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Guest
Review by Troy
Howarth |
A
crew of documentary filmmakers disappears while filming in the
jungles of the Amazon; the horrific footage they shot is soon
discovered...
Quite possibly
the most controversial film ever made, and most certainly the
most notorious of all Italian horror films, Cannibal
Holocaust is a flawed work that alternately offends and
horrifies. Decried by detractors (some of whom, including myself
I must confess, had never even seen the film) as vile trash
and exalted by adoring fans as a "masterpiece", it's
a fascinating work that ultimately falls short of the lofty
status adorned by the latter camp, but which has a lot more
to offer than its detractors are either willing or able to admit.
Inspired
by the Mondo Cane films of Jacopetti
and Prosperi, director Ruggero Deodato set out to break all
the rules of good taste — and he succeeds admirably on that
front. Unfortunately, in trying to validate the material by
imposing a moral 'lesson' onto the film, he puts himself in
the hypocritical position of decrying the very sensationalism
that the picture trades on. Looking to have his cake and eat
it, too, Deodato suggests superiority to his protagonists by
acknowledging and condemning their horrific actions, yet in
a film notorious for its depiction of sensational images (including
some all-too-real violence and brutality towards animals) such
a message doesn't sit too well.
Questions of
hypocrisy to one side, Deodato also saddles the film with some
possibly earnest but clumsy and heavy-handed social commentary.
In particular, the final 'pointed' comment uttered by the conscience-ridden
professor (Robert Kerman), "I wonder who the real cannibals
are?", is laughably overstated. True, it reiterates
a very valid theme of Western brutality versus the rites and
traditions of the so-called 'savages', but it's much too 'on
the nose', as it were, and seems a very hollow and simplistic
note on which to end the picture. That much of the brutality
is attributable to the white filmmakers points to something
of a progressive attitude on Deodato's part, yet there is a
certain disdain shown towards the natives as well. In particular,
a nasty sequence depicting the punishment of a native girl by
her jilted husband reeks of a 'when will these people learn'
level of mentality. Nevertheless, for much of the film, Deodato's
sympathies are more with the natives, and as such he generally
avoids the (likely unintended) racism displayed by other Italian
filmmakers in similar outings of the period (for example, Sergio
Martino's Slave of the Cannibal God).
Having established
its key dramatic faults, it's time to turn my attention to the
good — and, somewhat surprisingly, these elements are abundant.
Pretensions of social commentary aside, the film chiefly seeks
to shock and even enrage the viewer — and Deodato does this
in grand style. Well paced and surprisingly well acted by a
mixture of amateurs and professionals, it holds one's attention
very effectively. There are no real lulls to complain of, but
Deodato does a reasonable job with characterization within its
tight framework. Kerman's professor is really the only character
of note to attain any real sympathy, while the documentary crew
is depicted as a depraved bunch of thrill-seekers with absolutely
no remorse or conscience. Grim as the film is, there are moments
of dark humor. One memorable moment depicts the documentary's
director smiling with glee as he observes a mutilated corpse.
Happy, no doubt, to have captured such a gruesome spectacle
on film, he's reminded that he's on camera, pulls a frown and
pontificates on man's inhumanity to man. Hypocritical given
the film's obvious glee when it comes to bloodletting? Perhaps,
but I give Deodato credit for including the scene, just the
same. A few moments — notably the crew sacking and burning a
small tribal village — attain a weird poetry, the effect heightened
by Riz Ortolani's haunting soundtrack (pointless trivia aside:
Euro-Cultists will likely recognize that part of the score is
a slightly re-orchestrated version of one of Ortolani's cues
for Lucio Fulci's masterpiece, Don't
Torture a Duckling). One of a core group of Seventies horror
films that boldly pushed the envelope to unheard of levels,
the film has enough potent shock sequences for several films,
yet it never becomes deadening. The gory makeup effects have
a realism to them that's difficult to stomach, the effect leant
considerable punch by Deodato's use of documentary stylistics...
...All of which
brings us to the film's notorious component — it's inclusion
of authentic images of cruelty to animals. On a purely moralistic
level, there is absolutely no justification for the torture
and killing of an animal for the sake of a motion picture. Many
have tried to excuse such acts, but they inevitably come up
short — trying to justify it by pointing to the fact that many
of us eat meat or wear leather simply doesn't cut it; it's simply
not the same thing. It doesn't matter whether you're Ruggero
Deodato doing it for the sake of a B Italian horror movie, or
Sam Peckinpah doing it for an A-level picture like Pat
Garrett and Billy the Kid, either. It is, in essence,
a vile and inhumane act. End of story. But — and this is a very
big but indeed — there's little question that such images are
integral to the experience of Cannibal
Holocaust. They serve a narrative purpose, and help to
delineate the characters and the cruelty they are capable of.
In stark contrast to the notorious scene of a monkey being killed
by a python in Martino's Slave of the
Cannibal God, these scenes have a point — they're not
gratuitous cutaway shots that serve absolutely no purpose beyond
cheap sensationalism. On that level, the scenes are tolerable.
Cruel? Yes. Inhumane? Most definitely. But they do serve the
film and, for what it's worth, Deodato insists that the animals
killed were at least cooked and eaten afterwards; the film even
shows this, as if to validate such actions. This doesn't make
the images any less distasteful, but the simple fact is that
they are very much an integral part of the film's framework
and reputation and, as such, they appear to have some reason
for being.
