The Epic and the Absurd
There's a new movie in Spanish movie theaters. It's a historical movie, with a few licenses, perhaps. I suppose that if a historical movie doesn't take licenses, it simply becomes a documentary, and that's no fun to watch in a darkened movie theater, with buttery popcorn to munch and cold soda to slurp through a peppermint-striped straw.
It's called Los Últimos de Filipinas, and is based on the story of the siege of Baler, on the eastern coast of the island of Luzón, in the Spanish-American war of 1898. There is another film of the same name and subject, filmed in 1945. That is one of patriotic clangor, a not-so-subtle shout of anger at the imperial Yanks, who had the audacity to destroy the last remnants of the great Spanish empire. I have not seen this one, yet I have read what the leading actor, Luís Tosar, has to say. He mentions that "...España siempre ha estado en eso, entre la gesta y el absurdo..." (Spain has always been like that, between the epic and the absurd.) (El País, Cultura, 12 Sep, 2016).
The original story is an epic story of human suffering, pride, and sense of duty to one's principles and country. Rancid patriotism, yes, yet also human dignity. It is also a story of the absurd, of useless waste of human life and effort, and of the utmost stubborness that has become such a Spanish trait.
The story began in Baler on July 1st, 1898. The war had officially commenced in Cuba back in April, after the mysterious sinking of the U.S.S. Maine in February. It then extended to the Philipines, which had already been fighting Spanish rule. The garrison at Baler, finding itself under attack by the Filipinos, barricaded itself inside the church. This was the strongest building in the town, practically a fort with meter and a half thick walls. They were 57 men, those who had already survived skirmishes against the locals. They had sent a message for help before holing themselves up.
In the next few weeks, conditions proved to be less than optimal. Beri-beri set in, as did dysentery. Food began to rot in the heat and high jungle humidity, and the soldiers began to eat whatever fell into their hands, whether it was a crow or a lizard. August 13th came and went. A few days later, the Philipines got word that the Spaniards had surrendered and ended the war on the 13th. The besiegers sent in word that the Spanish had lost the territory of the Philipines, and that the soldiers in the church should come out, surrender, and be returned to Spain.
Nothing doing. Those Spaniards were going nowhere. They had vowed to fight until the end. Either they would be sent reinforcements and emerge victorious, or they would die where they were, defending Spanish soil. What the Filipinos were telling them was a mere ruse to get them to come out and surrender their honor as Spanish men and soldiers. Two Spanish friars, previously prisoners of war, were sent to the church to try to convince their fellow countrymen. Again, the besieged saw it as another ruse, with the cowardly Filipinos using two men of God for their dark purposes. And so the siege continued.
The Treaty of Paris, signed in December, awarded the Philipines to the Americans. Now, the enemy was the United States. As the last Spaniards were repatriated, the Filipinos began their fight against the Americans, though with little success. More Spanish emissaries were sent to Baler, to convince the hard-headed soldiers that the war was over, and they could return home now. Stubborness prevailed. In April, an American war ship arrived in the harbor, to rescue the Spanish soldiers still holding out. The Filipinos wanted nothing to do with the Americans, so the ship left. The soldiers, watching from the church, assumed the ship was from Spain with reinforcements to finally crush the insurgency, and had their hopes scatter when they saw it leave.
In May, a Spanish lieutenant colonel arrived, to convince the soldiers to lay down their arms and accompany him back. The soldiers seemed to have developed a mentality of "everyone is out to get us." After the lieutenant colonel had left, the Filipinos left at the door a stack of Spanish newspapers to try to convince the men. Even that was considered a trick. Until one of the men read one of the papers. It turned out that the newspaper was Spanish. It was a copy of El Imparcial, and, though the soldier reading it thought at first it was an elaborate trick to get them out, with news about the bogus loss of the Philipines, a small news item finally persuaded him it was not. It mentioned that a certain officer had been transferred to Málaga. That officer had been a companion of the commanding officer at Baler, and had mentioned that his wish was to be transferred to Málaga. This, the Filipinos could not have known. This was true. So, the news of the end of the war was true, after all.
Of the original 57 soldiers that had holed up in the church, 32 returned to Spain. Fifteen had died of illness, two had succumbed to Filipino bullets, six had deserted, and two had been executed for treason. They returned as heroes, and were proudly called, los últimos de Filipinas. They were the last to surrender the Empire.
