Cannibals Run Rampant in New York

by Benni Pierce

With every film that we watch, absorb, scrutinize, and in some cases, endure, our senses are fooled into sometimes believing that what we, the viewer, are seeing is real. Even though we know that the film is fictional and created within a soundstage or using top-notch technology, we still sometimes have a very hard time believing that what we are seeing isn't real. The filmmaker has captured his or her audience with suspended disbelief, and once a director has done that, the true magic of filmmaking takes over. Once you've gained an audience's trust, you truly are in command of what they think, feel, and enjoy.

But lurking in the sea of filmmaking are certain movies that possess a different quality. A quality that exists outside of sound studios and digital effects. A raw quality where the viewer cannot believe what they are seeing simply because it seems too real. And yet, we still can't look away. This genre of films goes way beyond suspension of disbelief and carries itself into psychological obsession, where you are constantly telling yourself that what you're seeing is only a movie because you can't seem to convince yourself that it isn't real...

In 1979, director Ruggero Deodato sits in an Italian courtroom, awaiting the judge's decision. It seems ridiculous that he should be on trial for something of his own creation, but he has no choice. After hours of deliberation, the decision is announced: Deodato's film Cannibal Holocaust is deemed too obscene for viewing and every print in Italy is to be destroyed. Deodato pleads that all of the footage in his film was indeed staged, but the Italian authorities will hear none of it.

Banned at one time or another in almost all countries around the globe, including Britain and Italy, Cannibal Holocaust shocked audiences with its all too realistic depictions of violence, cruelty, rape, and of course, cannibalism. Beginning the tradition of such films as The Last Broadcast and The Blair Witch Project, this film presents "real time" accounts of a group of Mondo-style documentary filmmakers recording the atrocities that take place deep in "the green inferno" of South America.

When this group fails to return from their expedition to explore a tribe of known cannibals, an NYU Professor and his crew head out in search of the missing documentarians. Deep in the heart of the jungle, they find the remains of the filmmakers (along with the film cans of their salvaged footage) held hostage by the tribe responsible for their demise. They are able to finally procure the reels from the tribesmen and return to the U.S. where the real heart of the film takes place. Before even viewing the footage, television executives decide that it should be seen for the first time around the globe on cable TV. The Professor expresses concern with this idea and advises that they watch the footage first before any public display. The executives finally concede, and as they watch it for the first time, so we do. Whereas we were led to believe that the cannibals were the savages, we now see that the filmmakers themselves were the savages who, in the end, were subject to the revenge of the natives.

Depicted in this film are scenes of brutal rape, vicious animal killings, a bloody abortion, a castration, and multiple acts of killing and cannibalism. Leading the viewers to believe what they are seeing is real, the events are seen in real time, from one point of view through the camera of the filmmakers. You won't look away because there are no other camera angles to cut to. And although there is plenty of gore to go around, there seems to be a moral to this film, which is where even its harshest critics are willing to concede some level of success. A perfect representation of the moral comes at the end of the film when one of the TV executives who has just watched the film stumbles out of the board room muttering, "I wonder who the real cannibals are."

You're probably wondering why I just told you the whole plot of the movie. Well, to be completely honest, it doesn't matter. It simply doesn't matter when you consider what you're watching. You can talk about this film all you want, but it doesn't really mean anything until you see this film. The irony of this statement is that I have yet to see this film. In fact, I am planning on going to the Friday May 30th 2003 midnight screening at the Sunshine Cinema in New York City. A re-mastered print of this film has been created for its "North American Tour." I'm sure I won't be the only one there who hasn't seen it, but I get the feeling that some people may view this as a very Rocky Horror Picture Show-esque audience-participation event. I don't know exactly how viewers will interact with a film that depicts such acts of gore and disgust, and I'd simply rather not think about it.

Having only heard about this movie about a month ago, I've read quite a bit about it, investigated the official website, and seen multiple pictures as well as the trailer. After actually viewing the film at the end of May, I will write another review for The Great Hoboes of New York, keeping this article in mind. I will be very interested in seeing what I thought about it now as compared to what I will think about it after actually seeing it. I invite all who have the stomach for such a movie to come out and see it because it seems like this might be a once in a lifetime opportunity.

--released on the Great Hoboes of New York on May 15, 2003