Maris Racal is brilliant as Sunshine in Antoinette Jadaone’s powerful and moving tale of an ambitious young woman out to fight for her dreams no matter what.
In the much-anticipated Sunshine, Racal masterfully plays 19-year-old Sunshine, a talented gymnast who discovers she’s pregnant a few months before the Olympic qualifiers. Her world crashes down the moment she realizes she’s with child.
She doesn’t want the kid. But she doesn’t know what to do.
She knew right away that her coach must never learn of it for fear of getting kicked out of the team. So she does what any Gen Z would do: search online for solutions. And thus begins her tumultuous and risky journey towards the possibility of abortion.
Problem is, the Philippines, as a highly conservative country, can be unforgiving towards women who get an abortion. The mere thought of ending a child’s life is enough to make any woman feel like a monster—and then be terrified of the repercussions mostly from a very judgmental society.
Which is probably why Sunshine kept it to herself.
It is especially in moments when Sunshine struggled internally that Racal’s acting skills shine brightly. She radiates with intense emotions without the theatrics—a testament to her depth as an actor. In scenes where there isn’t any dialogue, her eyes take on the task.
She found the right balance between the innocence of a troubled teenager and the determination of an adult trying to make decisions for herself. Racal’s earnestness gave conviction to the role.
And much of that, I presume, can be attributed to how Jadaone wrote Sunshine’s role. The award-winning writer-director has masterfully woven the young woman’s turmoil with the external realities affecting her plight.
A talented girl inches away from her dreams who receives a career-ending discovery is already a story in itself. But then there’s also the story of a conservative religious society that not only impedes a woman’s right to live the kind of life she wants but also endangers her safety by not having proper healthcare options.
That’s quite heavy.
Jadaone effectively tells Sunshine’s story along with those she encounters along the way without dimming one or the other. On top of that, she’s painted a clear image of the harsh realities of life (and the pressing issues that desperately need attention from those in power) without passing judgment on any of the people we see. She simply presented their dreams, struggles, living conditions, and choices.
Her choice of setting is also a character itself. Manila is vibrant, full of life and vitality. But it’s also an oppressing force for our characters. It’s this kind of contrast that adds another layer to the movie—you can see it in various places in the movie. From the nooks within Quiapo church where stalls feature religious artifacts, potions, and abortion pills to a religious doctor who looks down on those who don’t share her values.
I loved how the noise and craziness that happen on the streets of Manila reflect Sunshine’s internal struggles. In one integral scene where she has made up her mind, we see her image from outside the window while the train thunders past in the background amid a cacophony of pedestrians, vendors, and vehicles below—both echoing her current state and drowning out her distraught thoughts.
While Sunshine’s story is set specifically in one area, it’s clear as day: her struggles are universal in scope. That means the effects (and solutions) are (should be) wide-reaching too.
Ultimately, I have to applaud the filmmakers’ efforts to bring stories like Sunshine’s to a wider audience. Slashing movie ticket prices is one risky and commendable move to get more people to head out to the cinemas. Maybe bigger productions and cinemas can consider doing the same.
Sunshine is now playing exclusively at SM Cinemas.
