‘Separada’ REVIEW: What all querida movies should be
‘Separada’ REVIEW: What all querida movies should be
Melissa (Maricel Soriano) in a confrontation scene with her husband, Dodie (Edu Manzano).
The year was 1994. Star Cinema was the young-and-hot studio to look out for, housing the triple threat of Chito Roño, Maricel Soriano, and Ricky Lee— all three of whom were collaborating on two movies that would launch the ever-successful querida vs. legal wife craze in Filipino movies. And one of them has aged surprisingly well. Querida movies from the 90s onwards: take a step back and bow to your older, digitally restored sister Separada.
Melissa, surrounded by alcohol.
The film’s premise seems conventional enough. Advertising executive Melissa (Maricel Soriano) seems to be successfully juggling her career and family, when her husband Dodie (Edu Manzano) asks for a separation so he can live with his now-pregnant mistress Sandy (Sharmaine Arnaiz). The thing is, instead of tantalizingly drawing out the affair throughout the film’s runtime, Melissa and Dodie’s marriage shatters before the twenty-minute mark. The rest of the film becomes more concerned about how the three, especially Melissa and her children, deal with the aftermath.
It’s refreshing, when compared to the querida movies that followed, which exploited infidelity, rather than explored it. In a panel discussion before the film’s KTX premiere, screenwriter Ricky Lee mentioned that what he and Roño were going for was a story that was “more than a love triangle.” They were more interested in positioning the affair as part of this modern woman’s life, rather than as something that became the sum and whole of it. They were going for, as he aptly describes, “a woman’s journey.” In fairness, it shows. The film provides each character room to process their situations and react to them, in a way that treats them like people. Flawed, yes, but with dignity nonetheless. Melissa immediately subverts the suffering wife archetype, when she declares from the onset that she’s not going to become a martyr. She struggles, naturally, but not once does she beg for her ex-husband to come back after he leaves for good. Not once does she consider abandoning her career to become Dodie’s little woman. Hurt and lost, she soldiers on.
Melissa, in black and purple, surrounded by her closest friends.
Director Chito Roño puts Melissa’s situation in perspective by situating her in her close-knit circle of wrist-flicking amigas, reminiscent of the central ragtag bunch in Lee’s Moral. Although their primary purpose is to be Melissa’s support system, they also provide alternative faces to the modern career woman, the archetype the film seeks to humanize. Like Melissa, they also struggle to reconcile traditional womanhood with the demands of modernity, from the comical Cookie’s (Ai-Ai de las Alas) struggle as a single mother to the barren Susan’s (Lani Mercado) dreams of domestic life. Curiously, the film’s careful portrayal of Sandy also adds to the multifacetedness of the modern career woman. Though she enters the film as Dodie’s imperious mistress, Roño melts her icy exterior to reveal the complexities of this considerate and independent woman capable of doing both good and right.
More than a woman’s story, the film is greatly concerned with the family. In what seems to be a progressive move, it questions the traditional structure of the nuclear family and its relevance to the times. Melissa and Dodie both dote on their children, but the rift between them complicates matters. Confused, the couple stumble throughout the film, experimenting with different living arrangements and seeking advice from everyone, from Melissa’s father (who implies that staying together is better) to a priest (who, shockingly, suggests that it would be better if she and Dodie stayed apart). The lack of a clear-cut solution is an incredibly effective move that only underlines the film’s commitment to honesty.
Melissa, with her children.
Separada is a querida movie that, for once, prizes authenticity over sensationalism. It rightfully shifts the focus from the “audacity” of the mistress to the lived experiences of women under patriarchal pressures. This stands in stark contrast to the heavy-handed Minsan Lang Kitang Iibigin, also a Roño-Lee-Soriano vehicle that came out in 1994. Where Gabby Concepcion’s husband character in that film is absolved of any wrongdoing, in here, Edu Manzano’s Dodie is held entirely accountable for his actions, despite being portrayed sympathetically (think: Adam Driver in Marriage Story). This probably comes down to the fact that Separada was co-written by a woman, Tessie Tomas, who was also a former advertising executive and whose experiences were the basis for the film’s premise.
Taken as a whole, Separada is a solid, well-meaning film that meets its own expectations. Although its individual scenes don’t quite pack a lasting punch like those sprinkled in the better-remembered Minsan Lang Kitang Iibigin, it remains an undisputed gem. A perfect example of the 90s women’s empowerment flick, centering on tough but vulnerable career gals— wrapped in glossy Star Cinema sheen.
