The Architecture of Conquest: Lav Diaz Subverts the Colonial Narrative in ‘Makikiraan Po’

VENICE — In the landscape of contemporary world cinema, the name Lav Diaz is synonymous with temporal endurance. The Filipino auteur, celebrated for his "slow cinema" epics that often span the length of a standard workday, has returned to the Venice Film Festival with a work that is, by his standards, remarkably brisk. Clocking in at a mere 151 minutes, Makikiraan Po (Let Us Through, Dear Ancestors) represents Diaz’s shortest feature in twenty-four years. Yet, despite its relative brevity, the film remains a towering, politically unflinching examination of the scars left by Spanish colonialism on the Philippine archipelago.

Premiering at the 2026 Venice Film Festival, Makikiraan Po serves as a thematic companion to Diaz’s previous work, the Gael García Bernal-starrer Magellan. Where Magellan explored the seafaring hubris of the initial "discovery," Makikiraan Po embeds itself in the grim reality of the 17th-century colonial machinery. It is a story of religious conversion as a weapon of statecraft, a "Diazian" noir that challenges the grand narratives of the empire through the lens of those crushed beneath its foundations.

Main Facts: A Departure in Scale, a Continuity of Vision

The film’s title, Makikiraan Po, is a common Filipino phrase used to request passage or show respect when entering a space, often directed toward the spirits of ancestors. This linguistic choice signals the film’s deeper preoccupation: the intrusion of European powers into a pristine Malay world and the subsequent spiritual and physical displacement of its people.

The narrative centers on Dungwen, played by Christian Bables in his first collaboration with Diaz. Dungwen is a mestizo—the product of colonial violence—tasked with a mission that is both literal and symbolic. He must lead a band of men to deliver a shipment of marble slabs through the dense forests of Quezon to a colonial outpost known as "Estacion Nueve." These stones are intended for the construction of a Spanish church, a structure meant to solidify the presence of the Cross and the Crown in the region.

The stakes for Dungwen and his crew—a mix of "indios" and opportunists—are high. They are promised land and wealth upon the completion of their task. However, as they navigate the treacherous terrain, the film reveals that the true cost of their labor is the erasure of their own heritage. Diaz uses this "atypical road movie" structure to map the early foundations of the encomienda system, a feudal labor structure that defined the Philippine colonial experience.

Chronology: From ‘Magellan’ Flashback to Standalone Opus

The genesis of Makikiraan Po is as unconventional as its director’s filming style. Originally conceived as a mere flashback sequence for a planned diptych involving Magellan, the material eventually demanded its own space. Diaz recognized that the story of Estacion Nueve required a dedicated focus to properly articulate the nuances of 17th-century life under Spanish rule.

This marks Diaz’s ninth appearance at the Venice Film Festival since his 2007 nine-hour masterpiece Death in the Land of Encantos. While many expected the film to secure a spot in the main competition given Diaz’s history—having previously won the Golden Lion for The Woman Who Left—its placement in the festival highlights the ongoing tension between "durational cinema" and the commercial demands of international programming.

The production itself utilized the municipality of Sampaloc in Quezon, a location that has become Diaz’s "adopted hometown" and a recurring character in his filmography. By repurposing production elements from the Philippine leg of the Magellan shoot—such as nipa huts and bamboo rafts—Diaz maintains a visual and atmospheric continuity between his historical works. The filming schedule was reportedly swift, yet the result is a dense, layered tapestry of historical grievances.

Supporting Data: The Historical and Cinematic Framework

To understand Makikiraan Po, one must understand the encomienda system it depicts. Established by conquistador Miguel López de Legazpi after the recapture of Cebu in 1565, the system granted Spanish settlers (encomenderos) the right to demand tribute and forced labor from the indigenous population. In exchange, the colonizers were theoretically responsible for the natives’ welfare and conversion to Catholicism.

