Growing Violence: Peckinpah's Cross of Iron

            The War Film, just like any genre of filmmaking, has a distinct ebb and flow to its popularity. Horror cycles through stretches of slashers, hauntings, and remakes both foreign and domestic. The current phase for romances seems to be an endless output of Nicholas Sparks adaptations and comedy is indisputably ruled by Judd Apatow and Seth Rogen. For the most part, every genre of film is always in some way present. War, however, is unique in that it goes through long periods without being present at all. These ‘dry spells’ – arguably the result of social and political atmosphere – are almost invariably followed by sudden floods of films, often kicked off by a new and daring entry in the genre.

            A few examples of this… the 1960’s were filled to the brim with patriotic films about World War II. Aside from the lesser known genre from Italy known as ‘Macaroni Combat’ (obviously a pairing with ‘Spaghetti Western’), the 1970’s does not boast a wealth of war films. Now, before you yell out Apocalypse Now (1979) or The Deer Hunter (1978), I am compelled to state the former is at its core a creative adaptation of Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness and the latter is much more about life after Vietnam, not the war itself. In any case, it was not until Platoon (1986) won four Academy Awards and opened the gates for a rush of pictures about the Vietnam conflict that the genre exploded once more. Incidentally, a very similar situation was created for a second time with the release of Saving Private Ryan in 1998. Since then we have had The Thin Red Line (1998), The Patriot (2000), Band of Brothers (2001), Enemy at the Gates (2001), Black Hawk Down (2001), The Lost Battalion (2001), Windtalkers (2002), We Were Soldiers (2002), The Last Samurai (2003), Flyboys (2006), Flags of Our Fathers (2006), Letters From Iwo Jima (2006), and finally The Pacific (2010) – a late-comer to be quite honest. Things have arguably slowed down again (the only entry of late being 2012’s Act of Valor). But I am of the opinion that it is when the audience believes it has ‘seen it all’ that filmmakers take the time and effort to make something truly special. Such is the case with Sam Peckinpah’s 1977 film Cross of Iron.

            Cross of Iron is undeservedly obscure in the canon of American war films. In fact, it is much more likely that the average movie-goer would recognize titles such as To Hell and Back (1955) or Pork Chop Hill (1959). Of course, this might easily be explained away by its company upon release: Star Wars… Also, it may not have helped that it focused on World War II, a conflict audiences were frankly bored with by that point, as well as the fact that it centered on a platoon of Nazi soldiers on the unfamiliar Russian front. Though Sam Peckinpah was well-known and loved as the director of The Wild Bunch (1969) and Straw Dogs (1971), his films were already being lumped in with associations of art and pretense. The cinematic atmosphere in Hollywood in 1977 was fresh, exciting, and all about the blockbuster. Chalk up one more casualty to Steven Spielberg and his damned Great White thrill ride.

            Though many overlooked films from decades past have found a new life on home video, Cross of Iron still wallows in the dungeons of hard-to-find. The UK seems to have a healthy respect for great masterpieces, as the film has recently been given a stunning new blu-ray transfer – exclusively on Region B. For those of us on this side of the pond, we will have to make do with Hen’s Tooth Video’s average dvd for $19.95 plus shipping. Curses. Nevertheless, it is an experience well worth the expense. For Cross of Iron is most certainly one of the greatest war films ever made!

            There are three overriding themes present in Cross of Iron: The folly of heroism, the burden of leadership, and the concept of war as life. The last is easily the most forward and pervasive, but the other two are equally hard to miss. This comes from the simple truth that heroism and leadership are both inextricably linked to the waging of war; therefore as Peckinpah explores the connections between wartime and living, he very naturally explores these concepts as well.

            Corporal (soon to be Sergeant) Steiner – played the great James Coburn – is introduced at the beginning of the film as what we assume will be the classic war hero archetype we expect. This expectation is quickly and effectively dashed however, when we see his callousness towards the death of young boys used as forward guard by the Soviet army. He also apparently contradicts himself by allowing one of them to live, even refusing to shoot him when ordered to by the new “heroic horse’s ass” Captain Stransky. Steiner is staunchly independent and dismissive of his commanding officers even as they laud and praise him for his selfless bravery in combat. He does not style himself as a hero, and challenges the audience to forgo thinking of him in any such way. Heroism is just another word for foolishness. The audience can see as much when Lieutenant Meyer leads the counterattack against Soviet forces and ends his birthday with a bayonet and a bullet.

