When films have a life of their own: Irene Emma Villamor on exploring possibilities in mainstream romance cinema

Visually, The Loved One is an architectural marvel of memory. Influenced by the striking aesthetics of the Netflix series Ripley, Villamor utilised high-contrast black-and-white for the present timeline to draw focus entirely to the actors’ eyes and bodily nuances, stripping away colourful distractions to heighten the emotional tension. She aimed to inject a sense of horror into the romance, noting that “it is terrifying to love”. Conversely, memories were depicted in fuzzy, desaturated colours, mimicking the psychological reality of how we selectively and emotionally recall the past. Furthermore, she deliberately crafted the male protagonist as an unreliable narrator. “It is his story, so naturally, he is the hero,” she laughs, noting that the lover’s overwhelming emotions inherently distort his recounting of the relationship. 

The production was also blessed with cinematic serendipity, or “happy accidents”. A tracking shot of a car, initially planned for a dry evening, was miraculously transformed by an unexpected downpour; instead of moving, the stationary car in the rain perfectly captured the creeping, claustrophobic tension between the characters. Similarly, the haunting soundtrack Multo by Cup of Joe was serendipitously suggested by Curtis during pre-production and instantly became the film’s auditory soul, continuing Villamor’s streak of securing the zeitgeist-defining anthems for her films

Amidst her success over the years, Villamor remains characteristically grounded, her mind perpetually dissecting the intricacies of human connection and the mechanics of storytelling. From her early days as a wide-eyed probinsyana studying at the University of the Philippines Diliman to her emergence as a vanguard of modern Philippine cinema, Villamor’s trajectory is a testament to the power of authentic, emotionally rigorous filmmaking.

Her cinematic education was initially fostered within the walls of the UP Film Center, where regular immersions into world cinema profoundly broadened her creative horizons. It was here, under the tutelage of one of her professors, Dr Nicanor Tiongson, that her deep appreciation for the social weight of Filipino cinema took root. Eventually, her foundational mentorship under the acclaimed director Bb Joyce Bernal forged her directorial ethos.

Read more: ‘Cross my Heart and Hope to Die’: Sole Southeast Asian short film at the Venice Film Festival 2023

Starting as an intern on the set of Kailangan Ko’y Ikaw well before the era of regulated working hours in the film industry, Villamor absorbed the relentless mechanics of the industry through a myriad of odd jobs—from directing crowds to fetching coffee. Beyond the technical rigours of the camera, Bernal imparted a far more crucial lesson: the paramount importance of cultivating profound, off-camera trust with actors.

“I guess that’s what struck me the most—that to develop a kind of relationship with my actors, I need to build a friendship with them, converse with them organically, observe how they talk or react, as all of those would help us both in building their characters and reshaping the dialogues for them. It makes directing easier,” Villamor says.

Bernal eschewed traditional on-set motivation, preferring to build genuine friendships that allowed for seamless collaboration. Villamor carries this torch today. While her contemporary, Antoinette Jadaone, inherited Bernal’s signature comedic timing, she shares with Tatler that she gravitated towards her mentor’s deep, existentialist ponderings.

In an industry she aptly describes as inherently matriarchal—having been dominated by female figures like Mother Lily Monteverde, Malou Santos, and the late Marilou Diaz-Abaya—Villamor feels that female voices have never been entirely stifled in the Philippines, a stark contrast to other global film industries. Yet, she actively pushes the boundaries of how women are portrayed, specifically subverting the pervasive “male gaze”.

For her breakout hit Camp Sawi, despite a premise involving heartbroken women lounging on a summer beach, she and cinematographer Tey Clamor established visual boundaries.

“We were always particular in showing the women as a group,” she notes, explaining their outright resistance to tight, fragmented close-ups of body parts. The narrative focus remained fiercely on the reclamation of selfhood, which would eventually become a motif for Villamor’s films.

Camp Sawi easily became one of the iconic films of 2016 that inspired many travellers to visit its tucked-away location on Bantayan Island, Cebu. Besides cementing Moira Dela Torre’s singer-songwriter career, the film is known as a poignant exploration of healing, identity, and societal rules, redefining the narratives of films released in the summer season. 

In 2018, Villamor explored the tension between destiny and choice with Meet Me in St Gallen, a film that follows the pragmatic, non-hopeless romantic Celeste and the artistically passionate Jesse in their evolution—from the recklessness of their youth to the sobering realities of maturity. Seamlessly weaving in socio-political realities that influence their decisions in love and career, the film grounds its romance in the real world, to the point that not all romances end in happily ever after.

Also in 2018, Villamor’s unapologetic anti-romcom structure was introduced in Sid & Aya, which brilliantly uses the “black swan” concept from economics to dissect capitalism, the Filipino diaspora, and the relentless hustle of the Filipino working class. Anchored by Aya—a deeply cynical and pragmatic lead who challenges the typical romantic-drama heroine trope—the film demands that viewers look beyond surface-level attraction to understand the transactional nature of modern survival.

