Filipino Cinema: Who gets to tell our stories? And how?

On the same day (September 23, 2026), Philippine cinemas will be premiering three different approaches to Filipino storytelling: DreamWorks’ Forgotten Island, the AI-assisted independent animation Plump Blossom, and the films of the 2026 Puregold CinePanalo Film Festival. And maybe I'm reading too much into the timing. But it feels strangely appropriate.

Forgotten Island draws heavily from Filipino folklore and was made through a large international production involving Filipino artists. Plump Blossom is an independently produced animated film that openly embraces AI as part of its production process. And Puregold CinePanalo Film Festival brings together 26 original Filipino films, including seven full-length films and 19 student shorts.

Different films. Different filmmakers. Different ways of making movies. But perhaps one common question: Who gets to tell our stories? And how?

Because Forgotten Island is, at its heart, about memory, friendship and growing up. About the things we carry from childhood even when we don't realize we're carrying them. And there's something very Filipino about that. We are a country obsessed with remembering. And forgetting. We remember people through food, songs, places, jokes, old photographs, childhood stories. But we also forget. Sometimes because life gets busy. Sometimes because we have to move on. And sometimes, I think, because forgetting is easier than remembering.

Then there's Plump Blossom. An animated film made with AI-assisted technology. And honestly, that made me uncomfortable in a way I wasn't expecting. Not necessarily because I think AI is automatically bad. But because I'm still trying to understand what it means for something to be made anymore. I grew up believing that animation meant people drawing. Frame after frame. Someone spending hours making something move. Someone putting a little piece of themselves into every image. And now we live in a time when machines can help generate things that once required enormous amounts of human labor. So where does the human part begin? Where does it end? Is the story and intention enough? Does the artist's decision to use the technology matter? Does it matter how much of the final image was actually created by a person? I don't have a clean answer. And maybe that's okay. Because I don't think we're supposed to have one yet. We're still figuring this out.

And then there is CinePanalo. Behind all these discussions about technology, budgets, platforms, distribution, and the future of cinema, there are still people who simply want to tell a story. A filmmaker saying: “May kwento ako.” A student saying: “Ito yung gusto kong sabihin.” Someone writing about their family, remembering someone they lost, making sense of the country they grew up in, or trying to understand themselves. And suddenly, cinema becomes much bigger than cinema. Because isn't that what we are all doing? Trying to leave something behind that says: I was here. I felt this. I saw this. This happened to me. Please remember.

Maybe that's why I keep seeing what's happening around us in the movies I watch. Not because every movie has to be political. It doesn't. But because we are living in a time when stories themselves have become complicated. We argue about what really happened, what should be remembered, and what should be forgotten. We argue about whose version of history is true, what is real and what is manufactured. And now, we also have technology capable of creating things that look real even when they never happened. So maybe, cinema has become even more important. Not because movies will give us the answers. But because movies give us a place to ask questions.

And I don't want to turn this into another argument about which way Philippine cinema should go. And honestly, I don't think we need to decide that right now. I don't think we need to choose between traditional animation and AI. Between big studios and independent filmmakers. Between old ways and new technology. Between international productions and small Filipino films.

Maybe there is space for all of them. Maybe some experiments will work. Some won't. Maybe AI will change animation forever, create new opportunities, and new problems we haven't figured out yet. Maybe some will make beautiful things or make us uncomfortable. And maybe that's exactly what a living cinema looks like. Messy. Experimental. Contradictory. Still trying to figure itself out.

I just find it beautiful that on the same day, we can walk into a cinema and see a Filipino story being told through a massive international production, another story being told through a radically different technological process, and dozens more being told by Filipino filmmakers who simply want their stories to be seen.

And perhaps that's the part I don't want us to forget. Filipinos still have stories to tell. So many of them. Stories about our families, childhood, fears, politics, imagination, mythology, and ordinary lives.

Philippine cinema isn't dead. Maybe we're just living in a moment where we're still figuring out how to see it. And maybe that's the conversation I want to have. Not “Which one is better?” Not “Is AI good or bad?” Not “Is Philippine cinema dying?” But: What kind of stories do we want to leave behind? And when someone watches them years from now, what will they remember about us? Because eventually, all of this becomes memory. The movies, arguments, technology, and politics. The people who made and watched them. Even us.

And maybe, in the end, that is why we keep making movies in the first place: so something remains, so something is remembered, and so the stories that matter are never forgotten.

#ForgottenIsland #PlumpBlossom #2026PuregoldCinePanaloFilmFestival #PhilippineCinema #MovieNewsMe