Multwoh Review: Layered Queer Storytelling

Multwoh: Patay na Patay Sa’yo, Rodina Singh’s Puregold CinePanalo 2026 entry starring Sassa Gurl and Joao Constancia, is a masterclass in storytelling. Not because it makes its story unnecessarily complicated, but because details, jokes, emotions, visual clues, and plot devices keep finding their place until the film feels far more intricate than its almost simple premise first suggests.

Its depth reveals itself gradually. The film never buries straightforward emotions under unnecessary symbolism just to prove it has something important to say, nor does it constantly point toward its own cleverness. Singh gives the material enough confidence to let meaning accumulate naturally.

By the time you begin seeing how carefully everything has been arranged, Multwoh has already done most of the work without making the construction feel mechanical.

Depth without showing off

The storytelling knows how to introduce something casually and trust it to matter when it needs to. A joke can be funny while quietly doing narrative work. A detail within the frame can become information. Even plot devices that initially seem almost too convenient can reveal a more deliberate purpose as the story develops.

There are some blink-and-you’ll-miss-it touches, but close attention never becomes homework. Catching them adds another layer, while missing one does not leave you outside the story.

The pacing deserves a lot of credit for making this work. Multwoh knows when a scene needs to slow down and sit with a moment, then finds its momentum again without suddenly feeling hurried. The editing and transitions are equally natural, allowing scenes and ideas to flow without exposing all the machinery holding them together.

With this many tones, characters, ideas, and narrative pieces in play, the film could easily have felt overcrowded. It rarely does.

Baguio gives the camera something to say

The visual storytelling is just as considered. Some camera angles are unconventional, but they never feel unusual simply for the sake of showing off. They redirect your attention toward a face, an object, or a particular part of the frame and make you look at something differently.

Baguio becomes part of that visual language instead of functioning as picturesque scenery. I know the city well, which made it even more impressive that Multwoh still found fresh ways of looking at familiar places. Streets, architecture, weather, interiors, and small visual clues are framed in ways that can quietly help move the story forward, making familiar Baguio feel recognizable while still inviting you to look at it again.

The production design shows similar restraint. There is enough detail to establish the world and its supernatural side without making every room, prop, or effect beg to be noticed. Everything settles into the movie naturally.

Its supernatural treatment works for much the same reason. The language feels familiar from the Filipino horror many of us grew up with, which makes it easy to settle into, but Multwoh gives that familiarity enough style to make it its own. The supernatural never becomes so visually aggressive that the treatment starts competing with the story.

Queer celebration without cleaning up queer truth

Multwoh is joyfully queer, and not only because of its central romance. Its world is populated by familiar LGBTQ+ performers across supporting parts, smaller appearances, and cameos. John Lapus, Iyah Mina, Phi Palmos, Pipay, Gaia Poly, KaladKaren, Inah Evans, and other recognizable personalities contribute to a sense of community around the leads rather than appearing as names dropped in merely for recognition.

Even the title carries that sensibility. Multwoh is undeniably gay in the best possible way, while Patay na Patay Sa’yo gains more meaning as the film progresses. A familiar expression about being completely in love starts carrying more weight without the movie having to stop and congratulate itself for the wordplay.

Rodina Singh’s perspective as a trans filmmaker belongs naturally within this world. Her advocacy for trans people having agency over their own stories does not arrive as a separate lesson on representation. It is already present in a film comfortable enough to let queer and trans lives contain humor, attraction, fear, affection, pain, friendship, and hope at the same time.

The celebration never requires queer life to be cleaned up into something uncomplicated first. Its central relationship also offers a pairing that Filipino queer cinema does not often place at the center of a romance, yet Multwoh never treats the relationship as a novelty requiring explanation or justification. These two people are simply allowed to matter to one another, and the audience is trusted to meet them there.

Sassa Gurl and Joao Constancia give exactly what the roles need

Sassa Gurl and Joao Constancia understand how much their roles require from them and, just as importantly, when less is enough.

