Imelda is probably most famous for owning hundreds of pairs of shoes, but Ramona Diaz’s documentary about her goes beyond and captures a complex and contradictory world figure. The documentary was a breakout to a modest theatrical run, was a hit on the international festival circuit, and was by turns insightful, humorous, and infuriating.

“Imelda,” the title of the documentary, is captivating, painting a fascinating picture of a woman renowned for her vast collection of shoes and for her inimitable influence on her husband’s presidential regime. During her husband’s term, Imelda became one of the richest women in the world. After two decades, she was accused of election fraud, massive corruption, human rights violation, and for spawning nationwide poverty. Despite all of these, she proudly refers to herself as a star. She has repeated the words love, truth, and beauty many times in the extended interview around which the documentary spuns that they become a kind of “self-protective mantra.” Of these three words, beauty is by far the most important to her. She was so committed to it that she despised the weapon used in her assassination attempt not because it almost killed her, but because “it was so ugly” that it was used “without even a ribbon.” Now in her 70s, she is still a beautiful woman with the “bearing of a monarch” (Reyes 1-2, Holden 2).

Diaz first met Imelda in 1993 when the first was working on a film about the fall of the Marcos regime in the Philippines. The interview was scheduled to last for 15 minutes but went on for five long hours. It was then that Diaz proposed a documentary to Imelda, who immediately agreed, showing her “instinct for self-promotion stronger than her modesty” (“Imelda” 2).

When the filming finally started five years later, Imelda honored her commitment and granted the filmmaker’s unprecedented access. Diaz and her crew shot in Imelda’s trailer, her seaside home in public, where a still adoring public greets her (“Imelda” 2).

In a clever combination, shots of Imelda’s sparkly, extravagant custom-designed outfits being aired out by her maids are crosscut with shots of poor Filipinos living along train tracks. These visuals are interspersed amid interviews with Imelda’s couturier, explaining how his dressmakers went blind sewing intricate details and beadwork for all her outfits. The couturier’s interview overlaps with Imelda, convincing herself more than the audience that she gives everything she has to the Filipino people (Reyes 3).

According to Imelda, her licentious spending on shoes and clothes was a morale booster for poor Filipinos. She led a beautiful life for them, and according to her, one has not lived until he witnesses her algebraic and cosmogonic rendering of the “circle of life,” which she outlines with a pen on a white paper. Even though Imelda, in this film, provides enough material for a few hundred giggles and head shakings, she also shows a pathetic human side. When she mentions a poster that declared, “There’s a little Imelda in all of us,” she points to this as some sort of saintly vindication (Thomson 7).

It is a tribute to the director that the character of Imelda emerges equally endearing and disturbing. Her interviews reveal candid details about Imelda and her contradictions, that while she is one hand of an iconic image of decadence, she has a strange sort of innocence that softens her into a creature of sympathy. It is no surprise that the advertisement, “There is a little Imelda in all of us,” puts a smile on her face. What is more surprising is its effect to the audience, who is left asking whether the advertisement is true or not (Reyes 4).

The film does not attempt to outline a political history of the Philippines, although it deals slightly with the 1983 assassination of Senator Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino Jr., Marcos’s political opponent. It is strongly suggested in the movie, and it was widely believed, that Aquino’s death could not have happened without the clear blessing of Ferdinand Edralin Marcos (Thomson 4).

Imelda was married to Marcos, the future president, only 11 days after meeting him, and that her campaigns among the poor was credited as instrumental in winning the presidency at the age of 36. After his inauguration on Dec. 30, 1965, the Marcoses presided as the country’s first couple for 20 years. At one point, Life Magazine honored Imelda as the “Jackie Kennedy of Asia” (Reyes 2).

As a personality study, “Imelda” is a “devastating portrait of how power begets self-delusion.” It must be said, however, that through it all, Imelda exudes a considerable charm and even a flickering sense of humor. When she was shown posing dramatically in front of her dead husband’s coffin, it was clear that her craft in show business never desserted her (Holden 6).

After her assassination attempt, Imelda recalls, she dedicated herself to leading a “totally selfless” life. Just how selfless is a matter of interpretation, and the movie refrains from judging. Were the many grand structures she built including a film center, which was never used, created for public benefit? Or were they monuments of herself, that one radio commentator describes her as a person with “edifice complex” (“Imelda” 8)?

If there is a lesson to be gained from studying the life and career of Imelda, it is a demonstration that if you act like royalty and believe that you are a royalty, the world will treat you as a royalty that even under siege, Imelda projects an unruffled regality. The advertisement “There’s a little Imelda in all of us” might have made her smile, but it is sad that even now, she can not see the irony that was draped around her like a heavily embroidered sarong (Holden 1, Thomson 7) (Written With Ma Rose Ann Azarcon Cellona).