Manila in the Claws of Light ★★★★

Two films in, and productivity aside, I don't get Brocka being compared to Fassbinder (productivity aside); he feels more like a louche Loach to me, a little less preachy and a little more sleazy, but still unremittingly agit-prop and combining melodramatic structure with documentaryish verisimilitude. Bleak as anything, but canny in the way that e.g. Chekhov's icepick hangs over the proceedings for, like, an hour. I hope more of his films are recovered; it's sort of astonishing and infuriating that he wasn't established canon or even somebody I'd heard of until a couple years back.