‘Phantosmia’: Venice Review

Dir/scr: Lav Diaz. Philippines 2024. 246mins

To a large degree, devoted viewers know exactly what to expect from Filipino auteur Lav Diaz – defiantly expansive running times, sparely elegant low-budget aesthetics and direct or indirect commentaries on his nation’s culture, history and fraught politics. The formula is remarkably flexible: in recent films, it has taken in folk opera (Season Of The Devil), dystopian futurism (The Halt), even a silent ventriloquist as hero (History Of Ha). By contrast Phantosmia – at four hours a relatively trim Diaz feature – is a straightforward proposition: an ostensibly realistic psychological drama, but with the usual philosophical underpinnings, a powerful streak of melodramatic intensity and some outright eccentricity.

There is no denying its immersive spell

Non-adepts may not be converted, but the community of committed Diazians will find it a laudable addition to his oeuvre, if not as revelatory as, say, 2016 Golden Lion winner The Woman Who Left or as satisfying as 2022 Venice title When The Waves Have Gone.

The protagonist here is an elderly soldier, Master Sergeant Hilarion Zabala (Diaz regular Ronnie Lazaro, quietly imposing). Now retired, he suffers from ‘phantosmia’, or olfactory hallucinations, causing him to imagine foul odours; his face is covered by a protective kerchief for much of the action. The cause is trauma from witnessing and being unable to prevent a double massacre in the late 60s, and, later, from his own killings of protesters while serving as a police officer. Taught from childhood to live by the gun, Zabala must now come to terms with his past. To that end, a doctor prescribes an unusual course of therapy – he must relive his years of service and write about his experiences. 

Zabala eventually signs up as a guard on the island of Pulo, site of a penal colony governed by the posturing, autocratic Major Lukas (Paul Jake Paule). Also living on Pulo is a vulnerable young woman, Reyna (mainstream Philippines star Janine Gutierrez), whose adoptive mother (Hazel Orencio, another Diaz long-timer) is pimping her out to Lukas and others. We might guess early on that intervening in Reyna’s life will provide Zabala with a path to redemption – but it’s a long, winding path with several detours. One of them occurs in the film’s final hour, with the surprise arrival of a hunting party – in search of an elusive local beast – and flamboyant interludes from a snazzily-dressed declaiming poet (Dong Abay). 

Shot by Diaz himself in his patented crisp deep-focus black and white (with some notable digital blur over faster actions), the film intermittently cuts without obvious signposting between the present and flashbacks to Zabala’s past, although the viewer quickly learns to navigate the transitions. Again, Diaz is his own editor, generally pacing things at a more staccato clip than in some earlier films, with occassional long-take sequences: notably a poignant rain-soaked set-piece, with Zabala confronting his troubled son, a rock musician who can only communicate in petulant rages or bursts of febrile noise guitar.

Narratively, this is hardly a subtle film, displaying the melodramatic flourishes that are a Diaz trademark. But then, he often uses broad-stroke archetypes to frame his philosophical themes – here, a victimised innocent, a blustering baddie, a malevolent matriarch and, with a little more shade, an ultimately good man facing up to his own legacy of harm. The narrative theme of therapy is germane, since Diaz’s films themselves have something of the quality of collective therapy for audiences, who may find themselves feeling very differently about the language and possibilities of cinema (and cinematic time) after emerging from one of his features. Phantosmia may not be one of Diaz’s most transformative works, but there is no denying its immersive spell.