Killing for Culture: An Illustrated History of Death Film From Mondo to SnuffAuthor: Kerekes, David and Slater, DavidGenre: Entertainment Publisher: Creation Books Released: 1995 |
A Review by Mike Bracken
07/31/2001
Since the crimes were so sensational, it’s no surprise that several books chronicling Manson and his band of hippies sprung up almost overnight. Naturally, most of these affairs are written in the style of today’s tabloids: Any facts that can’t be corroborated can still be used, and if you’re unsure about certain details, feel free to use artistic license and make up something that sounds good.
However, one of these books, The Family: The Story of Charles Manson’s Dune Buggy Attack Battalion (written by Ed Sanders of the rock group The Fugs), gains more attention than many of the others. Sanders’ book asserts that The Family not only committed the Tate and La Bianca murders, but that they may have been involved in something even more heinous—the making and trafficking of snuff films. This may or may not have been the first time the phrase "snuff film" was used, but it is most assuredly the point where it infiltrated the collective consciousness of America.
Snuff, Mondo, and the Death Film—Practical Definitions
For the uninitiated, a "snuff film" is a real murder (no special FX or trick photography) committed in front of a camera and captured on film (or tape) for the sole purpose of being circulated amongst a small underground network of individuals who find the footage entertaining.
To say that the creation or possession of a legitimate snuff film would be illegal is an understatement. Authorities have never verified the existence of a real snuff film, however, despite numerous investigations, raids, etc. For all intents and purposes, it appears that snuff is little more than a clever urban myth—one that lives on because no matter how heinous the idea of murdering someone on camera seems, it also comes across as plausible.
If the snuff film is the blackest of black sheep in the transgressive cinema family, then its two siblings, the death film and the mondo documentary, are often made outcasts by what amounts to a tenuous association at best. Though neither style of film is actually illegal, both dwell in a strange moral void where they often present footage of questionable taste and value, yet pass it off as educational. Making matters worse: Various filmmakers have manipulated footage to suit their own needs—either staging it completely, or inspiring certain actions that might not have happened had the cameras not been present. Film is a malleable artform, and no other genre proves that quite as effectively as the mondo documentary.
Mondo refers to the cinéma vérité style of documentary that came into vogue with the release of Mondo Cane in 1962. The mondo documentary was a subgenre that became popular with the Italians, who would jaunt over to the jungles of Africa or Southeast Asia and film bizarre tribal rituals and animal footage whenever the lire appreciated.
The mondo film was an appealing form, because the strange footage of African and Asian cultures (which were quite foreign to western audiences) created its own sensationalism—and it was incredibly cheap to produce.
By the 1980s, the traditional mondo video had fallen out of vogue; audiences had seen all they cared to see of the African and Asian jungles. To replace the now commonplace mondo, a new style of film was born—the death film, or "shockumentary."
If the mondo film was a largely Italian subgenre, then the death film belongs to mainly to the Japanese and the Americans. The death film is generally a tape of clips compiled by a videographer (who usually pirates them off TV news feeds or solicits them from private citizens).
In these clips, audiences are often shown various auto accidents, suicides, and crime scenes, along with standard autopsy footage, sex-change operations, etc. The death film isn’t a snuff film, primarily because it’s newsworthy footage captured on camera (as opposed to a cinematic murder).
Slaughter
Kerekes and Slater open their book with a chapter on the low-budget independent film Slaughter.
Slaughter was a 1971 film designed to cash in on the furor surrounding the Tate/LaBianca murders. It was supposed to be put out by Allan Shackleton’s Monarch Releasing Corporation. (For years, Monarch had made soft-core porn and sex comedies, but with the uproar over the Manson murders, Shackleton saw an opportunity to make a quick buck by cashing in on the burgeoning "crazy hippy" market.)
Made in Argentina, with a budget of $30,000, Slaughter is an awful film by all accounts. Shackleton hated it when he screened it and never released it—although he did keep a copy for some unknown reason.
