IMELDA
Directed & Produced by: Ramona S. Diaz.
Director of Photography: Ferne Pearlstein.
Edited by: Leah Marino.
Music by: TAO Music, Grace Nono & Bob Aves.
Released by: Unico Entertainment.
Language: English & Tagalog.
Country of Origin: USA. 103 min. Not Rated.

“The shoes are a funny side story. Get beyond the shoes,” Imelda Marcos’s son implores to his interviewer in the beginning of the film. Armed with unprecedented access to the former first lady of the Philippines, Imelda is spooky and captivating, painting a fascinating picture of a woman renowned for both her vast shoe collection and her inimitable influence on her husband’s presidential regime. Beautiful, charming, and glamorous, Imelda was the Philippine Jackie Kennedy worshipped by many Filipinos, arguably having equal – if not more – power over the people than the president. During his rule, she became one of the richest women in the world. Accused of massive corruption, human rights violations, election fraud, and for spawning nationwide poverty, the Marcoses were ousted in a popular uprising and exiled to Hawaii in 1986.

Determined not to make a documentary that is strictly a historical account of the Philippines under the Marcos regime, filmmaker Diaz rightly concentrates on the character of Imelda – a woman so charming, she married president-in-the-making Ferdinand Marcos 11 days after they met; a woman so delusional, she’s convinced she was “the ultimate victim” in the controversial death of political rival Benigno Aquino; and a woman so committed to beauty, she despises the weapon used in her assassination attempt – not because it almost killed her, but because “it was so ugly.”

In a clever juxtaposition, shots of Imelda’s sparkly, extravagant custom-designed outfits being aired out by her maids are crosscut with shots of poor Filipinos living along train tracks, hanging their simple rags on makeshift clotheslines. These visuals are interspersed amidst interviews with Imelda’s couturier, explaining – confessing, almost – how his dressmakers went blind sewing intricate beadwork and details for all of her outfits, including of course, shoes to match. His interview overlaps with Imelda addressing the camera, attempting to convey her complete selflessness, convincing herself more than the audience that she gives everything she has to the Filipino people.

It is a tribute to the director that the character of Imelda emerges as equally endearing and disturbing. The all-access interviews reveal such candid details about Imelda and her contradictions, that while she is on the one hand an iconic image of decadence, she has a surreal sort of innocence that softens her into a creature of sympathy. It is no surprise that a shoe advertisement reading, “There is a little Imelda in all of us,” puts a smile on her face. What’s more surprising is its effect on the audience, who is left questioning whether the ad rings true. Kim Reyes, contributing editor
June 10, 2004