Messaging the Monstrous: The Green Inferno

You can tell from imdb the cast of Eli Roth’s Cannibal Holocaust-inspired film appeared in many subsequent projects, some even soon after its release. Nobody died during the shoot and Roth never implied that they did, nor did he depict any animal killings on-screen, real or simulated. Yet, viewers cannot miss the spirit of old school Italian cannibal exploitation movies in Roth’s The Green Inferno, which screens at MoMA, as part of its Messaging the Monstrous: Eco Horror film series, in recognition of its status as a true work of modern cinematic art.

Initially, Justine admires the commitment and idealism of Alejandro’s campus “social justice” organization, but her roommate Kaycee recognizes his charisma as the persuasive snake oil of a cult leader. Nevertheless, Justine agrees to participate in their upcoming “action,” in which they will live-stream themselves blocking bulldozers poised to clear-cut a portion of the Peruvian Amazonian rainforest. However, she is bitterly disillusioned when Alejandro puts her life at risk, to capitalize on her father’s position as a UN attorney. Things get worse on the return trip, when their plane crashes in the middle of hostile indigenous territory.

Justine survives with a handful of activists, awkwardly including Alejandro. His behavior is a bit troubling, especially when he discourages and even actively hinders escape attempts. It turns out he is a truly hypocritical scumbag—and one of the most detestable, but distinctly notable movie villains of the late-twenty-teens.

As in Deodato’s cult-favorite, a group of privileged Americans (who would traditionally be profiled as woke hipsters) go to the Amazon and make everything worse. There might be an environmental message to Green Inferno (don’t raze the rainforest, because it will have dangerous consequences), but it is the depiction of the professional activist-class is what really defines the film, because it cuts so close to the bone. Roth’s screenplay, written with Guillermo Amoedo made a lot of critics uncomfortable, because there was a lot of truth to it.

Plus, it addresses the practice of Female Genital Mutilation, in ways that highlight the horror of the practice and undercut cultural relativism. Frankly, anyone requiring “trigger warnings” should skip this film. It was intended for grown-ups.

Dirie’s Story: Desert Flower

Few supermodels should be compared to Ayaan Hirsi Ali, the courageous Somali-born former Dutch MP. However, Waris Dirie experienced similar horrors as a young child. Both were forced to undergo the barbarities of female genital mutilation (FGM) and both have publically spoken out against the practice as adults. However, unlike Hirsi Ali, Dirie has not been the target of death threats (fortunately for her), having narrowly focused her criticism on FGM. Yet, she undeniably endured great pain and humiliation before becoming the toast of the fashion world. Adapting Dirie’s memoir-novel, writer-director Sherry Hormann tells a real life rags-to-high couture story in Desert Flower (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

A shallow fashion writer wants to do a puff piece on Dirie. However, the model is about to drop something heavy on her: the unvarnished truth. In overlapping flashbacks, viewers watch in disgust as the thirteen year-old Dirie is sold off to the harem of a lecherous old man. Running away from home, she becomes the de-facto house slave of the Somali ambassador to Britain, a distant but heartless relative. When the ambassador is recalled during the Somali Civil War, Dirie is left behind to fend for herself on the streets of London.

Though she speaks little English, her innate goodness wins over Marilyn, an aspiring dancer, who probably shouldn’t be. Her looks and demeanor also attract the eye of Terry Donaldson, a hard-to-impress fashion photographer. Yet, the butchery she barely survived as a girl led to long-term physical and emotional problems that threaten Dirie’s bid for a new life.

While it can only show so much, Desert does not tip toe around the nature of the original mutilation. To its credit, the film gives viewers a visceral sense of FGM’s savagery. Still, it is rather coy about providing any wider perspective. Indeed, the only oblique reference to Islam occurs when a traumatized Dirie seeks solace at a mosque. Desert is still a rather bold film, but it leaves an awful lot of contextual blanks for the audience to fill in for themselves (should they be so enterprising).

Frankly, simply broaching the subject of FGM on film constitutes a valuable contribution to public discourse. It also lends itself to some memorable drama. The scene in which Dirie reveals her condition to Marilyn is particularly notable for its honesty and sensitivity.

Indeed, the relationship between the two women is one of the film’s strongest elements. In addition to her supermodel credibility, Liya Kebede also expresses the right vulnerability and resolve as Dirie. Providing both occasional comic relief and a working class conscience, Sally Hawkins always hits the perfect note as Marilyn. She is honestly quite endearing in a part rife with the potential pitfalls of quirkiness. Even though he never breaks a sweat as Donaldson, Timothy Spall again proves himself to be one of those British actors who are always interesting to watch, regardless of the circumstances.

In terms of tone, Hormann is a bit erratic, going for a cutesy laugh in one scene, only to follow it up with the painfully real. Regardless, she keeps the pacing brisk and Martin Todsharow’s soundtrack evokes a sense of sweeping triumph that really rings in the ear. As an advocacy piece, Desert picks its fights rather judiciously, but as cinema, it is a crowd pleaser. Recommended as only too topical entertainment, Desert opens this Friday (3/18) in New York at the Angelika Film Center.