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Overlooked home invasion film. Unnerving, strange and sometimes perversely funny, there is more going on in this film than the grungy violence of its surface. Don't let the perversely (and seemingly unnecessary) Seymour Cassell dubbing fool you. This one is quality, not trash.
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It's been a couple of weeks since I gave this a five star review on letterboxd, and I think I'm still trying to decode what this means. I think it's fair that some people think that maybe this movie shouldn't even exist. And yeah, I think this film flirts very close, or crosses the line, possibly even rushes right past that line, of what I'd consider exploitation. Exploitation of a sordid story of murder. Of one poor woman's violent end. Of a mentally ill man. Of the audience.
I don't really even know how to defend it. It’s a hard one to think about, let alone talk in detail of. Even the reasons I can give for why I think it's so effective, also kind of make the case against it. Make it sound even worse.
But what Caniba does, it does brilliantly. It is a film that brings its audience right up close to something truly horrible, so close the images blur and we can smell its breath. Make us feel like we are almost clinging to it. Much too close. And yet, at no point does it ever make us feel like we are invited here. That we were ever supposed to be in the same room with it, let alone sitting in its lap. Creating this palpable tension as we pretend we can’t hear what these two brothers are talking about. One of them explaining in terrible detail the process of eating the body of a woman he murdered. And the other asking him questions, possibly because of his own similar hidden urges.
Never have I ever wanted to be in the company of two human’s less. And yet, there I was, for nearly two hours, with no one but them. Nearly pressed up against their skin and listening to them talk. But not because they were supplying any kind of context for the films central act of violence. There isn’t any information in this film beyond what they provide. Not even a suggestion of how watching these two men talk can possibly lead us to any salvation from the type of men they are. Or the things they do.
There is no enlightenment. Just a clinging sense of fear and despair and depraved depression.
The eventual effect of this is that it turns what is a true life crime into less a narrative that we follow, and more a sensation we endure. A texture. The pits in the skin of a murderer. The shine of his little teeth smiling. A smell in the room, potent enough to peel the paint from the wall behind your television. Basically, it’s almost pure voyeurism. But rendered in such a way that it sticks to the eyes of those who dare press up to watch through the keyhole it is offering.
And we deserve this blackening. This stench that will sting them.
Especially when we give it five stars. When we consider it perfect.
I don't really even know how to defend it. It’s a hard one to think about, let alone talk in detail of. Even the reasons I can give for why I think it's so effective, also kind of make the case against it. Make it sound even worse.
But what Caniba does, it does brilliantly. It is a film that brings its audience right up close to something truly horrible, so close the images blur and we can smell its breath. Make us feel like we are almost clinging to it. Much too close. And yet, at no point does it ever make us feel like we are invited here. That we were ever supposed to be in the same room with it, let alone sitting in its lap. Creating this palpable tension as we pretend we can’t hear what these two brothers are talking about. One of them explaining in terrible detail the process of eating the body of a woman he murdered. And the other asking him questions, possibly because of his own similar hidden urges.
Never have I ever wanted to be in the company of two human’s less. And yet, there I was, for nearly two hours, with no one but them. Nearly pressed up against their skin and listening to them talk. But not because they were supplying any kind of context for the films central act of violence. There isn’t any information in this film beyond what they provide. Not even a suggestion of how watching these two men talk can possibly lead us to any salvation from the type of men they are. Or the things they do.
There is no enlightenment. Just a clinging sense of fear and despair and depraved depression.
The eventual effect of this is that it turns what is a true life crime into less a narrative that we follow, and more a sensation we endure. A texture. The pits in the skin of a murderer. The shine of his little teeth smiling. A smell in the room, potent enough to peel the paint from the wall behind your television. Basically, it’s almost pure voyeurism. But rendered in such a way that it sticks to the eyes of those who dare press up to watch through the keyhole it is offering.
And we deserve this blackening. This stench that will sting them.
Especially when we give it five stars. When we consider it perfect.
Last edited by crumbsroom; 09-17-23 at 07:46 PM.
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I feel I was already pretty fluent in speaking Fulci the first time I saw this years ago. I'd only seen City of the Living Dead by that point, but it had already exploded inside my brain like some kind of cinematic stroke. The kind that unlocks a previously unknown language in your brain. The kind that would make me start speaking in nothing but a grotesque Italian accent whenever discussing the fever dream logic of this man's films.
"Izza not a spose t'make-a sense. Izza nightmare logic, y'spicy meatball"
So how I could have ever wound up thinking this was mostly a bore is beyond me. No excuses. Just like all good Fulci, its terror is laying right there on the films surface. Nothing more is required than an instinctual response to what it shows us while watching. Once you speak his language, thinking is not required You need only accept that this is dangerous territory, there is terror in every direction, and there will not be a lick of plot or character development for us to busy ourselves with in order to not see its never ending approach.
So what could I have missed the first time? How is it possible this got lumped in with memories of all that lesser Fulci that came later? Why was I so dumb?
