The phenomenon that is Sunshine
By Brontë H. Lacsamana, Reporter
Movie Review
Sunshine
Directed by Antoinette Jadaone
WHEN Sunshine, the latest film by Antoinette Jadaone, won the Crystal Bear at the Berlin International Film Festival in February, it piqued Filipinos’ curiosity. It stars Maris Racal as a teenage Olympic gymnast who must discreetly explore her options to terminate an unwanted pregnancy.
As part of the Generation 14plus section in Berlin, among many other international films focused on the youth, its empathetic view on the matter of abortion resonated. Months later, with Sunshine garnering acclaim in the Philippines and approaching its 4th week in SM Cinemas, it’s safe to say it has resonated on home soil as well.
The fact that I was able to see it three weeks after its premiere is a testament to the power of storytelling as a means to tackle complex topics. The success of an abortion film in particular is quite meaningful in a Catholic-majority country like the Philippines, where the Reproductive Health (RH) Law was controversial and continues to be the center of discussions about lack of access to reproductive health services and information.
Sunshine indeed has a target audience. Young women are the ones who have been making an effort to watch the film and the ones powering discussions about it online.
Nearly half of the theater I was in was filled up, mostly college students (since I had opted to catch the film in an SM along the university belt). But the most memorable reaction I was privy to was actually that of two middle-aged ladies seated a few rows behind me.
During the film, one of them would occasionally mumble “hala” or “naku” at the main distressing occurrences in the narrative. Given her age bracket, my preconceived notion was that these were noises of disapproval. Only as we left the theater did I overhear the true intent — she told her companion “Parang si Sunshine din ako dati (I was like Sunshine, too, before),” and she said it not with any harrowing emotion, but casually, with a tinge of sheepishness and maybe even regret, as if it was a fact of life that took place long ago in her past and had faded into a memory tucked away in some cabinet in her mind. Such is the nature of stigmatized issues like this one.
Jadaone’s film shines when it allows the city and people of Manila to reflect the truths that women encounter every day, from the closeness to religion despite its sharp edges, to the alternating concern of some strangers and quick condemnation of others. That’s how Sunshine breaks away from the sports movie template it begins with, shifting from the titular Sunshine’s rigorous training to her dogged pursuit of agency amid widespread disapproval, as she seeks to make choices for her own body. Maris Racal embodies this heartbreaking toughness perfectly.
It also came to my attention that the late National Artist for Film Ishmael Bernal’s Hinugot sa Langit, released in 1985, was also centered on a young woman (played by Maricel Soriano) exploring her abortion options. This Regal Films-produced melodrama won four Gawad Urian awards — which means this is an issue and point of discussion that is not new. While I haven’t watched that film, it’s worth noting that, 40 years later, a resurgence of interest in telling the same story reflects a symptom of the Philippines’ struggle to truly progress.
It is also easy to compare Jadaone’s vision for Sunshine to that of the late National Artist for Film Lino Brocka, who would depict the city of Manila in the 1970s and ’80s as a chaotic character of its own. The way Jadaone does it is similar, but also a different thing entirely, obviously updated by time but also by purpose. At many points throughout the film, one gets the idea that the surroundings look more daunting, simply because that is how Sunshine feels about the world, and how many women in her situation feel as society forces them to make rash decisions.
There’s a certain questionable plot device further proving this that can be quite jarring. A little girl, initially coming across as a personification of Sunshine’s guilt, and perhaps even a hallucination of what she perceives as her unborn child, takes up a chunk of the film. A harrowing, promising side plot about another young woman with an unwanted pregnancy in the worst of circumstances unfortunately loses a bit of steam as the plot device stretches on, these little girl manifestations of guilt distracting from it as they run around in the back half of the film.
For many, it took away from the narrative rather than serving it. There are shining moments where depicting religious guilt personified made sense, a way to drive home Sunshine’s inner turmoil, alongside moments where it overstayed its welcome, barely supported by the narrative structure. Either way, it’s an interesting choice that resonates with women who have been in Sunshine’s shoes, sticking out in an otherwise measured film.
Sunshine mimics social realist cinema and the thematic arcs of a sports movie, but it largely brushes over the specifics of a student athlete’s struggles and seems to do away with portraying familial and religious structures with any nuance. Though those elements would complicate the narrative, they could have also deepened it and helped drive home its convictions. As a result, this ambitious film ends up too impressionistic, lacking in vision as it resorts to choices broadly inspired by other filmmakers, genres, and sensibilities.
What the phenomenon of Sunshine proves is that the youth aches for more stories that shed light on tough issues, that empower in pursuit of a better world. And, in the case of the older women in the cinema I was in, such stories may even reopen old wounds and help us reassess the truths we have long kept locked away and unquestioned.