Sassa has the kind of presence that could easily overwhelm a movie, but she knows when to pull back. Joao works from a similarly controlled place. There is just the right amount of give between them, especially when Multwoh moves through comedy, romance, and heavier emotions. Their chemistry benefits from that restraint because neither performer seems interested in forcing a scene to feel bigger before the material has earned it.

Pipay and Gaia Poly deserve credit too. As part of Sassa’s barkada, they feel like actual friends rather than supporting characters assigned to give the lead someone to talk to. Their comfort and familiarity register naturally, which helps the world around the central relationship feel lived in.

The comedy is remarkably consistent. A joke occasionally lands softer than the rest, but those instances are rare enough to stand out precisely because most of the humor works. Comedy belongs to the characters and their relationships rather than being inserted between the supposedly important scenes.

A soundtrack that feels written for the scene

Music is another major strength. The songs are placed so specifically that some feel as though they had been written for the exact scenes in which they play. They do not arrive simply because a lyric or melody vaguely matches the mood. The song becomes part of the identity of the moment.

More importantly, the soundtrack is never asked to manufacture an emotion the scene has failed to earn. The emotional beat is already there, then the music finds exactly the right place inside it.

Sound, editing, framing, production design, and the supernatural elements share that same sense of control. The production is polished, but the way those choices work together is more impressive than the polish itself.

The deeper references are a bonus, not an entrance exam

One of the smartest things about Multwoh is how specific it can be without shutting anyone else out. Queer audiences will naturally catch references, observations, humor, and emotional nuances that may carry another layer of meaning, while other viewers may miss some of them entirely and still have fun with the movie.

The comedy works without footnotes. The romance has understandable emotional stakes. The supernatural story can take hold without requiring anyone to decode the deepest references first.

Accessibility here does not mean making the film less queer. Multwoh stays specific while giving everyone enough to connect with.

A film that makes you want to look again

The care put into its visual clues, seemingly throwaway details, jokes, and framing also gives Multwoh strong rewatch value. I left wanting to see it again because I am almost certain there were things I missed the first time.

The desire to rewatch does not come from the film being deliberately confusing. Quite the opposite. The first viewing works perfectly well on its own. A second one simply feels like it could reveal another joke, detail, visual choice, or connection that was sitting there all along.

The film also gives its careful construction a meaningful emotional payoff. It never feels as though all those details were assembled merely to demonstrate how neatly the filmmakers could put a story together. There is a reason to care about where all of it leads, even without reducing the experience to its mechanics.

The feeling Multwoh leaves behind

The closest comparison I have for how Multwoh left me feeling is the feeling a lot of us had after Black Mirror’s “San Junipero.” The stories themselves are very different. What feels familiar is the emotional residue: queer hope mixed with gratitude, sadness, and the awareness that progress never arrived on its own.

Multwoh made me think about the LGBTQ+ people before us who fought to be seen, heard, loved, and allowed to live truthfully. There is gratitude in recognizing how much has changed, but there is also the reality that plenty remains unfinished.

It leaves behind a sense of responsibility too: to speak where we can, to uphold and live our truths, and to protect the spaces others fought to create while making them wider for whoever comes after us.

Hope is what stayed with me most. Hope that more LGBTQ+ stories will be seen and heard, that queer and trans filmmakers continue being trusted with their own stories, and that representation becomes broad enough that no single movie ever has to stand in for all of us.

Our voices are already here. The responsibility is to keep using them and make sure they are never pushed back into silence.

Multwoh makes complexity look easy

Multwoh works because its strengths do not feel like separate attractions competing for attention. Rodina Singh’s storytelling, Sassa Gurl and Joao Constancia’s performances, the barkada dynamic, the pacing, the music, the camera work, the use of Baguio, and the supernatural treatment all belong to the same movie.

Its queer perspective remains specific without becoming inaccessible, while the craft gives all those ideas enough room to breathe. The film has depth without needing to perform depth. It is funny, affectionate, visually thoughtful, proudly queer, and considerably more intricate than it initially appears.

For me, Multwoh is not only worth celebrating because it represents us. It is worth celebrating because it tells our stories so damn well.

★★★★★