IRECENTLY watched Forgotten Island with my school-aged nieces and nephews.
Like most children, they were completely immersed in the story. They laughed at the funny scenes, held their breath during the suspenseful moments, and talked animatedly about their favorite characters long after the credits rolled. What caught my attention, however, had less to do with the film itself and more to do with how naturally they received it.
They did not find it remarkable that the characters were Filipino. They did not pause to consider that the story drew heavily from Filipino folklore, family traditions, and cultural references. To them, it was simply a good movie.
I realized that for their generation, seeing themselves reflected on screen may become an ordinary experience. For many of us who grew up decades earlier, it was not.
Like many Filipinos, I was introduced to Greek mythology, Western fairy tales, and faraway legends long before I became familiar with many stories from our own culture. Most of the heroes we admired came from somewhere else. The stories we consumed were largely told through perspectives that were not our own. There was nothing wrong with that, of course, but it meant that seeing Filipino stories presented on a global stage often felt like an exception rather than the norm.
That is what makes Forgotten Island noteworthy. It is not simply a DreamWorks film with a few Filipino references woven into the plot. It is unmistakably Filipino in its storytelling, mythology, humor, values, and sense of family. Rather than treating these elements as decorative details, the film places them at the center and trusts that they are strong enough to carry a story that audiences anywhere can appreciate.
As I watched my nieces and nephews react to scenes that felt familiar to us as Filipinos, I found myself thinking about something that applies as much to communications as it does to filmmaking.
People are more likely to connect with stories in which they see a part of themselves.
That observation may sound obvious, yet it is often overlooked by organizations that spend enormous effort competing for attention. In communications, we have become very good at measuring visibility. We track reach, engagement, impressions, sentiment, and share of voice. We know how many people saw the message, clicked on the content, or reacted to the campaign. What those metrics do not always tell us is whether people actually felt connected to what they were seeing.
Being visible is not the same as being meaningful.
The organizations that people trust most are often those that demonstrate a genuine understanding of their audiences. They reflect real concerns, real aspirations, and real experiences. They tell stories that feel grounded in something recognizable instead of relying solely on polished messaging and familiar buzzwords.
Unfortunately, much of today’s communication has become remarkably similar. Every company wants to be known for innovation, transformation, sustainability, agility, and purpose. These are all worthwhile aspirations, but repeated often enough they begin to lose distinction. The result is a landscape filled with messages that sound increasingly alike.
What people respond to, on the other hand, is authenticity.
That, perhaps, is the real strength of Forgotten Island. It does not try to make itself more universally appealing by softening its cultural identity. It embraces it fully. In doing so, it demonstrates a truth that communicators sometimes forget: authenticity is not a limitation. More often than not, it is the very thing that creates relevance.
Over the years, I have come to believe that the most effective communicators are not those who can create the most compelling narratives from scratch. They are the ones who can identify what is already true and communicate it with clarity, consistency, and credibility. Trust is built when stories align with reality, when values are evident in actions, and when people feel they are hearing something genuine rather than something carefully manufactured.
The film also left me with a sense of optimism.
Watching it with my pamangkins, I was reminded that a younger generation may grow up never questioning whether Filipino stories belong on the world’s biggest screens. They may simply assume they do, and perhaps that confidence is one of the film’s most important contributions.
I also hope Filipinos around the world embrace Forgotten Island in the same way they rallied behind Alex Eala when she captured international attention. One of the strengths of the Filipino diaspora has always been its ability to unite behind achievements that reflect the best of who we are. Whether in sports, music, business, or the arts, Filipinos have consistently shown up to support one another.
I hope families from Toronto to Dubai, Sydney to London, make time to watch this film together. Beyond helping its box-office performance, that support sends an important message to global studios and content creators: Filipino stories have an audience not only in the Philippines but across the world. More importantly, it demonstrates that stories rooted deeply in our culture can resonate far beyond it.
For those of us in communications, there is a lesson there worth remembering. In a world saturated with content, attention is increasingly difficult to sustain and trust is increasingly difficult to earn. Organizations that stand out will not necessarily be those with the biggest campaigns or the loudest voices. They will be those that understand who they are, what they stand for, and why their stories matter.
The most powerful stories are often closer than we think. They already exist in our communities, our institutions, our traditions, and our shared experiences. Our responsibility as communicators is not always to invent something new. More often, it is to recognize the value of what is already there and ensure that stories worth telling are not the ones that eventually get forgotten.
PR Matters is a roundtable column by members of the local chapter of the United Kingdom-based International Public Relations Association (IPRA), the world’s premier association for senior professionals around the world. Red R. Samar is a communications professional and former journalist with extensive experience in media, public relations, and corporate communications. He currently serves as a PR Consultant at Robinsons Retail Holdings, Inc. (RRHI), one of the Philippines’ leading multi-format retail companies. RRHI operates a diverse portfolio of supermarkets, drugstores, department stores, DIY and home improvement stores, convenience stores, and specialty retail brands. The company is committed to enriching the Filipino shopping experience by providing quality products, trusted brands, and customer-focused retail solutions.
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