            Indeed, Steiner knows all too well what comes from being a hero. When Stransky demands an answer as to why he did not search for one of his platoon members gone missing, Steiner replies that it seemed “unwise to risk the safety of the platoon for just one man”. This is a principle that he will disregard later on when his entire mission becomes to get his men home at any cost, but even as he takes revenge for the dead, he stops just short of its completion. It is as if he knows that the ultimate retribution for the injustices of war would make him a hero, and that is something he will never allow himself to be.

            The irony of Steiner’s refusal to be a hero is that his choice forces him to be the ideal in leadership. As Captain Keisel (played by David Warner) says, “Steiner is a myth. Men like him are our last hope.” Peckinpah uses the setting of an army in full retreat as an opportunity to put the various burdens of leadership under the microscope, and to examine the reactions of those forced to bear them. Colonel Brandt (James Mason) is the tired, seasoned leader. Captain Keisel is cynical, but undeniably loyal. Captain Stransky is everything detestable – manipulative, self-serving, with a monstrous superiority complex – and Steiner simply loves his men. Each of these personalities must clash, whether fruitlessly or by necessity, with the monster of war. And in turn, each outcome is vastly different.

            Above all, the gorilla in the room is the war. Unlike many seminal classics such as Full Metal Jacket (1987) or the aforementioned We Were Soldiers, Cross of Iron never presents the audience with a glimpse of the home the soldiers incessantly talk about, nor the fabled peace that existed before and surely will come to exist again. The war has always existed, it seems. Or at least, it has existed so long that our characters can remember nothing else.

            This concept of war as life unveils itself directly in two jarring scenes. The first takes place at a rear-area hospital. Soldiers there are visited by a high-ranking officer who presents them with a gift of vegetables (rare for enlisted men in wartime). The green, healthy, growing things – a symbol of life in all cultures – are then ravenously attacked by the patients, like a horde of zombies after brains.

            The second scene happens much later, when Steiner and his platoon, marching back to friendly lines, come across a group of female Soviet soldiers. Though Steiner tries his utmost to keep his troops from engaging in any sexual activity with the women, he is not entirely successful. The result is two of his men meeting their fates at the hands of these femme fatales. Even sexuality, the very process by which life is created, must end in war and violence.

            Sergeant Steiner cannot comprehend the thought of going home, even when faced with the possibility. His nurse implores him, “The violence must end! It must!” He only laughs. A chance romantic encounter with her at the hospital ward is utterly shattered when he promptly suits up to return to the front. “Do you love the war so much?” she asks, “or are you afraid of what you will be without it?” He leaves without a word and only smiles again once he rejoins his men.

            If Steiner sees the war as his existence, Captain Stransky sees it as simply an opportunity for advancement. Much like the ill-fated Lieutenant Dyke in Band of Brothers, he only wishes to use his assignment in combat to continue his climb up the ladder. When Colonel Brandt asks him why he wanted any such post, he replies, “I want to win the Iron Cross.” Even as they laugh about his answer, there is an uneasy atmosphere that more than lightly intimates it was only half a jest.

            It is only Colonel Brandt, and his aide-de-camps Captain Keisel, who seem to have any notion whatsoever that life will go on long after the war is over. And even then, only the Colonel is capable of planning for it. “What will we do when we lose this war?” he asks. “Prepare of the next one,” Keisel answers. Even Keisel, for all his awareness and cynicism, is incapable of comprehending life without war.

            That does not stop Brandt from looking to the future, however. In the final death throes of the retreat, he forces Keisel to escape to Germany with the General’s staff. When he protests, Brandt simply says, “You're a brave man, braver than you think you are. One of these days there will be a need for brave civilians, had you thought of that? In the new Germany, if such a thing is allowed to exist, there will be need for builders, for thinkers, for poets. I begin to see now what your job is to be. I will make this my final order to you; you will search out and contact all of these better people, as you call them, and together you will take on the responsibility that goes with survival.”

            In the end, that is Peckinpah’s charge to his audience, to us. In this time in history, when war is everywhere: The USA and Terrorism, Africa and Itself, North Korea and Everyone. The need is for those who will look to peace. War is not life, even if we believe it so. The art of Cross of Iron is this: It is a declaration of war on war.

