My True Horrors... CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST

  

     Halloween is my favorite holiday. The iconography, the history, the costumes, the parties, the trick-or-treating; I get giddy with excitement whenever autumn rolls around. Every October, as my own personal celebration, I immerse myself in a month-long horror movie marathon. I seek out scary films which I have never seen and watch at least one a day. Some are mainstream, some are obscure, and some are the stuff of legend. 
     In 2007, I watched one film which surpasses all definition. A film so notorious that it is purported to have been banned in over fifty countries. A film so gruesome that I still have a problem ingesting fish sticks without wincing. This film is 1980's 'Cannibal Holocaust' by director Ruggero Deodato. 'The Exorcist', which I first watched when I was in the fourth grade, is the only other viewing experience that equally rocked me to my core. I am now a different person for having experienced 'Cannibal Holocaust'. It is an anomaly of horror cinema. Let me tell you why.
     I was living in Los Angeles. About halfway through 2007's October movie marathon, I invited my friend and co-worker Ben Talbot to my apartment on a Sunday night. We'd drink some beers and watch a couple of horror movies with my brother. He gladly accepted. Ben and I had similar tastes in entertainment, so I knew he'd be a superb viewing partner through the good, the bad, and the cheesy of scary cinema. 
     Realizing my current Netflix selections wouldn't arrive in time - pre-dating my access to Netflix instant on television - I had to improvise. I decided to open a membership at Rocket Video on La Brea Ave., across from the over-hyped Pink's Hotdogs (Carney's on Sunset is better). Rocket Video is one of the last and best independent video stores in LA. Extensive selections, well-organized shelves, and a helpful staff; how the hell did Blockbuster ever become the model for video rental services? Boggles the mind. 
     I perused the horror aisle and picked out four items from my unseen movies list: 'Black Christmas' (1974), 'My Bloody Valentine' (1981), 'Happy Birthday to Me' (1981), and 'The House on Sorority Row' (1983). I continued looking around the store and came across a 'Cult Movies' section. There, a VHS box caught my eye: 'Cannibal Holocaust'. As a frequent reader of aintitcool.com, this title had poked it's head out in their articles for many years. Every time someone mentioned the movie on the site, comments would follow about how notoriously gruesome it was. I picked up the worn box - an old plastic video sleeve - and read the back. The phrase "The most controversial movie ever made..." solidified my decision to rent. 

     As the clerk scanned my movies at the register he paused to look over the 'Cannibal Holocaust' box. He let out a puff of knowing laughter.
     "Bad?" I asked. "I heard it's crazy."
     He shook his head and laughed again, finalizing my purchases. I paid. As I exited the store the clerk called out, "Good luck."
     I thought he was just being a dick.
     On my way home I picked up a thirty-pack of beer, a bottle of vodka, tonic water, limes, and three bags of chips. We were now well-stocked for the night.
     Ben arrived around seven pm. My brother, Ben and I cracked open beers and conversed for a bit. What to watch? I showed them the options, all except 'Cannibal Holocaust'. I don't know why I held it back initially. Maybe I needed a few drinks to gain courage? We started with the classic 'Black Christmas' directed by Bob Clark (same director as 'A Christmas Story'). Please, at all costs, avoid the shitty remake and watch this film. Many directors have lifted from it, stolen from it, and brought zero justice in doing so. The tension is palpable, and the infamous twist still holds up as a mind scrambler -- an extremely positive viewing experience. Next up, 'My Bloody Valentine'. This piece of 80s slasher-cheese was ultimately disappointing when viewed after 'Black Christmas'. I thought it was okay, Ben was indifferent, and my brother hated it with a passion; he decided to go to bed, work in the morning.
     With plenty of alcohol still left to drink, and the the clock barely touching midnight, I asked Ben if he wanted to watch one more. Something different. Something notorious. I showed him the VHS box for 'Cannibal Holocaust'. He was in, but expressed the need for something more substantial to eat other than chips. I searched the freezer and found a box of unopened fish sticks. I got a thumbs up from Ben, so I fired up the oven, cracked two more beers, and pressed play on the VCR.
     The first striking element of 'Cannibal Holocaust' is the opening credit theme, composed by Riz Ortolani, set over beautiful aerial views of the Amazon. This theme has become one of my favorites in cinema history, and certainly my favorite in the horror genre. It is beautiful, memorable, atmospheric, and the complete anthesis of the horrors to come. 

