A London couple, Alex Campbell (David Ladd) and Patricia (Sharon Gurney), while exiting the Russell Square underground, happen upon a drunken man languishing on the platform. Patricia, particularly concerned for the man’s health, insists upon helping the poor fellow. When the couple return to the scene with a railroad security man, the man has vanished. Soon Alex is brought down to the local police headquarters for questioning with the head of police (Donald Pleasance). It happens that the man was James Mamford, a member of Britain’s high society. Pleasance and crew, bumbling as they are, eventually crack the case, which turns out to be a horrifying and bizarre story of humanity, rather than a standard missing persons case. It occurs that the person responsible for the victim’s disappearance is the last descendant of a group of subway construction workers during the turn of the century, who were involved in a gruesome accident involving the collapse of the tunnel roof. The rubble buried the tunnel, but sparse air pockets, dripping water (and yes, cannibalism) permitted the survival of the workers throughout the years.

Admittedly a fascinating premise, horror director Gary Sherman’s (DEAD AND BURIED) directorial debut falls something short of true satisfaction. It’s got atmosphere to spare and a deliciously droll performance by Pleasance (hardly a stretch for him) but unfortunately the two leads (especially Ladd’s) are too wooden to yield any degree of audience sympathy or even interest. Ladd, who plays an American here, seems to be trying to adopt his fellow English cast member’s understated wit, but just comes up cold. And Gurney is simply a nuisance, as she devotes a large quotient of screen time feeling sorry for Mamford’s plight and scolding Ladd for his reluctance to help the man (Ladd often counters her guilt trips with the admittance that such events are commonplace in America and would barely raise an eyebrow in New York City’s subways). If it weren’t for Pleasance and his knack for snappy dialogue, Armstrong’s character would undoubtedly be the most appealing! Luckily, Pleasance delivers some priceless dialogue, such as after he "takes a peek" at one of Amstrong’s victims in the morgue, remarking "Helps to settle the Cornflakes". And it’s worth noting that even though Christopher Lee is prominently billed in the opening credits, his appearance is nothing more than a cameo and is ineffectual enough to betray the afterthought that it is.

Despite the film’s hurdle of uninteresting protagonists, its biggest blunder is the treatment of the star creature (Hugh Armstrong). Armstrong’s character resembles something of a homeless caveman, covered in ratty shawls and grunting incessantly. And, besides the occasional kill, Armstrong is hardly given anything more to do, which renders the potentially fascinating scenes of him performing more domestic tasks (filtering water through an improvised purifier, caring for his sickly wife) all the more disappointing because of their scant appearances. The editing technique, which places a scene with Alex or Patricia directly before or after a scene with the underground creature, suggests a relationship between the hideous humanoid and the couple. Viewers may anticipate a modified PHANTOM OF THE OPERA romance between ghoul and girl, but unfortunately such a relationship never surfaces, and tired horror show gore (impalements, axes to the head) replaces such potentially intriguing concepts. When beast and beauty do finally meet, it occurs during a frenzied, frightful chase during the film’s climax, further snuffing out any development for either character.

While the film may not act like Laroux’s famous tale of tragic love, it certainly looks like it. Armstrong’s subterranean dwelling is an eerie dead ringer for the catacombs of Paris’ opera house, and Armstrong himself has the ghastly looks of the Phantom. Undoubtedly, the sequences with Armstrong roaming his living sepulchre are the standouts of the film. Flickering lights shimmer, projecting rings of light over various archways, resembling bricked haloes. Director of Photography, Alex Thompson, delights in portraying the decrepit scenery, populated with rotting bodies of Armstrong’s family, dripping water tapping on rusty pipes, and rats scurrying about the rubble. Effects man John Horton does an admirable job of striking a delicate balance between gruesome viscera and tasteful restraint. The music is also suitably restrained here as well, as the composers wisely allow the rusty pipes’ maddening gurgle and Armstrong’s screams go unaccompanied by a synthetic studio score. There are also a few genuinely icky scenes as well, not the least of which being a sequence where a sorrowful Armstrong splits open Mamford’s skull with a crude blade, in order to satisfy his hunger. The opening sequence in particular also stands out for its technical merits, in which a sleazy Mamford (dressed like a proper Englishman with a suit and top hat) prowls London’s red light district in search of voyeuristic kicks. The whole of the scene is shot with many dissolves and effective pans of the seedy sex shops, excellently complemented by Jeremy Rose’s and Wil Mallone’s scuzzy score. The scene suggests humanity’s inner darkness, a concept sporadically detailed in the film’s running time.

Such scenes of horror are doubly poignant when one considers the similar plight of countless homeless in the 1980’s, who were forced to live in appalling conditions in America’s subways. The film takes on an eerily prophetic tone with this striking resonance, although it was most likely unintended by the producers.

RAW MEAT remains an intriguing failure. It’s an honest try by one of the genre’s more imaginative directors, with the scenes of atmosphere and horror holding up best. Perhaps due to Sherman’s inexperience behind the camera, the film ultimately falls victim to spotty pacing and an identity crisis (is it a horror film…or something more profound?).