Since I had nothing else to do after my Wink appointment, I had already decided a few days earlier that I would go to the cinema. I read that the Metro Manila Film Festival had extended the showing of some selected films until the 14th of January, and I didn’t want to miss this last chance to catch at least one entry from the lineup.

Out of all the entries, I chose to watch Green Bones.

A few days ago, I came across some Instagram reels showing both lead actors taking home major acting awards. On top of that, the film itself won the most-coveted award: Best Picture. Honestly, I hadn’t even heard of Green Bones until I saw those reels—and if it weren’t for the awards they received, I probably wouldn’t have been interested in watching it in the cinema. I’m not really familiar with GMA Films. I’ve kind of been brainwashed by the media into thinking their movies aren’t that great. So if you asked me to name one, I couldn’t. I grew up watching films under Star Cinema. I do know all the actors, especially the leads, from their drama roles, but I’ve never really seen them as the kind of performers who could completely pull you in with their acting.

I was initially planning to watch The Uninvited because of the hype I saw on Twitter. The trailer boasted a star-studded cast: Vilma Santos, Aga Muhlach, and Nadine Lustre. And knowing these actors, they usually pick quality films. But I lost interest when I found out that it didn’t even make it to the Top 4 Best Picture awardees—it only won Best Float, which has nothing to do with the actual film.

My next choice was The Kingdom, mainly because I was intrigued by the unexpected pairing of Piolo Pascual and Vic Sotto. I was impressed that Vic Sotto was making a comeback to the MMFF, this time stepping away from his usual fantasy-comedy niche. 

But when I made the conscious effort to check out some Reddit reviews about Green Bones, I was convinced. The majority said it deserved all the awards it won—the actors were a revelation, the film was absolutely worth watching, and GMA Films is finally starting to make a name for itself. People said it was the kind of film that could finally rival Star Cinema and that it bravely tackled the deeply messed-up social justice system in the country. That was it for me—I knew this would be my pick.

Green Bones is the first film I watched in the cinema this year—and it was worth it.

Coming into it, I let go of all my expectations. I pushed aside all the reviews I had read on Reddit. I wanted to come in with a clean slate so I could experience it as it was, without anyone else’s influence. I let my feelings lead the way, to put it simply.

All throughout the film, one line stuck with me—even from the onset of the story:

"I’ll come back to you."

A line I believe became the central theme of the film. It anchored the lives of the characters, as we slowly realized that life isn’t just black and white.

"I’ll come back to you."

Words that many thought were a threat—but as the story unraveled, we saw it was actually a pledge. And in the end, they became someone’s final words.

I'll Come Back to You: The Threat

The movie opened bleakly, with heavy rain pouring down, dimming the sleeping narrows of Manila’s pavements. In the distance, the blaring siren of a police car echoed through the deep night, as the screen was soon graced by the escaping feet of a man they called Crazy Dom. He stood on a bridge, facing the void ahead, earnestly communicating through hand signs. When translated into words, they revealed a brief yet haunting phrase: Babalikan ko kayo!—I’ll come back to you. A phrase the police immediately interpreted as a threat—for catching him and putting him behind bars.

No one knew exactly when he would come back. That’s why the police remained wary of him, always on guard, thinking Crazy Dom was just waiting for the right moment to strike back.

Then the film shifted to the present, told through the voice of a young and passionate prison officer, Xavier Gonzaga, as he set foot in the penal colony of San Fabian—an open-air facility housing inmates charged with unimaginable crimes. It was there that Crazy Dom had been exiled, and where the two would finally meet.

The flashback prologue, at least for me, was a strong hook. From the very start, I was drawn in. Like Xavier, I found myself asking: What happened to Crazy Dom that he turned mute? Was he really threatening the police? Did he really murder his sister?

Did he really murder his sister?—this question probably struck Xavier the hardest. He, too, had a sister who was murdered. That loss became his driving force to become a prison officer, and it led him to San Fabian, especially upon learning of the impending release of Crazy Dom—the man who, according to records, had murdered his own sister.

The first part of the film was told through Xavier’s narration, so the story was framed through his perspective. And that perspective was heavily shaped by the crime reports, by rumors he'd grown up hearing, and by his own grief and trauma. Having lost a sister he loved deeply, he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Dom had the supposed audacity to take the life of his own.