            The final scene of the film synthesizes these three themes and molds them together to cement Peckinpah’s ultimate statement. Steiner finds Captain Stransky in the abandoned command post as the Soviet Army overruns their position. Rather than kill him for the injustices he has committed, Steiner conscripts him into service and hands him a machine gun.

            “Alright,” Stransky says, “I will show you how a Prussian officer can fight!”

            “And I will show you,” Steiner replies, “where the Iron Crosses grow.”

Profondo Rosso: The Art of Silence

“The sound… it looks wonderful.”

            This quote from director Dario Argento may sum up the lion’s share of everything that makes his masterpiece Deep Red (aka Profondo Rosso [1975]) such an indelible mark on the world of cinema. It is a film that can never be simply watched. It must be experienced.

            By 1975, Dario Argento was a well-known, eagerly sought-after talent in the Italian film industry. He had already completed his ‘animal trilogy’ – a triumvirate of films that comprised his first three efforts; The Bird with the Crystal Plumage (aka L’ucello dalle piume di cristallo [1970]), The Cat O’Nine Tails (aka Il gato a nove code [1971]), and Four Flies on Grey Velvet (aka 4 moschi di velluto grigio [1971]). With the success of his loosely linked trilogy, Argento was proclaimed as ‘The Italian Hitchcock’.

            Making three films in two years could be trying on any director, and Argento was no exception. The next three years saw him releasing a half-hearted comedy, and guest directing an episode of the television series La porta sul buio. However, before he embarked on his career-defining film Suspiria (1977), Argento decided to direct one more giallo, a work that would come to characterize the genre: Profondo Rosso.

            Giallo is a specifically Italian genre of film. Perhaps the best way to describe it is as being the unholy offspring of American film noir and Jack the Ripper, raised by Sherlock Holmes. In its literal definition, the word giallo is Italian for ‘yellow’. This designation supposedly arose from the long-lived series of pulpy crime novels known as ‘Il Giallo Mondadori’ (as in Mondadori Publishing House, Inc.) The series was easily recognizable due to the trademark yellow cover. It was not a far leap, then, to ascribe the moniker to a new genre of horror film that put a dark twist on what was typically light pulp fiction.

            Dario Argento did not invent the giallo film. Indeed Mario Bava’s Blood and Black Lace (aka Sei donna per l’assassino [1964]) may well lay good claim on that ground. But Argento is certainly the master of it. If his ‘animal trilogy’ may be seen as molding his style, then Deep Red is without a doubt the perfection of his craft.

            The film centers on a jazz musician in Italy, Marc Daly (played by David Hemmings, now famous from his starring role in Michelangelo Antonioni’s Blow-Up). Marc witnesses the murder of a woman who claims to be a psychic. Aided by attractive reporter Gianna (Daria Nicolodi in her first of many roles for Argento), he sets himself about solving the mystery. But there is one clue he can’t seem to recall – “A challenge to my memory” as he puts it.

            The simplicity of the set up is incredibly deceiving, since there is patently nothing simple about an Argento film.

            Giallo, and Argento films in particular, relies heavily on atmosphere. Plot, and especially character development, is secondary. To most of us, being brought up on the endless flow of Hollywood popcorn and bubble gum fair, this might seem to be the exact wrong way to go. I cannot count all the times that I have heard or read someone ranting about how terrible a movie was because it didn’t have a plot. Let us take a moment and weep for the decline of art in American culture… Moving on - In the case of Deep Red there certainly is a plotline, a very twisty one in fact, but it is just not the point.

            The result of this divorce from story structure is that the film plays like a sort of day dream – or should I say a nightmare? The events do not matter nearly as much as the setting does. It is all about how it looks. This is the first point at which Argento transcends the boundaries of his craft and dives headlong into artistry.

            There are two layers to the film that make it the immersive experience it is – the visual and the auditory. Both are unique to the time and place in which they are created. The visual design of Profondo Rosso is a color-saturated palette rife with inky blacks, bright reds, and overall solid shades. This is made even more so by the distinct grain pattern of the film stock belonging solely the 1970’s.

