Craven’s early efforts more often than not get tagged simply as exploitation movies, but although this label is not entirely unjustified, it does rather sell the appeal of these films short. The director happily mines many of the superficial themes of mid to late 70s grindhouse fare (cannibalism, mutilation, revenge etc.) but adds a thoughtfulness and a sense of grim inevitably that raises his early work almost to the level of a parable. Last House and Hills are hardly complex tragedies in the mould of Hamlet, but they do feature characters drawn into a downward spiral of violence and revenge that damages their souls as much as their flesh. Hills is full to the brim of shocking imagery – particularly the attack on Big Bob, the Carter patriarch – but the film’s horror lies in the ease with which the wholesome Carters are prepared to match and even outplay the mutants at their own game. That the film’s nominal ‘monsters’ are prepared to gut a dog is not wholly unexpected, but what are we to make of Bobby Carter’s gleeful use of his own mother’s corpse to lure the cannibals into a death trap? Craven’s point seems not to be that terrible things happen to good people, but that ‘good’ people are ready capable of the most terrible things.

Given that both families end up engaged in an equally-matched war of attrition, it’s appropriate that many parallels exist between the two. The cannibals are as much of an extended, rather disfunctional brood as the Carters are, and Craven draws on the obvious similarities between the mutant father Jupiter and Big Bob. As with many good guys in 70s horror films, the Carters are so winsomely Colgate-fresh that there’s a perverse satisfaction in seeing them picked off, but in all fairness Craven writes for them well – their banter has a natural bounce to it that renders them more or less likeable. The mutants’ dialogue unfortunately slides into monster-speak cliche fairly frequently, but then their appeal lies more in their bizarre rituals and looks – particularly eldest son Pluto, played by Michael Berryman (who made a respectable genre career out of his strange features).

The whole conflict is presented with the same unflinching directness that served Craven so well in Last House. There are some truly horrific images on display here, particularly Big Bob’s spectacularly horrible demise, but unlike other exploitation directors he never fetishises it. The near-documentary realism he employs, coupled with the dry, stark desert surroundings, means that the horrors on display are merely catalogued as the punishing end-product of the characters’ unravelling; by the time the Carters turn killers, the damage has already been done and the rising body-count is simply the payoff. The Hills Have Eyes is at times uneven and occasionally suffers from its low production values, but its message is loud, clear and pertinent. Like Last House, it balances the thrilling transgression of exploitation movies with a genuinely sobering outlook, and is definitely worth a look for those with a strong stomach.

The plot concerns a quest led by Professor Harold Monroe to recover reels of film shot in the jungles of South America by a team of documentary film-makers who disappeared without trace six months earlier. When he returns to New York with the tapes, both the city’s University and the Pan American Broadcasting Corporation are keen to see what it on them – but nothing can prepare them for what they see. This twist raises the movie’s game altogether – during the second half, we see the contents of the tapes intercut with scenes set back in New York, as a moral debate rages between the Professor, the university and the broadcasters over the actions of the film-makers and whether or not the footage should be shown to the public. This makes explicit what is implied in the jungle footage; Mark and his the rest of his documentary team come across appallingly, goofing around one minute before feigning shocked outrage at the ‘barbarity’ of the cannibal tribe, and slashing, killing and burning their way towards their goal of making an arresting film. Deodato claims the movie was inspired by catching his seven year old son watching harrowing reports from Vietnam on the television news. He invites us to debate the way unfamiliar cultures or events are sensationalised for the viewing public; his point seems to be that although film offers us a window onto a world we might never otherwise see, if the person behind the camera has a prejudiced agenda then the result will be misinformed ignorance. Interestingly, the film’s two halves deliberately present the jungle setting from two very different perspectives; for Deodato’s framing narrative, it’s achingly beautiful (especially the opening aerial shots) helped by Riz Ortolani’s gorgeous music, but the ‘documentary’ footage makes it look scuzzy and unpleasant.

Crucially, though, Deodato does not attempt to apologise for the cannibal way of life or sanitise it. Their brutality is presented unflinchingly and is incredibly repellent, especially the famous image of a young girl impaled on a vertical pole through her mouth and a horrendous abortion sequence. Although clearly the victims of western heavy-handedness, the cannibals are not innocents – it’s just that the Americans are just as brutal, whilst claiming to be part of a ‘civilised’ culture. The film’s most contentious scenes – cut from the DVD I am reviewing this from – involve the team killing animals including rats, monkeys and a turtle; Deodato incorporated real footage from a documentary film for these sequences, meaning the slaughter presented on screen is real. Whilst I’ll readily admit that I haven’t seen these scenes and have no particular desire to, I’m uncertain as to whether their inclusion – and more importantly their authenticity – helps or hinders the film; part of me thinks that it unhelpfully shifts the debate away from the issues considered within the film towards Deodato’s own film-making, but I am also mindful of the fact that he uses footage from the kind of film he is explicitly criticising, and therefore genuinely shares the audience’s own distaste and outrage.

