03/10/2025
๐๐๐๐ง๐จ๐ฅ๐ | ๐ ๐๐ฎ๐ป๐ด๐๐ฎ๐ด๐ฒ ๐ณ๐ผ๐ฟ ๐๐ต๐ฒ ๐๐ป-๐๐ฒ๐๐๐ฒ๐ฒ๐ป๐
This is not another love story where the characters passionately sealed the ending with the most incandescent kiss on-screen, but a tale of two souls almost but not quite arriving at the same placeโthe gap was gilded with silence.
Perhaps silence is the most spoken language in the in-between when the inadequacy of words begets a sigh of defeat, of resignation, of relief as if in cue, someone finally understood what your silence meant. And through the silence, the eyes reveal to cascade every longing, every yearning that the soul perpetually bears, and maybe the meaning of intimacy is being understood by the language you are most fluent in speaking. This is a tragedy, at least that's what it is in Gitling, Jopy Arnaldoโs quiet, luminous entry to the 2023 Cinemalaya.
At the heart of the story are Makoto (Ken Yamamura), a Japanese filmmaker, and Jamie (Gabby Padilla), his local interpreter, form a tender connection while working together in Bacolod. Their relationship shifts from professional to intimate, leaving them with uncleared and unresolved feelings that feel real.
Gitling's contemplative pace mirrors the staggering silence of Bacolod, where one can get lost yet still be found. Jamie and Makoto's experiences unfold naturally, like conversations that take their own pace amidst the bustling streets. Each frame is deliberate, yet never contrived.
๐ฆ๐๐ฏ๐๐ถ๐๐น๐ฒ๐ ๐ฎ๐ ๐ ๐ถ๐ฟ๐ฟ๐ผ๐ฟ๐
The diverse utilization of subtitles carries weight in meaning. It is spoken not just as a tool for clarity, but becomes an emotional architecture for the story. The text appears to entirely dissipate the internal turmoil of the characters. Often in a flush directness, sometimes uncertain, most of the time revealing more than what is said out loud.
From English to Hiligaynon, Jamieโs shifting in language is storytelling. She speaks Hiligaynon when in anguish, English when she is vulnerable, and in Nihongo when she reaches out to Makoto. As for some, language is just for communication, but not for her. It is an emotion, identity, and it holds memory. The act of switching tongues is not neutral; it shows the world what she is in each moment. Within the shifting, the film invites us to see language not as a barrier, but as a window.
It also reminds us that film subtitles cannot perfectly translate everything. Some meanings refuse to cross over, and perhaps that is the pointโsome emotions exist outside the language. The gap that prevents us from fully expressing and grasping our emotions becomes a source of poetry.
๐๐ฎ๐ป๐ด๐๐ฎ๐ด๐ฒ ๐ ๐ฒ๐ฎ๐ป๐ ๐ณ๐ผ๐ฟ ๐ข๐ป๐ฒ
Restriction and Freedom. Thatโs how the conception of language is in the world of Jamie and Makoto. It manifests the most intimate form in the invented language when she shares it with him. Not from any country, nor culture, or even a colonized past. It is a made-up language, a private one that becomes an offering, even an opening.
Makoto's effort to learn the language makes cultural translation less daunting. The language, created by Jamie, seems free of cultural baggage, conveying meaning clearly and precisely. This language conveys meaning through each word. For instance, 'JaiMe' translates to 'us' or 'we.' Although some words have multiple meanings, combining them with a hyphen creates a distinct difference. The language is intentionally designed, and every aspect of it reveals her. It's a language tailored for Makoto, creating a space that welcomes him rather than keeping him at a distance.
And there in that place, in that made-up language, their bond grows. Subtly. Slowly. Like a tongue that is spoken only between two people, perhaps the most authentic kind.
๐๐ผ๐ฟ ๐ฎ ๐๐ถ๐ณ๐ฒ ๐๐ถ๐๐ฒ๐ฑ ๐ช๐ถ๐๐ต ๐ก๐ผ ๐ฅ๐ฒ๐ด๐ฟ๐ฒ๐๐
โI have to go,โ Makoto uttered in between the silence, with a little time, he took a steady glance at her for the last time.
And then there in the silence, just when you think the film can end there, it offers something to the crowd, something that adds salt into the open wound, a song to make the experience profound beyond its simplicity.
Up Dharma Down's Young Again pulsing. Slowly, Makoto took everything in before leaving his seat in the theater as the credits rolled into the background. A song in a silent room that refuses to be remembered, but lodges itself in your mind nonetheless.
For Jamie, and for us, the song is a morsel of memory. Not a clear one, but a soft and lingering one. A version of herself already gone, a life already behind her. The lyrics don't fill in the blanks, they stretch them out. The pain of longing, the burden of time, the futile desire to go back to something that no longer is. Or perhaps never was.
As with the movie itself, the song doesn't require resolution. It simply allows the emotion to hang and by doing so, it speaks volumes more than any line of dialogue ever could.
โI think I'll stay here," Jamie compellingly responded, barely audible but still hanging even if itโs uttered in a dreary breath.
๐ง๐ต๐ฒ ๐๐ป-๐๐ฒ๐๐๐ฒ๐ฒ๐ป๐
This is not a love story, but one that finds solace in melancholy, insisting on equanimity amidst the uncertainty of 'what ifs' and the silence between languages, cultures, and presence and absence. And within that silent space, it poses the toughest questions, for the romantics, for hearts who shed their own optimism with the immensity of loveโmaybe even beyond it.
How do people cross their own boundaries in the name of love?
How do people hold the remnants of our regrets for not telling something when we had the chance to speak?
How do we create something substantial from something transient?
This is a story that does not want to be explained, it wishes to be sensed. It does not provide closure, but something gentler. In a language they both know but cannot share, Makoto and Jamie's quiet introspection is concealed, locked tenderly within their souls. A closed world filled with hidden understanding. A type of love that is not proclaimed, but known.
Maybe that's the thing about meeting the best people in your life, they will make you see the world in their own perspective, have you walk through their own cultures where goodness is harnessed, but you'd never grapple with the grief they will mark you when they leave, and no other people would do everything they did for the wellness of your being. Some people will make you feel seen like no other in the world, will listen to your stories with eagerness, like it's some kind of bed time stories you love hearing when you were a child. Perhaps, that is what we all desire.
To be heard in the language we've never learned to speak.
To discover a person who would sit in our silence and find it enthralling.
To be met in the space in between.
Article by Jhettro Klarenze Oconer and Irene Grace Domingues
Layout by Kristina Barao
