‘Forgotten Island’ felt like home

Last Friday night, after one of those weeks when the calendar seemed to have developed a personal grudge against me, I went to the movies with my daughter. I was tired enough to consider sleep a perfectly respectable Friday-night activity. Instead, we watched Forgotten Island. Somewhere between the manananggal, the were-aspin, the memory demon, and two friends afraid of losing each other, I forgot how tired I was. For almost two hours, there was no work, schedule, or deadline to think about. I was just a father watching a movie with his daughter. That was already a good Friday night.

Maybe that is why Forgotten Island charmed me. It never has to announce, “Look, this is Filipino!” The Filipino-ness is simply there. The nguso, the flying tsinelas, the pagmamano, and the jeepney need no explanation. Neither do the karaoke, lechon, adobo, family habits, Filipino music woven into the soundtrack, or the familiar Pinoy cadence in the way people speak. Even the creatures feel familiar, like those we first encountered in stories from grandparents, cousins, or friends who made bedtime unnecessarily scary.

At its center are Jo and Raissa, childhood friends facing a problem far less fantastic than Nakali: one of them is leaving. Raissa is headed to the United States to attend Caltech, while Jo struggles with what her best friend’s departure means for the life they have built together. Then a magical portal opens the way to Nakali, its shape reminding me of the sun on the Philippine flag. From there come lost memories, Raww the were-aspin, Batiba, and a rather inconvenient assortment of creatures trying to help, hinder, terrify, or possibly eat them. H.E.R. voices Jo, Liza Soberano voices Raissa, and the ensemble includes Lea Salonga, Dolly de Leon, Manny Jacinto, and Jo Koy. Directors Joel Crawford and Filipino-American Januel Mercado build all this around friendship rather than folklore for folklore’s sake.

And that is where the movie becomes surprisingly Filipino in another sense. Leaving is almost an ordinary chapter in our lives. A daughter studies abroad. A sibling takes a job in Dubai. A nurse leaves for London. A seafarer boards another vessel. A cousin migrates to California and promises to come home next Christmas, although everyone quietly knows that Christmas may become three Christmases. Airports in this country have witnessed enough brave smiles to supply several generations of movies. Forgotten Island understands that departure can contain excitement and grief at exactly the same time.

What I enjoyed even more was seeing Filipino mythology allowed to have fun. The manananggal, duwende, tiyanak, batibat, kapre, kataw, sarimanok, and company are not treated like specimens from a folklore museum. They belong naturally to Nakali. I particularly loved the tiny duwendes, who looked like Filipino mythological cousins of the Minions. They were almost too cute to fear. That playful reinvention makes Nakali work: our old stories are not frozen in the past but free to become new stories again.

Of course, seeing ourselves on screen does not automatically make a movie good. We do not have to love something simply because there is lechon on screen or somebody knows how Filipinos point with their lips. That would reduce culture to Easter eggs. Forgotten Island works for me because beneath all that delightful recognition is a sturdy emotional question: what happens when people who have shared almost everything discover that loving each other does not necessarily mean taking the same road? It certainly held my attention—I barely touched my takoyaki and C2, which is saying something during a movie. The film is funny enough for children, strange enough for adults, and wise enough not to pretend that growing up leaves every friendship untouched.

There are rough edges. The movie sometimes moves as if it is afraid somebody might change channels. Creatures, jokes, visual styles, mythology, action, and emotional revelations arrive in quick succession. Some characters, particularly Manang, made me want another twenty minutes of backstory. But abundance has never exactly been a Filipino problem. Give us one gathering and somehow there are twelve dishes, three conversations happening simultaneously, somebody singing karaoke, and an aunt asking a deeply personal question from across the room.

More interesting is what Forgotten Island has opened. Nakali does not feel exhausted when the credits roll. Quite the opposite. Manang alone seems capable of carrying a prequel. Lola Fatima’s relationship with this world invites another story. Jo’s absent father leaves questions behind. And Jo and Raissa themselves have lives waiting beyond this adventure. Crawford and Mercado deliberately leave some threads unresolved, enough that another journey could plausibly move backward or forward. A good mythology does that. It makes the world seem larger than the particular story we have just been told.

Perhaps that is why “Tayo na” stayed with me. Depending on the moment, we might naturally say tara na or tayo na, and Filipino ears can certainly debate the usage. But the thought underneath it is lovely: come along. Let us go. There is movement in the phrase, but companionship too. Jo and Raissa eventually have to learn that going together does not always mean going to the same place. Parents learn some version of that as well. We spend years walking beside our children, only to discover that loving them also involves watching their roads gradually become their own.

When my daughter and I walked out of the cinema that Friday night, the week I had carried inside suddenly felt farther away. I had gone in wanting a little rest and came out thinking about friendship, daughters, departures, lolas, monsters, memories, and the peculiar Filipino talent for carrying a little of home with us wherever life sends us. That is quite a return on the price of a movie ticket. Forgotten Island gave me a good film, but the evening gave me something better: a few unhurried hours with my daughter. One day, even nights like that become memories. For now, tayo na. There are still places we can go together.

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a ”student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.