'Nowhere Near' stands as an extended examination of director Miko Revereza's life and personal history, surpassing the capacity of any passport or license to encapsulate the essence of his life
This is a spoiler-free review.
I can’t begin to talk about Nowhere Near without first introducing the director behind it. Miko Revereza is an experimental documentary filmmaker tackling themes of immigration, colonial alienation, and the state of statelessness, all of which are brought about by his 26-year-long experience as an undocumented immigrant in the United States.
The genesis of his artistic career unfolded with Super 8 millimeter shorts via a vintage Chinon camera. His approach to filmmaking revolved around resourcefulness, adeptly utilizing the materials and resources that are readily accessible; a “migrant mindset” according to him. Anything within his gaze became a canvas, so he naturally gravitated towards his Filipino heritage, both as a means to unearth his roots and garner answers about his condition.
His oeuvre can be likened to investigations, with Revereza himself acting as detective, constantly probing into questions about the seismic errors of the US immigration system or the persistence of unshakeable family curses. His first film, Droga!, interprets the Philippine-American dream as a hallucination. His feature-length debut, No Data Plan, doubles as a tense thriller as Revereza evades border patrol officers in his train journey from Los Angeles to New York.
In each of these films, Revereza engages with existential questions concerning his own status, occupying the ambiguous territory of neither being recognized as a fully-fledged American citizen nor escaping the gradual atrophy of his proficiency in Filipino as the years of separation from his homeland accrue. In his latest film, Nowhere Near, Revereza chronicles his last years in the US, as he confronts the momentous decision to journey back to the Philippines, knowing full well that he’ll now be exiled from the place that he grew up in.
Revereza champions the concept of “Stateless Cinema,” a notion that envisions cinema emancipated from the control of festivals, scholars, and institutional bureaucracies. This perspective stems from the profound link between identity and one’s capacity to assert agency. Revereza contends, through the lens of his camera, that his films serve as his documentation.
Nowhere Near stands as an extended examination of Revereza’s life and personal history, surpassing the capacity of any passport or license to encapsulate the essence of his life. Film as a medium resists categorization; it eludes the grasp of cold statistics or broken meritocracies. It is able to travel to festivals, create residencies, stimulate proactive forms of discussions, and give rise to fresh ideas.
This perspective offers a compelling departure from traditional thinking about cinema. It begs the question of why a documentary, which can comprehensively showcase the intricate details of life, truthfully represent one’s environment, and unveil hidden spaces beyond the purview of authorities and border officers, should not be regarded as, if not more, substantial evidence for granting legal citizenship status?
Revereza grapples with the label of being deemed an “alien,” and it is precisely in this state of powerlessness that his resistance, expressed through the art of editing, cinematography, and writing, acquires heightened potency. He crosses paths with what might seem like benign statues and symbols of American and Western exceptionalism, but he remains unaffected, no longer carrying the weight of hopeful optimism associated with these icons, at times even poking fun at their absurdity.
Water also emerges as a central motif in Nowhere Near, often explored through creative double exposures that intertwine individuals with aquatic imagery, all the while alluding to the themes of flooding and rain. There’s profound significance in this theme, possibly emblematic of the divide between the ocean and land, or the memories of relentless Philippine rain clashing with the tropical climate of Los Angeles.
Alternatively, it could evoke the feeling of hallucinatory dreams, as seen in Droga! and his previous shorts. It reads that the key to discovering a sense of home may lie in the act of dreaming, of composing two disjunct images and making sense of their incongruities – though it’s ironic that you can only feel at home when you dream.
“I stopped thinking about home as related to a national homeland, while finding ways to stay connected across borders through the things that matter to me most, like film,” Revereza said in an interview with Rappler. “Now I am thinking that maybe it’s best not to give so much power to the word home.”
The film also delves into the incorporation of loaned words and culture from the Spanish colonial period, highlighting how subservience and deeply rooted class dynamics continue to wield a strong influence in contemporary Filipino society. Revereza’s lola speaks of her lineage as gobernadorcillo, a position of authority that commanded respect from the town. However, upon her return, she finds that this reverence has faded.
There’s an undercurrent suggesting that everyone has moved on, or at least, is striving to do so. The town of Binmaley, Pangasinan has transformed, with little regard for old colonial titles. Yet, we can still discern the lingering traces of these titles through a simple act, such as saying “sorry” for not bringing presents, or the defensiveness that comes with refusing to say “sorry.”
Revereza approaches the film as though it were a meticulously curated photo book, artfully scrolling through pivotal moments with unfiltered thoughts. He draws parallels between his own narrative and Chihiro’s odyssey in Spirited Away, connecting the otherworldly tale to the whirlwind experience of losing his sense of mobility in America. Unexpectedly, the film also features moments of lightheartedness. Revereza seizes every opportunity to infuse candidness to the situations he encounters, unabashedly celebrating these imperfections as meaningful indicators of his own agency.
Nowhere Near envelops its audience in poetic and dreamlike imagery, but underneath it all is an expression of a new way of thinking about things. A new way to think about being a citizen of a state. A new way to think about cultural interactions and their colonial undertones. A new way to think about geographical spaces and the changes that they undergo. Revereza offers a perspective, and he doesn’t need to prove that perspective to a state or a government. He proves it through the lens of truth, through the borderless quality of film. – Rappler.com
‘Nowhere Near’ will have its US premiere at the New York Film Festival on September 30 and October 1. More details are on the NYFF page.