Lav Diaz's Cinematic Legacy: From Ancestral Spirits to False Prophets

Unearthing History Through Cinema

When I first met Lav Diaz at the Venice Film Festival in 2016, he was already making waves with his monumental work on the Philippines' past. Now, as he gears up for another cinematic journey, his vision remains unflinching—rooted in truth, shaped by pain, and guided by ancestral wisdom.

"Right now, I'm working on a film that discourses on false ideologies and false prophets."

This quote from Diaz isn't just about another project—it's a declaration of his ongoing mission. As he prepares two films: one centered around the Noli Me Tangere, the novel that ignited Philippine revolution, and another about false prophets, we're seeing a man who uses cinema not as entertainment but as a mirror to society's deeper truths.

Let Us Through, Dear Ancestors: A Cinematic Prayer for the Forgotten

The title of his upcoming Venice film, Let Us Through, Dear Ancestors, translates to the Filipino phrase Makikiraan Po, a term still used today by those passing through areas believed to house ancestral spirits. This is more than a metaphor—it's an invitation, a spiritual act, a conversation with history.

Set in the late 16th century and early 17th century, the film delves into the brutal colonial practices that defined the Philippines under Spanish rule. It focuses on the forced labor system, which required able-bodied Malay men to perform 40 days of unpaid annual work building churches, roads, bridges, and other infrastructure—a practice Diaz argues was steeped in violence.

"Forgetful Filipinos must learn, must know, must understand, that these structures were built by forced labor, and that they didn't appear in their midst by some cosmic manifestations — it's blood, sweat, tears, and deaths of our ancestors," Diaz said.

The Weight of Colonial Memory

Diaz's commitment to historical accuracy isn't just academic; it's visceral. He places the burden of truth squarely on the shoulders of modern Filipinos, calling them to remember a past that has been conveniently buried beneath layers of romanticized nationalism.

He points out how the encomienda system, imposed by King Philip II in 1571, laid the foundation for today's class structure. Indigenous communities lost ownership of their land while paying heavy tributes and performing forced labor for Spanish encomenderos. Diaz argues that all the old rich families, landlords, hacienderos, political clans, big businesses have their roots in this brutal system.

"All the old rich families, landlords, hacienderos, political clans, big businesses, have their connection from the encomienda," he notes with chilling clarity. It's a reminder that power isn't born out of merit but through exploitation—and it still reverberates in the inequalities we see today.

Religion as Weapon

In a world where faith and politics often collide, Diaz doesn't pull punches. He challenges viewers to confront religion's role in perpetuating violence:

"Religion is one of the worst forms of violence," he says. "Faith can be a form of eternal subjugation, especially for the weak. Oftentimes, it blurs all of rationality; it becomes the truth of existence."

He draws from both historical atrocities like the Crusades and Holocaust and contemporary conflicts in Gaza, Ukraine, Afghanistan, and Darfur to illustrate how religion can be weaponized for control.

Artistic Spirituality in Black and White

Diaz's approach is as deliberate as it is poetic. He's filmed Let Us Through, Dear Ancestors in black and white—a decision that reflects both the starkness of colonial brutality and the timeless nature of memory.

Shot in Sampaloc, Quezon Province, a location he's returned to four times already, the film is deeply personal for Diaz. He credits the area with restoring his health after battling tuberculosis following the editing of Magellan, and again after a bout with severe asthma.

"The spirit of the place provides the best attributes I needed in my films on issues of truth, vision and transcendence," he explains. It's not just about setting; it's about finding a sacred space where art meets soul.

A New Generation of Storytelling

Diaz's choice to work with Isabel Sandoval—a filmmaker in her own right—marks a new chapter in his artistic collaboration. Sandoval plays the Babaylan, a traditional Malay healer who bridges the pre-Hispanic and modern Filipino identities.

"She contributed majestic nuance in the whole vision of the Babaylan character, and I am truly grateful for her generosity," he says.

This isn't just casting—it's an acknowledgment that the voices of our ancestors deserve to be heard not only through text but also through the living presence of artists who carry forward their legacy.

Truth in Every Frame

At 151 minutes, Let Us Through, Dear Ancestors is shorter than many of Diaz's other works, yet it's no less impactful. His process remains unchanged—his principle has always been to respond to the material at hand and adapt his filmmaking approach accordingly.

"Nothing really changed with my praxis," he insists. "My principle has always been to work on the demands of the material at hand, to work around the conditions and situations. There's never a fixed setup or framework. It's just all hard work on the different aspects of the process really. The struggle to pursue a vision is the most important."

For Diaz, cinema isn't an escape—it's a responsibility:

"Cinema must have the responsibility to commit to the truth. There should be no compromise on that issue given the condition of the world right now. Cinema's soul is the truth."

The Future of Filipino Cinema

Diaz's work, both past and future, offers a roadmap for how cinema can serve as a tool for cultural memory and political awakening. His films don't just tell stories—they excavate truths that might otherwise be forgotten.

As he moves forward with projects that include a screen adaptation of Noli Me Tangere, the novel that helped spark Philippine independence, we are reminded once again of cinema's power to awaken consciousness and challenge the status quo. In this era of disinformation and ideological manipulation, Diaz's work serves as a vital antidote—grounded in history, driven by empathy, and unapologetically honest.

His films demand that we look beyond the glossy surface of our national identity and confront the brutal realities beneath. They invite us to listen—not just with our ears but with our hearts.