     The movie begins with a TV program about four documentarians who have gone missing in the jungles of South America - a director, his fiancé, and two cameramen. An NYU anthropology professor leads a search team to the jungles to find these missing filmmakers. Once there, the team witnesses disturbing and shocking rituals performed by local primitives. After gaining the trust of one tribe, the team discovers that the documentarians have been killed, but their footage has survived, remaining untouched. The team strikes up a deal for the footage and heads back to New York. 
     By this point, the fish sticks were done. I put them on one plate and covered another plate with all kinds of condiments for dipping sauces. Ketchup was the prominent condiment, if memory serves. We began eating and resumed watching.
     The anthropologist returns to NYU and views the footage. What unfolds is a series of atrocities that my brain can never erase. Several animal mutilations peppered throughout the found footage are actually real life mutilations, which were performed by the cast and crew of 'Cannibal Holocaust'. They include a muskrat, a turtle, a large spider, a snake, a squirrel monkey, and a pig. The turtle is the worst one of them all; it's an extended sequence where a live turtle is chopped limb from limb and then it's shell is pried open with a machete, revealing slimy innards. Ben and I suddenly regretted eating the fish sticks with ketchup. Besides these mutilations, there are vivid presentations of people being ripped open and eaten, castrations, forced abortions, impalements, graphic rape, and other abominations I'm surely blocking out. The climax of the found footage, as I recall, can only be described as a 'rape fiesta'.
     The movie ended. We sat in stunned silence. Ben got up after a moment, gathered his things, and mumbled something on the way out. I believe, to this very day, he still hasn't forgiven me.
     Controversy surrounded 'Cannibal Holocaust' upon it's original release. There were rumors going around in Italy - where the filmmakers hail from - that this was a genuine snuff film. The director was arrested ten days after the premiere. The courts not only believed that performers were killed on set to add realism, but that the girl in the infamous impalement scene was actually impaled by the crew.

     To add to the confusion, the actors had signed contracts which stated they would not appear in any media, motion pictures, or commercials until one year after the film's release. Facing life in prison, Deodato and the producers gathered the actors and brought them on an Italian talk show. They had to prove the violence had been staged. 
     From wikipedia: Although Deodato was exonerated for murder, the courts decided to ban Cannibal Holocaust because of the genuine animal slayings, citing animal cruelty laws. Due to this ruling, Deodato, the producers, screenwriter, and the United Artists representative each received a four-month suspended sentence after they were convicted of obscenity and violence. Deodato fought in the courts for three additional years to get his film unbanned. In 1984, the courts ruled in favor of Deodato, and Cannibal Holocaust was granted a rating certificate of VM18 for a cut print. It would later be re-released uncut.
     There is no doubt in my mind that this movie is a masterpiece. Some are appalled by the inclusion of true animal slaughters, but for me, they simply add to the dour atmosphere. Deodato had a message about the reality of violence and the imposition of modern life upon the primitives. He succeeded in making an unforgettable vision of the macabre. The true aim of any horror filmmaker should be to strike a nerve in the human psyche, and then twist that nerve to unbearable dimensions. Well, my nerves were good and twisted. For weeks after viewing, images and sequences would infiltrate my waking mind. These were not daydreams, these were day-terrors. 
     Eventually the terrors subsided. Still though, whenever anything bad or disturbing happens in my life I call it a 'Cannibal Holocaust'. Flat tire? It's a 'Cannibal Holocaust'. Broken leg? It's a 'Cannibal Holocaust'. Cheating spouse? It's a 'Cannibal Holocaust'. And so on.
     Would I recommend watching this film? It's hard to say. Is the potential viewer willing to change their life forever? That's the prerequisite: committal to a life-altering experience. Also, the promise not to hold me accountable. 
     Upon hearing how affected Ben and I were my brother decided to watch the movie for himself. Afterwards he said, "It wasn't that bad. You and Ben are pussies." 
     Maybe so, but every once in a while when looking through the freezer for something to eat I come across an unopened box of fish sticks. I am suddenly transported back to a viewing experience from mid-October 2007. Faint music fills the visibly chilly air.