The Antagonists and the Exploited

The film’s primary antagonist, Padre Enciso (portrayed with chilling intensity by Bart Guingona), embodies the intersection of religious fervor and predatory greed. Enciso is both a friar and an encomendero, a man who views the indigenous population—particularly the women—as property "for the taking." Diaz does not shy away from the horrific reality of colonial sexual violence; Enciso has sired many children in the colony, including Dungwen himself, creating a cycle of familial and political resentment.

Supporting the colonial structure is the British-Spanish architect Alejo Smith (Daniel Palisa). Smith claims a professional neutrality, insisting his presence is merely to "build churches and fortresses." However, Diaz’s framing suggests that the architect’s blueprints are the maps of a prison, turning the lush landscape into a controlled environment for the church’s theocratic absolutism.

The Return of the Babaylan

A significant addition to the film’s texture is the casting of acclaimed director and actress Isabel Sandoval. Playing the role of Babayeng Indimatandog ("untouchable woman"), Sandoval portrays a goddess of hope and an animist healer. This character serves as the spiritual antithesis to Padre Enciso. Where the priest demands submission to a foreign deity, the babaylan (shaman) represents the indigenous connection to the land and the spirits.

Sandoval’s performance is pensive and weary, a departure from her more wistful roles. Notably, she speaks her native Cebuano, a linguistic detail that reinforces the film’s themes of cultural preservation. Her character’s eventual arrest and incarceration for "doing the devil’s work" mirrors the historical persecution of indigenous spiritual leaders by the Spanish Inquisition.

Official Responses and Critical Analysis

The critical reception of Makikiraan Po has been largely positive, with many reviewers noting that the shorter runtime makes Diaz’s challenging style more accessible to a broader audience without sacrificing his signature depth.

The "Diazian" Aesthetic:
Critics have praised the film’s use of chiaroscuro and daylight shooting. Despite the lack of color, Diaz and his cinematography team create painterly vistas that oscillate between low and high-angle shots. The film’s visual language often places actors off-center or deep in the background, a technique that diminishes the "heroic" individual in favor of the overwhelming environment.

Performance Highlights:

• Christian Bables: His portrayal of Dungwen is noted for its simmering rage and internal conflict, effectively capturing the "lost cub" energy of a man caught between two worlds.
• Yul Servo: Returning to the Diaz universe for the first time since 2006’s Heremias, Servo plays Bari-bari, a mercurial marauder. His character represents the internal fractures of the colonized, as he strikes deals with the Spanish to ambush his own people for profit.
• Bong Cabrera: As Mang Tugis, Cabrera provides the film’s moral groundedness, standing out among a cast of characters often driven by desperation or greed.

The "B+" grade generally assigned by critics reflects a work that is masterfully executed and intellectually stimulating, though some noted that the sparse production design—while intentional—can occasionally feel repetitive for those who have followed Diaz’s recent output closely.

Implications: The Enduring Shadow of the Church

The final act of Makikiraan Po offers no easy catharsis. Diaz deliberately avoids the "spectacle of violence," choosing instead to focus on the aftermath of bloodshed. While we see the bodies of those who fell during the journey, we never see the actual construction of the church. Instead, its presence is felt as an inevitable, looming shadow.

The implications of the film reach far beyond the 17th century. By focusing on the marble slabs—the physical materials of the church—Diaz highlights the commodification of the land. These stones, which could be resold for profit by corrupt officials, represent the early seeds of the capitalist and feudal structures that continue to dominate the Philippines today.

The title’s plea, "Let us through, dear ancestors," becomes a haunting refrain. It is a request for a passage that was ultimately denied by history. The Spanish church, which Diaz implies will stand for centuries, remains a "cruel parting gift"—a monument to the lives lost in its making and a reminder of a colonial spirit that has never fully been exorcised.

As Makikiraan Po seeks U.S. distribution following its Venice debut, it stands as a vital piece of historical reclamation. Lav Diaz has once again proven that whether his films last two hours or ten, his commitment to challenging the "official" history of his nation remains one of the most potent forces in modern cinema. Through the mist of the Quezon forests and the sharp contrast of his black-and-white frames, Diaz demands that we look not just at the structures of power, but at the very ground they were built upon.