Ask any writer, and they will tell you that titles are perhaps the most challenging part of the literary process. A great moniker can accent the themes and subtext of what you’ve created, while a bad one belittles everything you’ve tried to accomplish. It’s the same in cinema. A great marquee tag like A Nightmare on Elm Street or The Texas Chainsaw Massacre can completely enliven an audience’s interest, while full-blown fumbles like Strip Nude for Your Killer evoke nothing but guffaws.
Eloy de la Iglesia’s Cannibal Man is a perfect example of the mishandled name dynamic. Upon first glance, one would expect a standard bloodbath, the main character lunching on human flesh as part of a pathological pastime. In truth, this is a subtle, slightly unhinged character study focusing on a lonely individual who uses murder and the subsequent disposal of his victims as a way of dealing with his disenfranchised lot in life.
You see, Marcos is a butcher at the local slaughterhouse by day. The random killing of animals and the making of the company’s signature soup (in a giant mechanical extruding device) doesn’t bother him. But living in a hovel in the shadow of some luxury apartments drives him crazy. He hates being poor, seeing it as the reason he can’t get ahead. It also keeps his possible paramour – Carmen – at arm’s length. When an argument with a taxi driver turns fatal, the resulting death has Marcos starting to unravel slowly. Before long, he is killing his friends and family and hiding the bodies in his bedroom.
Then, late at night, he cuts up the corpses and transports pieces to his job. There, they find their way into the offal that makes up the patented processed broths. As he further loses his grip on reality, a fey neighbor named Nestor befriends Marcos. Together, they enjoy late-night swims and intimate company. But our murderer is incredibly paranoid, and with his new pal’s apartment overlooking his home, there may be more to the companionship than mere camaraderie.
That their conflict and collusion come late in the film highlights Cannibal Man’s multifaceted approach. In the beginning, we get actual animal slaughter (never a good thing), the bled cows symbolizing Spain’s gutting of its people. The argument that leads Marcos to his first murder is based solely in morality, the cabbie unwilling to let our hero and his honey make out in the back of his hack. All the crimes here are based on inherent social unease. Carmen can’t be with Marcos because of her father’s overbearing paternalism, while his brother’s lack of familial cooperation leads to his demise. Eventually, our antsy antihero stops killing, and it’s at this point where Cannibal Man goes a bit wonky. There are some incredibly evocative moments, like when we see our lead’s silhouette butchering his victims. But there are also sequences of forced lunacy, as when a rotund, effeminate drug store owner coos and minces over Marcos’ purchase of air freshener and perfume.
It’s obvious that Eloy de la Iglesia was far more interested in the suppression of same-sex sentiments than playing with fear. Before he befriends Marcos, Nestor is shown staring longingly at shirtless boys playing soccer. When he speaks, it’s in a whisper that seems to imply something sinister or sad. Whenever he runs into his neighbor, the tension is so thick it practically stifles them both, and a late-night swim at a local spa is all wet torsos and longing looks. As if to amplify this undercurrent, Marcos has several quiet moments where he flashes back to his night with Nestor.
When the two get together at the end, playing possum while avoiding the obvious attraction, it’s meant as an instance of solidarity. For 1972 Spain, this was all subversion as high treason. Perhaps the random murders were necessary to remove the stigma of social commentary from the film. After all, had Cannibal Man been categorized as something other than scary, the government would have stepped in and shut it down.
Yet because of the title and the concept of human flesh-eating, many will come to Cannibal Man expecting nonstop hack and slash. While we get a gruesome collection of kills (including a nasty axe to the face that predates such F/X prosthetics by at least a decade) and a Sweeney Todd manner of disposal, there is very little dread in Cannibal Man. Instead, it is more of a psychological study with political subtexts than a full-blown fright flick.
Eloy de la Iglesia pours on the proposed suspense, constantly hinting that Marcos will eventually be discovered. But some of his stunts are far too obvious. Dogs are seen sniffing around his front door, and coworkers play a game of ‘keep away’ with a gym bag loaded with body parts. The times when local barmaid Rosa constantly thrusts herself into Marcos’ life are much better. All she wants is physical companionship. But we know loverboy’s bombshell secret, so their sexual back and forth really gets the anxiety flowing. While the last act ennui faced by our lead can feel overwhelming, dragging everything down with it, this is still a very inventive and intriguing film.
Like Delicatessen without Caro and Jeunet’s flair for the visual or Tobe Hooper having his version of a Continental breakfast, there is much more to Cannibal Man than death, dismemberment, and digestion. Once you realize this isn’t your typical fright flick, the political and cultural agendas become painfully obvious. This makes Eloy de la Iglesia an exciting filmmaker, one not afraid to mix genre, metaphors, and meaning to get to the heart of his obsessions. Those looking for a grue-laden, lunch-loosening exercise in nausea will be sadly disappointed. Those who like a message with their menace will find Eloy de la Iglesia’s ‘Cannibal Man’ a refreshing bite of horror. It’s very good, in a very odd and insular way. It’s just too bad about that title, though.