Paraisong Salat: A Review of Kara David’s Documentary

“Isang paraisong naiwan sa kahapon.” A simple, yet incredible line at the start of one of the most authentic and honest documentaries I have ever watched. I have a newfound respect for Kara David and her “no crap” approach to telling the stories of her subjects, as she executes it effectively and is accompanied by the harshness of reality. It’s rare to see a story like this, and it is even rarer to see a professional treat it with the dignity and respect it deserves — no comparisons about our privilege, no parental talks about the common man complaining about mundane things, and no meddling with their lives. This documentary serves as an eye, and we see what we need to see in its rawest form.

What supports this? In my opinion, it is because of the way the documentary is structured. It is linear, and it throws one difficult experience of the subject at us like a rock, only to throw an ever bigger rock a second later. It’s almost like a platformer game, where it starts relatively simple and nears the human limit stage after stage. That is exactly how Kara David emphasized the sheer extremities of the Bakil family’s life. Do we think it’s hard? Well, there’s something harder. In addition to this, its linear characteristic is empowered by an absence of interference.

We can see this take place immediately when Kara goes to meet the family. She sees the youngest child drinking something, and Kara, obviously coming from a life of privilege, innocently assumes that it’s some kind of milk or a chocolate drink. Simultaneously, we and Kara soon find out that it’s just sugar water. Right away, we are introduced to a standard setter. We think, “This is their situation.” However, as soon as we think we understand the difficulty, we are proven wrong in a heartbeat. As the topic of school comes around, we discover that they need to wait for their father before going to school, as he holds their allowances. To my surprise, the allowances they were talking about were sticks of fish. They needed to sell to go to school. At that moment, I sat up and my eyebrows lifted themselves. The linearity has just started, but its effectiveness is already running a play. As a viewer, it was safe to assume that in going to school, they’d ride a boat. What I did not expect was that they needed to sail there themselves, which is honestly quite insane if you ask me. Three details in, and I’m already wondering, “How the hell could this get any worse for them?” We get to the children’s school, and we are disillusioned by the idea of a haven. Kara says that Sarfaina, the eldest child in the family, seems to forget about the pain of life whenever she is in school. At first, I thought, “I’m glad there’s at least something nice for them.” It was a good moment, followed by a bitter realization that this was just an even bigger rock in disguise. A child shouldn’t know rest and peace away from home. A child shouldn’t start learning how to play in school. Children play the moment they lay their eyes on the innocence of the world and their limbs on the floor of their homes, and clearly, Sarfaina and her family did not have that. They were never going to have that. Their day at school finally ended, and at this point, I already knew it was just going to get harder for them. I was right. A bigger rock manifested in the form of a hole in their boat, their only means of getting home. Despite that, they persevered and finally went home, only to be met with yet a bigger rock — darkness. I forgot that they had close to nothing, and that included electricity. After suffering in the light, they will continue to suffer in the dark. Then comes Saturday, a sabbatical for you, and a blessing to pretty much everyone who has ever lived. Except of course for the Bakil family, because the day most associated with rest just has to be exhausting for them. The next rock on our list is how they get water. On Saturdays, they sail to a place called “Sitio Parang-Parang”, a cave with a natural spring that serves as their main water source. During that time I was watching the documentary, I thought about how they at least have a source of water. Then the camera shows a shot of dirt and moss. Maybe this metaphorical bigger rock weathered and turned into soot, contaminating their water source. If anything, weathering is a perfect analogy because that rock broke into different rocks. Not only is it dirty, it runs out because everyone gets their water from those caves. To add salt to the wound, the drinking water they have obtained is also what they use to bathe themselves. I was midway through the documentary and I still couldn’t believe that things just got progressively harder. Even rice, the one thing Filipinos can’t live without, is a privilege to them. That’s astonishing, in a tragic way. The points I have listed here are examples that show how linear and progressive the structure was, but what sealed the deal for me was the absence of interference. Do you want to see how we get to school? Sail with us, Kara. Do you want to see how dirty our water is? Watch us cleanse ourselves with dirt and drink it afterward. Kara showed us how difficult it truly is for the Bakil family, and did so with extreme professionalism and respect. That, in turn, has gained my respect, and I am sure that I can speak for most of the people who watched as well.

In conclusion, the story of “Paraisong Salat” rubs the thoughts out of our brains, and maybe even some tears. It has a perfect title, as it does wonderful job of showing the irony in all this, stoning us, the viewers, with the ugly experiences of a family living in a visually beautiful place. A deprived paradise. It is the standard for documentaries. It actually documents. Simple enough when it’s said, but so many get it wrong. There is no meddling. It is a pair of eyes, and it has 20/20 vision. It encapsulates difficulty by portraying it gradually but with an extremity and a sense of realism in every single stage. It is real, and we get to see it realistically. The most important aspect of it all, however, is the respect it has. The family speaks for themselves, and their words get to paint a portrait of the pain they experience every day for us to see. They are human, and this documentary treated them as such. I commend Kara for treating the Bakil family with dignity. They were not portrayed in a way that all they were good for were symbols of pity. It was just a story that needed to be told, and I think more people should listen.