When Trese, the Philippine graphic novel series by Budjette Tan and Kajo Baldisimo, was adapted into a Netflix animated series, I came to it with a fresh set of eyes. I hadn’t read the comics in full yet, which gave me the chance to judge the adaptation on its own terms. And while the show was exciting as a cultural moment, it also made me want to dig into the source material — because that’s where Trese truly shines.
What I Appreciated About Trese
Urban Fantasy Rooted in Philippine Lore
What drew me in immediately was how Trese plunges straight into Philippine mythology — aswang, kapre, engkantos — but places them in modern Manila. I’ve always thought Philippine folklore deserved this kind of treatment: gritty, urban, and alive. Reading the comics, I could see how much deeper and darker the mythology runs compared to what the Netflix version hinted at.
Alexandra Trese as a Female Lead
Alexandra Trese herself impressed me. She’s not written with the stereotypical vulnerabilities often assigned to women in horror or pulp fiction. Instead, she’s steady, competent, and loyal — carrying not just her role as detective but also her family’s legacy. That loyalty resonates with Filipino values, especially utang na loob (debt of gratitude), which I found layered beautifully into her relationships with her allies.
The Art as Atmosphere
Kajo Baldisimo’s art is another highlight. His stark, noir-inspired lines do more than illustrate — they set mood. Every panel feels steeped in shadow and menace, and that noir aesthetic amplifies the horror elements of the story.
Growth from Episodic to Serialized
I also appreciated how the series of comics evolves. The early volumes feel episodic, almost case-of-the-week, which is great for introducing both Alexandra and the mythology. But by Volume 3, things get heavier: we learn more about her backstory, her bond with the kambal, and the bigger supernatural structures at play. The arc becomes cohesive and far more rewarding.
Recognition Beyond the Philippines
And of course, I can’t ignore the fact that Trese has won National Book Awards, earned international recognition, and even crossed into Netflix territory. It’s more than a cult comic — it’s a cultural export. That matters.
Where the Netflix Adaptation Fell Short
That said, watching the Netflix version left me wanting more in a few areas:
Mythological Characters Felt Underdeveloped
They appeared briefly and then faded, leaving me wishing the show had given them richer backstories.
The “tabi-tabi po” moment — such an iconic superstition in Filipino culture — was almost throwaway. I couldn’t help but imagine how memorable it could have been if treated with the eerie weight of, say, the doll in Squid Game.
Fight Scenes Lacked Dynamism
I was hoping for Filipino martial arts like Arnis or at least a butterfly knife. The fights just didn’t have that uniquely Filipino touch.
The Visual Design Felt Generic
With our country’s diversity of aesthetics — from textiles to tattoos to architecture — there was so much that could’ve been woven into the production design.
The Trese family legacy wasn’t explained enough. In the comics, you eventually get a clearer picture of Alexandra’s mythic inheritance, but the show left this underexplored.
It’s an Intro Not a Deep Dive
For me, the Netflix adaptation was a good introduction, but it only scratched the surface. The Trese graphic novels are where the heart of the story truly lives — in their layered mythology, striking art, and unapologetic Filipino identity.
If you’re someone who enjoys mythology, noir, or urban fantasy, I’d recommend going straight to the source material. The graphic novels not only deliver more depth than the adaptation but also reward you with a cultural and mythological richness that feels rare in today’s global comics scene.
In short: I’m glad Netflix brought Trese to the world stage, but if you stop there, you’re missing the real story.
