The result: "has an illusory aspect, part memory, part script, the split state of a spectator awkwardly providing her own unpaid translation in a movie in which she in fact exists". And the metafictional complexity is supplemented by excursions on the cultural importance of Elvis Presley and Mohammed Ali and vignettes of the Philippines present and past.
Insurrecto perhaps tries to do too much — and there must be many links and connections in it that I missed. But the core stories progress smoothly and straightforwardly enough that it is possible to relax and enjoy the flow without struggling or getting confused.
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