Remembering shared identities in ‘Forgotten Island’
This reflection contains minor spoilers for the animated movie “Forgotten Island”
Watching “Forgotten Island,” I felt that it had a manic yet also sentimental energy. The pacing of the brightly colored candy-like animation style was quick, and almost rabid: at certain points, characters had their eyes popping out, teeth sharpened, foaming at the mouth. It was, for me, the visual equivalent of a roller coaster ride—overwhelming (maybe nauseating for some) but also extremely fun.
But at the core of this movie was an important value: how relationships shape who we are. In other words, how our identity is formed and shared with our kapwa.
Since my academic research and public work has focused on Philippine folklore and folk psychology, I would like to share my reflection on how the movie played with Filipino culture.
Sharing memories
“Forgotten Island” is about memory as a shaper of identity. In Filipino psychology, the retrieval of memory is “pagtanda.” This is also what we call the process of aging. Here, “tanda” refers to a marker—what memory is, a marker of who we are. Each memory—and in the movie, each charm in Jo and Raissa’s friendship bracelets—represents an aspect of who we are.
When a person ages, they collect memories. A person who is “matanda,” is one who has been marked by time (that is, “may tanda”).
What strikes me about “Forgotten Island” is that everything “Filipino” about it seems like something half-remembered. Set in the vague ’90s to early 2000s, it felt like someone remembering what it was like to be Batang ‘90s.
At various points, I whispered to my wife, who was watching with me: “Saan kaya yan?” I did not recognize the coastal town, nor its streets, not even the fashion—everything felt Filipino but also not quite. It was like watching someone trying to remember their childhood in the Philippines.
No memory is ever a perfect rendition of reality. Psychologically speaking, every time you remember something, you are no longer remembering the event itself—but your memory of that event, and then your memory of that memory, and so on. Eventually, all our memories are just representations of representations, like whatever comes out in a “pass-the-message” game.
Thankfully, we do not have to carry these memories alone.
When something is “Filipino-inspired”
When “Forgotten Island” was first announced, many Filipinos here and around the world were very excited—a massive Hollywood studio will be showcasing Filipino culture. But when the teasers and trailers came out, people started nitpicking what they felt were mistakes: How the Filipino accent was used, whether the right thing to say is “tara na” or “tayo na,” and so on.
Because of its speed, so much of the movie deserves a second watch, if only to catch the many “blink-or-you-miss-it” items: the anito sculptures wearing shades at the beach, the word “kapwa” painted on the mural in the kapre village, or that the Manananggal’s name is “Manang” (older sister), among others.
At certain points, I was fixated on reading the Baybayin signs, laughing at the literal translations—for example, the potions store spelled it as “posyons” when they could have used something like “gayuma.”
I also sensed that the vibe of Nakali Island was more touristy rather than grounded in the local’s experience of the Philippines. It seemed like the tourist’s side of El Nido with a bit of Siargao. Even Kakaiba Market felt gentrified. Ask anyone, and they will tell you that this is not what a regular palengke would look like.
That said, every aesthetic choice in the movie felt quite intentional. Even the words they used were intentional.
By the climax of the movie, my wife nudged me and pointed out that “tayo na” had a second meaning. Two inseparable girls who grew up together, have so many shared memories, who obviously love each other very much—eventually, when they hug and finally accept each other as part of their future, “tayo na” will mean something else, something much, much deeper.
And then we, as the audience, get to ask, “Uy, sila na ba?”
The issue of representation
I recognize that the main issue people have about this movie is whether it represents Filipinos well. We are always so obsessed about how we are represented to the world and acknowledged by foreigners.
In any “foreigner tries Filipino food” video on YouTube, if that person does not like the taste, there will be very angry Pinoys in the comment section.
In reality, there are many ways to be Filipino. There are millions of us here and around the world, culturally hybridized and multi-ethnic across islands and seas. To claim that there is only ever just “one” way of being Filipino reeks of imperialism.
The story and style of “Forgotten Island” is something quite familiar to anyone who reads a lot of local graphic novels or frequently visits art fairs. We have made endless renditions of our folklore. But “Forgotten Island” is one way to express Filipino-ness in the arts, especially on the global stage—and I hope that it is one of many more to come.
We have made endless renditions of our folklore. But “Forgotten Island” is one way to express Filipino-ness in the arts, especially on the global stage—and I hope that it is one of many more to come.
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