In the view of Indiewire‘s David Ehrlich, Emiliano Rocha Minter’s We Are The Flesh (Arrow, 1.13 in LA, 1.209 in NY) is some kind of ultra-grotesque ode to cruelty and perversion in the vein of Pier Paolo Pasolini‘s Salo: The 120 Days of Sodom. He describes Amat Escalante‘s Heli, which I described three and a half years ago as a fairly gruesome experience (“a starkly drawn, no-frills, deeply ugly Mexican art film about the ravaging of Mexican society by drug traffickers and how poor people always take it in the neck”), as a relatively palatable thing compared to We Are The Flesh. Minter, says Ehrlich, “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.” No thanks.