Antonio de la Torre in Cannibal (Film Movement)

The Spanish film Cannibal is a character study about the most unlikely of protagonists—a man who murders and eats women. Before we go any further, Cannibal is not The Silence of the Lambs, and it is not a cheap exploitation flick. It’s haunting and filled with dread.

Always dressed impeccably, Carlos (Antonio de la Guerre) is a tailor who seems a little old fashioned and who keeps to himself. He also has a refrigerator filled with nothing but meat. As Carlos go through his killing ritual, there is little joy in him (or in his day-to-day life). There isn’t any gleeful release as he carries out the killings matter-of-factly. When he sits down at his table with a glass of wine, he methodically eats his “dinner” as if he’s counting each chew. This makes his predilection even more disturbing (if that’s even possible).

It is only when he meets his new upstairs neighbor Alexandra, a masseuse, that you see a spark in him. Alexandra, a bit of a flirt, manages to get to Carlos. She clearly finds him interesting. Too interesting. She disappears. Enter her sister Nina (played by the same actress, the luminous Olimpia Milente), a meek, shy brunette who resents her sister, but still is determined to find her. She also gets to Carlos, but in a very different way, and Carlos finds himself in a position of feeling for someone who is essentially his prey AND may well end up exposing him.

There is quite a bit of ambiguity in Cannibal. Nothing is spelled out deliberately or explained. You are never quite clear of Carlos’s motives. Until the end, you are not sure if Carlos is helping Nina out of altruism or perhaps love or if he’s trying to get her out of his hair (his usual method won’t work as the police have been keeping an eye on Nina).

Nina also has a bit of a muddied morality. She is no fan of her sister. Alexandra was supposed to send money back to her struggling family in Romania but never did, and Nina is desperate for it. Everything in this film is deliberately thought out and always at a bit of a remove, reflecting the nature of Carlos, from the compositions to the deliberate pace, all enhancing the story.

The sound design deserves particular mention. Nothing graphic is ever shown. You hear the slink of a knife or the thud of a hammer. When Carlos works in his tailor’s shop, he listens to the radio, Mozart, and he is always alone in the frame with voices coming in from outside. He overhears the passionate argument of Alexandra and her boyfriend from his apartment, but sees nothing, only shadows in the window. The sound in the film reflects his isolation, his separateness.

Director Manuel Martin Cuenca has a tremendously sure hand. Cannibal gets under your skin. It makes you think. It effortlessly humanizes a monster while acknowledging him as such. Whether Nina’s love for Carlos or Carlos’s possible love for her will redeem him is, again, mysterious. But what becomes apparent is that Nina, if only for a moment, brings Carlos closer to the light. Closer to the human in himself. It’s a tale of the possibility of redemption in the most tortured of souls, and a disturbing, understated masterpiece.