Every country has a small set of filmmakers who are usually cited as being the canonical representatives of their cinematic culture. Whether this is through the stories they tell or their revolutionary techniques, we often find these filmmakers are amongst the most important of their respective generations. As far as cinema of the Philippines tends to go, the names usually cited as the likes of Lino Brocka or Lav Diaz, who have worked laboriously to define their country’s artistic input in their respective eras. However, another filmmaker who stands alongside them, at least in terms of sheer gumption and commitment to his craft, is Kidlat Tahimik, whose greatest contribution to cinema is his masterpiece Perfumed Nightmare, an unconventional, postmodern comedy that is steeped heavily in his own experiences as a young artist coming of age in one of the working-class areas of the country. Telling an ostensibly autobiographical story where the director portrays a fictionalized version of himself as a dedicated jeepney driver with a passion for space travel, the film follows the protagonist as he navigates a variety of challenges related to his poorer upbringing, as well as his interests, many of which contrast sharply with the more popular pastimes of his peers. A hilarious and unorthodox work that immediately established the director as a true talent and essentially consolidated him into the national history of his country, Perfumed Nightmare is a truly fantastic work – undeniably entertaining and genuinely quite revolutionary in both its distinct point-of-view and the style, the film is a minor masterwork of Asian filmmaking, one that may not be as serious and socially-conscious as those of some of the director’s contemporaries, but still holds a place as one of the greatest Filipino films ever made, and one that’s legacy is even more secure now than it was nearly half a century ago when it was first released.

Perfumed Nightmare is the very definition of a labour of love – in addition to directing the film and starring in the lead role, Tahimik also wrote, produced, edited and shot the film, as well as narrating it in its entirety. This is proof that the only way to make a film as an independent director is to simply take it on yourself without depending on any studio or financiers to assist in the process – and when done well, the results can be splendid and revolutionary. This do-it-yourself attitude is integral to the aesthetic of this film, which is an elegant and engaging comedy that benefits massively from a slightly more unconventional set of directorial flourishes. Much of the film tends to be quite surface-level in terms of the overall ideas that it is intent on exploring – the underlying humour coupled with the sometimes simplistic direction can give off the idea that it is a limited work of amateur filmmaking when in reality it is far from this straightforward. Tahimik positions himself as someone who is driven by nothing but the sheer audacity to tell a story that is close to his heart, and this kind of audacity to do something so personal is reflected in a lot of the film and how it handles some slightly more challenging material in a manner that is heartfelt but meaningful. There’s a lot to adore about Perfumed Nightmare, which is a film that is as strange and off-kilter as its title. There’s nothing particularly revolutionary about the film and how it presents itself on the surface, but once we start to dig into its underlying ideas and begin to question what exactly motivated the director to tell this story, we start to see the nuance and complexities simmering beneath the surface, which adds entirely new layers to this unconventional but brilliant film.

There are many elements of Perfumed Nightmare that are worth discussing, but more than anything else it’s the unique structure and unconventional nature of the narrative that informs most of it. While it may not be marketed as such, the film employs a more experimental style that makes it seem like a documentary, albeit not the traditional talking head-style non-fiction film designed to be discursive, but rather the observational, ethnographical travel films that centre on supposedly exotic communities and their residents that were extremely common at the time. This was an interesting approach for a number of reasons – firstly, it allows the film to develop its own unique style, rather than depending too much on existing narrative structures. The director is clearly reverent to traditional storytelling methods, but not enough to form his entire film in their image, since he clearly is more intent on prioritizing the more distinctly Filipino aspects of the story. It also has practical uses, since it never has to rely too heavily on sound design, since the majority of the film is narrated by the protagonist, who guides us through the story and gives voice to just about every character in the process. Whether or not it was intentional, the film functions as a very clear parody of the kind of travelogues and ethnographic documentaries made by western directors, who voyaged into different countries and shoved cameras into every corner of these communities, capturing their daily routines and reworking them into demonstrations of these faraway cultures and how they differ in wonderful and eccentric ways. This is particularly evident in the final portions of the film, where the story moves from the Philippines to Paris and the United States, where the cultural differences are emphasized, but from a different perspective – the supposedly beautiful, first-world countries are viewed as cynical and uncomfortable, whereas the Philippines are seen as advanced in terms of cultural nuance and genuine compassion. It makes for a thrilling and engaging film that is as charming as it is unconventional, which is all part of its appeal.

Yet, there is still a much deeper meaning beneath this film, which is something that we start to realize the more we are able to decode its layers and realize that this is not just a playful work of postmodern comedy, but rather a film in which the director ambitiously sets out to explore various themes that he finds particularly engaging. Perfumed Nightmare is a film about exploring the past and how it relates to the present. Many have made connections between this film and a lot of postcolonial literature – the idea of artists remarking on their national identity and how it factors into their country’s independence is a fascinating concept and one that this film crafts in a manner that is unquestionably engaging and genuinely quite intriguing in how it handles much of the material. The protagonist is a young man dedicated to exploring the past, as seen through his discussions about his own identity. Having the protagonist of the film be a young working-class jeepney driver gives the film a very unique perspective – these are vehicles that were used during the country’s imperial past but have been repurposed from vehicles used as part of the colonial projects to serving the same communities they used to oppress. It’s a powerful statement, and the true impact of such a simple concept is not lost on the film in the least, although it does take some effort to fully realize the scope of what it represents and precisely how the film weaves these ideas together. A film that reconciles both national identity and existentialism, seen through the eyes of quite an interesting protagonist, Perfumed Nightmare certainly has no shortage of promising ideas scattered throughout, informing so much of the film and its unique perspective.

There are many statements and ideas presented throughout Perfumed Nightmare that capture our attention, but the one that is perhaps the best description of the film as a whole is when the protagonist boldly states that you “cannot build rocketships from bamboo”, a simple throwaway line that actually has far-reaching implications and defines a lot of the film’s identity and what it ultimately represents. Tahimik is an immense talent – his ability to weave together such a captivating, heartfelt story that manages to be both hilarious and genuinely moving is a great skill, especially considering he was so young and relatively inexperienced as a director. This was his directorial debut, and the one film for which he is mostly known, but having this as your crowning achievement is not anything to dismiss, since the ingenuity in terms of both structure and storyline is incredible, as is the delicate, earnest approach to the humour that populates the film. There is a legitimate argument to be made that Perfumed Nightmare could be the greatest Filipino film ever made (only being challenged by Brocka’s Manila in the Claws of Light and Insiang in terms of canonical discussions), and it’s difficult to reject such an idea – funny, tender and genuinely very charming, it is an absolute delight, and one that knows exactly how to hold our attention, especially in all the ways that matter for a film as culturally-resonant and intent on authenticity over any other quality as this, which makes a big difference and immediately establishes this as a masterpiece.