I wasn’t drawn in by the title, to be honest, but by the names Sally Field and Kiefer Sutherland – both actors I deeply admired for their capacity to embody roles that feel painfully real.
What I didn’t expect was for the movie to dig its nails into me from the very first scene – and then never let go.
Imagine the worst moment of your life: it comes not with a knock at the door but through your cell phone – live, unfiltered, unforgiving.
That’s exactly how the movie opens.
It raises the curtain with every parent’s worst nightmare. Karen played with aching authenticity by Sally Field, is stuck in traffic, chatting with her teenage daughter on the phone. Then something shifts. Her daughter’s voice breaks. Confusion gives way to terror. Karen, powerless on the other end of the line, hears in real time the brutal attack on her child – and she can do nothing. That scene hits like a punch to the chest. It’s a masterclass in tension, but also in heartbreak.
And then there’s Kiefer Sutherland. He plays Robert Doob – the killer. And it’s not just his creepiness that unsettles; it’s his calm. He isn’t the exaggerated, over-the-top villain. He’s cold, methodical, and terrifyingly believable. That, I think, is what makes him so disturbing.
Without spoiling the whole film, let me say this: the movie’s power lies in one brutally simple question – What would you do if justice failed you?
After the murder of Karen’s daughter, the evidence seems airtight. The semen found at the scene matches Doob’s DNA. A conviction feels certain. But then comes the twist – not of the story, but of the law. The defense argues the DNA sample was obtained improperly. The judge agrees. That key piece of evidence? Tossed. The case collapses. And Doob walks.
Not because he’s innocent – but because someone didn’t follow proper legal procedure.
It’s a gut-punch moment. The film doesn’t sensationalize it; it just holds up a mirror to a painful reality: the justice system, meant to uphold truth, can be derailed by its own rules. Rules that are there for good reason – due process exists to protect the rights of the accused – but sometimes, those very rules become loopholes that let the guilty go free.
That’s when the movie stopped feeling like fiction.
Watching the movie’s slow burn of outrage, I couldn’t help but think of something closer to home: the current impeachment of VP Sara Duterte.
Congresswoman-elect Leila de Lima said it plainly:
“To abandon the process is to abandon the people who still believe in the promise of justice. It tells every Filipino that those in power are beyond reach and that accountability is optional.”
She’s right. And sadly, that’s the tune being played again.
Some say the Senate has no time left to handle the impeachment – the current term ends June 30. Others hint that maybe it’s not time that’s lacking, but political will. Senate President Escudero, critics argue, has been employing delaying tactics, like a playing coach clinging to an outdated freeze the ball.
Having played basketball in my younger years, I can’t help but find the freeze the ball metaphor especially fitting – almost like a perfect slam dunk – in the context of Sara’s impeachment process. It brings back memories of those intense final seconds on the hard court when, instead of taking the shot, players would dribble in place, running down the clock to protect a narrow lead.
That old tactic was eventually banned because it drained the spirit of the game and robbed fans of the contest they came to see. And yet, here we are, watching something eerily similar play out in the political arena.
With the impeachment hanging in the balance, the deliberate delays feel less like due diligence and more like a strategic stalling move – one that sidesteps action and, in the process, cheats the public of the fair fight they deserve.
Senate Minority Leader Koko Pimentel
The irony? While basketball now punishes that stalling, politics still seems to reward it.
Even more frustrating, delaying VP Sara’s impeachment trial may directly violate Senate rules, which state that impeachment proceedings take precedence over all legislative matters. Minority Leader Koko Pimentel has already pointed this out – but when rules bend to politics, who’s keeping score?
It brings to mind another political flashpoint burned into our national memory: the second envelope in President Estrada’s impeachment trial - the one that senators voted not to open. The one that supposedly held documents linking Estrada to P1.2 billion in hidden accounts under the alias Jose Velarde. The envelope wasn’t part of the original complaint, they said - a technicality. But the public saw through it – and it sparked outrage that helped bring down a presidency.
I still remember Senator Miriam Defensor-Santiago’s reflection years later.
“At that time, I wanted to apply the rules of court technically… I was among those demonized because I voted against the opening of the second envelope dahil ang paniwala ng taong bayan, kung ayaw naming buksan ang second envelope na yan, may tinatago kami.” (Because people believed if we refused to open the second envelope, we were hiding something.)
And they were right to feel that way.
Today’s Senate might want to remember that lesson. If senators insist on hiding behind procedural delays and legal technicalities, what message are they sending to the public? That the powerful are above accountability? That truth is negotiable?
Santiago’s words feel hauntingly relevant today in the same way: “Kung ayaw ninyong ituloy ang impeachment, may tinatago kayo.”
History has a cruel habit of circling back on those who ignore its warnings. The mistakes we fail to confront, the truths we bury beneath procedure and power plays – they don’t disappear. They wait, festering in silence, until one day, return wearing a new face, asking the same unanswered questions. And when that moment comes, it rarely knocks gently.
The line between due process and denial of justice is razor-thin – and when legal systems are twisted or manipulated, truth too often slips through the cracks.
If we’ve learned anything – whether from cinemas, courtrooms, or the cries of protest in the streets – it’s this:
The people are watching. And when justice is delayed and denied, they don’t forget.
Content & editing put together in collaboration with ChatGPT
Head photos courtesy of Freepik and Canva
Still photos courtesy of IMDb, Al Jazeera, Reuters, Philippine Information Agency, UCA News, Getty Images, Senate Public Relations and Information Bureau, & Dreamstime