By Ada Tseng

Ramona Diaz's controversial documentary Imelda was temporarily banned because of a court order made by the former first lady herself, who felt that the filmmaker betrayed her and made a mockery of her life. The camera can only tell what the camera sees...

In her critically acclaimed documentary of the former first lady of the Philippines, director Ramona Diaz was given unprecedented access to Imelda's life, following her for an entire month. In exchange, Diaz gives Imelda the reigns to tell her personal story and the chance to explain and defend any critical attacks against her. The bizarrely mesmerizing aspect of the film is watching as Imelda digs herself into deeper and deeper holes with the stubbornness of her incomprehensible ideas and her unwavering denial. Diaz lets us become entranced by this larger-than-life legend, only so that we realize--partially through the film--that watching Imelda explain herself is often like witnessing a painstakingly inane squirrel run right smack into a wall over and over and over again.

Diaz was first inspired to tell this story when she met Imelda Marcos years ago while working on a previous project. A 15 minute interview turned into a five hour conversation. Diaz decided she wanted to show the world the person behind the icon who many Filipinos have grown to either revere or despise, to show that Imelda was more than her 3,000 pairs of shoes. That, she is--but it may leave some of us hoping that the shoe advertisement-slogan "There's a little Imelda in all of us" isn't so true. 

The film begins by showcasing Imelda's earlier years, and how her charisma eventually catapulted her into becoming one of the richest, most powerful women in the world. She was strikingly beautiful, winning "Miss Manila" in 1950 and catching the eye of young up-and-comer Ferdinand Marcos. She married him in 1954 after a much-publicized, 11-day whirlwind-romance and helped glide him into power as President of the Philippines in 1965. 

Imelda became one of his closest advisors and even implemented her own policies. She established welfare programs, went out and interacted with the poor, while the people depended on her during times of crisis, earning her the title "mother of the nation." She was always dressed impeccably with elaborate gowns, and she garnered criticism for her glamorous excesses, especially when there was such poverty in the Philippines. However, Imelda explains that when she looks good, they feel better. It was her duty to represent the ideal of a Filipina and give them hope; a star to look up to.

The moment we realize Imelda might be a little unhinged--just a little off--is when she explains her 10 pillars of philosophy using a Sharpie marker to draw symbols on a notepad, in the process also explaining her personal ruling cosmos. She draws a circle with a smiley face in it to symbolize happiness. She draws a circle missing a piece, calls it a Pac-man and shows how it symbolizes being incomplete. She goes off on how a face that smiles looks like a heart, and that an unsmiling face looks like an upside-down heart. After going off for a while--piling symbols on top of other symbols--it becomes comedic because she's not making any sense at all.

Imelda likes to talk. She likes to watch herself on television. She likes making others watch her on television. She is obsessed with beauty. During her attempted assassination, she couldn't help thinking about why the machete the man was pointing at her couldn't at least have a pretty ribbon on it. She's convinced she's a selfless person. She knows she'll go to heaven. She wants her tombstone to read "Here Lies Love."

Because she's so passionate about everything she says, we're more inclined to think that she truly believes her own ludicrous alternate-reality, rather than to assume that she is deliberately vicious and ill-intentioned. But it's hard to tell, since Marcos' regime was a dictatorship marked by corruption, repression, and widespread poverty.

Even now, Imelda faces more than 150 legal cases for extortion and human rights abuses. The Marcoses are accused of having more than $600 million in Swiss banks, stolen from the Filipino people over their 20-year reign. After their exilement to Hawaii in 1986, opposition forces found suitcases of jewels and the infamous-3000-pairs of elaborately extravagant shoes, hundreds of which are now on display in a museum.

Imelda adamantly believes that there was no wrongdoing on her part. But then again, she also adamantly believes that Marcos declared martial law in order to promote democracy, and that she and Marcos were the "real victims" in the murder of their political rival, Benigno Aquino, Jr.
 
Overall, Imelda is a fascinating documentary, albeit a bit long-winded --just like the woman herself. It can be painful to watch. It inspires confusion. But it gives a well-rounded portrait of the complexity that is Imelda Marcos. There's a line in the film when Imelda jokes about how there's a fine line between genius and insanity. Ramona Diaz tries to let you decide for yourself if Imelda succeeds in dancing expertly on that fine line. Or perhaps she's just crazy.

For more information on Imelda, go to www.imeldathemovie.com (http: //www.imeldathemovie.com).

Published: Friday, September 3, 2004