Jump ahead several years. The Manson craze has died down, but the FBI is reporting that snuff films are being smuggled into the country on 8- and 16-millimeter film. Shackleton reads the story and has an idea: What would happen if you took a film like Slaughter, removed the credits, and claimed it was real? The result would be Snuff, a film that would cause a major uproar and further entrench the idea of snuff cinema into the American consciousness.
To make Snuff play as legitimate, Shackleton removed all the credits and commissioned the shooting of roughly 5 minutes of new footage. This new footage shows a young woman being murdered after having sex with a film director. It blends in nicely with the final shot of Slaughter, helping to create the impression that what’s happening on screen is simply the continuation of the film after the scene had ended—as if someone had forgotten to turn off the camera.
With his new footage in hand, Shackleton launched a subversive ad campaign. He started rumors that a legitimate snuff film had infiltrated the country from South America (Where Life Is CHEAP!, as the tagline told us) and would be playing in NYC. (That people accepted the idea of a true snuff film released theatrically seems absurd by today’s thinking, but apparently it was a different world back then.)
Soon, women’s groups were protesting Snuff by picketing at any theater where it was shown. This, of course, assured Shackleton free publicity from the media each and every day.
Needless to say, Snuff was not a real snuff film (and even the FBI said so, though it didn’t dissuade the protestors)—but it did present the kill-for-the-camera concept to the public. American cinema would never really be the same again.
Hardcore
In Chapter 2, the authors look at three fictional films that helped fan the furor over snuff cinema in the aftermath of Snuff. Kerekes and Slater offer incisive analysis of Joe D’Amato’s Emmanuelle in America (wherein Laura Gemser infiltrates a snuff film ring while having various sexual adventures), Paul Schrader’s Hardcore (featuring George C. Scott as a father whose daughter disappears into the porn industry in California), and the enigmatic Last House on Dead End Street (enigmatic because it’s a well-made, incredibly disturbing film by a director and cast who never worked again—at least under the names they used here).
The authors provide a detailed plot synopsis for each film (which might be a bad thing if you haven’t seen the films in question) and posit how each one furthered the myth of snuff films in America. The commentary here is insightful, presented in a style guaranteed to delight film buffs, but also accessible to the common reader.
Thrill Kill Video
Continuing the exploration of films influenced by the snuff phenomenon, Kerekes and Slater explore the wildly popular Italian cannibal film cycle of the 1970s (concentrating specifically on Ruggero Deodato’s Cannibal Holocaust, which even the Italian authorities thought was real).
Again, we’re treated to exceptional analysis and loads of anecdotal information about reactions to the film.
From there, the authors tackle more modern fare, including the faux documentary Man Bites Dog, Jörg Buttgereit’s Der Todesking, and more. Again, if you haven’t seen the films, the plot descriptions are filled with spoilers. However, in order to present as balanced and detailed an overview as possible, these details are necessary.
Mondo
The next two chapters form the middle part of Killing for Culture and deal exclusively with the mondo film.
In mondo, filmmakers (mainly Italian) would set out for the jungle with their cameras in hand, hoping to catch strange rituals and foreign customs, footage of wild animals devouring each other, and occasionally, the grisly death of a human at the hands of an animal.
As a form, mondo stayed relatively static from its inception in the early '60s all the way through to the early '80s. Time and again, Italian filmmakers traipsed through the jungle, showing us footage of tribal circumcisions, shamans piercing their bodies with long spikes, and various other bizarre customs (at least by western standards).
However, in an ever more crowded marketplace, some filmmakers resorted to sensationalism in order to get ahead. Many of the mondo documentaries are only documentaries in the loosest sense of the word. Many of the filmmakers were more than willing to manipulate situations, stage events, and use out-and-out fake footage in order to thrill audiences. (In one case, it appears they might have actually inspired the murder of unarmed rebels.)
Even though the mondo documentary would have you believe that everything you see on the screen is real, it often isn’t. And even the "real" footage is always suspect, because the presence of the camera often makes people act differently than they would if the camera wasn’t there.
From there, the authors give a detailed and exhaustive listing of just about every mondo film ever made. The lists are complete, with directors and various cast information, as well as critical observations, and whether or not any segments are blatantly fake.
