We Are the Flesh ★★½

“You are nothing but rotting meat,” the grinning hermit declares from deep within the bowels of the cavernous hideout he’s made for himself in post-apocalyptic Mexico. His name is Mariano (“Miss Bala” star Noé Hernandez), his face is twisted into a demonic gnarl of primitive desire, and he’s ready to prove his point with depravities so vile they make Gaspar Noé and the rest of the world’s reigning shock auteurs look prudish by comparison.

Unfolding like a Nuevo Cine Mexicano response to “Saló,” Emiliano Rocha Minter’s “We Are the Flesh” takes the defining tropes of his country’s contemporary filmmaking, liberates them from the burden of narrative logic, and stretches them across the screen like Hannibal Lecter hanging a victim by the flaps of his skin. Whereas “Heli,” “Battle of Heaven,” and other recent Mexican breakouts have told stories that were punctuated with acts of extreme barbarity and sexual violence, this one inverts that equation, Minter creating a psychedelic slipstream of obscenities that inserts brief moments of context between all the incest, cannibalism, and necrophilia.

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