MANILA FILM CENTER: Ghosts HAUNT the ‘Parthenon’ by the bay?

The Manila Film Center stands as a weather-beaten concrete monument on the edge of Manila Bay.

To motorists along Roxas Boulevard, the sprawling Brutalist structure resembles an ancient Greek temple transplanted into the tropics. But for the families of the workers killed in its construction, it remains a reminder of a tragedy shrouded in controversy, official silence and ghost stories.

More than four decades after a construction collapse on 17 November 1981, the building continues to embody the excesses of an era when political spectacle took precedence over human lives.

The project was conceived as part of then First Lady Imelda Marcos’ ambition to make Manila the Cannes of Asia. Designed by architect Froilan Hong, the film center was to host the inaugural Manila International Film Festival in January 1982.

The deadline was punishing. Construction began in August 1981, with thousands of workers laboring in shifts to complete the massive structure in time. The rush to finish became inseparable from the building’s troubled history.

At around 3 a.m. on 17 November, scaffolding supporting part of the structure collapsed while workers were pouring concrete. Steel, timber and wet cement crashed onto laborers working below.

Shrouded in mystery

The casualty figures remain disputed. Contemporary reports by United Press International cited workers who said 26 people had died, while the government initially reported three deaths and later gave an official toll of seven. Other workers claimed more bodies had been recovered.

The most sensational version of the tragedy holds that scores of workers were entombed in the building’s foundations. The frequently repeated figure of 168 or 169, however, has never been established by a definitive casualty record. Claims that bodies were deliberately buried in concrete remain contested.

What is documented is that the disaster became a political embarrassment. The government faced criticism over the rushed construction, the reported death toll and the determination to finish the building in time for the festival.

Despite the tragedy, construction continued. In January 1982, the Manila International Film Festival opened at the completed complex, welcoming international guests as the country grappled with reports of workers killed in the collapse.

The building’s reputation subsequently grew beyond its architectural and political history. Stories of unexplained cries, footsteps and other disturbances turned it into one of the country’s most famous purportedly haunted sites. Groups of paranormal investigators visited the darkened structure, reinforcing its association with the dead workers.

The ghost stories endure, but the building’s more consequential legacy lies in the questions it raises about accountability, labor rights and the human costs of political ambition.

Tragedy revisited

Over the years, the Manila Film Center underwent renovations and was used for various entertainment productions. A fire in 2013 damaged its theater section, adding to the deterioration of a structure already burdened by decades of neglect.

Its future remains uncertain. Some have called for demolition, while others see the building as a historical landmark that should remain as a warning against the excesses of authoritarian rule.

A new generation of artists has found another way to confront its past. Tanghalang Pilipino’s theatrical production Sayaw ng mga Ilaw (Dance of the Lights) revisits the tragedy through the experiences of the families left behind, shifting attention from ghost stories to grief, memory and the struggle for workers’ rights.

The Manila Film Center is not the same building as the Cultural Center of the Philippines’ main complex, which is undergoing extensive rehabilitation ahead of a planned reopening in the first quarter of 2027. Yet both structures occupy a landscape where architecture, culture and political power have long intersected.

The Manila Film Center’s concrete walls may continue to weather, and the stories surrounding its construction may never be fully settled. But its significance does not depend on how many ghosts are said to haunt its corridors.