I understood why Xavier became so emotional whenever Dom was around—but at times, it felt like he was too intense, to the point that he lost sight of his duty as a prison officer. Throughout this part of the film, his eyes were locked on Dom, watching his every move, always on edge, just waiting for a slip-up. He was desperate to find any evidence—anything powerful enough to revoke the release Dom had long been awaiting. A release that Xavier was determined to block, convinced Dom didn’t deserve it.

But everything soon began to change when he met Betty.

Nothing beats the feeling of starting a movie randomly on a day you least expected to watch, and yet to finish it with a bursting and uncontrollable happy buzz.

Although it wasn’t exactly random, I had been anticipating this movie after coincidentally finding it on the app while browsing for a new set of movies to add to my watchlist. From the trailer, I immediately downloaded an offline copy of it, only to find out upon watching that it hadn’t been released yet—it was only the trailer that I had saved to my library.

I didn’t know exactly how long I had waited for it to be available, but when I checked again last Sunday, the full movie was already out.

Then came Monday. The whole day seemed undecided on whether it would rain or shine, so both happened almost alternately throughout the day. I had just finished my daily practice on Duolingo for my Japanese language lessons, and I wasn’t particularly in the mood to take my usual after-work nap.

“Lost in Starlight!,” I suddenly exclaimed under my breath.

It was actually my first time watching an animated Korean film—if Solo Leveling doesn’t count. I had absolutely no expectations going into it. All I knew was that the voice actors were Kim Tae-Ri and Hong Kyung. That was enough to spark my curiosity. I remembered skimming the synopsis when I watched the trailer, but by the time I sat down to watch it, I had completely forgotten what it was about. Looking back, I think that worked in my favor. There’s a unique kind of joy in discovering something with a blank slate, without any idea of what you’re about to experience. It reminded me of the first time I watched Before Sunrise. I had stumbled upon it years ago while Googling “the greatest films of all time to watch before you die.” It was on one of those lists. I didn’t know anything about it, didn’t even bother reading the plot summary. I just trusted my instincts and pressed play.

Two hours later, I was still in front of the screen—completely moved. I had watched it in low quality on Facebook, but I didn’t care. I was heartbroken by how the story ended, not because it was tragic, but because it was so real. And yet, underneath all that, I felt euphoric. It was the first time I had ever truly loved a movie.

I felt like I had fallen in love—either right at that moment, or during the entire time I was watching it. I couldn’t even place the happiness I felt. It was something I had discovered on my own, without any recommendations or hype, and that made it even more special. I savored every scene, every piece of dialogue. I was stunned that a film—so simple, so stripped-down—could affect me so deeply. No dramatic twists, no flashy visuals. Just two people talking, a story that flowed naturally, moving steadily forward. And I loved every second of it.

And I felt this too after watching Lost in Starlight. I might sound hyperbolic—and I know I am—right now, riding the peak of that post-movie high. This film might not even be that good for others, but I'm speaking from the moment, and I want to capture that here in this blog. I want to document how great this film feels to me, despite the fact there are loads of animated romance films out there I could find and watch.

I’m telling you, it’s been ages since I last felt that “kilig” feeling—that tingling, sensational buzz you get from a romantic film. The last movie that really did that for me was Before Sunrise. After that? I honestly can’t remember if anything else ever hit the same way. And now here I am, gushing over the hopeless romantic vibe of this animated film.

Let me start with the animation. It reminds me of those cyberpunk-style images I see on Pinterest whenever I’m hunting for a new desktop wallpaper. It’s funky, 4K-ish, and has a touch of Spiderverse visuals—but with a Japanese anime twist. It’s not clumsy, where a character looks off when viewed from another angle. It’s polished, kinda dreamy, and clearly futuristic, which makes sense since it’s a romantic sci-fi film. The colors are bursting like a comic book, again giving me Spiderverse vibes. This film is legit high quality—and honestly, every shot looks like it’s made to be screenshot.

The story is definitely not new. When we talk about sci-fi, there are myriads of films—mostly Western—that come to mind. The first one I thought of was Interstellar. It was actually in the back of my mind while I was watching this. So the challenge, or at least what I had in mind early on, was: how could Lost in Starlight be different? What new thing could it offer that would make it stand out and have its own identity? Or would it just be another sci-fi-ish film trying to give yet another perspective on what life might be like in the future and the never-ending expedition into outer space?

