It is messy. Honestly, that is the first thing you notice about the We Are Flesh movie (originally titled Tenemos la carne). You aren't just watching a film; you're witnessing a visceral, sticky, and deeply uncomfortable collapse of societal norms captured on 35mm film. When it premiered back in 2016, it didn't just ruffle feathers—it practically plucked them out one by one. Directed by Emiliano Rocha Minter, this Mexican arthouse horror flick feels like someone took a blender to the works of Gaspar Noé, Alejandro Jodorowsky, and maybe a dash of Marquis de Sade, then hit "liquefy."
People often ask if it’s actually "horror" in the traditional sense. It's not. There are no jump scares. No masked killers hiding in the closet. Instead, the horror is purely existential and biological. It’s about what happens when the world ends and the only thing left to do is succumb to our most primal, often repulsive, instincts.
The Plot That Isn’t Really a Plot
Imagine a post-apocalyptic Mexico City that looks less like Mad Max and more like a discarded industrial basement. Two siblings, Lucio and Fauna, are wandering this wasteland looking for food and shelter. They stumble upon a cavernous, derelict building inhabited by a strange, wild-eyed man named Mariano.
Mariano is... a lot.
He doesn't just give them a room. He enlists them in a bizarre project to turn the interior of the building into a literal "womb" made of cardboard, tape, and God knows what else. He’s played by Noé Hernández with an intensity that is frankly terrifying to watch. He’s a shaman, a predator, and a philosopher all rolled into one. He demands they surrender their inhibitions. He pushes them toward incest, toward cannibalism, and toward a total rejection of every moral code ever written.
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The We Are Flesh movie doesn't care about your comfort. It treats the human body like clay. It’s a film where the walls seem to sweat, and by the halfway mark, you’ll probably want to take a shower.
Why the Critics Went Viral Over It
The reaction was immediate and polarized. On one hand, you had icons like Alfonso Cuarón and Alejandro G. Iñárritu—the heavyweights of Mexican cinema—singing its praises before it even hit wide release. They saw it as a bold, uncompromising vision. A "brave" film.
On the other hand, audiences at festivals like Rotterdam or Fantasia were often left speechless or walking out.
Why the divide? Because Rocha Minter isn't interested in making a "movie" with a beginning, middle, and end. He’s making a sensory experience. The lighting is dominated by harsh, neon reds and deep blues. It looks like a nightmare. It feels like a fever. If you go into the We Are Flesh movie expecting a survival thriller, you are going to be disappointed and likely offended. But if you view it as a surrealist poem about the death of the soul, it starts to make a weird kind of sense.
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Breaking Down the "Womb" Symbolism
The core of the movie is the construction of the cave. Mariano describes it in almost religious terms. To him, the outside world is dead—not just physically, but spiritually. To find life again, he believes one must go back to the beginning. The womb.
This isn't just a metaphor. The characters literally crawl into these structures. They devolve. The dialogue becomes sparse. The actions become more animalistic. It is a total regression. Most people get this wrong—they think it's just "shock for shock's sake." While there is plenty of shock, there’s a distinct logic at play. It’s about the deconstruction of the family unit. In Mexican culture, the family is the ultimate pillar of society. By forcing the siblings into taboo acts, Mariano is systematically dismantling the last remnant of "civilization."
Technical Brilliance in the Grime
We have to talk about the cinematography. It’s gorgeous in a way that feels wrong. Yollotl Alvarado, the cinematographer, uses the camera to linger on textures—skin, dirt, blood, the grain of the cardboard. Most low-budget horror looks cheap. This looks expensive, despite being set in a trash heap.
The sound design is equally oppressive.
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There’s a constant low-frequency hum. It’s unsettling. It gets under your skin. You don’t just watch this film; you endure it. The pacing is deliberate. It starts slow, almost meditative, and then accelerates into a chaotic, psychedelic finale that leaves most viewers asking, "Wait, what just happened?"
Is It Worth Watching Today?
Look, honestly, if you have a weak stomach, stay away. This isn't a "fun" Friday night movie. But if you’re interested in the history of "New Extremism" or you want to see what happens when a director is given total creative freedom to be as transgressive as possible, then yes. It’s a landmark of modern Mexican cinema, whether you like it or not.
It challenges the viewer. It asks: If the world ended tomorrow, what would you keep? Your morals? Your shame? Or would you just become flesh?
How to Approach We Are Flesh
If you're going to dive into this, go in blind. Don't look for more trailers. Don't read the spoilers. Just sit with the discomfort. Here is how to actually digest a film this dense:
- Watch for the color shifts. The move from naturalistic lighting to saturated neons marks the characters' descent into Mariano's world.
- Ignore the "logic." This isn't a movie where you ask "How did they get more tape?" It's a dream. Treat it as one.
- Research the "New Mexican Cinema" wave. Understanding the political and social frustrations in Mexico during the mid-2010s gives Mariano’s nihilism much-needed context.
- Compare it to The Holy Mountain. If you’ve seen Jodorowsky's work, you'll see the DNA of the We Are Flesh movie everywhere.
The film ends not with an answer, but with a question about the nature of freedom. Is true freedom found in the absence of rules, or is that just another form of prison? It’s a heavy question for a movie that features so much fluids, but that’s exactly why it sticks with you years later. You won't forget it. You might hate it. But you won't forget it.