Ulan is Villamor’s 2019 film, marked as visually ambitious and taking eight months to finish. It dives into magical realism, ecocriticism and Philippine folklore, following the whimsical, hopeless romantic Maya as she discovers a more mature, stronger version of herself amid a world filled with chauvinism and misogyny. It is a meticulously crafted tale that marries mythological elements with the fierce personal awakening of its heroine.

Villamor’s 2020 feature On Vodka, Beers and Regrets strips away the glamour of the entertainment industry to deliver a visceral examination of alcoholism and its ensuing fallout. Framed by the poignant motif of “Six Impossible Things You Can Be Before Breakfast”, the film exposes the destructive coping mechanisms bred within a high-pressure milieu. What emerges is a profoundly empathetic portrait of emotional attrition—capturing the tragic, quiet ways in which one person’s internal battles can slowly consume the spirit of the one who loves them.

Set against the claustrophobic backdrop of Covid-19 isolation, Villamor’s deeply affecting 2021 narrative in Ikaw at Ako ang Ending explores themes of depression, impermanence, and mortality. Anchored by Mylene, the film follows the intertwined fates of a criminal and a woman facing her own life-battle, proving that profound human connection can be found even in the bleakest and most finite of times.

Five Breakups and a Romance in 2023 employs the physics concept of “quantum entanglement” to explore the inescapable, almost cosmic pull between two lovers. It is a nuanced, realistic exploration of the cyclical nature of relationships—how couples repeatedly gravitate back to one another after multiple fallouts, and how a deep, lingering friendship often remains between exes.

Described as “deceptively simple” by National Artist Ricky Lee to Villamor, Only We Know is a philosophically rich 2025 film that draws from Waiting for Godot and explores absurdism versus existentialism. It elevates friendship to the most romantic form of connection while tackling complex themes of ageing, grief and society’s perception of older, unmarried women. Ultimately, it is a masterclass in portraying a free, mature love devoid of traditional labels.

Read more: Movie review: ‘The Loved One’ asks who we become in a relationship—the lover or the loved one?

Villamor writes women whose emotions are expansive and whose journeys lead to authentic empowerment, even if it means navigating profound grief or leaving a romance behind to choose oneself. Interestingly, her subconscious desire for emotionally articulate men often seeps into her scripts; critics have observed that her male characters are frequently “feminised”, possessing a heightened sensitivity and bearing the weight of emotional labour. 

“There is always a ‘claiming’ in my films: ‘Love me because this is who I am, the kind of woman I am—one who has dreams for herself,” Villamor describes. “Perhaps it is my dream for men to be that sensitive,” she reflects.

Another defining hallmark of a “Direk Ayrin” film is the seamless integration of socio-political issues and collegial philosophical concepts into the digestible framework of mainstream romance and into each character’s world. Fuelled by her UP upbringing and the influence of Tiongson, she feels a profound responsibility to embed social realities in her narratives, maximising the reach of her platform.

“If we keep on offering the same thing in mainstream cinema... isn’t it just right for us to add something new?” she asserts, acknowledging that while love stories are inherently repetitive, fresh conceptual layers are required to elevate the narrative. Her goal is to offer audiences substantive intellectual nourishment without alienating them.

This ambitious vision is supported by a remarkably harmonious relationship with her producers. She recalls presenting the script for Ulan to Viva Films’ Vic Del Rosario; they granted her immense creative liberty, leading to a sprawling eight-month production schedule to perfect visual elements like the tikbalang (a mythical half-horse half-man creature). When Del Rosario finally watched the premiere, his surprised reaction—“Ah, art pala ’to, Ayrin?”—underscored the trust placed in her vision. One of the rare instances of intervention from other stakeholders occurred during Meet Me in St. Gallen, where extensive focus group discussions with test audiences mandated a change to the ending. Originally, the film concluded with the protagonists reuniting in a picturesque Christmas snow scene, choosing each other despite the circumstances. Ultimately, Villamor conceded to the edit, agreeing that the melancholic separation resulted in a superior, more resonant film that makes the characters’ evolution cohesive with their sensible actions towards the end.

As Villamor journeys through life, her cinematic inquiries have grown exponentially more complex. From the straightforward narrative of heartbreak and moving on in Camp Sawi, she has pivoted toward dissecting the intricate, often ugly tensions that transform passionate lovers into strangers. “The questions become more complex as I go on with life,” she admits. Yet, her definition of an ideal relationship, much like the one she explored in Only We Know, remains profoundly progressive: a love rooted in absolute freedom, devoid of rigid labels, where partners understand that one person cannot possibly fulfil every human need.

For the renowned director, who just recently released the trailer of her upcoming film Midnight Girls, the true magic of Philippine cinema lies in its unparalleled capacity for collective resonance. “Whether it is a shared gasp in a darkened, packed theatre, passionate post-film debriefings in the lavatory, or an audience member finding the courage to embrace their identity after watching Ulan, cinema possesses the power to introduce new concepts and heal old wounds on a massive scale,” Villamor shares.

NOW READ

Martika Ramirez Escobar Talks About Sundance and Why Trust is Important in Today's Independent Film Industry

Cinemalaya 2024’s opening film ‘The Gospel of the Beast’ shows how human existence is inherently complex

How Richard Salvadico and Arlie Sumagaysay use film to rally the cause of the indigenous Tumandok