To be honest, I actually liked how the film stayed grounded and didn’t get too ambitious in that part. Right from the start, it was clear they weren’t aiming for a full-on sci-fi plot with heavy jargon, random equations, or Einstein name-drops. It wasn’t like that at all. I’d say it’s more of a romantic film than a sci-fi one. The sci-fi elements are just in the background. So if you're expecting something like Interstellar but animated, this isn’t it. But if you’re in the mood to feel butterflies in your stomach, then this one’s for you.

I was seriously blushing while watching them—from start to end.

It didn’t even feel like they were animated. I saw them as real people. The gestures, the expressions, the little movements—it all felt real.

One scene that made me swoon was that night when they had to grab another Coke. They stopped somewhere, rested a bit, and just chitchatted. Nan-young asked Jay about his lifelong passion for music, and Jay said he was waiting for it to come back to him. Nan-young, listening intently, started moving her fingers like tiny footsteps—step by step, inching closer to his elbow resting on the railing. Then she said, “It’s coming back now to you.” Their tipsy faces, especially Jay’s—he was already blushing from her gestures—blushed even more. It was so subtle but it hit me hard.

Obviously, music plays a big role in this movie, especially since Jay is a musician. I think that one scene where Nan-young played a demo song she accidentally found on Clouds—without knowing it was Jay’s—really marked the moment he realized he was doomed for her. Of all the people in the world, the chances were so slim, and yet the girl he happened to bump into while out on a delivery turned out to be the same person who had downloaded his song just minutes before he deleted it. And it wasn’t just any song—it was Nan-young’s favorite. Small world, right?

I haven’t listened to the full playlist yet. It’s not available on Spotify or even YouTube. Strangely, though, it is on Instagram. I found “Bon Voyage” when I tried adding music to a picture I posted. 

I couldn’t stop talking about how this movie made me feel. Right after watching it, I opened my Letterboxd app, gave it a glimmering 5 stars, and added it to my liked movies without a second thought.

One thing I allow myself when rating a movie is to go with how it made me feel. I don’t try to be too strict or overly objective. I don’t want to judge a film only by its structure, deeper themes, or the technical standards that supposedly make a film “great.” If it moves me, that’s enough.

It honestly makes me feel giddy whenever I find a movie that hits just right. It lifts my mood, makes my day, and even inspires me to write things like this.

Lost in Starlight is a well-made film—and truly impressive for South Korea’s first animated feature. Animation isn’t something the Korean industry is widely known for (yet), but I can see the ambition and heart behind this project. It’s the kind of movie you’ll want to share with your friends—which I already did.

Imagine seeing an old friend for the first time in years—only to find out she’s dying. Now, what would you do if she asked you to stay in the room next to her until she decided to take her own life?

That haunting premise lies at the heart of The Room Next Door, a film that faintly sits in my memory from the buzz surrounding last year’s Oscars. As I was looking for yet another conversational film, I stumbled upon a list on Letterboxd where this film was included. The moment I felt I had settled in, with the familiar whirring of my two e-fans in the room and seeing the gentle red light of my desk lamp reflected against the out-of-place CLN paper bag in the corner, I decided to finally watch the movie.

From the get-go, the only things I knew about the movie were its intriguing title and its blessedly short runtime (just under two hours) which made me happy, thinking I could finish it in one sitting. (I ended up finishing it in two, but still.) The story opens with Ingrid at a book signing, and little did she know that in just a few minutes, her life would begin to unfold. Through a mutual friend, she finds out that an old acquaintance, Martha, has been diagnosed with cervical cancer and has only weeks—or maybe months—left to live. The next scene shows Ingrid greeting Martha rather casually, despite years of not seeing each other. 

Ingrid and Martha

On a positive note, I felt more connected to them when they were just talking. They shared a lot of thoughts about life and especially death, and it felt like I was there, kind of eavesdropping on their conversation. There were some good and memorable lines from both of them that I even took screenshots of. The only problem was how they delivered those lines. Why did they feel so emotionless? They were talking about tragedies and death, but they sounded like they were just practicing their script with the camera on. It came off kind of flat and boring to me. I could hear a little change in their voices, but I couldn’t really see even the smallest twitch on their faces.

And again, the film kept telling instead of showing things to the viewers. Because of that, I couldn’t help but feel kind of disconnected at times while watching.