The disturbing
footage doesn't end with animal violence, either. The notorious
"Last Road to Hell" sequence — an earlier film shot
by the documentary crew, screened for the professor's benefit
— includes real newsreel footage of public executions interspersed
with faked footage; it's a testimony to the skill with which
this material was assembled that it's basically impossible to
tell the real from the fake, but Deodato swears up and down
that the bulk of it really was staged. So potent were some of
these images that upon the film's original release in Italy
in 1980, Deodato and the film's producer were arrested and thrown
in jail — rumors even circulated that a crazed Deodato had really
murdered his actors on camera, just for effect! You can't buy
that kind of publicity.
Ultimately,
Cannibal Holocaust may not be the
towering artistic triumph its diehard defenders paint it to
be, but it is a powerful and provocative piece of filmmaking.
Viewers who've avoided it may be doing so for the wrong reasons
— true, it's a shocking, occasionally offensive work, but it's
honest enough in its aim. Though not without problems, it's
also extremely well made and executed. The best that can be
said for it is, perhaps, that its notoriety will live on, ensuring
it a longer shelf life than other films of its ilk.
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Grindhouse's
long-awaited 2-disc DVD release of Cannibal
Holocaust has been met with mixed response from fans, but
realistically, this is about the most comprehensive release of
a Euro-Cult movie that's ever seen the light of day on DVD. The
1.78/16x9 transfer looks superb — a few people on the 'net have
complained of a "yellow hue" but the image looks natural
to me. A brief comparison to the PAL EC release does reveal a
different tone to the color, but it suits the warmth of the jungle
like a glove. Print quality is superb — the documentary footage
is, of course, meant to be battered and grainy, but within that
parameter, it looks very good indeed. Colors are bold and vivid,
and detail is very sharp. The print used is the uncensored director's
cut — it is missing some footage edited into the film for later
gray market releases, but it's most certainly not cut; this is
the film as Deodato intended it. Grindhouse has also enabled an
interesting "branching option" that allows viewers to
view the film sans animal killing footage. Criticized by some
as a pointless, politically correct addition, its only crime is
in allowing viewers who don't wish to view such images (and frankly,
I don't blame them) to see the film and possibly appreciate its
other virtues. It does not amount to censorship, being in essence
an added feature that the individual viewer can turn on and off
on their own. An unfortunate caveat is that the film wasn't "flagged"
for progressive scan equipment, resulting in an odd pixilation
effect when viewed on progressive scan models. Viewers who have
a standard set-up, however, aren't likely to notice any such problem.
Rumor has it that Grindhouse intends to correct this problem and
issue replacement discs, but this is still very much in the rumor
stage.
The film is presented
in English, with a few sections in Italian with removable English
subtitles, again just as Deodato intended it to be seen. The original
mono soundtrack is clean and clear, but Grindhouse have excelled
in delivering a very effective 5.1 remixed track. Purists may
carp at such an option, but it's nicely rendered and really shows
off Ortolani's soundtrack to its full advantage. Extras are copious,
in the best sense of the term. Disc 1 includes a commentary track
with Deodato and star Robert Kerman, with the nifty option of
"viewing" parts of the commentary as the film unfolds.
By turning on the "Onscreen Commentary" feature, you
can watch portions of the film with director and star — it's the
same commentary as the regular audio commentary, but a skull icon
will crop up, and by hitting the TITLE button on your remote,
you can see the two men watching the film; just seeing the body
language of the two as they react to the film, and indeed each
other, is interesting in itself. The commentary is a lively one
— funny at times, and never less than illuminating. Deodato and
Kerman were rumored to have been at odds during the shooting,
and one can tell that there is a tenuous quality to their relationship
— a tension that is especially palpable when Deodato makes a few
barbs at Kerman's expense. Deodato's English is very good, though
he struggles a few times to find the right expression, and both
he and Kerman have very vivid memories of the shooting. During
the scenes of animal violence, Deodato sounds authentically remorseful,
noting that at the time it didn't really bother him, but that
he wouldn't do such a thing today. Inside the Green Inferno
presents some stills of memorabilia from the film, fictionalized
bios for the characters, and some fun phony anecdotes about the
mystery surrounding the crew's disappearance, while The Alternate
Road to Hell features a different cut of the "Last Road
to Hell" sequence, culled from a rougher source print. A
collection of trailers for the film — the original Italian, international,
U.S., German, and re-release variants — rounds out the first disc.
Disc 2 includes
an in-depth, fascinating, hour long making-of entitled In the
Jungle: The Making of Cannibal Holocaust, interviews with
Kerman, composer Riz Ortolani, and actor Gabriel Yorke (he plays
the narcissistic documentary director in the film, and this is
reputedly the first time he's gone on record about the experience),
a music video tribute directed by Jim Van Bebber, still galleries,
talent bios, and trailers for such cult items as Lucio Fulci's
The Beyond and Cat
in the Brain, Umberto Lenzi's The
Tough Ones and Cannibal Ferox,
and more. Next to the documentary, the interviews are obviously
the most substantial of these extras; seen together, they form
a fairly definitive portrait of the genesis, production and controversy
surrounding this singular movie. Easter Egg hunters will be amply
rewarded as well — there are several hidden throughout the menus.
Grindhouse has
also included the original script by Gianfranco Clerici, as well
as notes by David Szulkin (which point out the differences between
the script and the final product), both accessible via DVD-ROM.
Some liner notes by Chas. Balun of Deep Red magazine round
out this exhaustive package.
11/13/05 |
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