Raw Meat
In 1892, a cave-in caused a large number of co-ed miners to be trapped deep beneath the surface of London. The rescue efforts were expensive, causing the mining company to go bankrupt. With no funds available, and no proof of survivors, the decision was made to let the dead stay buried.
But there were survivors, those who fought off the ravages of starvation by consuming the flesh of their fallen compatriots. They even procreated--and why not? There's not much to do down there in the dark, and sex was probably their only form of entertainment.
Eat, screw, die and be eaten. It's the circle of life, my friends.
Flash forward to "modern" day, however, and the number of deaths has surpassed the numbers of birth, until one disfigured descendent of the original miners finds himself without food and without family. The cheese, as it were, stands alone. His secret and forgotten world breeched by the subway system, he travels to the surface for the only type of sustenance he has ever known.
Human flesh.
Alex and Patricia are college students who inadvertently find themselves in the midst of both the cannbial's hunt for food, and the missing persons cases that it turns into.
Although this sounds pretty damn good on paper--or on computer screen, as the case may be--it's not nearly as entertaining as it should be. It sounds like an unreleased John Skipp novel, but it plays out like a watered-down, made-for-TV adaptation of same. The acting is good, the special effects are passable, and the opening theme was as badass as they come--even if it was decidedly at odds with the rest of the score. Unfortunately, there are only a few brief moments of gore, and not many more moments of outright horror. Much of the time is spent with the characters yammering on about the police investigation. Which is fine for an episode of Poirot, but it doesn't cut the mustard in what is supposed to be a horror film.
This movie is set in London, so it makes sense that it has a Brittish vibe to it. But it is very Brittish, the stuffy sort of Brittish that devolves the legendary Dr. Loomis into a prissy bitch who throws a hissy fit when he learns that his tea is made with tea bags! Tea bags? Can you even imagine!?
Overall, the filmmakers took too tame of an approach to a theme that should have been extreme. A movie like this should have kicked me in the crumpets--but, alas, my scones have escaped unscathed.
1972
Rated R
87 Minutes
Color
English
UK
Quite right. Tut-tut. Cheerio and all that.
--J/Metro
