Waiting in the Shadows: The Hype Before Himas
Prior to Himas’ theatrical release, it quickly garnered quiet intrigue. Unlike other films, it was not accompanied by a large-scale promotional campaign. Instead, it arrived more subtly, featuring minimal marketing materials, a singular atmospheric trailer, and burgeoning discourse in online film communities. The title was enticing and, in a way, poetic. For those interested in offbeat Philippine and Southeast Asian cinema, it signaled the anticipation of a film that sought to address issues more profoundly than surface-level dramatizations. The focus would be on proximity, the nuances of guilt, and the type of human conflict that simmers and, in time, ferments.
Boldness was expected, a film that would traverse the outer boundaries of psychological and, perhaps, even ethical dimensions. The pre-release footage implied Himas would delve into the intimate complexities of marriage, longing, and loyalty under pressure. The relatively unknown cast worked in the production’s favor, as the absence of stellar distractions allowed the narrative greater space to unfold.
The absence of glamour prompted a different set of questions. Would this kind of film find its audience? Was it perhaps overly subtle, overly mature, for the casual streaming audience? Heightened anticipation invited speculation on the meaning of the title, “Himas” — it means “to touch” or “to caress” in a gentle manner — hinting at a film on human connection and the unspoken, often burdensome, weight touch can convey.
Heart of the Story
When the film finally started, it unfolded like a slow confession. Himas follows the story of Dana, a woman caught in a web of love and duty, and desire. Ed, her husband, is a former firefighter, blind now and chronically injured. Ed moves through life with a mix of pride and quiet despair, and much of it depending on Dana, willing or otherwise. Their marriage is no longer a warm partnership, but rather a fragile truce — a care and silence of daily rhythm. Ed’s blindness is not just physical, and Dana becomes burdened with the dangerous temptation of being seen and the strong feelings of curiosity and guilt.
The film takes its time in developing its emotional landscape. Close-ups on the characters’ stillness and the soft lighting create a cozy, intimate atmosphere. Scenes with unsupervised children and their caregivers foster a sense of foreboding. Confessional scenes linger on hesitation. There is emotional distance of the kind one finds in a bereavement. Dana has a dilemma that is all too universal: where does caring, or love, draw the line before it becomes a cage, suffocates, or kills?
In Dana’s flashbacks, we also see Ed’s confusion. There is the internalized rage of a man whose masculinity is threatened and pride is wounded. In Dana, the conflict is of the hermit paradigm: of bittersweet love and deep psycho-emotional rage. Ed, the younger man, is not simply a seducer. In his self-absorbed quest, he also serves as a psychological aid to make Dana see the cost of misplaced loyalty: lost and alienated the fulfillment of self.
In the best moments of the film, it’s as if we are watching two souls, unseen and unknown, are crossing the line of a taboo. There is no claim to understanding the taboo or the characters, only the suggestion of judgment. In the best moments, it’s as if we are watching two unseen and unknown souls crossing the line of a taboo. There is no claim to understanding the taboo or the characters, only the suggestion of judgment.
Felix Roco, who plays Ed, is no stranger to portraying psychologically layered and conflicted individuals. Although he has done both commercial and indie projects, he has consistently gravitated towards roles that require a more emotionally exposed performance. Roco plays an ex-firefighter, blind, and imprisoned by the role, Roco channels frustration with rare dignity, a performance that demands no pity. It highlights the quiet panic of a man losing his sight and identity, a performance that deeply reflects identity loss.
As Dana, Sahara Bernales gives one of the most nuanced performances of her career. Her face carries the fatigue of an exhausted woman, endlessly torn between the demands of duty and the yearning of need. In an interview, she described speaking to Dana’s loneliness, not as a moral failure, but as a human truth. Her performance is fearless, drawing on the intimate and the empathetic, and balancing sensuality with sorrow.
In supporting roles, Zsara Laxamana and MJ Abellera add depth to the narrative. They serve as emotional catalysts, not side characters, in reflection of how empathy and temptation are often attracted from places most are not aware of.
For everyone involved, Himas entails a creative risk. This isn’t the sort of project that people will think will bring guaranteed profits at the box office or gather easy acclaim. It challenges performers to peel off layers, and to reveal unvarnished emotional truth. And that unvarnished truth can be, at times, painfully apparent.
What Worked, Also What Didn’t
Himas is at its best when it has faith in its own pauses. The cinematography is effective at creating mood and atmosphere in the quiet; a half-lighted bedroom, a long desolate corridor, a hand hesitating before a touch. The act of each confession is captured in the stillness of every frame.
The emotional truth of the performances gives the film its anchor. In all the moral weight and conflict, Dana is the embodiment of a slumbering spirit, while Ed’s speech is a silence that is loaded and taut with meaning. The tragic, tender, and tragic chemistry is all there, precisely, and all at once. It is a haunting emotional constellation.
Himas is not without its imperfections, though. The film’s pacing has been described by some spectators as slow, and at times, even as suffocating. A scene can overstay its welcome, a line of dialogue can be left abandoned. It is a sort of deliberate minimalism, and it can be difficult.
Another notable critique of the film is the teasing of the younger man’s backstory. It’s suggested motivations of compassion, curiosity, or even something darker. The film, at times, feels as if it circling a mystery, rather than delving into it, and that can be very frustrating to its audience.
While the film’s sensuality does serve the narrative, some viewers thought it teetered the line between intimacy and discomfort. The camera’s gaze is sensitive, though perhaps not consistently so; there are moments that risk being perceived as voyeuristic rather than as an insightful artistic perspective.
Himas, like the remaining, did, without a doubt, one thing correctly and most importantly: it makes one contemplate the concepts of loneliness, infidelity, and the emotional undercurrent that people are unwilling to discuss. The film’s more powerful moments are those that are quiet. If anything, it is because quiet moments resonate the most.
Behind the Curtains– The Unspoken Stories
Himas is like many low budget indies. The cast and crew also experience a fair amount of turbulence during the shoot. There are limited resources in film production, but this does not negate the amount of time you allocate to shoot in a session. In this case, the crew had to clock in very long hours which meant slogging in small, enclosed spaces. The tension in some of the late night emotionally charged scenes was amplified by the spirit of minimalism the crew followed. The cast’s isolation mirrors the emotional frozen state that they had to capture and portray in real time during the shoot.
Discomfort surrounding a few explicit scenes was mentioned. It has been said that the director and the actors spent considerable time choreographing the scenes to prioritize consent and emotional safety. After test screenings, some scenes were sufficiently modified, which may explain some of the film’s discrete restraint.
There are challenges posed by budget limitations. The lighting employed had to use practical means, i.e., lamps and candles, and rely on daylight, which all the same, contributed to the film’s realism. The sound design was also minimalist and drew attention to the silence that existed between the dialogue.
There were complaints from some conservative reviewers about the infidelity and moral turpitude portrayed in Himas. For some, however, that was the honesty from which the film drew its strength, refusing to dilute the uncomfortable reality of human contradictions.
The Touch That Lingers
The impressions made by Himas are not fleeting. There is something profoundly human about it. It makes you muse over disturbing questions. How much love can be stretched until it breaks? What occurs when empathy becomes obligation? If the loved one stops seeing you, what are you?
For the actors, it meant boldly entering emotional depths that few mainstream projects allow. For the audience, it was something precious, a narrative that invited them to feel, not merely observe. For the region’s indie cinema, Himas is a reminder that the smallest films can encapsulate significant truths.
It is not a film to watch to find refuge. It is a film that speaks to you in a gentle tone. That recognition lingers long after the credits roll.
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