New translation: Don Josephus Raphael Eblahan : What it means to listen

Platforming stories that need to be told

In four films, Umbilical Cord to Heaven (2021), Hilum (2021), The Headhunter’s Daughter (2022) and Vox Humana (2024), Don Josephus Raphael Eblahan has defined his recognisable style through recurring formal elements: the use of natural light, square frames, and the hazy quality of his images. The combination of this formal beauty and the evocation of themes that are both intimate and political has won over the most prestigious festivals: in Clermont-Ferrand, Hilum won the student prize and a special mention in 2021, and Vox Humana won the student prize in 2025. As for The Headhunter’s Daughter, it won the coveted Grand Jury Prize at the Sundance Film Festival in 2022, amongst other awards. Prior to that, his first short film, Umbilical Cord to Heaven, won the CineYouth Best Experimental Film Award at the 55th Chicago International Film Festival in 2019.

© Hannah Schierbeek

This recognition from the industry and the public celebrates a unique voice that draws inspiration from both personal and historical trauma. His films evoke mourning and the colonial experience, and tell the story of the precarious situation of indigenous peoples, whose identities have been undermined over the centuries by successive colonisations, first Spanish, then American. [1] These films draw their strength from their tranquil pace, their meditative quality, and the resolute message humbly conveyed by their director, who identifies nature, spirituality, and cinema as powerful saving forces capable of restoring his heroines’ capacity for self-determination.

His relationship with his indigenous identity is, in part, the subject matter of his films: he became aware of this after spending several years in the West. Eblahan was born in La Trinidad in the Philippines, grew up mainly in the Baguio region, then left the archipelago for four years to study film in Chicago. However, before embarking on a career as a filmmaker, it was music that first appealed to him: coming from a family of musicians, he learned to play the guitar and compose long before he became interested in cinema. The turning point came with Rob Marshall’s film Nine, when, captivated by its soundtrack, Don researched the film and its story, discovering Fellini’s Eight and a Half (which inspired Nine), then Italian and French cinema, and so on. This led him to leave the archipelago to study film at DePaul University in Chicago. Years away from the archipelago gave rise to a desire to recount, through the prism of autofiction, his experience as an Igorot trying to find his place in a Westernised world:

Being in the West has held up a mirror towards myself, perhaps instigating a reason to be more inquisitive about my own identity, the history of the land/or islands I grew up in, and the interpersonal and spiritual voices that call for their stories to be told.

As told to Jason Tan Liwag for Rappler.

Conveying the complexity of indigenous identities

This is one of the main challenges facing cinema, which also exists in response to a form of media mistreatment of indigenous identities and has set itself the task of challenging this representation:

The intersection between Indigenous identities and TV hasn’t always been the friendliest (even Philippine TV) — from caricatured portrayals to insensitive remarks about our culture.

As told to Jason Tan Liwag for Rappler.

Given the precedent set by this, Don writes his main characters – all female for now – imbued with complexity, such as Lynn, the heroine of The Headhunter’s Daughter, who crosses mountains to reach the city to perform in a television competition, hoping to be heard by her father. The staging hints at the stigmatisation suffered by indigenous people, through the condescending questions asked by the competition host. Lynn’s response, that her motivation is not money, contradicts this stereotype:

The fact that Lynn is questioned so directly on screen draws attention to our media’s tendency to sensationalize otherness, tragedy, sentimentality, and misery in the lives of Indigenous Filipinos. I wanted to give my protagonist a different response and perspective to this cyclical trend. Lynn’s choice to approach her audition in that way reveals a hidden resilience that, I believe, was necessary in that situation.

As told to Élise Loiseau.

Eblahan’s cinema does not merely renew the representation of indigenous communities in the northern Philippine archipelago, it places it within a broader narrative, that of the struggle against the erasure of cultural identities and the marginalization of indigenous communities. The Headhunter’s Daughter does not open with images but with a song, inspired by a traditional song of African slaves, immediately placing the film in a universe that transcends the condition of the indigenous Filipino characters: "I wanted this historical context to be introduced at the beginning of the film, even before the first images appeared. Establishing this context before the film even appears on screen sets the stage, encouraging the audience to listen more attentively and perhaps situate themselves in a historical and sociological space before the story even begins.

I wanted this historical context to be introduced from the very beginning, even before any visuals are seen. To linger around this context before the film emerges from the black screen sets a precedent that urges participation with the audience to listen closer and perhaps situate themselves in a historical and sociological headspace before we introduce any direct narrative

From Rappler.

A way of bringing his roots to the global cinema stage, while placing them in a broader context, that of the domination and dehumanisation of entire population groups. His cinema consists not only of bringing these mechanisms of domination to life on screen, but also of exploiting the cinematic codes associated with different genres in order to subvert the traditional representation of indigenous peoples, which is considered either stereotypical or condescending:

Films about indigenous peoples, made by indigenous people, can be thrillers, westerns, science fiction films (...) We too have complex stories that we have to deal with while living in the modern world. We are not just “savages” or victims of colonisation. We exist, and we too can look cool in trench coats.

From Techbuzznews.

Hilum and Vox Humana: listening as an act of reparation

A recurring theme in her filmography is that listening to others is presented as a powerful voice of emancipation and healing, whether it be in relation to grief, the quest for recognition, or the erasure of cultures that haunt her heroines. This was already central to her second film, Hilum, whose meaning is contained in the polysemy of its title:

Hilum is a Filipino word that translates differently in two dialects. In Cebuano it means “to render silence”, while in Tagalog it means “to heal an open wound”. The connection between the two meanings is the essential element of the film.’ Hilum is a Filipino word that translates differently in two dialects. In Cebuano it means “to render silence”, in Tagalog it means “to heal an open wound”. The connection of both meanings is the important binding force of the film.

Don Rafael Josephus Eblahan

It is indeed silence and the attentive listening of a shaman that seem to heal the strange illness afflicting the heroine of the short film, who regains her ability to shed tears after recounting the accident that cost her father his life. This ritual combining listening and narration takes place on a beach, under a blinding sun, in an atmosphere reminiscent of a mystical EMDR session (the shaman asks the heroine to accompany the story of the accident with eye movements from right to left).

In Vox Humana, Don Josephus Raphael Eblahan continues his reflection on listening, making attention to others an act of reparation. The film, shot with a crew of just fifteen people over three days in the Cordillera mountains, takes up and develops this same idea, this time embodying it in the form of a sound engineer tasked with deciphering the language of a man discovered in the wild, who is suspected of being responsible for an earthquake. The film borrows from the codes of detective and science fiction films, while also exploring listening to others and nature as possible ways of resolving trauma. This time, it highlights the mechanism of exclusion suffered by communities perceived as ‘incomprehensible’ or even ‘non-human’:

We wanted to make a film about the language of listening: listening to the earth, to individuals, and even to “non-human” creatures. Through the question of sound, I wanted to explore this concept of “non-human”, particularly how this notion can be used as a weapon against marginalised populations whose land and rights are often confiscated.

From Rappler

The director is currently working on his next film, Hum, his first feature film currently in development. This project will be loosely based on the myth of the indigenous Ifugaos tribe entitled the myth of Ovug (or ‘myth of the divided child’) and will feature a rodeo rider searching for her twin who disappeared in the forest after an earthquake. It promises to be an extension of his short films: a poetic fiction, where the intimate and the political come together in a meditation on collective memory, trauma and the survival of indigenous Filipino identities, which should allow Don Josephus Raphael Eblahan to continue weaving stories of these heroines into the collective narrative of the Philippines and world cinema.