By Andrew E. Miller
The inherent racism of an Amazonian cannibal movie is on full display. A false stereotype of the animalistic and brutal indigenous savage is a central conceit of the film. Other than the fake name of the tribe, no indigenous person has a name, nor says anything intelligible, nor is otherwise humanized–the one exception being the young girl who miraculously transcends her people's mob mentality and liberates Justine. The experience of the white people, who have names and motivations–as shallow as they might be–is entirely central to the plot. The degree to which the film evokes any emotional response, it's supposed to be some kind of horror at harm befalling the gringos. In dialogue between the activists, there are various references to "what they are doing to us." This is a classic example of othering.
Roth's portrayal of activism is absurd and cartoonish. Ostensibly, the film's social subtext is a critique of "slactivism," inspired by what Roth apparently observed around phenomenon like Occupy Wall Street and Kony 2012. But, as numerous reviewers have noted, "slactivists" wouldn't travel to Peru and carry out a direct action in the middle of the rainforest. The extreme naivete or venality of members of this group reaches caricature proportions. In all, it's not a serious social commentary, between being incoherent and hyperbolic. Unfortunately, this makes it all the more pointless, because there are cogent critiques to be made of well-meaning but clueless activists who ultimately do more harm than good, protected by their privilege from paying any consequences–like Roth himself.
There are some real-life issues illustrated in the film, but to such exaggeration that any prospective value in raising awareness about the Amazon is completely lost. Yes, there are gas and other extractive projects in the Amazon menacing indigenous peoples within their own territories today. But the lethal threat is generally not armed mercenaries that will shoot indigenous natives, instead risks posed by foreign disease or adverse health effects from pollution are far more likely to have an impact. Yes, Amazonian indigenous peoples tend to resist unwanted incursions into their territories, but they don't systematically mutilate and murder the invaders. In the overwhelming preponderance of cases, indigenous peoples defend themselves through nonviolent and often sophisticated means using lawsuits, protests, and their own media campaigns.
By Tara Houska
Roth himself has switched tacks on the intent of the film—these days he's touting monetary donations he's made to indigenous and environmental groups, and recalling tales of how much the tribe he featured loved the film crew. It's a far cry from prior interviews where he joked, "We [had] to tell them what a movie is ... They've never even seen a television ... [B]y the end they were all playing with iPhones and iPads. We've completely polluted the social system and fucked them up."
"The Green Inferno" not only trivializes grassroots efforts to draw attention to the plight of Amazonian tribes, it further entrenches the understanding that tribes are uncivilized relics from the past. Controlled contact and assimilation efforts aren't as unpalatable when tribes are viewed as "other" and incapable of self-determination.
Roth fails to realize that Native peoples and cultures have survived despite all odds; our fights are sophisticated and ongoing. Relegating us to the dregs of society is no longer acceptable. Simon Moya-Smith, Culture Editor of Indian Country Today, summed it up: "'The Green Inferno' is the 21st century cinematic demonstration of white fear ... they are right to fear us, but not for the reason this Jewish filmmaker would suggest."
With any luck, this lackluster horror film and its primitive depiction of indigenous peoples will quickly fade into unprofitable obscurity.
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