            Argento pairs this dazzling color scheme with his signature dynamic camera work. Largely avoiding both the handheld and the static, he keeps the camera moving smoothly with an intentional self-control that sets the pace for the film even more directly than the script. In fact, it is all too apparent how planned each shot is. The mystery unveils itself with images first and foremost, relegating plot devices and story to the backseat. Each type of camera movement employed is so distinct that we as the audience can tell at a moment’s glance whether we are following the characters, investigating a strange noise, or possessed of the killer in Dario Argento’s trademark point-of-view sequences.

            The director’s command over his audience is of paramount importance, and his greatest weapon is undeniably his camera. Argento understands this principle in a way few in the modern cinema do. Suspense in Deep Red is built not only by the mystery, or the camera work, but by a series of apparently unrelated visual cues. One motif in particular stands out. While not nearly as blatant or stomach-churning as Ruggero Deodato’s Cannibal Holocaust (1980), Profondo Rosso features a theme of animal cruelty. Unlike Deodato’s film, all of the instances in Argento’s work are the result of movie magic. Nevertheless, each instance – a bird impaling itself on a crochet needle, two dogs fighting, a lizard stuck with pins, etc. – serves to heighten our sense of unease. It as if Argento wishes to remind us that the world he has dragged us into is not ordered and safe. The protagonists may not necessarily prevail in the end, and even when danger seems far from present, nature is at constant war with itself. The polished, electric veneer of the film is subtly interrupted by these startlingly bleak moments. The result is an audience constantly on the edge of their seats.

            The second layer is the remarkable sound design. In the United States, sight and sound in the cinema are inextricably connected. The music may be added after principle photography, but most of the dialogue and at least the ‘everyday’ sounds are captured by boom microphone in real time along with each take. In Italian cinema in the 1970’s and 80’s, this was not the case at all. Partly it was the system, but predominantly it was for financial reasons. The Italian movie industry made it standard practice to film silent, and add the entire soundtrack after the fact. This allowed for a wider audience base. In other words, studios could hire an international cast of actors (American actors were cheaper since they came to Italy to find work and also more marketable), each could play their part in their own language, and then the entire film could be dubbed in English for the international release and Italian for the domestic. The setup worked well with low-budget films generating revenue in the United States and Europe.

            But there was another effect the process revealed. There is an eerie sense that the audio is separate from the images. This instills a sort of misplaced feeling, an impression that the sound is layered like a thick veil over top of the visual. Naturally, this disassociation could very easily become distracting. One needs look no further than the patchwork (yet still highly entertaining) filmography of Lucio Fulci to see ample evidence of such pitfalls. Yet Argento masterfully uses this quirky attribute to his advantage. He takes the opportunity to thoroughly coat Deep Red in a cloak of pulsating sound waves. Most impressive of all is the earth-shattering electric score by Claudio Simonetti and his instrumental rock band Goblin. At once playful and appallingly sinister, Simonetti crafts a score that very nearly defines the film. Argento would team up with Goblin again for Suspiria, Inferno (1980), and other later works.

            The use of sound in Profondo Rosso is made even more impactful by the brilliant placement of silence. Constant music assaulting one’s ears has become the order of the day in post-millennial Hollywood. Rather than take such a route, Argento augments his approach by fading the music out completely in many scenes. Instead, all we hear is a breath-taking silence broken only by Marc’s footsteps in a hallway, or the creaking of some unknown evil on the rooftop. The wall of sound that blasts at the precise moment is made all the more effective when coming from the sonic void.

            For all this, the magic of Profondo Rosso is not in the sight, or the sound, but in the experiencing. I mentioned before that the film is not one that is watched, it is taken in. A personal statement – there is no film I have ever seen (and I’ve seen plenty) that is as rewarding with multiple viewings as this one. So go, explore it for yourself!

Dario Argento’s Deep Red.

Dead By Dawn: Evil Dead II

            A dancing, stop-motion, headless corpse with a chainsaw. A mischievous disembodied hand. A mounted deer head trophy laughing maniacally. Where can one find such wonders? In Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead II (1987) of course! All this, and fountains upon fountains of bright red, and black, and green blood! Bring an umbrella.

            The follow up to the low-budget masterpiece The Evil Dead (1981) was a long time coming. Raimi and Co. (including his brother Ted Raimi, writer Scott Spiegel, and star Bruce Campbell) enjoyed remarkable success with their debut picture, especially on the home video market. But five years and a failed production later (Crimewave [1985]) they were at a loss for a new project.

