It Came From the Basement: The End of Man
By John Seal
July 30, 2004
The End of Man (Finis Hominis) (1971 BRA)
Something Weird
The story: Is there one? A naked man wanders through a Brazilian city, where he is alternately revered as a savior, reviled as a revolutionary, or ignored as a crackpot. After touching the lives of numerous locals in a variety of unique ways, he disappears as mysteriously as he arrived, taking the secret of Finis Hominis with him.
The film: Sao Paulo-born Jose Mojica Marins is a familiar name to hardcore horror buffs, who revel in his sometimes perverse and always grim series of Ze do Caixao (Coffin Joe) films. In 1971, Marins, perhaps tiring of the relentless nihilism of his facetious Coffin Joe persona, produced this bizarre art film about ‘Finis Hominis’, a wandering hermit with a penchant for philosophizing and miracle-working. Like the Coffin Joe films, End of Man was shot in black and white, probably out of necessity. This choice, whether artistic or financial, works to the film’s advantage, lending an extra layer of quirkiness to this very strange feature.
A Dore-influenced woodcut sequence opens the film, accompanied by portentous narration about the meaning of life and man’s place on the planet. We’re informed that “the soul knows nothing about the creation of nature…the universe is a mystery…but there is one truth, the creation of intelligence and matter…the existence of man!” End of Man then overlays a scene over the opening credits as our hero - played, of course, by Marins himself — emerges childlike and naked from the ocean. After disturbing the tryst of a (clothed) couple and upsetting other local residents with his shameless display, he rescues a stranded woman and her daughter from a group of marauding rapists — the kind who set up roadblocks to ensnare their victims. The grateful woman takes him home and dresses him in her most outlandish late ‘60s hand-me-downs, lending him the appearance of a very groovy guru indeed.
After healing an elderly wheelchair bound woman, the self proclaimed ‘Finis Hominis’ takes to the city streets and is soon followed by a growing crowd of curiosity-seekers. He wanders into a Catholic church, gives the pastor a scare, and chugs some of Christ’s blood with sacrilegious glee, then forces the scared doctors at a private hospital to treat a badly hurt young girl (one of the nurses complains that “the girl is a proletarian!”). By now attracting considerable media attention, he rescues an adulterous woman from her unfaithful but jealous husband and takes up with a hippie commune, the members of which instantly regard him as a Manson-style prophet. Finis doesn’t seem all that impressed with the naked dancing, strobe lights, tuneless warbling, and group groping, though, and he soon learns that his counterculture worshipers are just as hung up on material wealth as anyone else. He showers them with a conveniently handy satchel load of coins, triggering a mad dash for dosh, whilst cynically chanting to his acolytes, “love…freedom…and what about money? More money!”
Finis then briefly takes a backseat to a confusing subplot about an impotent Rio de Janeiro businessman, Cavalcanti, whose unenthusiastic lovemaking can’t satisfy his wife. (Interestingly, Alberto Cavalcanti was Brazil’s greatest film director of the 20th century, best known to western audiences for his work on the classic 1945 British horror anthology Dead of Night.) Unbeknownst to him, his gold-digging spouse never loved him in the first place, and, in concert with her equally greedy family, is scheming to inherit his wealth by faking her own death. (How this would play out in the courts is unclear and left unexplained, but never mind.) Cavalcanti comes home from work, and promptly drops dead from heart failure at the sight of his spouse’s family mourning over an attractively accoutred mock coffin. During Cavalcanti’s funeral ceremony (a truly strange affair complete with one of the oddest ‘sex’ scenes you’ll ever see in any film), Finis shows up uninvited and resurrects the dead businessman resulting in a newspaper boy’s declaration that “Finis Hominis repeats a scene that happened 2000 years ago!” Now in demand by advertisers, the military, organized religion, and the entertainment business, our hero has the world at his fingertips. But just when humanity seems to need him the most, he decides to take his leave, and after a lengthy dissertation on the evils of money and the folly of man, returns from whence he came.
The cast and crew: Jose Mojica Marins played the caped Coffin Joe in six films, beginning with 1963’s transgressive classic At Midnight I’ll Take Your Soul and concluding (as of this writing, at least) with 1981’s Encarnação do Demônio. He’s also produced, directed, and starred in several even more obscure horror films, including the dreadful 1977 mad doctor opus, Hellish Flesh. The rest of the cast consists of friends and colleagues of the director, most of whose careers never extended far beyond Marin’s orbit. Herminio Gimenez is credited with the dissonant, ham-fisted, and disturbing musical score, which is strangely interrupted by segments of inappropriate (and unacknowledged) compositions such as Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies and Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head.
Nostalgia value: None whatsoever for anyone who isn’t Brazilian.
The print: Something Weird’s print is a full-screen version in decent condition. It seems complete and doesn’t suffer from any major damage, though, unsurprisingly, the image is fairly soft.
DVD prognosis: Paging Fantoma — you’ve already released Marins’ earlier films At Midnight I’ll Take Your Soul, Awakening of the Beast, and This Night I Will Possess Your Corpse. Considering that this is Marins’ serious message picture, it seems like a natural choice for San Francisco’s finest DVD company.
Ratings:
Film: A. Deliriously enjoyable, End of Man is an over-the-top fever dream that will appeal to fans of Bunuel, Jodorowsky, and Arrabal. Its concise 79 minute running time, sharp black-and-white photography, and ominous score should have fright fans frothing at the mouth.
Print: B. Good, but it needs that digital upgrade.
DVD worthiness: A. I love this film!
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