Watching movies is now a class marker

By Noel Galon de Leon

Yesterday, after Karina Bolasco read and commented on one of my film reviews posted on Facebook, she shared a thought that stayed with me. She suggested that, alongside book clubs within and beyond schools, we also urgently need film clubs. I found myself agreeing with her almost instinctively. In a country where visual media occupies so much of everyday life, the idea feels not only timely but necessary, especially in schools and communities where films and videos have become the primary form of leisure and entertainment.

Film clubs, in principle, could offer safe and reflective spaces where Filipinos, especially the youth, can learn to watch more critically, converse more deeply, and articulate their responses to cinema. In a nation shaped by storytelling, from oral epics to teleseryes, film clubs could serve as contemporary extensions of our long cultural tradition of narrative exchange. They could help cultivate discernment, empathy, and historical awareness through moving images.

Yet as appealing as this vision may be, it is far from simple to realize. Before we enthusiastically institutionalize film clubs, we must confront more basic and uncomfortable questions. Do young Filipinos today still watch films written and produced by Filipino filmmakers? If they do, where are they watching them, inside movie theaters or through digital platforms? And perhaps most crucially, what kinds of films are they watching on a regular basis?

These questions are not trivial. They branch out into deeper and more complex issues surrounding film consumption as an art form rather than mere entertainment. The answers force us to examine not only taste and preference but also access, affordability, and cultural valuation. Film, after all, is never isolated. It is always embedded within economic, social, and political realities.

When we pursue these questions honestly, we are led to sobering observations about the conditions of many Filipinos today. Even without formal data, personal experience and collective observation, such as during the most recent 2025 Metro Manila Film Festival, reveal a painful truth. Fewer and fewer Filipinos can afford to watch films in cinemas. Attendance has become increasingly limited, not because of disinterest alone, but because of material constraint.

The most common reason cited is the high cost of movie tickets. For an ordinary worker, watching a single film often requires an entire day’s wage. This does not yet include transportation expenses, nor the almost ritualistic purchase of soft drinks and popcorn. In a country where many families still struggle to secure three meals a day, cinema-going becomes a luxury rather than a shared cultural experience.

This reality makes it difficult to sustain the romantic notion that film is for everyone. In practice, what we see is a painful exclusion. The films shown in our cinemas are effectively accessible only to those who can spare disposable income, more often than not members of the upper middle class. These are families who can still afford dinner after watching a movie together and who can treat cinema as leisure rather than sacrifice.

Under such conditions, it is no exaggeration to say that the cinematic space has quietly become classed. The working poor are pushed out, not by lack of interest or appreciation, but by economic necessity. As our economy continues to falter, asking people to choose between a meal and a movie becomes not only unrealistic but deeply unjust.

Given this context, Karina’s proposal to establish film clubs in schools appears both promising and fraught with challenges. While schools may serve as alternative spaces for film engagement, we must ask a crucial follow-up question. What films will students actually have access to?

Will these be classic Filipino films, contemporary independent works, or whatever happens to be freely available online? In many cases, the most accessible materials are films uploaded on YouTube or short-form videos circulating on TikTok. While these platforms are not without value, they pose limitations in terms of curation, context, and depth.

The danger lies in mistaking availability for adequacy, and exposure for education. Watching a film is not the same as learning how to read it critically. Without guidance, students may consume images passively rather than engage with them thoughtfully.

This leads us to another pressing concern, the capacity of teachers. Do our educators possess the training necessary to guide students in reading films critically? Can they teach the language of cinema, including the grammar of images, sound, editing, and narrative?

More importantly, are teachers equipped to mentor students in writing thoughtful and responsible film criticism? These questions are not meant to undermine educators, but to highlight systemic gaps. Film literacy is not yet a core component of teacher education in the Philippines.

Many teachers themselves were never formally trained to analyze films beyond surface-level interpretation. Without proper institutional support, we risk placing unrealistic expectations on them. Passion alone cannot replace training.

This is where caution becomes necessary. If teachers lack training in film viewing, film analysis, and critical writing, what then can we reasonably expect from film clubs? How can we nurture aspiring film critics among students if their mentors are themselves navigating unfamiliar terrain without guidance?

In such a scenario, film clubs may exist in name but fail in substance. They may devolve into casual viewing sessions rather than critical spaces of dialogue and reflection. This would be a missed opportunity, especially in a country where critical thinking and media literacy are increasingly urgent.

Still, it is difficult not to imagine what could be possible. There is something deeply hopeful in envisioning film as an art form brought closer to the masses, used as a tool for education, reflection, and cultural affirmation. Cinema has the power to tell our stories, question our realities, and affirm our humanity.

Yet we must also acknowledge that such efforts demand time, energy, and resources. Organizing meaningful film education initiatives is exhausting and financially draining. Not all schools are equally equipped, and not all teachers have the luxury of attending workshops, especially when these are often held in urban centers.

Some schools are fortunate enough to have teachers who willingly attend free film and criticism workshops. These educators become cultural conduits, passing on what they have learned to their students. Their dedication is admirable, but it should not be the exception upon which the entire system relies.

What we need is a more serious, coordinated, and sustained commitment to this field. In the coming years, particularly within public DepEd schools, there must be focused investment in free training programs and workshops for both teachers and students. Film education should not depend on personal sacrifice alone.

Such initiatives must be decentralized and inclusive, reaching schools beyond major cities and cultural centers. If we truly believe in democratizing film culture, then access to training should extend to every corner of the country, from urban poor communities to far-flung rural areas.

At this point, the role of award-giving bodies in the Philippines deserves scrutiny. These institutions wield cultural authority and symbolic power, yet their engagement often remains confined to ceremonies, offices, and closed-door deliberations. It is time for them to rethink their purpose beyond trophies and titles.

Award-giving bodies should step out of their conference rooms and into communities. They should speak to the public, teach, and offer free workshops that teachers and students across the nation can attend. The knowledge of critics and jurors should not remain exclusive.

When film critics and jurors remain isolated within institutional spaces, their relevance gradually erodes. Criticism, by its very nature, is a public act. It gains meaning only when it enters dialogue with society. Without this engagement, criticism risks becoming performative and self-serving.

The question is not whether film clubs are desirable, but whether we are willing to confront the structural barriers that limit their effectiveness. If we are serious about cultivating a vibrant and inclusive film culture in the Philippines, film must not remain the privilege of a few. It must become a shared cultural resource that educates, challenges, and unites Filipinos across class and community.