            Allegedly, Sam Raimi did not want anything to do with a sequel to The Evil Dead. But studios were clamoring for it and Bruce Campbell convinced him – Convinced him by locking him in a room with co-writer Scott Spiegel and forcing them to write a script. The incessant laughter coming from the room was an indication that something entirely different than their first effort was being concocted.

            With a completed script, and a budget ten times that of the previous film, the crew headed to location in North Carolina to shoot one of the most original sequels ever made.

            Fans of the Evil Dead franchise are a curiously segregated group. While all seem to love each of the three movies, the whole seems split into distinct sects with almost religious devotion to their favorite installment. Yours Truly here happens to pledge his undying allegiance to the first film, but as mentioned, there is a love affair with all three. That said, those who call Evil Dead II their favorite seem to be the weirdest of the bunch. The humor of this film is seriously, and I do mean seriously, demented. Where else will you find the leading man battling his own possessed hand?

           

Much of what makes this sequel work so well is the humor. Whilst the first film was ‘The Ultimate Experience in Grueling Terror’, Evil Dead II takes itself much less seriously. It never even really attempts to scare (in spite of the tagline ‘Kiss Your Nerves Goodbye!’) and instead almost styles itself as a spoof of the original as opposed to its sequel.

            This is most evident in the unrelenting gore that oozes all over the screen, and the set, and the actors, and everywhere. Instead of spurting or gushing, the grue frequently erupts in sprays of volcanic proportions, almost as if being released from a fire hydrant. It literally covers everything. With spectacle so ridiculous, the audience is simply forced to let go of any realistic expectations of fright and give in the hilarity. At times, the evil force even literally bids the viewer “JOIN US!”

This invitation is practically the entire aim of the film. Each gag is designed to draw the audience in with every *wink wink* *nudge nudge* moment, well-placed pun, and not-so-subtle pop culture reference – just check it out when Ash tries to imprison his unruly hand in a bucket and weighs it down with a copy of Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms! The film is perhaps at its most effective when parodying its predecessor. At times, nothing is funnier than when a film makes fun of itself and Evil Dead II not only knows that, it relishes in the fact with unholy glee.

 In The Evil Dead, Ash’s girlfriend Linda becomes possessed and laughs for an uncomfortably long time in very disturbing, very high-pitched cackle. Ash can’t deal with it anymore and screams “Shut up!” “Why are you torturing me like this? WHY?!” and we as the audience feel the same way. In true parody fashion, Evil Dead II takes this moment and makes it do a handstand and juggle bowling pins with its feet. The mounted deer head becomes possessed and starts laughing. Followed by the desk lamp, and the books, and the book shelf, and the clock, and the shutters… Finally, Ash can’t take it and starts laughing uncontrollably as well. “JOIN US!” Laugh with us! Resistance is most definitely futile.

But crazy jokes and ooey-gooey gross-out gags on their own do not a movie make. There is an undeniable craftsmanship at work in Evil Dead II as well. To say that the film is paced at a rather quick clip is a gross understatement. This sequel is a slick, well-oiled machine created for a specific purpose- to thrill and tickle the funny bone. There is almost no fat here, all of it is trimmed. There is not a single scene in the film that can be deemed unnecessary. As a result, the movie’s run time of 84 minutes goes by in a flash. Credit certainly goes to Raimi and crew for making this ride a fast and enjoyable one. It doesn’t overstay its welcome and leaves the audience desiring more. One might complain that the downside of this is that bothersome things such as character development and depth of story are completely eschewed in favor of a candy-coated ride through the theatre of macabre. Characterization? Storyline? Raimi and Co. call that fat. And fat is to be trimmed.

In spite of such ‘overlooked’ issues, any viewer of Evil Dead II will be treated to Raimi’s always ingenious cinematography. Like The Evil Dead before it, this film’s greatest strength is its inventive camera work. This time the crew had the benefit of a steady-cam and it impressively shows. The famous POV ‘Demon Cam’ looks a lot more like a rampaging evil and a lot less like two guys running through the forest with a camera on a two-by-four. The better equipment also left much more time to spend on the effects that abound in every frame. No more acrylic paint masks, here we get latex appliances and make-up!