If you’re a fan of mondo cinema, this segment alone makes Killing for Culture worth owning. It’s as detailed and thorough a breakdown of this subgenre as I’ve ever seen.
The Death Film—Real Death Caught on Tape (Sort Of)
The third and final section covers the Death Film—the outgrowth of the mondo film (once audiences became bored with the same old footage of natives and jungle animals).
The authors once again cover all the major films in the subgenre through 1995, offering the same kind of detailed analysis that has marked the two previous sections. The film descriptions are meticulous, citing numerous scenes of death, and cross-referencing them with other videos in which they have appeared.
(Not only does the death film present ghoulish subject matter, it also has a ghastly predisposition to cannibalize other films in both the mondo and shockumentary subgenres for footage. These forms are incestuous, to say the least, and you’ll often see certain scenes, e.g. Budd Dwyer’s suicide, in almost every compilation.)
Killing for Culture also documents whether or not the footage is fake, (and a lot of it is).
If you’re looking for detailed commentary on the Faces of Death films, True Gore, or any other death film tape, then Killing for Culture belongs in your library.
After the detailed analysis, the authors highlight various instances where real death has been captured on the news, including the on-air suicide of a TV anchorwoman in Florida, the televised suicide of R. Budd Dwyer, and footage of various European soccer atrocities. It’s fascinating reading, despite the disturbing subject matter.
Also in this section, Kerekes and Slater cover various films that have garnered attention for being real, even though they aren’t. The Guinea Pig films (particularly the Flower of Flesh and Blood episode) were turned over to the FBI as legitimate snuff films (by none other than actor Charlie Sheen).
Other films, such as T.F. Mous’ Men Behind the Sun, achieve notoriety because they shoot footage using real cadavers. Again, our authors offer an exhaustive analysis of infamous cult films, direct-to-video mail-order oddities, and even those films we used to see in Driver’s Education class.
Propagating a Myth
Killing for Culture wraps up with a lavishly detailed chapter devoted to debunking the myth of the snuff film. Kerekes and Slater cite numerous instances where the press and various media figures have offered up unfounded and unsubstantiated claims about the "great snuff film menace."
In recent years, the press has had a field day concerning satanic cults and their alleged child sacrifices (which are often reported as being filmed). Despite exhaustive efforts by authorities, however, no proof of either child sacrifice or videotaped footage of such events has ever been found.
In England (where the "video nasties" outrage still makes procuring legitimate horror films difficult), numerous tabloids have reported that authorities have busted snuff film rings, or obtained snuff film footage. In several cases, the films in question have turned out to be Flower of Flesh and Blood or Ruggero Deodato’s Cannibal Holocaust—and although both films are impressive in terms of FX work, neither is real.
Perhaps the most astute observation comes in the last paragraph, where our authors state:
Snuff is a means by which the media can prick public morality. Despite no such film ever being found, in any place, anywhere, the media continues to indiscriminately promote the myth as fact. Perhaps in doing so—reiterating its potential monetary value and projecting its potential markets—it will one day succeed in making snuff a true commercial reality.The updated 1995 edition goes on to add a brief chapter about the Roswell alien-autopsy footage that made headlines a few years back. Our authors reach the same conclusions that most other students of film have made—that the footage is fake.
Indices
As if Killing for Culture weren’t well-enough researched, the authors also include several indices. There's one for all the footnotes from various chapters (and they’re all interesting reading—well worth thumbing to the back for), another for a huge bibliography, and a third with an astounding filmography section that highlights the cast and crew of every film mentioned. If you’re looking for more material on the topic, these appendices are invaluable—and they highlight just how much work went into Killing for Culture.
Conclusions
There is no doubt that Killing for Culture is truly the definitive book on transgressive cinema. Kerekes and Slater present an unbiased, incredibly well-researched look into a field that has rarely provoked any kind of scholarly commentary.
Though it is guaranteed to appeal to students and film geeks, it’s also written in a highly entertaining style that’s accessible to almost any reader. If you’re at all interested in the darker side of cinema, Killing for Culture is essential reading. Beg, borrow, or steal a copy—just make sure it finds a home in your personal library.
© Copyright CultureCartel.com 07/31/2001
