Lav Diaz Unearths Colonial Scars in 'Let Us Through, Dear Ancestors'

Ah, Lav Diaz. The very name conjures images of profound, often challenging, cinematic journeys that compel us to truly feel history rather than just observe it. His latest, 'Let Us Through, Dear Ancestors' — or 'Makikiraan Po' as it's known in Filipino — seems to be no exception, immediately plunging us back into the harrowing year of 1617 in the Philippines, a period defined by the relentless grip of Spanish colonial rule.

It’s a powerful narrative, really, with Diaz himself taking on the immense responsibility of director, writer, cinematographer, and even editor. Premiering out of competition at the prestigious 83rd Venice International Film Festival on September 11, 2026, this film, even at 151 minutes, is quite a sprint for Diaz, marking his shortest feature since 2011. You might even call it a relatively compact epic, if such a thing is possible with his work!

Set against the stark, historical backdrop of the Spanish colonial period, the film, rendered in Diaz's signature black-and-white, meticulously uncovers the deep wounds inflicted upon the archipelago. We’re talking about the raw, visceral violence of Spanish rule, the agonizing reality of forced labor that stripped people of their dignity, and the relentless pressure of religious conversion that, perhaps more insidiously, sought to erase indigenous identities and cultural memory. It's a sobering, almost haunting, exploration of exploitation in its most pervasive forms.

At the heart of this historical tapestry is Padre Enciso, a Spanish friar who also serves as an encomendero — a figure embodying the dual, often contradictory, roles of spiritual guide and colonial oppressor. His presence, I imagine, is a central pivot around which the film's complex themes revolve, challenging viewers to confront the uncomfortable truths of the past. The cast, a talented ensemble featuring Bart Guingona, Ronnie Lazaro, Isabel Sandoval, Yul Servo, Christian Bables, Bong Cabrera, Rafa Siguion-Reyna, and Amado Arjay Babon, surely brings these characters and their struggles vividly to life.

'Let Us Through, Dear Ancestors' isn't just a historical retelling; it feels more like an urgent plea, a cinematic conversation with the past that echoes into our present. It’s a vital piece, inviting us to reflect on what remains of cultural memory and how the stories of exploitation continue to shape us, demanding our attention and, perhaps, our understanding. Once again, Diaz proves himself a master at holding a mirror up to history, unflinching and undeniably potent.