The final aspect that makes Evil Dead II such an entertaining film is none other than an incredible turn by star Bruce Campbell. Ash’s personality shifts drastically from installment to installment, and here he is his most dynamic. The role is much more physical than the previous film and it must take a special kind of person to fight with his own hand so viciously! But more impressive than that is the setting. Ash is alone for the entire first half of the film and Campbell plays it off beautifully and convincingly. An actor acting against himself for forty-five minutes and pulling it off is a testament to his skill and dedication to his craft. Quite frankly, without Bruce Campbell, Evil Dead II just would not work.

The middle installment in a trilogy can often be the weakest. It takes a lot of ingenuity and more than a bit of luck to coax lightning to strike twice. Ultimately, the charm of Evil Dead II lies in more than its humor and technical excellence. Like its predecessor, it is frightfully original and it is this left turn that keeps it feeling fresh even twenty-five years later.

So go check it out! But be careful, you might just end up ‘DEAD BY DAWN!!!’

Necronomicon Ex-mortis: The Evil Dead

Once in awhile you stumble across a film you might never have known existed, and it turns out to be a work of genius. Film nuts such as Yours Truly spend a lot of our free time seeking out films that not many people have heard of. Their existence is almost a myth sometimes – like the battle epic Siege of Firebase Gloria (1989). It’s always a wonderful moment when, half-way through the film, you realize that you have practically tripped over something very special. Then there is The Evil Dead (1981).

           

The Evil Dead sits in a decidedly different category of discovery. The nature of this wonderful gem of a movie is perhaps more akin to a legend than a myth. The Evil Dead is something that everyone has heard of, and many have seen. Yet for some reason it still sits in that place where it enjoys a sort of beloved notoriety. The title itself is enough to ward off most of those who do not desperately desire to see such things (and God have mercy on the ones who see it accidentally). But for horror aficionados, The Evil Dead is the holy grail of low-budget filmmaking.

Anyone questing to see it has a bewildering dilemma. Some movies are difficult to watch because they are hard to find (just try finding an uncut copy of Razorback [1984], I dare you). The Evil Dead has the exact opposite problem. To date, there are no fewer than six Region 1 DVD releases and two blu-ray releases (one with an extra special features disc and one without). This is disregarding the Region 2 4-disc set, multiple VHS releases, and a Sony PSP version. Needless to say, pursuers of the film are faced with the problem of which release they should lay down their hard-earned bucks for. Die-hard fans tend to buy multiple releases simply to own the complete array of supplemental material out there.

Even more puzzling than this is that the film isn’t more popular in the mainstream, considering its wildfire popularity in the horror community. Certainly, its gore isn’t for everyone. And the atmosphere of terror will put off more than a few for sure. But there is a magic to it. For anyone seeing it for the first time, no matter how much they have heard about it, The Evil Dead is an unexpected treat.

So what makes this cult classic so great? Is it originality? Ingenuity? Or is it simply fun? How about all of the above? Honestly, when one takes a look at the film on a surface level, it just should not work as well as it does. When director Sam Raimi and company embarked on production in late 1979, they had no location, two actors, and a budget of $375,000. Finding three more cast members was hard enough, but when they arrived at the cabin they were supposed film in, they found it occupied by about two dozen squatters.

A change of venue was in order. Raimi and producer Rob Tapert discovered an abandoned cabin outside Morristown, Tennessee. There were no squatters this time, but the floor was completely covered in four inches of manure. Actor Bruce Campbell (who would become the famous hero, Ash) almost single-handedly shoveled the entire cabin. The crew knocked down walls and replaced them, added a generator and a telephone, and used a good chunk of the budget to do it.

If these hurdles weren’t enough, it is safe to say that no Hollywood producer of the time would back the picture if they saw it in production. Raimi and crew seemed to violate nearly every tenant of horror filmmaking. First off, they had a male hero – a strong female lead was considered a must at the time. Secondly, the set-up was almost flip-turned upside down. Instead of the characters being picked off one by one, the hero is basically tortured and picked on for the duration. Simply, it should not work. But it does.

