To the extent that people actually took notice, Emir (d: Chito Roño) burst into the scene shrouded in dubious tinsel. It was disingenuously dubbed as the first Filipino musical, notwithstanding earlier efforts of the intellectual-property unconscious set such as Horsey Horsey Tigidig Tigidig (1986), and to say nothing about the first ever Filipino film, Dalagang Bukid (1919), a silent film which still featured Atang de la Rama singing live behind the curtains as her celluloid doppelganger wordlessly mouthed along. Emir also happened to be partly funded by “the President’s social fund.” State-sponsored art where the State dictates the art (and not just merely funds it) carries the stigma of sanitization, more so when the subject matter deals with politically potent iconography such as the heroic OFW, who in this case, is named Amelia (Frencheska Farr).

Emir begins with the promise of Amelia’s journey, as she prepares to leave the Cordillera hinterlands she and her family call home in order to earn some money in the Middle East working in the household for a generic royal in a generic country. She arrives at her desert-nation of call within 15 minutes of the film, and remains there for almost the entire film. Her common sense versus deference approach wins her the coveted duty of nanny to the only male heir of the family. Alas, there are few career advancement opportunities for Amelia and she marinates in the role of Yaya Primera Una for the next fifteen years or so; fending off the jealous taunts of her fellow Pinay maids, as well as being sob sister to the less caricaturish of her colleagues. Then war breaks out and everybody dies. Almost.

Emir never fully escapes the trap of film as homework. The basic plot is one that can be easily devised by a high-school student tasked with staging a play on the plight of migrant workers, and with some money, too. It dutifully features the expected touchstones of the OFW experience—the domestic instability they leave behind as well as wealth through remittances that they forward, the romantic frustrations they suffer through as well as the close bonds they form with their colleagues/housemates, the religious compromises they accept as to their worship and the religious understanding they gain observing the faiths of their temporary homeland. These episodes may resonate with the OFW audience, but the sentiments are too often context-specific to gain greater currency with a broader audience. The connect-the-dots mentality that pushes the plot helps little in developing for the audience any immersive experience with which they can empathize.

What the filmmakers and funders had hoped would set Emir apart would be the song and dance that tells about two-fifths of the film. The musical score is a mishmash of Pinoy pop, power ballads, Broadway-lite, folk music, and torch-lit Viennese choruses; unmemorable but not cacophonic. Choreography is happily infrequent, as the few examples we do see range from mediocre to trite. Again, the sense is that Emir is a musical not because the people who did care enough to tell this story couldn’t see it play out in any other way, but because they were just following orders. Still, two of the musical numbers do stand out. The first is a Proustian trigger set to Ifugao-inspired music as Amelia recollects her late grandmother’s advise as she prepares for her own journey. It works well, because when we do find ourselves singing at odd moments, it often is due to our own flashbacks of sentimental value.

The other number that works—the best thing in the film—embodies a complete story in itself and deserves extended discussion. It comes late in the film after imperious Ester (Dulce), the longtime household mayordoma, is forced into retirement due to health problems. Resigned to the fact that Amelia will be the new mayordoma, she is stunned to learn that Amelia had turned down the promotion due to insufficient ambition. The resulting ballad, “Hindi Ko Pinangarap,” features Dulce in the throes of denial and realization as it dawns on her that the noble OFW journey she had just completed may have actually just been a waste of her entire adult life. Dulce’s voice alone can already induce goosebumps, but witnessing the subtle control she invests in what is an emotionally devastating song will leave you in bereavement. It is among the best musical performances I’ve ever seen on film, and it makes you wish that the rest of the film were much better.

The honest emotional investment of “Hindi Ko Pinangarap” makes me resent even more Emir’s denouement by way of Caparas. When the war finally comes, let’s just imagine The Sound of Music but where the Von Trapp children (and all the nuns, too) are massacred by the Nazis on the convent steps, leaving the traumatized Maria and her Captain trekking the mountains in frightened flight, then Maria stupidly falling asleep only to awake to the sounds of her beloved being carted away by uniformed Nazis. On one level—the one where the film tries to avoid being an advertisement for “Let’s Fly to Dubai!”—this climax works. Emir will not find shelf-life as an in-flight movie for Philippine Airlines Middle East flights. Yet whatever outrage or groundswell of emotion one may feel over this climax is elicited through a cheap stunt that arguably bears little relation to the daily plight of our OFWs. The cast of characters may have as well been instead in a bus along Balamban. But a more prosaic ending would have deprived us the sight of Ms. Farr trudging along the stunning barren desert landscape. And in the end, that’s what the President’s social fund bought us, didn’t it? (Oliver X.A. Reyes)

Horsey Horsey Tigidig Tigidig poster via Video 48’s Blogspot. Emir stills and behind-the-scenes photography from the film’s official site.