It was a typical Spanish gesture of heroism in the face of reality. As the actor Luís Tosar mentioned in the article in El País, it was borderline between the epic and the absurd. As is so much of war.
It's called Los Últimos de Filipinas, and is based on the story of the siege of Baler, on the eastern coast of the island of Luzón, in the Spanish-American war of 1898. There is another film of the same name and subject, filmed in 1945. That is one of patriotic clangor, a not-so-subtle shout of anger at the imperial Yanks, who had the audacity to destroy the last remnants of the great Spanish empire. I have not seen this one, yet I have read what the leading actor, Luís Tosar, has to say. He mentions that "...España siempre ha estado en eso, entre la gesta y el absurdo..." (Spain has always been like that, between the epic and the absurd.) (El País, Cultura, 12 Sep, 2016).
The original story is an epic story of human suffering, pride, and sense of duty to one's principles and country. Rancid patriotism, yes, yet also human dignity. It is also a story of the absurd, of useless waste of human life and effort, and of the utmost stubborness that has become such a Spanish trait.
The story began in Baler on July 1st, 1898. The war had officially commenced in Cuba back in April, after the mysterious sinking of the U.S.S. Maine in February. It then extended to the Philipines, which had already been fighting Spanish rule. The garrison at Baler, finding itself under attack by the Filipinos, barricaded itself inside the church. This was the strongest building in the town, practically a fort with meter and a half thick walls. They were 57 men, those who had already survived skirmishes against the locals. They had sent a message for help before holing themselves up.
In the next few weeks, conditions proved to be less than optimal. Beri-beri set in, as did dysentery. Food began to rot in the heat and high jungle humidity, and the soldiers began to eat whatever fell into their hands, whether it was a crow or a lizard. August 13th came and went. A few days later, the Philipines got word that the Spaniards had surrendered and ended the war on the 13th. The besiegers sent in word that the Spanish had lost the territory of the Philipines, and that the soldiers in the church should come out, surrender, and be returned to Spain.
Nothing doing. Those Spaniards were going nowhere. They had vowed to fight until the end. Either they would be sent reinforcements and emerge victorious, or they would die where they were, defending Spanish soil. What the Filipinos were telling them was a mere ruse to get them to come out and surrender their honor as Spanish men and soldiers. Two Spanish friars, previously prisoners of war, were sent to the church to try to convince their fellow countrymen. Again, the besieged saw it as another ruse, with the cowardly Filipinos using two men of God for their dark purposes. And so the siege continued.
The Treaty of Paris, signed in December, awarded the Philipines to the Americans. Now, the enemy was the United States. As the last Spaniards were repatriated, the Filipinos began their fight against the Americans, though with little success. More Spanish emissaries were sent to Baler, to convince the hard-headed soldiers that the war was over, and they could return home now. Stubborness prevailed. In April, an American war ship arrived in the harbor, to rescue the Spanish soldiers still holding out. The Filipinos wanted nothing to do with the Americans, so the ship left. The soldiers, watching from the church, assumed the ship was from Spain with reinforcements to finally crush the insurgency, and had their hopes scatter when they saw it leave.
In May, a Spanish lieutenant colonel arrived, to convince the soldiers to lay down their arms and accompany him back. The soldiers seemed to have developed a mentality of "everyone is out to get us." After the lieutenant colonel had left, the Filipinos left at the door a stack of Spanish newspapers to try to convince the men. Even that was considered a trick. Until one of the men read one of the papers. It turned out that the newspaper was Spanish. It was a copy of El Imparcial, and, though the soldier reading it thought at first it was an elaborate trick to get them out, with news about the bogus loss of the Philipines, a small news item finally persuaded him it was not. It mentioned that a certain officer had been transferred to Málaga. That officer had been a companion of the commanding officer at Baler, and had mentioned that his wish was to be transferred to Málaga. This, the Filipinos could not have known. This was true. So, the news of the end of the war was true, after all.
Of the original 57 soldiers that had holed up in the church, 32 returned to Spain. Fifteen had died of illness, two had succumbed to Filipino bullets, six had deserted, and two had been executed for treason. They returned as heroes, and were proudly called, los últimos de Filipinas. They were the last to surrender the Empire.
It was a typical Spanish gesture of heroism in the face of reality. As the actor Luís Tosar mentioned in the article in El País, it was borderline between the epic and the absurd. As is so much of war.
Comments
Post a Comment