Review by Joelle Jacinto
Juana and the Sacred Shores is a short film by Antonne Santiago and was an entry to the Cinemalaya Shorts 2017. Unlike the other short films in this year’s Cinemalaya festival, it is the only one where the narrative is told through dance, with choreography by Aisha Polestico, who also performs throughout the short film as the protagonist Juana.
It is unclear who Juana is or where the sacred shores are – perhaps there is some literary work that I have not read yet – but it doesn’t matter, especially when she starts to dance. Juana is in what seems to be paradise: first, an empty beach or sandbar, on which she glides over and rolls into, kicking up sand with no worry of disturbing or annoying anyone. Her movements are so fluidly mesmerizing that if anyone at all were there to watch her, disturbed or annoyed would not be emotions that she would arouse. Polestico’s choreography is such that you don’t think it’s choreography, not planned or calculated. She effortlessly and lustrously moves through the space as an ethereal being, celebrating the movement itself, lost in her own rapture. In a sudden but welcome scene change, she dips into the sand and emerges from water: she is now in a lagoon, softly lit by streaks of sunlight that the plants around her allow to pass through. She continues to dance, still appearing effortless even while waist-deep in this pool.
Reading the synopsis of the movie after the showing only emphasizes how an artist’s intention may be totally opposite from how audiences decide to read the work. According to the marketing material, Juana’s dance is actually one of loneliness, and is a ritualistic beckoning of a “companion.” But I did not notice any drastic panic as Juana realized how “vast the waters are…”, compelling her to perform this ritual. If there were any changes, they were subtle; Juana becoming more pensive could have been an effect of the change of the light – from stark brightness to a soft subdued temper, not even quite melancholy. Or it could have just been a sign of the passing of time, of her slowly aging, from youthful exuberance to dignified maturity.
The arrival of the man into this once-secluded Eden was then, I thought, outside of Juana’s control. Portrayed with an impressive mix of interest and arrogance by Marveen Ely Lozano, the man deliberately intrudes into Juana’s paradise and we can see that he is going to do some level of irrevocable damage. But he wears his innocent, handsome face, and he looks at Juana that way, and Juana is entranced. Who is this man? Why is he irresistible? It is the epic story of all women destined to have their hearts broken because we do not know when to turn away.
What makes Juana and the Sacred Shores distinct as a film, distinct from being a dance film, is that the director is in control of what you see. As Juana starts to melt into the man as they dance together, an audience in front of a proscenium stage may notice that the man is strategically ripping off parts of Juana’s dress as he caresses her. Or they may notice some of the ripping, but not all. Or they may be too caught up in the dance to notice he is ripping these strips of cloth, because he does so furtively, not wanting to draw Juana’s attention to these telling movements. But in film, the camera zooms in on these intrusions, wanting the audience to know that the damage has begun. As the man achieves control over the pas de deux, his manipulation of Juana’s body totally overwhelming her. He is soon rolling her limp body on the muddied riverbank, and we see this formerly ethereal, powerful and vibrant being now passive and malleable. Submissive. Her dress, her skin, her hair, once pristine, now muddied and stained. She loses all consciousness.
When she awakens, the forest around her is dried up and decaying. She is also dressed in decay – heavy, cumbersome black, in place of her previous flesh gossamer. Confused, then stricken with fear, she runs through the forest, trying to find her way back to the sacred shores. She stops abruptly when she arrives at her paradise and finds the man bathing a young child. He sees her and gives her the most damning smile. She stares back at him in shock, obviously alarmed, trying to determine what to do. The film ends.
Regardless of whether Juana had wanted the man to come into her life or not, it is clear that the his intentions were never pure to begin with, and may allude to several possibilities – society, politics, progress, technology, or perhaps as simple as a man who took advantage of an innocent, trusting woman. Juana’s descent into the mud clearly suggests that this intrusion into her paradise has sullied both it and Juana herself, and they may no longer be as pristine as they had been in the beginning. The man had taken all he wanted from Juana and thrown her away when he didn’t need her anymore. The child may symbolize Juana also, or rather, he symbolized what the man needed from Juana, which he could then raise and mold to his liking.
What makes Juana and the Sacred Shores distinct as a dance, distinct from being a dance film, is that the narrative is told through movement, and that many interpretations could be gleaned from this film contributes to its charm. Dance is able to tell a story without benefit of the written word, and this film wisely capitalises on that. Perhaps some impatient members of the audience would not be able to appreciate this, and it's understandable, given our 1-streaming minute and 140-character online limits. In our highly evolved world, we, like Juana, are unable to appreciate the vast waters for the peace and the quiet.
The cliffhanger ending is brilliant because at this point, many in the audience will wonder what Juana will do, and in the painful suspense of Juana’s thought process, the audience may even start to ask themselves what would they do if they were in Juana's position. This is the question I took home that day. It is a question I still deliberate on till now.
Photos courtesy of Aisha Polestico
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