In the end, I couldn’t help but keep questioning their friendship, especially Ingrid’s. Sure, she took care of Martha when she agreed to stay with her next door. But it made me wonder—was she really doing it out of friendship, or was she more interested in what she could gain from it? Like, maybe using Martha’s situation as inspiration for her next book. It felt a bit unclear, and that made their relationship feel kind of complicated to me.

Red, Green, and Yellow: The Colors of Life and Death

All throughout the film, I kept noticing the colors red and green showing up a lot—in the background, on walls, and in different objects. What stood out the most was how these colors were tied to the two women themselves, especially in the clothes they wore. It felt like those colors were kind of representing something deeper and definitely has some interpretative significance.

In a narrative or cinematic setting, green is often used to symbolize life and renewal, while red is more about death and loss. In this movie, the main themes are death, mortality, and acceptance.

They even mentioned Virginia Woolf, who is known for her suicidal writings, and James Joyce’s 1914 short story The Dead, which was referenced a few times—especially its closing lines:    

“The snow is falling, falling faintly through the universe, and faintly falling on all the living and the dead.” 

In the first part, the color green was more used to Martha and color red to Ingrid (see the first two pictures below). This was during the time when Martha was still being taken care of in the hospital—doing some tests and therapy, basically experimenting on herself, as she put it.

Later on, there’s a scene where Ingrid wears both red and green. This happens when they’ve moved into the rented place but go back to Martha’s flat because she forgot her "medicine." This moment felt like the point when they had stepped into each other’s colors.

In the later parts of the film, the color roles seem to reverse. Martha often wears red while Ingrid wears green. To me, Martha wearing red now represents her acceptance of death. Ingrid in green shows that she still has hope—maybe even hope that Martha will choose to keep living.

There’s also the red door to Martha’s room. She left it open but told Ingrid that if she ever found it closed, that would mean Martha had finally died. To me, that red door doesn’t just represent a boundary between them—it feels like it represents the boundary between life and death.

Before the Red Door Closes

Now that I'm almost done with my analysis, I realize I actually enjoyed the process of reviewing the film more than watching the film itself. The color associations were perfect and gave me space to brainstorm and pay closer attention to what I saw in each shot.

The film could have been better if the scenes were stitched together with smoother transitions. I felt like the execution wasn’t quite effective, and the story came off as a bit disjointed. Honestly, I had a hard time connecting with the film—especially sympathizing with Martha, even though that may not have been the intention. As for Ingrid, the actress’s performance didn’t feel convincing enough for me to cry with her when her friend died.

The late revelation about Martha’s daughter didn’t help either. Although I did notice a few cinematic parallels that were clearly inserted to prepare for the story’s conclusion, they didn’t feel strong enough to make the ending hit emotionally.

To close this off, I would like to quote one of the many on-point reviews I found on Letterboxd: "I'm going to text a few friends and explain to them the premise of this movie and then ask them, would you ever do that for me? Just to see who the real homies are."

The deliberate, laborious effort to stop myself from doom-scrolling on my phone allowed me to spend my early Saturday afternoon watching Woman of the Hour.

Initially, I had been searching for another horror movie, but none of the recent releases seemed appealing enough to satisfy my then-picky watching appetite. Running out of options, I decided to check Woman of the Hour on Letterboxd, hoping some spot-on reviews might convince me to give it a shot.

And they did. (I could practically hear their evil laughter.)

I vaguely remembered seeing something about this film on Twitter—it was based on real-life events, and the man at the center of the story was indeed a psychotic serial killer. That was all I knew going in, apart from the persuasive nudges I got from Letterboxd. (For the record, it didn’t have a stellar rating, but hey, 3-something stars is an achievement in its own right.)

The movie opened with a scene where a woman, looking slightly awkward as she struck some hesitant poses, seemed unsure of where exactly to direct her gaze. Offscreen, a man spoke to her from behind his camera lens. They were alone in an open field. At first glance, if you had no prior knowledge of the plot, you might have thought the setting was perfect for a romantic introduction between the characters. The field was vast—so expansive that from a distance, they would have looked like dots. The wind blew gently, and the sun felt almost within reach, its warmth bronzing the skin. In short, it was a picturesque spot, seemingly ideal for a romantic date.

Perhaps the woman thought so too.

