There are films that entertain, then others that quietly undo you. Gasolina is the latter.

At its core, the short film tells the story of a single father, portrayed by Boy Isog Sarge, who works as a delivery rider for King Pata to provide for his children (played by Ungart, Shael, and Al Moralde). On paper, it does sound simple…. common ra nga istorya. But what unfolds onscreen is anything but.

What makes the film compelling is its cast who are popular Cebuano/Bisaya influencers known for their comedic personalities, stepping into emotionally grounded performances. The shift is striking, revealing a depth that goes beyond their online personas. And yet, here, they strip all of that away and deliver something nga nagresonate sa tanan deeply. The film becomes an unexpected meditation on fatherhood—specifically, the quiet, often invisible sacrifices fathers make, bisan pa ma’g ikamatay na, basta dili lang maglisod ang mga anak.

It is a subject rarely confronted head-on. Perhaps because fathers themselves rarely speak about it.

Watching Gasolina, I found myself confronting something deeply personal. My own father hid his medical condition from us until his very last breath, choosing silence over burdening his family. The film mirrors realities like this, the kind that live in the spaces between words, in the things left unsaid. It hit harder than I expected. It lingered…

What makes this even more amazing is the perspective behind the camera. The film is directed by Ungart: someone who, as it turns out, grew up without a father. And yet, he manages to craft a narrative that feels so intimate, so grounded in truth. There is something profoundly moving about creating a story of fatherhood from a place of absence, and still getting it right. Hurot akong bilib!

Technically, the film holds its own. The cinematography finds a delicate balance; it’s neither overly warm nor strikingly cold. It sits somewhere in between, mirroring the emotional tone of the story. There are no unnecessary pauses, no wasted frames. Every moment serves a purpose.

The choice of background music further elevates the experience. It doesn’t overpower; it understands when to step back, when to let silence speak, and when to guide the emotion just enough.

Everything in Gasolina feels woven together with care. It is, without question, a five-star short film.

More than that, it stands as a powerful reminder of what Bisaya filmmakers can achieve when given the right space, resources, and trust. If this is what can be done on this scale, one can only imagine what more is possible.

And perhaps that’s the most lasting impression Gasolina leaves behind: not just the story it tells, but the doors it quietly opens for the rest of us.