Based on the musical of the same title by Vincent De Jesus.

From the musical of the same title with libretto by Rolando Tinio.

Based on the novel of the same title by F.H. Batacan.

With powerful imagery and precision editing, Yield shows the struggle of nine working class youths to tell an exquisite coming of age story set against an unchanging background of adversity.

Portrays a bold and daring metafictive imagination that draws upon the poetic and visceral resources of cinema to decry historical and social injustice, lament human tragedy, and memorialize Filipino resilience.

Song: "Katurog na" - The supple balm of Lolita's voice buoys this gorgeous lullaby, sung not to a baby, but to the carabao that reminds them of home and delivers them from war

Song: "Twelve"

Song: "Ang panday"

Song: "Gitik-gitik" - Max Surban gives it a playfulness that's brightened up even more by the skeletal electronica syncopating everything like some odd mischievous hybrid of Visayan novelty song and German synth-pop.

Song: "Yung pakiramdam"

Song: "Alaalarawan"

Song: "Para sa respeto"

Song: "Kabuwisit ba"

Song: "Theme from Historiographica Errata"

Song: "Last Message From Earth"

With fever dream grandeur and dystopian playfulness, it re-imagines what is an often neglected swatch of our colonial history, as a hallucinatory exodus seen through the eyes of two child refugees.

Harrowing because it doesn't flinch, unflinching because it doesn't merely observe, instead letting the cycles of its subjects' lives become the cycles of its process.

For turning the wilderness of the Philippines into both a war zone of evident strife and a playground for its young protagonists to survive with only the strands of innocence that are remaining.

For effectively exposing the deplorable conditions of lives that have been left hidden and invisible through engaging images that efficiently evoke the realities of human strife.

For allowing the audience to see the wastage of war through the playful but fragile perspective of innocent children, creating a powerful parable of how humanity in the time of crisis is capable of both destruction and salvation.

For creating a heart-wrenching narrative and a rousing portrait out of a multitude of lives that have been and are still being abused by a social system that unfortunately requires the de-humanization of people on the fringes.

For sensitively allowing all of its powerful images to haunt and linger, creating a concise but indelible narrative of invisible lives existing in the fringes of society.

For stitching together scenes in a playful yet still very sober fashion that allow the deliberate merger of nightmare and fantasy, history and fiction, innocence and desperation.

Through poignantly modest arrangements for a variety of instruments, Khavn captures the loss of innocence and independence that allows Balangiga: Howling Wilderness to exhibit a sweetness beneath its tragedy.

The blasted wasteland is reimagined as a stark dreamscape that may as well exist partially in the heads of two lost children running away from home.

Old school poverty punk aesthetics blown up to operatic lo-fi sci-fic extremes, a vibrant din of color and energy and re-purposed junk that's appropriately excessive and appropriately bombastic.

Masterfully harnesses the surface and substance of found sound to tell an aural narrative that is affecting for its ironically painful mundanity and unobtrusiveness in a milieu that suffers from social indifference.