However, this idyllic setup quickly unraveled. What initially seemed like a romantic encounter turned into something far more sinister. Being alone with a stranger in such a remote location turned out to be the opposite of romantic—it became a predator’s opportunity. After some seemingly sweet talk between shots, the tension shifted. The man suddenly grabbed her neck with the force of someone gripping a bottle. Startled, she pulled away, slapping his hands every time he attempted to tighten his grip. Despite her resistance, she lost her balance under his strength and fell to the ground. Seizing the moment, the man carried out the very plan he had from the beginning. What happened to her became the recurring fate of other victims throughout the movie—except for one: a young aspiring actress who narrowly escaped becoming his next target.

Sheryl wasn’t particularly happy with how her audition had gone. Her mood didn’t improve when she ran into her "acting coach" in the hallway outside her apartment unit. She greeted him briefly, hinting that she wasn’t in the mood for a long conversation. However, the message clearly didn’t register with him. Oblivious as he was to her cues, he matched her pace and attempted to strike up a conversation anyway. By the time Sheryl made it inside her apartment, her phone rang. Distracted by the call, it was too late for her to properly dismiss him, and he managed to roam around in her space. The call brought unexpected news—she had been invited to be one of the contestants on a televised dating game. While it wasn’t the acting break she had hoped for, her friend assured her that this could be her chance to finally be "seen." Reluctantly, she agreed, not realizing that this opportunity would lead her to becoming a target instead of a star.

He erupted after a prolonged silence, during which neither of them seemed willing to break the tension. In the back of my mind, I thought: What the hell? He was the one who made her uncomfortable, so why was he acting offended and asking her to leave? The rule was simple—she didn’t want to. Despite that, it was Sheryl who felt obligated to salvage the situation and save his face. He had twisted things to make her feel as though she was at fault for being uncomfortable with his advances—advances she didn’t welcome because she simply didn’t want to. Feeling the weight of the situation, Sheryl reluctantly agreed to go for another round of drinks. The scene then cut to another moment, and we found her back in her room. As she got up, we caught a glimpse of someone sleeping next to her—it was her acting coach.

Throughout the film, the story jumped between Sheryl and Rodney. For Sheryl, we saw glimpses of her preparation for her upcoming debut on a live dating show. Meanwhile, Rodney was on his quest, capturing women through his camera—taking pictures and, ultimately, taking their lives. Their separate paths finally collided when they both appeared on the dating show, marking the moment their lives became fatally intertwined.

The dating game went on as scripted. As instructed by the male host, Sheryl felt like she had no choice but to play the fool and smile all the way through. She read the questionnaires like a puppet, reciting them word for word, sticking strictly to the material as if she was only there to highlight the wits of the candidates. As the game rolled on, we met the first guy, who looked out of place and nauseous; the next one, who was cocky and full of himself; and finally, Rodney. Among the candidates, he seemed to have the best handle on himself, charming the audience with his way with words, earning collective "oohs" and a raised eyebrow from Sheryl.

During the taping, other things were happening in the background. Across the stage, the audience pit was filled with people eagerly watching Sheryl search for a match through a set of boring, pre-prepared questions. However, there was one lone figure who did not appear to be enjoying the show.

Laura had come to the televised dating game with her boyfriend and a group of friends. Expecting a typical show, she never imagined she would find herself quivering with fear at the very sight of one of the contestants. But she was sure—Rodney was the same man who had murdered her best friend, Alison. And yet, here he was, walking free, even trying his luck in a televised dating game. How was a serial killer roaming around so freely?

Unable to bear the sight of him, she walked out of the studio, her boyfriend chasing after her. But instead of offering support, he dismissed her fears, insisting that she must be mistaken about the third guy.

When a woman gathers the courage to confide in you about her fear, you ought to believe her. Dismissing her is the same as dismissing all the women who have been brutally killed by men like him. Furious and speechless, Laura dismissed her boyfriend in turn, yelling at him to get out of her car. Despite her terror, she mustered the remaining courage she had and went to report Rodney. However, the officer she spoke to wasted her time, making her wait for the show's producer, only for her to discover that the name given to her belonged to the janitor.

Meanwhile, during the second commercial break, Sheryl had a brief chat with the makeup artist. A little push from her was all Sheryl needed to finally decide—it was her time to shine. She took control of the dating show, leaving the male host on the periphery. If she was meant to be looking for a match, she refused to be just a tool to stroke the contestants' egos. She would not simply stand there and read the questions like a robot. She had come on the show just like the male contestants—for screen time. And she deserved the same spotlight.

