeks, or longs to understand, almost becomes irrelevant.
What then, if anything, holds the short film together? Arbi Barbarona’s work on the film’s images—shy but never scarce—is of course exceptional. In their seeming flatness and quietude, Wawa‘s images scream a chiliad of emotions, adding to the weight that the film’s protagonist must endure. Suddenly, a burst of questions, whirling and fluttering about: which responsibilities, as the new man in the house, is the son expected to assume; how much time, if there is enough, is he allowed to grieve his father’s passing? How much baggage he is to unload. And how beholding is that thick fog that coats Wawa River, a listless body of water along which the son rafts his father in part of the funeral procession? Should Macalanda prepare a spiel this early, declaring a clear disclaimer that thou shalt not visit the site just to grieve, because apparently when a film isn’t “transformative” or “environmentalist” it becomes a “national” issue?
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If I end up having to spew rafting jargon, I’ll sue myself.
In any case, I’m enamored by the rich textures of Wawa both in its visuals and in the emotions those visuals exude. It is a simple, economic, yet moving film about mourning and loss.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k4L6lNmNtZA
