by Anna Gamboa
MANILA – The star of the recently-concluded Danish Film Fest at Shangri-la Plaza mall featured a movie about a mail-order bride from the Philippines. Before you get indignant, please be assured that Rosita reflects different sensibilities, and isn’t into exploiting its stars that way—so if you want to get your rocks off, this isn’t the movie for you (and we’re sure you know where to look online).
Johannes is an angry young man running out of options in a small Danish town where you’re either a fisherman, a worker at the fish processing plant, or a hairdresser. Ulrik is his dad, a widower adrift in his mid to late fifties, who finally decides to do the practical thing: send for a woman, a total stranger from a different continent and culture—to be his bride. Rosita is the person who arrives on a tourist visa at their doorstep, ready with her scant Danish phrases, alert for cues to interpret in these awkward first days.
Nearly ossified in his ways, stubborn Ulrik insists that Rosita learn Danish by trial and error, his zero knowledge of English creating a language barrier that alienates the two would-be spouses—the distance may as well be planets instead of continents. Tentatively making friendly overtures to Johannes (the younger of Ulrik’s two sons, who has yet to move out) who is about her age, Rosita eventually broadens her knowledge of the local language, learns to ride a bicycle, finds a temp job that doesn’t require a work permit, and figures out how to run the house.
As the story progresses, each person reveals their inner workings: Rosita is driven to find a husband to find a better life for herself and her young son, whose existence isn’t made known to Ulrik until later in the film. She possesses a spark of a temper and displays it at will in front of Johannes, who is taken aback, having been used to a race of smiling, pleasant brown-skinned yes-women marrying older Danes for convenience.
For his part, Johannes is at a loss, being pressured by his girlfriend Maja (someone whom he treats shoddily) to find a place they could move in together; pressured by his dad and older brother to find steady employment; and gnawed from the inside out by the need to discover a life beyond his too-small town. It doesn’t help that his relationship with Ulrik is lukewarm at best, with some passive aggressiveness violently playing out when they scuffle for a football in their front yard.
Almost gray, pale, and cold as the fish processed at the plant he supervises, Ulrik actually worries for Johannes’ well-being; and still missing his wife, he’s unable to bring himself to make advances toward Rosita (after a failed attempt), he comically gets relief from the town whore (whose businesslike routine after the deed is done must be seen to be appreciated). Clumsily proposing to Rosita, with Johannes translating, he’s unaware that the two have developed an attraction to each other.
With her liquid eyes, full lips, and dimples, Mercedes Cabral quietly convinces audiences of her predicament: and her character’s determination to honor her agreement, while troubled by the stirrings of her heart, rivets audiences to the screen see how it all plays out. The fact that her character’s lovemaking scene is shrouded in the darkness of a bedroom displays the filmmaker’s sensitivities, making this clear that the focus is on the story, even if sex is some part of its fabric. In fact, here’s a spoiler: The only skin exposure Mercedes Cabral makes in this film features her burnished shoulders, because otherwise she’s being Rosita, buried under layers of winter clothing or a coverlet. She’s no wilting Asian woman, defiantly flashing the bird at a rude pubhouse patron while slow dancing with Ulrik, pointedly ignoring Johannes at the bus stop after she realizes her feelings for him have crossed into inappropriate territory, and all packed up and ready to leave after Ulrik discovers the existence of her son.
The supporting cast of Filipino actresses make this world a believable one, where destitute Filipinas travel abroad to find opportunity and an appreciative man to take care of. Not to be outdone, the Danish cast credibly creates a town peopled with characters as complex as your best friend or worst enemy—and sometimes you don’t even know whether to laugh or cry, or do both in certain situations. (Don’t worry, it’s an arthouse film, there are no wrong answers.)
It’s a film that’s less than two hours, but tells so much in that time. Screened with the help of the Danish Embassy, Rosita is a glimpse of a world beyond our impressions of Isak Dinesen, Hans Christian Andersen, Lars von Trier, LEGO, Danish cheese, and butter cookies—and gives the viewer other Danish talents to appreciate other than Mads Mikkelsen, Nikolaj Coster-Waldau, Connie Nielsen, Brigitte Nielsen, and Viggo Mortensen.