Cannibal Holocaust’s conviction for obscenity is ironic, considering that it’s a film about how far film-making should be allowed to go. In effect, it’s not a gory movie, but a film about a gory movie – not that this lessens its sickening impact, but it suggests that Deodato was at least plugged into the debate about extreme film-making and attempting to contribute to it, rather than merely attempting to shock / titillate (delete as applicable). The gore is present in spades, but the rough, documentary style of the film means it is never fetishised in the way it usually is in lesser movies. And although the film’s final moral message – a voiceover from Prof Monroe asking “who are the real cannibals?” is hackneyed and obvious (as is much of the more overt moralising), it’s the discomforting moral issues that linger in the mind after the credits have rolled, not the imagery. Cannibal Holocaust is extreme and unashamedly provocative, but it is never exploitative. I wouldn’t recommend it to everyone simply because many will (with good reason) find it a difficult film to swallow, but it’s a valuable entry into canon of cinema for its more considered approach to a rather murky area. Sadly, its reputation and title go before it, meaning that its core audience will largely be fans of horrid cannibal movies, but it’s a smart and surprisingly reflective piece that pulls no punches in confronting its subject matter head-on.

It’s hard to imagine who this movie is aimed at, or indeed why it exists in the first place. I can’t imagine any porn fans being massively excited by scenes of genital mutilation and disembowellment, and nor are gore-hounds going to be satisfied by the acres of bare – intact – flesh on display. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it feels like two different films shunted together. The first half is where all the porn is, and seems to be set in a parallel world where people are constantly having sex, or thinking about sex (although crucially, never talking about sex – possibly because they’re too busy with the first two). Maybe I haven’t watched enough 70s porn, but I was amazed at how much sex the film crammed in whilst setting up the expedition plot. When Emanuelle meets the straitjacketed cannibal girl, she calms her down by – naturally enough – masturbating her. She then meets Professor Mark Lester, consults him on cannibals, has sex with him, meets up with her boyfriend, has sex with him, then travels to the Amazon with Mark, having flashbacks about their earlier sex en route before having some more when they arrive (whilst another girl watches and masturbates). Emanuelle doesn’t limit herself to men either, leading to perhaps the film’s oddest sequence, where she rather listlessly cavorts in a stream with a girl called Isobel whilst a monkey sits on the bank smoking a cigarette. There’s a nun too, and although she doesn’t have sex, we do get to see her without her knickers on, so that’s okay. And every time Emanuelle has sex – usually unannounced and never commented on afterwards – the soundtrack kicks into a bizarre song where a female singer wails about how she is the queen, he is the king, and how “when we make love my arms are tired”. Extraordinary stuff. Luckily, Laura Gemser is very easy on the eye, and her lovely statuesque figure and bronzed skin manage to save the day at the end of the movie, so you can’t complain.

Horror fans will find themselves on more familiar ground in the second half, where we’re treated to the usual parade of rubbery flesh and gloopy red blood, whilst men in loincloths dance around to some tribal drumming. The gore effects are pretty much as good as any you’ll find on a Fulci movie, but even by Italian standards, this is an ineptly made film. It has some of the strangest edits and worst continuity I think I’ve ever seen, whilst some of the jungle scenes hark back to Ed Wood with their apparent mismatching of night and day shots. The dubbing is nothing short of atrocious, with the voiceover artists continually interrupting each other and making a hash of their lines. In particular, the scene where Emanuelle and Mark first have lunch has to be seen to be believed, as the voice artist attempts to fit the dialogue around mouthfuls of food. And whoever dubbed Emanuelle’s newspaper boss deserves a medal for one of the weirdest accents ever. It doesn’t help the the dialogue is clunky at best and risible at worst. “Tomorrow I’m leaving for the Amazon, for work. Something very, very interesting. It’s about cannibalsm,” she informs her boyfriend. “Emanuelle you’re crazy, you’re really crazy,” says her boyfriend, to which she replies “Maybe I am, but right now I want to make love”. Cue the sex.

Basically, this film is total tosh, but then you could probably guess that from the title. If you’re watching this movie, chances are it’s not because you’re looking for a great movie, it’s not because you have a gore fetish and it’s not because you’re looking for a wank – Emanuelle and the Last Cannibals fails on all three counts. As allmovie.com observes, it’s basically a film with no target audience whatsoever, but it achieves a certain greatness through its sheer oddness. I struggle to think what D’Amato thought he was bringing to the table while making this film, but I can’t pretend I didn’t enjoy it, even if it drags towards the end. Citizen Kane it ain’t, but anyone with a passing interest in the seedy underbelly of cinema history will have a field day here.