Manila in the Claws of Light (1975)

Like something out of myth. The country boy flees to the city to find his lost love only to be cruelly exploited and left for dead. Surely, Lino Brocka's Manila in the Claws of Light is one of the most powerful and soul-draining films ever made. Veering between stark realism and a surreal, dreamy, but very much gritty melodrama, he lay bare the horrors faced by those who build the world. Brocka maintains a perfect balance between the personal and political. His Manila is brought to life with a startling energy, rarely has such a sense of place been so thoroughly depicted on the screen. This is a city of gridlike constructions, neon lights popping in the light, slums where the sewage spills over into the streets. The urban environment as hell in its rawest, most uncompromising form. So many films today dealing with poverty ultimately glamorize it, and involve plots featuring rich saviors that appeal to the upper middle-class. But Brocka's film was made for the very people it is about; this is not some wimpy social justice protest, but a primal scream from true liberation from all forms of oppression. The final two freeze-frames, one dissolving into another is an ending forever seared into my mind. A box of tissues is not enough to stop the flow of tears.