Perhaps the biggest reason for this is that The Evil Dead is astonishingly proficient filmmaking. This makes it all the more impressive considering that the primary cast and crew all dropped out of film school to make it. The storyline is tight, the acting is honestly too good for a film of this budget and this genre, and most of all the camera work is positively captivating. The cinematography is so intricate and unique, in fact, that one can spot its influence on big-budget productions in practically every genre since. From the POV ‘Demon Cam’ to the ingenious placement of the car and camera on an incline to make the actors look off-kilter – it’s all been copied from a film which, for all intents and purposes, is practically a home movie.

The fun of The Evil Dead comes from a brilliant and original combination of horror and humor. Most horror films at least attempt to rely on subtlety to build suspense. Here subtlety is chucked out the window. The audience gets to see everything happen. There are no *wink wink* cutaways from the action, nothing is artfully implied. It is all onscreen. Raimi and Co. keep the blood flowing, the goo splashing, and the ribs tickling and never let up.

The incessancy is another point. Once the action starts rolling, it just does not stop. The audience is never given a chance to breathe. The most effective proponent of this is the film’s downright inventive sound design. The tension is skillfully manipulated through the precise, meticulous placement of noises and sound effects. Moments range from impressively long and loud action pieces, to dead silent instances where the only thing audible is Bruce Campbell’s labored breathing. In most horror films, loud stings and jump scares are often considered cop-outs or just trying too hard. In The Evil Dead, these devices are legitimately terrifying because of this aggressive and original sound design.

But even the most original film would fall flat if it was a one-trick-pony. The Evil Dead supplements the horror with a viciously unique brand of humor. Even the truly disgusting gore effects are in on the joke, such as the moment when Ash pulls a stick lodged in his zombie-fied friend’s leg and the result is the *pop* of a cork and a torrent of blood gushing as if being drained from a jug.

The film also seems to thrive on little, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moments of dialogue – “WE CAN’T BURY SHELLY; SHE’S A FRIEND OF OURS!!!” – and sight gags like the ‘eyes open-eyes closed’ interplay between Ash and his girlfriend Linda.

The glee the filmmakers take in manipulating the audience is so apparent, that we absolutely must laugh along with them. Where most films’ self-awareness has a tendency to become pretentious, here it is genuine and infectious. The picture itself seems to know there is no rhyme or reason behind what is happening and takes absolute, nonsensical pleasure in that fact. This is never better shown than when Ash screams, “Why are you torturing me like this? WHY?!!!” As the audience, we just continue to scream in fear and laugh in delight.

All of these things have combined to create one of the most entertaining experiences one will ever have in the horror genre. The Evil Dead is one of the few films that lives up to its grandiose tagline –“The ULTIMATE Experience in GRUELING TERROR!”

Watch it if you dare!

The Green Inferno: Ruggero Deodato's Cannibal Holocaust

            What to say about Ruggero Deodato’s Cannibal Holocaust (1980)? What to say, at least, that hasn’t already been said? VILE! DEPRAVED! SICKENING! Masterpiece? It is certainly true that no viewer new to the film is ever prepared for what awaits in the following hour and a half. Might it even be appropriate to say that those who have seen it are still unprepared upon their second viewing, or third… or fourth? There must be something truly special about a film that has that power. Whatever else Cannibal Holocaust is, it is a masterpiece.

           

            The premise is astonishingly simple (the best plots are). Four documentary filmmakers head down to the Amazon jungle intent on capturing on camera the fabled cannibal tribes. Of course, they disappear. An anthropologist investigates the disappearance. He makes contact with the tribe and discovers the canisters of film the team shot. As the audience, we then view the footage and discover their fates. And with that comes the self-proclaimed “Most controversial movie ever made!”

            But first, a little background. Contrary to legend, Cannibal Holocaust is not the first of its kind. In fact, by the time it was released in the summer of 1980, the ‘Cannibal Exploitation’ subgenre had been going strong for eight years. The films in this niche were predominantly Italian to start. This makes perfect sense, considering the propensity for the ‘spaghetti’ filmmakers to include an extraordinary amount of brutality in their films. Of the 39 titles on Britain’s famous ‘Video Nasties’ list, 29 hail from Italy!

