Directed by late exploitation king Joe D'Amato (born Aristide Massaccesi), this title can boast induction in the original list of prosecuted "video nasties" (along with many other Italian genre films including The Beyond, Cannibal Holocaust, Prisoner of the Cannibal God and Tenebrae), but not much else. It features genre vets George Eastman aka Luigi Montefiori (who co-wrote the screenplay) and Serena Grandi, as well as Tisa Farrow, sister of Mia, out for what is basically a walk in the park. Distinctive almost only in its most extreme iterations of violence, this lackluster slasher is narrowly saved by the bucolic beauty of its natural sets as well as the grotesque appearance of its antagonist.
Feast your eyes, this is probably the highlight of the film.
Mary Whitehouse's devoured fetus
Anthropophagus is known mostly for a few bits of nasty gore conveniently located near the end. But are they nasty enough to recommend the film? The short answer is: no. No, unless you don't mind suffering through the tedious first hour, comprised mostly of badly-shot moments of fake suspense and atrociously-delivered dialogue that fuels a shallow narrative devoid of originality.
The controversy surrounding the film has brought it a long way from its Italian birthplace, but the truth is that the film doesn't deserve that much recognition. You see, the essence of the controversy surrounds a brief, unclear and wholly implausible baby-eating scene meant to push the envelope just a little beyond the expectations of casual horror fans. It's one of those gimmicks that would've been relegated to the footnotes of horror film encyclopedias if it weren't for some high-minded British observers who thought films could corrupt youths and thus went on a tape-burning crusade that gave ample visibility to "infamous" titles such as this one. Ironically, despite the intense crackdown on horror films meant to preserve the innocence of children, youth crime in the UK is now such a rampant problem that kids have now become horror film villains in their own right (see Eden Lake, Wilderness, Heartless...).
Adding water to both the mills of the censors and promoters of this film, Anthropophagus was even described as a snuff film, thanks to reactionary bodies according to which the fetus was a live one. Seeing how it is actually a skinned rabbit (or a glistening red blob as it appears onscreen), anybody who would make such a crazy contention must either have had his head turned sideways when the "fetus" was shown or must really have a bone to pick with Italian horror. At any rate, the controversy is a fraud, just like it was a fraud to claim that the sex scene between Penelope Cruz and Scarlett Johansson alone was worth the admission price to Vicky Christina Barcelona. It is a fraud originally meant to combat the film and its nefarious influence, but which has instead extended its influence beyond the wildest expectations of its producers. This is a perfect example of how censorship always provokes an advert effect. Just think about it for a second. A videotape lying on a shelf in plain view is much less intriguing to a child than one that is locked in a cabinet. This is Psychology 101. By locking every single copy of the video nasties in a large, government-controlled cabinet, what the British nation did was to encourage children to try and break into that cabinet, effectively spurring on their criminal desires in what can only be described as an eminently thoughtless, counter-productive method of social control.
It's not fear that tears you apart... it's her!
Island of Death
For those who mind, the plot of the film is as follows. A group of tourists vacationing in Italy decide to embark on a tour of the Greek islands, accompanied by an attractive stranger (Tisa Farrow) who wishes to visit recluse friends in the process. Upon reaching a deserted harbor, they are surprised to find no other boats anchored there. Even more surprising is the total absence of people on the island, nor within a number of empty houses that show traces of recent human activity. As you might have guessed from the title, the island's inhabitants have all fallen prey to an anthropophagus that has kept their corpses in a dilapidated crypt that serves as pantry.
When their boat drifts away, the tourists are forced to spend the night in an abandoned house where they are stalked only briefly by the grim reaper, who takes a shy bite out of an enterprising young man, then leaves. There, they also manage to rescue a fetching blind gal who brings little to the plot but another body to mangle. After that, the film cuts to the following day during which the tourists wander around the island, doing a bit of sight-seeing. Thankfully, we can share in the fun. The fun of sight-seeing, I mean. There are moldy ruins on the island as well as a gorgeous mansion where the girls learn about the local elite, a decadent, murderous family, the head of which has transformed into the titular beast following the death of his son. There's no satanical influence here, nor are there supernatural occurrences. There's only an umpteenth whacked-out psycho who appears to have unlimited resources until he meets with the iron resolve of the generic male hero, out to save the generic damsel in distress. Then, the beast caves in quite quickly, going out with a mild bang that should put a fleeting grin on your face.