My True Horrors... THE EXORCIST

     Fourth grade. Heavy Metal was all the rage and I was listening. Megadeth, Metallica, Anthrax, Slayer, the list could go on and on. I would cut pictures out of magazines like 'Hit Parader' and 'Metal Edge' and paste them over every inch of my bedroom wall. I wore a denim jacket with a large Iron Maiden patch covering the back -- Eddie in the fighter-plane cockpit from 'Aces High'. I had a mullet, and sometimes, a couple of shaved lines in the side of my head for no good reason. 'Headbanger's Ball' was the best show on TV, and every last cent allotted to me by my parents went towards buying the cassette tapes of bands I would discover on the show.
     Oddly enough though, in another medium, I was not so adventurous. Horror movies scared the shit out of me. Freddy, Jason, Pinhead, Michael Myers: these were the plagues of my childhood nightmares. For some reason, the spooky images and dark iconography of Heavy Metal did not bother me at all, yet several famous movie monsters - and their endless cheesy sequels - were complete agony on my nerves. 
     Friends would suggest watching horror films at sleep overs. I would counter-suggest raunchy comedies like 'Trading Places', or some porno VHS my older cousin had been nice enough to lend me. Porno would always win out and spare me the nightmare of having to shit my pants in front of my friends. There were certainly times when I was without porn, and my suggestions would fall on deaf ears. Times like those, I had to grin and bear the horror film torture chamber.
     For days after viewing certain movies, I would catch bouts of hysterical insomnia. I'd beg to sleep in my parent's room, much to the frustration of my mother and father. My parents were somewhat easy-going about which forms of entertainment I ingested, except when it ruined a good night's sleep. My mother urged me to stay away from the "Halloweens" and "Friday the 13ths" of the film world. She warned that I would eventually have to suffer on my own, and not in her bedroom.
     One night, just before summer vacation, a friend and I were listening to a King Diamond record. My father must have heard the high-pitched vocal stylings and demonic interludes blasting from behind my closed bedroom door. He came in and asked what we were listening to. We showed him the album cover. He asked us to lower the volume and left us to continue listening.
     After my friend went home, my father sat me down for a talk. He explained that some of the music I was listening to had occult undertones. This led to a serious question and answer session about the essence of good and evil. It was an interesting and eye opening discussion for me as a nine-year-old. As far as I can remember, this was the first time I was an equal in a conversation with my father, not just the recipient of a lecture. He expressed fear that Heavy Metal music (namely King Diamond) might expose me to certain ideas that were not suitable for a young boy, especially a young boy who feared scary movie monsters. I defended the music, letting him know I was more interested in guitars solos than lyrical content, which was true. Towards the end of our long conversation, he brought up 'The Exorcist'.
     "Promise me you will never watch that movie," he said. "There is a face in there, a face you will never be able to get out of your mind. Even for me as a grown man, I'm still haunted by it. And I saw it over a decade ago."
     I promised my father that I would never, ever, watch 'The Exorcist'.
     Two weeks later, enter my summer crush, Jessica. I started hanging out with her randomly - and her friends - after joining a game of manhunt in order to even up the sides. From then on, I was part of their group. This was the first clique I ever associated with that had an equal mix of males and females. There were eight of us in total. We spent summer days riding bikes, going to the pool, playing kickball and eating pizza. It was typical summer wonderment. 
     I tried to impress Jessica with dirty jokes and meaningless tests of strength. She flirted back, in the innocent way fourth grade girls do, with taunts and teases. One day, she handed me a note which said she liked me. It was shaping up to be the best summer of my young life.
     One blisteringly hot afternoon in August, boredom struck the group. We were sitting on Jessica's stoop, passing the time, too hot to exert any energy. The subject of favorite movies came up. I cited 'Weird Science' as my personal favorite. Someone suggested we get out of the heat and into Jessica's air conditioned basement to watch something. We all agreed.