I think it might be because Zombi at least pretends to be moving towards its danger. Gives us a compass to find its terrors and let's us know we are headed directly towards them as the first act lumbers along. Unlike City of the Living Dead, which begins with us already submerged in piranha filled waters from the opening frame, and bites at us from every direction, in every unexpected place, Zombi creates the illusion that we are heading towards its dangers voluntarily. They are that-a-way. And because we know exactly where they are, there is a subliminal sense of confidence that we know which direction we will need to turn and run if ever needing to escape from them.
So in this way, Zombi feels comparatively less nightmarish. What is frightening about it has a distinct shape. Lives in a specific place. And there exists a hope that as long as we can see what is coming to get us, and that we know where to find it, there might still be some places where it doesn't exist. Where it can't get at us. Zombi doesn't feel like the end of times are inevitable. It's carnage is more of a tourist attraction. There is belief in us that, by the films end, we will still be alive at the end of the couch and under our blankets.
City of the Living Dead offers no such hope.
But does this somehow make Zombi a less effective horror film? Well, no. Not really. Not after I've finally revisted it after all of these years. Because this time around, I was all too aware that at one point there was a light at the end of the tunnel. There was an escape hatch. And that while I was moving in the wrong direction away from it, at least it was there. Somewhere.
Until, of course, it wasn't. Because in the heart of the jungle that is Zombi, it's landscape is no less Apocalyptic than Fulci's other masterworks. It has got its audience surrounded from all angles too. There is no glimmer that anything is going to turn out well here either. But, unlike the other cinematic labyrinth's of confusion and madness that he normally builds up around his audience and imprisons us inside of, in Zombie we enter it voluntarily. And the darkness we inevitably find inside of it, will only seem all the darker as we find ourselves, one step at at time, choosing to move away from the guiding light. The one thing that maybe, for a few moments, made us believe we were safe.
Or maybe, when we are younger and dumber, not so much feel safe as presume we are bored.
But there is nothing boring about Zombi. This ranks with his best. This is a pure and a nearly perfect kind of horror film.
Last edited by crumbsroom; 09-20-23 at 03:03 PM.
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I’m been vocal about my dislike of Fulci, although I do enjoy a few of his films.
I’d rank City of the Living Dead, The Beyond (despite some issues with it) and The House by the Cemetery above Zombi 2. Zombi 2 has a zombie vs shark fight, however.
Stay away from The New York Ripper, Conquest, and Aenigma.
I’d rank City of the Living Dead, The Beyond (despite some issues with it) and The House by the Cemetery above Zombi 2. Zombi 2 has a zombie vs shark fight, however.
Stay away from The New York Ripper, Conquest, and Aenigma.
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Stay away from The New York Ripper, Conquest, and Aenigma.
I think I might hate Aenigma, but I'm a sort of fan of both of the other ones.
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I think I might hate Aenigma, but I'm a sort of fan of both of the other ones.
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Also, don’t get me started on that duck voice in The New York Ripper.
You mean its most essential ingredient for almost greatness?
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You mean its most essential ingredient for almost greatness?
🙄
I get that’s somewhat of the appeal for his fans but…I guess I expected better.
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Speaking of Italian horror directors, how would you rate Margheriti amongst Argento, Bava and Fulci? I haven’t really watched many of his films yet.
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I was underwhelmed by Zombi 2. I heard a lot of praise on how the violence in it leaves a strong impact, but other than the eye scene (which I had already seen beforehand), nothing else stood out to me. Like, it's good gore, I guess. It didn't stick with me much though. Like Wyldesyde, I'm not the biggest Fulci fan either.
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I was underwhelmed by Zombi 2. I heard a lot of praise on how the violence in it leaves a strong impact, but other than the eye scene (which I had already seen beforehand), nothing else stood out to me. Like, it's good gore, I guess. It didn't stick with me much though. Like Wyldesyde, I'm not the biggest Fulci fan either.
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Speaking of Italian horror directors, how would you rate Margheriti amongst Argento, Bava and Fulci? I haven’t really watched many of his films yet.
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This is my favorite of their songs.
Ya, that's probably the best on it, but I'm switching it up for tonight.
The whole thing is the greatest though.
And their first album should not be neglected.
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More like an eye roll inducing ingredient. I remember watching Don't Torture a Duckling and rolling my eyes pretty hard at the ending scene but the duck voice takes the cake.
🙄
I get that’s somewhat of the appeal for his fans but…I guess I expected better.
🙄
I get that’s somewhat of the appeal for his fans but…I guess I expected better.
It's Fulci's embrace of nonsense that is sort of the ace up his sleeve.
Bava has class. Argento is the technical wizard. But Fulci is the legit maniac of the bunch. He's not nearly as talented, and he clearly is guilty of frequently pandering to the base instincts of his audience, but there is an embarrassing strangeness to his films that....somehow...make them more unsettling than anything those two clearly better filmmakers ever did.
For me, only Argento's Suspiria ratchets up the anxiety in the way Fulci is able to almost effortlessly, even in some seriously dreadful movies.
He's an idiot savant.
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