            The film often deemed to be the first entry in the cannibal canon is Umberto Lenzi’s Man From Deep River (1972) (aka Sacrifice!, Deep River Savages, and Il paeso dell sesso selvaggio). The film centers round a man captured by a tribe in the Amazon who eventually becomes one of them. Dances with Wolves eat your heart out, literally. It is curious that Lenzi’s later works Eaten Alive! (Mangiati Vivi! [1980]) and Cannibal Ferox (Make Them Die Slowly [1981]) are considered to be imitations of Cannibal Holocaust when the director is credited with starting the trend in the first place.

            Indeed, not only was Ruggero Deodato’s incredible work of ‘cinema verité’ not the first cannibal film, it wasn’t even his first. In addition to director Sergio Martino’s adventure opus Mountain of the Cannibal God (La montagna del dio cannibale [1978]), Deodato made his own cannibal adventure with Jungle Holocaust (Last Cannibal World; Ultimo mondo cannibale [1977]). Surprisingly, we find that the infamous Cannibal Holocaust is in fact a follow-up!

            What’s more, the tropes the film follows are well-worn in the genre. There is plenty of jungle, natural native nudity, actual animal slayings, and very gory, brutal violence. None of this is new, all of it tried and true. Even the concept of hand-held documentary footage can be lifted from Deodato’s contemporaries Gualtiero Jacopetti and Franco Prosperi, whose films Mondo Cane (1961), Africa Addio (1966), and Goodbye, Uncle Tom (Addio zio Tom [1971]) ushered in a new era of cinematographic realism.

            With all of this pointing towards the film as unoriginal, one must ask “What makes it so special?” To turn a well-worn cultural maxim on its head, ‘Cannibal Holocaust may not be the first, but it certainly is the best’. So, perhaps the more appropriate question is, “Why is Cannibal Holocaust the best of its kind?”

            Ironically, many of the characteristics that make the film so great are also the ones that have made it so controversial. Due to the depictions of violence, Cannibal Holocaust was initially banned in nearly sixty countries, from Great Britain (as a Video Nasty) to its home country of Italy, where it was seized in Milan and the filmmakers arrested for obscenity. The courts, in fact, at first charged director Ruggero Deodato with murder, in the belief that the actors in the film had actually been killed. Deodato was forced to contact them and produce them alive to exonerate himself.

            Even today, while it is not under widespread ban, the work is still heavily censored in many countries. This is mainly to cut out the numerous scenes of violence towards animals, which were not simulated- animals were harmed in the making of this picture. These parts of the film are a main source of controversy, but also necessary to the success of the film (as horrid as that sounds).

            The realism portrayed is unlike any other film in existence. The fallacy of modern ‘found-footage’ films, such as The Blair Witch Project (1999) and Cloverfield (2008) is that they still aspire to the theatricality of Hollywood. This is the very media that Cannibal Holocaust wishes to indict. Just as the TV Executive points out to Dr. Monroe (played with surprising naturalism by Robert Kerman), “Today people want sensationalism!” The onscreen slaughter of animals, especially one rather unlucky yellow-spotted river turtle, plays right into this. ‘You want sensationalism?’ Deodato seems to say, ‘you’ve got it!’ Happy now? This very social condemnation blatantly stands contrary to the label of exploitation given the film by those who decry it.

            But the real service the killings perform for the film is to set a tone for the audience.  We are duly shocked by this sort of snuff film á la National Geographic, and when the axe comes down, so to speak, we are prepared to believe that everything we are seeing is real. It is a magnificent cinematic magic trick. Many aspire to making their films believable, contending it is that holy grail of attributes that ultimately makes a great work of cinema. But few ever achieve it. Why is this, we must wonder?  Perhaps Cannibal Holocaust holds the answer. We cannot handle it. Is it too real? When a film finally convinces us to believe all that we see, we cannot escape the mortality of ourselves. The film challenges us to reconsider what we label ‘entertainment’. Our morality kicks in. Instead of condemning a filmmaker for showing human depravity (rationalizing that it was unnecessary), we finally acquiesce to condemning the evil of humanity itself. When we see the final ten minutes of Cannibal Holocaust, we cannot help but give ourselves over to the images before us. Logic says that is just a movie and it couldn’t have really happened. But on some level, we believe it is. And anything that can make us believe so unquestionably what we are being shown is real can make us reevaluate the standards we so blindly accept in everyday life. Standards of morality, of entertainment, of art.

            That is the power of Cannibal Holocaust.