It’s hard to review a movie when you don’t know what’s going on, you don’t know who the characters are or why they’re doing what they’re doing, and you don’t know what any of it means.  If just one, or even two of those things are in play, you can still enjoy the movie visually, or emotionally–but if you’ve got the triple threat? Well then you are in for an ordeal.

We Are The Flesh is an ordeal. 

Noé Hernández stars as an erratic, oddball, charismatic man hiding out in an abandoned apartment while, we assume, the outside world is in some kind of post-apocalyptic chaos.  He spouts off to the walls, the air, and the camera, delivering poetic proclamations to no one in particular. Into this come María Evoli and Diego Gamaliel as sister and brother looking for shelter/companionship/a plot.

Hernández is svengali-like as he berates, cajoles, and seduces the two into doing some very odd things: creating a cave in the apartment with spare wood and packing tape, forbidden (explicit) sexual acts with each other, and murder. The sister seems to take a shine to the troll-ish guru, having some kind of connection that the brother doesn’t really feel, and she soon takes a more domineering role.

Even reading that paragraph back makes more sense than watching it unfold did to me. Menstrual blood is ingested, throats are slit, raw eggs are slurped, dead bodies are slimily resurrected, a miracle drug is administered by eyedropper into various orifices, and a cannibal orgy literally climaxes the proceedings.

And I still have no idea what to take away from it all. The brutality of man? Sexual freedom is good? Sexual freedom is bad? Do what weird svengali gurus tell you to do? Don’t do what they tell you to do?  *shrug*

Writer/Director Emiliano Rocha Minter has some big ideas floating around here, but damned if he’s going to share them with you.  A fascinating idea is broached, only to be abandoned for a more fantastical/obscene one, and then an entirely different one after that. The scenes don’t really flow as much as they just start and stop then start again somewhere else. Heck, the dialogue doesn’t even flow from line to line in the same scene and seems random, profound, and improvised all at the same time.

Can a movie be boringly shocking? Annoyingly interesting?  Vibrantly bland?  Yeah, sure, why not?  

Visually, this movie is a treat. The colors are moody and appropriate and the camerawork is solid and unflinching, creeping over the environment like the most silent of all snakes, searching for the most interesting shot.  The most depraved and disgusting things become beautiful in the glowing ambient light. Extreme closeups of genitalia (trigger warning) become alien landscapes, breathing and moving on their own.

I still can’t tell if I liked this movie or not. I admire its audacity, its sheer will of existence, the, shall we say, extreme ganas it took to make, and the bravery (or insanity) (or both) of the director who knew exactly what he wanted and gave it to us exactly as he envisioned it.  But is it something I can recommend? I’m pretty sure it’s something I can’t not recommend, so there you go. Enter at your own risk, so sez Uncle Mike.