We Are the Flesh

While a difficult film to claim as 'beautiful' in the sense of classical prettiness, there is ... a dizzying exquisiteness to Minter's craft.

For every moment of sick visceral genius (e.g. whenever Hernandez or Evoli are left to their own devices), there's another of clumsy metaphor (e.g. the limp punchline of the movie's final minutes).

Viewers expecting a garden-variety horror flick will likely recoil, but those seeking new voices in Mexican cinema may well hail Minter's effort.

Mr. Rocha Minter, who is in his 20s, has obvious filmmaking talent, but he is also, to judge by this evidence, a sensationalist dilettante with a mean streak.

Filmgoers who brave We Are the Flesh may regret seeing it. Forgetting it is another matter entirely.

The film establishes a hypnotic rhythm through razor-stropped editing and a reverberant sound design that later scenes will disrupt with alarming impunity.

Profoundly allegorical yet not far removed from a psychedelic journey.

A brutal, intense story with a riveting performance by Noe Hernandez...

There's nothing realistic about these scenes, nothing new or potentially boundary-pushing.

We Are the Flesh is outré enough to generate avid enthusiasts, but for those who are easily desensitized by unrelenting grotesqueness, one may find this kind of shock value a bit too transparent.