On the face of it, mixing love, religion, and politics sounds like a grand and praiseworthy proposition. But no one really knows where such a combination can lead to. To be exceedingly generous, the criterion, if we can call it that, for ascertaining the positive efficacy of trying out this amalgamation of these three powerful, and combustible, concepts is fundamentally inadequate. Historical scholars have rightly noted that even in the best of outcomes, blending love with religion and politics is a recipe for upheaval. But it has also produced some beneficial results as well.
Film director Mike De Leon wraps his 1984 classic “Sister Stella L” around the vital themes of love, religion, and politics as all three jump out at the viewer from the movie’s beginning to its very end. A haunting reminder of life in the Philippines under the Marcos dictatorship, “Sister Stella” is known to be an iconic work among a variety of socially-active occupations in the Philippines: the clergy, labor unions, journalists, leftists, political activists, etc. At the same time, it has been a bane to corporate management, traditional politicians, and the economic elite.
The socio-political drama in “Sister Stella” takes place against the drift of the Marcos dictatorship’s repressive view of dealing with recalcitrant labor unions and defiant nuns. By the time of the film’s production, even the mighty dictatorship could not silence the voice of the unions and their dedicated supporters among the Roman Catholic clergy for long. By 1984, when “Sister Stella” was made, the Marcos regime was nearing its breaking point a year after the momentous assassination of Ninoy Aquino and just two years before the EDSA I revolt that toppled the dictatorship.
The burden of carrying De Leon’s film is placed on its title character, Sister Stella Legaspi who is performed with quiet strength by distinguished actress and now-politician Vilma Santos (Santos is well-supported by solid performances by Jay Ilagan, Gina Alajar, and Laurice Guillen). A reluctant activist at first, Sister Stella slowly begins to have a very different idea of how Christian teachings could be understood from what the Roman Catholic establishment would consent to. This stance was in line with Pope John Paul II’s ostracism of socio-political activism amongst the Catholic clergy.
Confronted with this newfangled interpretation of the Holy Scriptures and with the social, economic, and political realities that were alienating the Filipino people from their leaders, Sister Stella embarks upon the path of commiserating with and espousing the cause of the underprivileged classes of Philippine society. This inner makeover, in contrast to her Virgin Mary-like state of docility, is permanently on display as Sister Stella willingly wades into the debate between being a part of an apolitical clergy as opposed to a politicized clergy by taking a prominent spot on a labor picket line outside a large factory.
The struggle between the exploited workers and the factory proprietorship is insensitively dramatized in “Sister Stella” as a good-versus-greedy dichotomy in which the underdogs, in this case the workers, are favored by the viewer to prevail over the capitalist excesses of the owners.
It is interesting to note that in the film, we don’t see much of the factory management or the police forces that have been assigned the task of bottling up the strike by violent means if necessary, nor of the hired hoodlums whose job it is to intimidate the strikers. It was as if they were being portrayed as distant and shadowy entities who were risking their humanity by the coldness and vindictiveness of their actions. This is a pretty good indicator of where director Mike De Leon’s sentiments lie.
What on earth does it mean to make a meaningful Tagalog movie anymore? There are some extremely good and important Tagalog films out there, but few reach the social, intellectual, and spiritual level that “Sister Stella” did in 1984 and continues to do so today even in a day and age when the frivolous comedy or the tear-jerking, but otherwise vacuous, melodrama dominates Philippine cinema.
ALLEN GABORRO