Anthropophagi are people too!
While not as juvenile as American slashers from the same era, Anthropophagus' characters are equally uninteresting. Their demise is uninvolving and so is their swift, surprising victory over the antagonist. The plot involves a lame love triangle as one of the sole attempts at characterization, but this triangle is toppled very early when the male element succumbs to a deadly bite. Aside from that, the film is basically a depiction of people running around an island. If it wasn't for location shooting, which is one of the two strongest assets of Italian exploitation cinema (along with the volatile camera, which fails to give the film wings in the present film), this would've been a pretty bland experience. In a way, the film works better as a travelogue than a full-fledged horror film, delighting us with the homely streets covered by white archways, sumptuous rock formations, ruins and Mediterranean villas covering the island more than with the cheesy gore. The horror scenes are far apart and although they involve repulsive brutality, they're mostly devoid of scares or suspense. Set in broad daylight, involving a zombie-slow slasher and less-than-sympathetic victims, these scenes are not exciting at all. They hold together only through the promise of gore, which often fails to materialize but in boring bites to the neck.
Get out of the way, you expendable turd.
We want to see the ruins!
Anthropophagus is the kind of film where the heroine finds herself in a secret room where she removes drapes from atop human-sized objects only to have the camera zoom in on the worm-ridden face of a corpse with ad hoc noise aggressively littering the soundtrack. For the two people in the world who weren't expecting a rotting corpse, this provides an utterly shocking surprise. For those who knew but still feared the sight thereof, it's a perfect excuse to grab on to your date and sink your face in his armpit. But for the vast majority of us, there's nothing there but an overdetermined scare tactic. Plain and simple. Maybe the decrepit aspect of the rotting faces or the squirming maggots will repulse you, but your unease will only last a few seconds. As far as horror goes, the film does not overstep the boundaries of casual grotesquery, sacrificing tension for clunky depictions of gore while creating atmosphere only by way of badly-lit settings and a trippy, keyboard-heavy score. By thus relying mostly on fetus and entrails feasting to create effect, the film is very much akin to a freak show.
Seeing how ineffective the scares are, how shallow the narrative and how uninteresting the characters, the crux of the spectacle lies in the sight of George Eastman in heavy makeup, slumping through the gorgeous Mediterranean scenery with some form of slashing weapon in hand. His widely exposed teeth betray his eagerness to feed on the flesh of whoever he encounters and his slow, nonchalant demeanor is that of the confident predator. Contrarily to what you may conclude from the premise, or from the subjective underwater shots, he is not a supernatural being and he can be killed with common weaponry. His decrepit aspect probably derives only from his queer diet and not from any form of devilish influence. Despite being dubbed "the Grim Reaper", he is no more than a run-of-the-mill slasher, mute and deranged, with no ability to feel, reason or talk. His tragic background, exposed in a quick flashback and some notes left in his villa, doesn't begin to explain what has happened to him. Nor does it make us care about his fate or that of his victims.
Don't believe the hype
The only things worthy of attention here are the Mediterranean exteriors (of which you get clearer shots on postcards), the grotesque aspect of George Eastman and his willingness to bite into foul-loooking red things. Apart from that, the film is a run-of-the-mill slasher. All in all, there are two gore scenes that really stand out, but by the time you get there, you won't find them so impressive. Besides, it's nothing you haven't seen before, or will not see again. This is a film to horrify uptight British bourgeois. Casual horror viewers should be wiser than to consider their laments as any form of recommendation.
1,5/5 A slow-paced, boring film with great scenery and a few nasty gore scenes. Nothing worth hollering about.
