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The world fashioned by the mass media is a public sphere
in appearance only.”
—Jurgen
Habermas
I RUSHED
home on Monday to catch the documentary, Kidnap,
on ABS-CBN. This was the story of Ces Drilon, Jimmy
Encarnacion and Willy Villarama, and the speed by which
the network was able to compile the scenes to form a
documentary was both amazing and interesting. Were the
individuals—Ces, in particular—ready to talk about their
ordeals? Was this the right time to talk about the
incident? Is there any right time at all to purge one of
his fears and trauma?
Earlier,
there were news circulating that the Department of
Justice (DOJ) panel investigating the incident stated
that the showing of the documentary could have an impact
on their investigation. State Prosecutor Emily de los
Santos was quoted making an appeal for Alvarez Isnaji,
the mayor of Indanan, Sulu, and his son, Haider, with
the belief that the airing of such documentary may
affect the decision of the panel.
To these
comments, ABS-CBN responded by saying the documentary is
the version of the “kidnapped victims” and is not
expected to color the legal opinions of those looking
into the case. Statements ascribed to the network also
indicated that the act and decision to show the
documentary was all in the so-called public interest.
This
brings us back to the seeming urgency on the part of the
network and those in the documentary to reveal to the
public what went on indeed in the jungle of Indanan. As
to the public interest, what is in that documentary that
cannot be filled in by the expected investigation in the
future? If one brings in the notion of public interest,
what public are we referring to here?
As
advertised, the documentary’s appeal rests not so much
on whether the words the victims will say will be true
and accurate, but on the fact that the victims
themselves will be talking. Of course, the more
seductive element of the documentary is the information
that Jimmy Encarnacion was brave enough to
surreptitiously let his camera run. Captured by
Encarnacion’s camera were images of the site and the
faces of those who were behind the kidnapping. This is
the treasure of the documentary and if you feel that
wasn’t alluring enough, then you must be living in
another social universe.
Indeed,
you can run over and over the footage taken while the
media persons were being held in that far-off island.
Each time, you look at their faces up close and highly
recognizable. Each time, you try to connect their faces
and their persons to the harrowing stories of Drilon,
Encarnacion and Villarama. As their stories escalate,
the “real” footage take on a deeper meaning. At many
points, you wonder if those young faces could indeed be
capable of the mental torture they wrought upon the
media persons.
Drilon,
as expected, is the better narrator. However, it was in
the simplicity and forthrightness of Encarnacion and
Villarama that made for a more acute guide to the terror
the group experienced in Sulu. The two were very
personal about their ordeals. In that highly private
sphere of anxiety, we find ourselves reacting and
responding and asking many questions. What would we do
in that situation? What do we think about while certain
individuals narrate to us the process of our beheading?
There is
enough horror in the faces and voices and memories of
Drilon and the two men. You can even say there was a
surplus of dark pleasure in being there at the site of
that terrible experience. In one scene, one of the
kidnappers is seen looking into the camera. Ultimately,
you sense the danger in what the cameraman had decided
to do, to film the captors. If they found out that the
camera was on, what would they have done?
In our
curious world, the actual footage of the kidnapping are
a surprise, a bait for even the most uncaring audience.
But what the people behind Kidnap did was to spice up
the narrative, as if the story was not hot enough.
Reenactments—not labeled at some parts—were constructed
with actors looking like wayward extras in a “film”
where the lead actors have become, by experience,
compelling performers. I do not know the “actors”
playing the media persons. In another platform where
they would’ve been given more leeway with their
respective characterizations, they might have turned in
compelling performances. In this documentary, however,
they had to continue the tale of Drilon, Encarnacion and
Valderrama visually. It was an impossible task, for
Drilon, Encarnacion and Valderrama have become
celebrities because of the kidnapping, their faces
recognizable and their ordeal familiar to many.
The
reenactment also brought in many complications in a
narrative that merely required straight telling—that is,
if we still have the purity and patience for this kind
of approach. First, there was the fluidity between the
footage taken by Encarnacion and the reenacted scenes.
With some scenes not bearing the label “reenactment”,
confusion as to the identity of those faces being shown
up-close ensued. The lingering shot of the faces of the
actors, rather than extending the emotion of the scenes,
diluted the narration of Drilon, Encarnacion and
Villarama. At the end, that quality of rawness found in
the unraveling of events by the three kidnap victims
started to be blown away by the more dominant
imagination of the filmmaker.
Jurgen
Habermas, in criticizing news and its relation to
electronic technology, said: “The news is made to
resemble a narrative from its own format down to
stylistic detail; the rigorous distinction between fact
and fiction is ever more frequently abandoned.” Always,
this results in a production of facts that become so
powerful that they leave the audience powerless insofar
as their capacity to form opinions is concerned.
That
Monday night I rushed home to catch the stories of the
victims, with less filter and reinterpretation. What I
got was the complication of another camera trying to
provide me with another narration, and another creative
opinion. |
