'Tanabata's Wife’ REVIEW: A Subtle Navigation of Ethnicity and Stability
'Tanabata's Wife’ REVIEW: A Subtle Navigation of Ethnicity and Stability
Tanabata (Miyuki Kamimura) confronts Fas-ang (Mai Fanglayan) after she comes home late from the movies.
Minor spoilers for Tanabata’s Wife ahead.
To fully appreciate “Tanabata’s Wife”, one has to start with the source.
Sinai Hamada is a writer not a lot of people are aware of, but his existence represents an oft-underlooked history of Japanese immigrants who settled in the Philippines long before the imperial reign of World War 2. Being born in the far reaches of Baguio didn’t help his case either, but a closer look upon his background and the literary works he produced show an author deeply entrenched in simplicity and earnestness. One whose attitudes and behaviors are reflected in the types of stories he makes.
Such an ethos would be too long to divulge in this review, but there are wonderful introspections and homages about this underlooked author by the NCCA and the Philippine Studies journal that generously spend time to understand Sinai and his penchant for romances and the dissection of “the other”. “Tanabata’s Wife” falls aptly under this as one of his more popular ones, being branded as his “most anthologized work”. The film, an adaptation of the short story directed by the trio of Choy Pangilinan, Lito Casaje, and Charlson Ong, finds itself being more holistic than anyone expected.
It should be noted immediately that the film partially offers reverence to respected Japanese auteurs Akira Kurosawa and Yasujiro Ozu. While this is a credit that is mentioned in the film’s closing credits, I feel it is necessary to point that out as the film intends to be sanctimonious both to the source material and to the influence of Japan in the realm of art. This feeling is best exemplified with how the film starts: a 30-second supercut of the film constructed in such a way that it doesn’t reveal all the details, but establishes the film’s spiritual and solemn nature.
Fas-ang stands over Tanabata while they talk about family matters.
We’re first introduced to Tanabata playing his trusty flute at the break of dawn. He is a Japanese immigrant who tends to a farm with the help of two other Japanese immigrants, Watanabe, and Okamoto. His simple conditions are supposed to be reflective of the Japanese diaspora who were recruited to Baguio in the 1900s to build Kennon Road before subsequently turning to farming upon completion. Upon witnessing a troop of Bontoc women passing by his house, he negotiates with one of them to work for his farm for about 4 pesos. A successful negotiation and one quick marriage later, the real story begins.
While the film’s title does not lie with who it projects as an important subject, I find “Tanabata’s Wife” to be just as important in aspects of culture and family. The film, for the most part, is a reflective examination of the dynamics involving Japanese diaspora, Bontoc tendencies, and their familial unison. The way the trio of directors execute this is to largely drown the film in silence and solemnity. Plenty of sections in this 75-minute story are spent focusing on characters’ faces amidst a calm Benguet space. It avoids teetering on meandering sentiments just enough to give the film the focus it deserves. In this case, an unconventionally progressive navigation emerges in the film where Fas-ang, the Bontoc wife, is constantly seen negotiating and making decisions regarding Tanabata’s farm. This situation isn’t just constructed to seem artificial, as it is, indeed, a factual retelling of a story involving a cousin of Hamada’s father and a tribal native of Sabangan, Mountain Province. It feels all the more impressive considering how delicate and honest it is towards the female Bontoc condition and the Japanese diaspora.
It’s worth noting that Fas-ang is a Bontoc word for “to cross over a boundary”. The word is extremely appropriate as the film is constantly in flux displaying these cultural conflicts. While it starts with Fas-ang first negotiating how much her pay should be, there are several more instances in the film that expound on this. Among other examples, she dictates to Tanabata who to hire for their farm; what the name of their child should be; and even demands to work in the farm despite carrying a child. It isn’t just commanding from a feminine aspect, but culturally speaking, the film interrogates this alongside the natural tendencies between the Bontoc and Japanese culture. Though Tanabata is seen as fierce and demanding in his own right, it is made abundantly clear that his pursuit for familial stability and adherence to its conformity makes him soon willing to give way to his wife. These are punctuated by Ozu-like staging and cinematography that focuses more on the visual stability among its characters. It is truly unbelievable that such a film manages to reflect the values of its own source material while efficiently packaging the story into 75 minutes.
If anything, the film’s drawbacks are not explicitly defined, save for the audio. With the state I saw this in, the film sorely needed to refine its sound quality because the experience of silence sometimes is left in distortion with how much the audio clips. It’s also a film that, despite being constructed with the source material in mind, doesn’t manage to convey most of its source text in a way that any audience unaware of the story would immediately identify. There’s a section of the film where Fas-ang chooses to leave Tanabata. The reasons behind this are a combination of her Bontoc tendencies of refusing to be chained indoors, and her experiences visiting a moviehouse. It’s fair to say that some people might feel bothered by how sudden her decision feels, but it is only something clarified with a close reading of the text or being cognizant of the behaviors expressed by both ethnicities. There’s also a bit of American influence to be found in the subtext, but I think it is undercharged relative to how it influences Fas-ang’s decisions.
Tanabata is seen crying after Fas-ang briefly disappears from the house.
Yet as it stands, the furnish with which “Tanabata’s Wife” lends itself to is a simple one with surprising intricacies in between the lines. It isn’t a grand film by any means, but it makes itself known to be one that is earnest. Coincidentally speaking, it behaves and breathes just like its esteemed author: a spirit that is extremely quiet, refuses exuberance, yet has depth that speaks to the human condition.
Beyond family and ethnicity, “Tanabata’s Wife” is a delicate attempt to find human nature in the flawed complexities of two vastly different characters. The steps taken to translate the text into film aren’t perfect, but through its coexistence of flawed humans and the frictional marriage of their cultures, the film gracefully illustrates a narrative barely discussed and expressed in Philippine cinema.
As of this writing, Tanabata’s Wife is currently accessible on the EdukSine website as part of the UP Film Circle’s CineElbi program for 100 pesos per ticket. Click here to see more instructions on how to access the film.