     Downstairs, we rummaged through an extensive VHS collection. Sadly, someone picked out 'The Exocist'. Only Jessica had seen it. Everyone else had heard tall tales of how brutally frightening it was. Jessica assured the group that it wasn't so bad. In fact, she claimed to have found parts of it funny, mentioning something about green puke. This blew my young mind. How could a movie have such a negative effect on my father, yet tickle the funny bone of a fourth grade girl I was crushing on? By unanimous decision, we decided to watch 'The Exorcist'. I should have kept the promise to my father.
     The actual viewing is a blur. I don't remember if I whimpered in fear throughout or sat there in stoned silence. All I know is that the film was like a sledgehammer to my brain. It caused massive amounts of damage, which to this day, has never fully healed.
     I left Jessica's house and held it together long enough to ride my bike home. Once home, I bawled. In the sunlight or in the dark, lights on or lights off, it did not matter; a young girl's demon face - and countless other horrific images - were all I could see. I tried to take a shower, but couldn't bring myself to close the bathroom door for fear that a demon would possess me. I couldn't go near my own bed, for fear that it would start shaking, and then a demon would possess me. I couldn't even pray to Jesus for help. The infamous crucifix scene convinced me there was no use. 
     My parents remained my only solace. I confessed to them that I had watched the film and they allowed me to sleep in their room that night. But, sleep did not come. I sobbed, and shivered, and eventually just passed out from sheer exhaustion. The movie was a third degree burn on my psyche.
     This went on for weeks; the uncontrollable sobbing, the terror, and the insomnia. Eventually, my parents grew fed up and would not allow me to sleep in their room any longer. As a compromise, I was allowed to sleep in my younger brother's room. It was no use. I would bawl myself to the brink of exhaustion and plead to be let back into the semi-safety of my parent's room. They remained fervently against it. Enough was enough, I needed to overcome my fears.
     The last week of summer vacation, my mother grew desperate. She did not want my hysterical insomnia to spill over into the school year. I was keeping her, my father, and my brother awake at night, and she was afraid that I would eventually have some sort of nervous breakdown in class. She tried to reason with me during the daytime, explaining that 'The Exorcist' was only a movie -- demons, ghosts, and monsters do not exist. She even went so far as to have a priest come from the local Catholic church to bless our house. The gesture proved useless. I was convinced the devil was real and he was coming to get me. Sleepless nights and constant crying continued.
     Finally, one September night before Labor Day, everything came to a head. I began my usual bawling and pleading in the dark. Suddenly, my mother rushed into my brother's room in a frenzy. Her hair was messed up, she wasn't wearing any makeup, and her skin was pale from lack of sleep. There was a wild look in her eyes. She grabbed me by the arms, shook me, and shouted like a madwoman...
     "IT'S TOO LATE! THE DEVIL IS ALREADY IN YOU!"
     She dragged me out of my brother's room, deposited me into my own room, and slammed the door shut. I stood there in the dark, fully shocked out of my frightened mind-state. I contemplated what had just occurred. Slowly, the wheels began to turn in my mind: If the devil is already in me, and it's too late, what is all the fuss about? I've been crying myself to sleep for weeks... and I'm not possessed yet! In fact, I'm standing here alone, in the dark, at this very moment and nothing is happening. 
     Somehow, it seemed a rational explanation. The devil was already in me. It was too late.
     I turned on my bedroom light. The familiar faces of Heavy Metal musicians stared down at me from the walls. They were a forgotten comfort. I grew calm, and oddly enough, I was no longer scared. I climbed into my own bed for the first time in weeks and rested my head on a pillow. Slowly, but surely, I dozed off. Slumber presented me with pleasant dreams. 
     To this day, I am convinced my mother pulled off one of the greatest psychological tricks ever pulled in the history of motherhood. By telling me that it was too late, that the devil was already in me, she knocked an irrational fear of movies out of my head. Her surprise tactic was over the top, but I can't blame her; she was at the end of her rope. She tried to reason with me, but reasoning didn't work. A true scare proved to be exactly what I needed to snap my young mind back to reality.
     Now, as an adult, every once in a while I'm visited by a young girl's demon face in the middle of the night. I tense up and turn on the lights, but I do not cry. I usually take a moment, collect my thoughts, and smile. The devil is already in me. It's too late. I fall back to sleep with a clear mind, zero fear, and a knowing smile.