A breath of fresh air
The Time That Remains feels like a breath of fresh air for Filipino cinema - a slow, haunting mix of folklore, gothic romance, and visual poetry. Instead of going for cheap scares or loud horror beats, the film leans into atmosphere and emotion. It takes the aswang myth and treats it with sincerity, giving it depth, history, and a sense of tragic humanity.At its core is the love between Lilia and Matias - messy, painful, and unbelievably tender. Their relationship feels less like a standard romance and more like two wounded souls choosing each other despite everything: time, faith, violence, and the ugliness of the world. The film never shies away from the brutality Lilia endures, and those scenes hurt because they’re meant to. They show how much she’s suffered, yet how fiercely she’s still capable of loving. Matias, with all his centuries and mysteries, meets her with devotion that borders on mythic. Their love isn’t about “forever” - it’s about the moments they save each other, even knowing those moments can’t last.
Visually, the movie is stunning. Every frame feels intentional: shadow-heavy, quiet, almost sacred. The sound design, the lighting, the stillness - it all creates a hypnotic rhythm that makes the story feel both intimate and otherworldly.
If anything, you end the movie wishing it had even more time to explore its themes - immortality, guilt, memory, the weight of love. But even as it is, The Time That Remains stands out as one of the most visually striking and emotionally resonant Filipino films in recent years. It proves that our folklore can be more than horror fodder - it can be the foundation for a love story that lingers long after the credits roll.
Was this review helpful to you?