If doing the opposite of what the male host expected would make him mad, then so be it. After all, it was a one-time opportunity, and by next week, she wouldn't be there. So she had to make the most of it—by being herself. To be seen meant being seen for who she truly was. The audience erupted in laughter as she took over the show. With her witty questions and side comments, the show became livelier, and for the first time, she felt alive—not just a girl sitting on the other side of the stage, reciting lines.

Let's be real—a man who could speak his mind with a balance of conviction and sincerity was surely a decent choice among the three contestants. And that man was Rodney.

As I checked my watch, I was surprised to see how much time had passed. I was already more than halfway through my wait, which coincided with the end of the dating show. On her way out, Sheryl was approached by Rodney, who had been leaning against the wall, obviously waiting for her. She was taken aback when he invited her to dinner, but she shyly accepted, not wanting to seem rude to someone she had just matched with on television.

At first, everything seemed to be going well—just as it had with her acting coach. That was until Rodney made a remark about "soul" in the middle of their conversation about theatre. The word felt out of place, making her uneasy. When she snorted in response, Rodney did not take it well.

That was when the tension shifted.

Like her acting coach, Rodney's energy suddenly changed. He stopped trying to impress her with his lies—lies Sheryl had already spotted. Unlike before, this time, she turned down his invitation for another drink. Thankfully, the waitress understood her simple shake of the head—a silent signal from one woman to another. It was clear that Rodney was trying to get her drunk. Her suspicions were confirmed when she recalled what the second contestant had whispered to her earlier: "He's an asshole."

What Sheryl experienced is not just an isolated event—it is a universal experience for women.

Women want to stay out late but have to go home early because of men. They cannot walk comfortably at night, afraid that the man behind them might have bad intentions. They cannot wear what they want, limiting their self-expression in fashion because some men take it as an invitation for perversion. And when women refuse men or turn them down, those men’s egos shatter, making them play the victim, guilt-trip women, or resort to something worse—just like what Rodney was planning to do to Sheryl that night.

He wanted to check if she had given him her real number, but when he realized it was fake, he became furious. Even after they parted ways, he followed her—step by step. As Sheryl tried to collect herself, keeping everything under control, she cursed under her breath, pushing down her panic as she hurried to her car. Just as she reached it and inserted her key, he caught up to her. Fortunately, a group of guys emerged from a nearby garage, scaring Rodney away.

That was the end of her story, but another one was still unfolding—Amy’s.

Despite the bizarre nature of some scenes in movies, I managed to grasp Amy’s situation as it unraveled. She had gone with Alcala to a deserted location for a promised photoshoot. While she tilted her head toward the sky, her back turned to him, Rodney lunged at her, sending them both tumbling from a high ground.

When she woke up, she was covered in bruises. Her hands were tied, and her pants were pulled down to her feet. Next to her was Rodney—crying like a baby. She was still alive, and she needed to find a way out. Instead of panicking, she played into the shame and guilt, deceiving him into untying her by pretending to trust him.

As they drove, they stopped at a traffic light. Unlike Sheryl’s silent signal to the waitress, which had been understood instantly, Amy’s desperate, pleading eyes—surrounded by fresh bruises—were ignored by a driver in the intersection. He drove past them. She felt helpless while Rodney breathed heavily, grinning in triumph.

Fortunately, they stopped again when Rodney needed to relieve himself. This gave Amy the chance to escape and report him to the police. Meanwhile, Laura, now accompanied by her boyfriend, attempted to refile her complaint against Rodney. But once again, the officer dismissed her, pushing her further into hopelessness.

Every day, women face mistreatment and violence—at work, on their way home, even in their own homes. Every day, we have to think carefully about what we wear, be cautious about how we speak, and worry that our words might be taken the wrong way. What happened to Sheryl, Amy, Laura, and Alison are just a few among countless cases that are dismissed, trashed, buried, and forgotten due to helplessness. These crimes happened in the 1970s, and yet, women still endure the same dangers today. We still have the same broken system that fails to protect young girls, pregnant women, the elderly, and working women.

This film is nothing new. There have been countless movies depicting the realities of women’s lives, yet society continues to treat them as mere entertainment instead of calls to action.

So, I’ll ask again...

What are girls for?