| Anthropophagous is a film
about a deranged maniac terrorizing hapless tourists and eating
them at will. It is also a film about the fall of Western
Civilization. The anonymous cannibal in Anthropophagous
is not, as is typical of this genre, a native from the depths
of the Jungle, but a European, with all the connotations of
culture and refinement that such an identity suggests. He
doesn’t crudely rip open victims, he only indulges in
a taste. Taste -- this word requires the film critic to pause.
Taste is precisely that which a film, even a film that depicts
cannibalistic feasting, cannot represent. Taste is unfilmable,
you could say. But if it isn’t represented in Anthropophagous
it still strikes me as central to its thematic discourse:
taste conveys something that is both crudely physical and
gustatorial, and something that is highly spiritual and refined,
a nuance we associate only with the most cultured minds. The
concept and activity of taste contains an internal eternal
circulation of oppositional meanings that is also at work
in Anthropophagous. Within its European cannibal
a desire for human flesh mingles with a culture of refinement.
He represents two inheritances: one the one hand, he has inherited
something barbaric from the dark depths of desire itself;
on the other, he has inherited European culture, which is
to say, science, rationality, law, morals, progress, sensitivity.
These two contrasting inheritances not only circulate through
all the film’s meanings, they are gathered together
and distilled in one of the most infamous and acrid images
in the annals of cannibal horror. It is an image that is censored
in many versions of this film. Freud would have understood
this censorship, as he would have understood my desire to
analyze this particular image for the insights it yields into
the way this film functions. Having strangled a pregnant woman,
this European cannibal removes the fetus of her unborn child
and begins to eat it. When I saw this image for the first
time I began to think of roe -- unfertilized fish eggs --
perhaps because this mass of fish eggs is not dissimilar to
a still-developing human fetus, and because the manner in
which they are farmed is not dissimilar from the way in which
he removes the unborn child. Fish, mostly female sturgeon
from the Caspian Sea, are caught and cut open so that their
eggs can be removed and eaten, often raw. It is clear to me
that this mental image of roe was an unconscious evocation
of the cultural refinement of eating, and in relation to the
fetus scene, of a particularly European elegance. This is
the point in the film that director Joe D’Amato most
effectively articulates the continual exchange that occurs
between the savage and the civilized, and in which he most
clearly expresses a belief in the fundamentally cruel nature
of Western civilization. This scene, depicting the meal of
a fetus, is not only an image of cruelty in its most pristine
state, but also an image of a society with no future, a society
that devours its own offspring.
The strategy that D’Amato uses in Anthropophagous
is the strategy of all, or at least most, Italian cannibal
films. It consists of making an equation between civilization
and savagery, civilization and the jungle, civilization and
the appetites which would break every civilized taboo. Freud
viewed and understood Antropophagous before it existed.
Nietzsche also. He sums it up when he describes civilized
man as "...resting on the pitiless, the greedy, the insatiable,
the murderous, and, as it were, hanging in dreams on the back
on a tiger." It is apt that the tiger is a ferocious
predator defined by his invisibility as much as by the sharpness
of his claws and teeth. And in the light of this comment by
Nietzsche, it doesn’t seem to matter that these Italian
cannibal films are not great works of refinement and art.
They don’t aspire to represent Civilization. They aspire,
in fact, only to be a cheaply-made picture of Civilization,
"hanging in dreams on the back on a tiger."
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