In documentary filmmaking, truth is almost always filled with lies.
It’s just the nature of the form, really—of any filmmaking at all, for that matter.
In Land Without Bread (1933), Luis Buñuel parodied the white guilt of popular travelogue docs of the time, pointing out that sadness and economical devastation existed in Spain itself—no need to travel to some faraway land.
In Nanook of the North (1922), the life of an Inuit clan was notoriously messed with.
If you work in a call center in Makati, you are most probably spending about seventy pesos per meal.
But did you know that you could already make two meals with that same amount of money at home?
I was 28 when I left my husband, 29 when I finally decided—against my family’s wishes and without their support—to file for annulment. And on the phone that day, I felt like the oldest 33-year-old in the world.* * *Under Philippine law, two people wishing to end their marriage have limited options.And yet, from direct cinema to Dogme 95, truth has always been an idealistic goal for many filmmakers, and not necessarily the purity of it, but the translation of its most deeply held essentials.Arguably, documentary filmmaking has always been at the forefront of that aim, though during much of its primordial beginnings—especially throughout the 1920s, ’30s, and ’40s—documentary filmmakers trolled truth as if it was yet another stuffy branch of bourgeois power.Or they can get an annulment, which in the Philippines is a lengthy and expensive court proceeding.(An ecclesiastical annulment, granted through a Church tribunal, is a separate procedure, without which a Catholic cannot get remarried in the Church.