Film review: Aurora
Ever since the first Shake, Rattle & Roll ruled the Metro Manila Film Festival’s (MMFF) box-office, horror films have become a mainstay of the annual late-December filmfest. In this year’s edition, there are two that emanate from the film genre; and VIVA/Aluid’s Aurora, co-written and directed by Yam Laranas, and starring Anne Curtis, is the high-concept one, out to elevate our perception of what local horror films can look like.
“MMFF is all about family,” Yam explains. “And when the family heads to any amusement park, one of the perennial big attractions is the haunted house.” To extend this logic further, it’s like how rides like the roller coaster, the ones that put your heart in your mouth, are the crowd favorites. It’s escapist fare that provides chills and spills, and the horror film genre is the armchair extension of this morbid fascination with things that go bump in the night.
Aurora is about a passenger liner shipwrecked off the coast of Batanes, against a rock formation situated right in front of a dilapidated guest house run by Leana (Curtis) along with her two sisters. They’ve lost their parents, and it isn’t long before one sister decides to seek her fortune elsewhere, and it’s just Leana and her younger sister, Rita (child actress Phoebe Villamor). When the film opens, the guesthouse is busy as family members of the deceased from the shipwreck have descended to wait for news and claim the bodies of their relatives.
When the search for survivors is officially called off, the story proper commences, and it’s one ripped off from the headlines of overcrowded passenger ships sinking and shipping companies colluding with the officers of the law to escape culpability for the fatal accidents that occur.
Like old school horror films, Aurora is about atmosphere and creating an aura of foreboding. As opposed to today’s trend of jump scares coming with regularity every so many minutes, Aurora is a tightly wound timepiece inexorably being tightened to create tension and the air of malevolence. These victims of the maritime disaster are seeking justice and retribution, and it isn’t long before both Leana and Rita are the vessels via which this can be achieved. Think of Don’t Look Now, or the more recent Hereditary, to understand the approach Laranas employs to tell his tale.
A cinematographer before he became a director, Laranas’ meticulous use of stark imagery, camera angles, and shadow and light, are masterfully employed to achieve this showcase of the macabre. Bleached of color, the rugged, desolate coastline is as much a character as Leana and Rita. The underwater photography is always stunning, and when Laranas turns to a looking glass sudden spatial shift, it effectively heightens the tension of the storytelling. And take note of the magnificent score created by Swede Oscar Fogelstrom; it adds gravitas and a sense of epic proportions.
To be frank, I first thought Curtis too pretty and fair-skinned to realistically portray Leana. But kudos to her for imbuing Leana with maximum restraint and control, and layering her attack on the role to one of a well-intentioned young woman caught in a vicious cycle of events stemming from the accident. If there’s an even bigger surprise, it would be the performance Laranas teases from Villamor as Rita — she has the more interesting arc, as the “innocent” who first interacts with the unsettled deceased.
Aurora is a wonderful example of a director in full control of his story and material. It may not be inundated with jump scares — something today’s audience expects — but it’s a subtle exposition of Philippine gothic.