Papaya dei Caraibi

I saw this for the first time recently after reading a review of BA_Harrison in which he praised the end twist which kinda made me see this one otherwise i aint no fan of such movies. Honestly, apart from the good boobs, the only saving grace is the twist. This movie doesnt even come close to the cannibal genre. Its very misleading. On a Caribbean island, a nuclear power plant is to be erected against the will of the natives. The natives use a tropical beauty in seducing n killing off the engineers of the project. A journalist gets involved into the act of murder, cannibalism (minor castration), drugs, rituals n sex after meeting an engineer.

Joe D'Amato seems to be Italy's answer to Jess Franco. As most of you no doubt know, this means he made a ridiculous number of exploitation films and pornos. Like Franco too, his output usually has the feeling of a man with a little bit of talent making a film with great speed and little concern for the end result. In fairness, Franco did at the very least direct some interesting and stylish erotic horror films but in the case of D'Amato it's simply trash all the way.

Love Goddess of the Cannibals is a sexploitation movie in the guise of a cannibal flick. Presumably it was retitled to this moniker to cash in on the brief cannibal craze in Italian cinema circa 1978-81. I say that it must've been repositioned to exploit this craze after the event because the movie has extremely little flesh-eating action. Come to think of it, I'm not even sure if there was any at all. What it does have though is lots and lots of sex and nudity. There are several endless soft-core fumbles that are surprisingly dull, all things considered. The best part in the film I thought was the native ceremony where some naked people get down and dance to some hilariously inappropriate 70's Euro funk. Sadly, there aren't too any other highlights for anyone who is not a D'Amato disciple. The pacing is pretty terrible and not a whole lot really seems to happen although the Caribbean location is admittedly quite diverting and does give the film a certain exotic flavour. It stars Maurice Poli of Rabid Dogs fame. It's a bit of an artistic fall for Maurice working under the great Mario Bava, only to then be prancing around with his John Thomas flapping about in a Joe D'Amato flick four years later.

Papaya dei Caraibi simmers with a heavy tropical atmosphere and erotic undertones but never quite delivers on its potential, ultimately leaving the viewer adrift in a haze of slow-motion sensuality and half-formed ideas. Shot on location in the Caribbean, the film does benefit from a lush, sun-drenched visual palette that gives the impression of a fever dream caught between a travel brochure and a pulp novel. The cinematography leans into the exoticized terrain, favoring golden light, soft focus, and lingering close-ups that sometimes feel more voyeuristic than artistic. There are moments when the atmosphere clicks, briefly conjuring an almost hypnotic spell, but too often it's undercut by lazy editing and repetitive imagery that drains the energy from the screen.

The performances range from serviceable to wooden. Melissa Chimenti, who plays the enigmatic Papaya, certainly has the screen presence to anchor the film's erotic edge, and her portrayal does hint at deeper complexity. However, the script gives her little to work with beyond seductive stares and ritualistic gestures. The supporting cast appears more functional than inspired, drifting through their roles with a kind of disaffected detachment that mirrors the film's own lack of urgency. Dialogue scenes are flatly delivered and often poorly dubbed, stripping any emotional nuance from interactions that are already thin on substance.

What undermines Papaya dei Caraibi most is its confused tone. It flirts with horror, exploitation, and socio-political commentary, but never commits fully to any of them. The result is a muddled narrative wrapped in titillating imagery, where the sexual content is more prominent than the story itself. D'Amato, no stranger to mixing genre and eroticism, seems less interested in telling a coherent tale than in stringing together provocative scenes under a veil of island mysticism.

The titular character of Joe D'amato's Papaya, Love Goddess of the Cannibals is an exotic dark-skinned beauty played by Melissa Chimenti; I'm guessing that Laura Gemser wasn't available. Papaya belongs to a tribe who are fighting back against industrialists planning to build a nuclear reactor on their tropical island. Using sex as bait, Papaya lures her victims into deadly traps, her latest target being geologist Vincent (Maurice Poli). Vincent is drawn to a remote village where he and his companion, reporter Sara (Sirpa Lane - average face, great body), are forced to participate in a voodoo ritual, and are subsequently held captive, both falling under the erotic spell of Papaya.

Kicking off things with an oral castration, Papaya, Love Goddess of the Cannibals looks set to be one hell of a trashy treat for fans of Italian sleaze, but the film turns out to be far less brutal than expected, the bulk of the film focussing on the main characters sexual liaisons: Papaya, Vincent and Sara play 'pass the partner', with the leader of the island rebels joining in the fun later on. Anyone watching for splattery cannibalistic action will be sorely disappointed: apart from the opening emasculation, the only other gory moment comes during the the islander's 'round stone' ritual, where two dead pigs are eviscerated and a man has his heart cut out and eaten. Other than that, it's just an endless succession of soft-core coupling (albeit with full frontal from both sexes), and very little in the way of plot; while this might still appeal to many D'amato fans, I found it all rather dull and repetitive.

4.5/10, rounded up to 5 for the twist ending, the only original thing about the whole film, and for the funky disco music that gets the islanders naked and gyrating during the round stone ritual.

So, how does pube fest Pappaya, Love Goddess of the Cannibals square up to Joe D'Amato's other pube fest, Emmanuale and the Last Cannibals then? Well, there's not much gut munching in this one, but plenty of carpet munching! I'm sorry. It's hard not to be crude after watching stuff like this. It's just that there's not much to Pappaya, Love Gouda and Cannibus at all except for people writhing about on top of each other. The story as it goes is that Sarah is a photographer on some Caribbean island who hooks up with Vincent, a guy who's there to build a nuclear reactor. For some reason the natives don't think this is a good idea and have put Pappaya on the case to sort things out.

Now, Pappaya endears herself to the audience by seducing a guy in hut, rubbing papaya fruit on his tummy banana, then chomping his knob off before having two guys set the hut on fire. This crispy corpse now ends up in Vincent's pad (just before he was going to get it on with Sarah), and before you know it, Pappaya turns up and starts working her charms on the two white folk.

They all end up at some ceremony where Dakkar (of the much better Zombie Flesh Eaters, Zombie Holocaust, and Ator: The Fighting Eagle) orders them to drink some freaky juice and then we see two dead pigs being gutted. Thanks for that Joe. At least they were dead to begin with.

If you think the plot was slow to begin with, prepare yourself for the last half of the film which becomes an interminable barrage of sleaze (more writhing, jelly water mangoes, Vincent's sixty-five year old balls) where nothing happens at all. And then you get a kind of 'twist' ending.

It's not a bad film per se (this is the guy who made Endgame and Anthropophagus Beast after all), but it's deadly slow and there's not much going on. I bet Sirpa Lane didn't even take any underwear when she went on location.