The Green Inferno: Primal Screams from the Amazon Depths

In the sweltering heart of the jungle, good intentions become the first casualty of true savagery.

Eli Roth’s 2013 throwback to Italian cannibal cinema plunges naive activists into a nightmare of flesh-ripping horror, blending visceral gore with sharp social satire. This film reignites the fire of a once-notorious subgenre, forcing viewers to confront the thin line between civilisation and barbarism.

• A ruthless homage to 1970s and 1980s cannibal classics, updating their excesses for a digital age audience.
• A biting critique of performative activism, where selfie-savvy students meet authentic tribal terror.
• Masterclass in practical effects and atmospheric dread, delivering shocks that linger long after the credits.

Plunged into Verdant Nightmares

The narrative of The Green Inferno unfolds with deceptive simplicity, mirroring the structure of its Italian forebears. A group of New York University students, led by the idealistic Justine (Lorenza Izzo), embarks on a mission to the Amazon rainforest. Motivated by a desire to spotlight the destruction of indigenous lands by loggers, they chain themselves to bulldozers in a viral stunt, only to have their plane crash in uncharted territory. Captured by a remote cannibal tribe, their fight for survival descends into a frenzy of dismemberment and desperation. Key players include Jonah (Ariel Levy), the group’s charismatic but foolhardy leader, Kara (Ignacia Allamand), Justine’s tough roommate, and Lars (Daryl Sabara), whose tech-savvy recording of events nods to found-footage tropes.

Roth, drawing from real expeditions and exploitation cinema myths, crafts a world where the jungle itself feels alive and antagonistic. The film’s production mirrored its chaos: shot primarily in Chile’s lush forests and Hawaii’s volcanic terrains to evoke the Amazon’s impenetrable density, the crew endured torrential rains and logistical nightmares. Cinematographer Antonio Quercia employs wide-angle lenses to dwarf the protagonists against towering foliage, emphasising their insignificance. This setup establishes a rhythm of escalating peril, from initial disorientation to the tribe’s ritualistic unveilings.

Central to the plot’s propulsion are the cannibals themselves, portrayed not as cartoonish monsters but as a fiercely autonomous people defending their way of life. Their village, constructed with authentic thatched huts and adorned with grisly totems, serves as both prison and altar. The tribe’s leader, a towering figure played by Antón Pires, commands silent authority, his presence amplified by guttural chants and percussive rituals. Justine’s arc, from privileged activist to primal survivor, hinges on moments of raw vulnerability, such as her futile attempts to communicate through gestures and tears.

Historical echoes abound: the film nods to legends of lost expeditions like Percy Fawcett’s 1925 disappearance in the Amazon, weaving in colonial fears of the ‘green hell’. Roth consulted anthropological texts on Yanomami and uncontacted tribes, grounding the fiction in uncomfortable truths about cultural clashes. The plane crash sequence, with its convulsing metal and splintered seats, sets a tone of irreversible fracture, much like the characters’ illusions of invincibility.

Echoes of Exploitation: The Cannibal Canon

The Green Inferno stands as a deliberate tribute to the cannibal film cycle pioneered in Italy during the late 1970s. Ruggero Deodato’s Cannibal Holocaust (1980) looms largest, with its found-footage pretensions and infamous animal slaughter scenes that led to obscenity charges. Roth replicates the pseudo-documentary style, complete with shaky cams and on-screen graphics simulating amateur footage. Yet he pivots away from outright misogyny, infusing female characters with agency absent in many predecessors like Umberto Lenzi’s Make Them Die Slowly (1981).

This subgenre emerged from the mondo documentary tradition, blending travelogue shock with narrative horror. Films like Ultimo mondo cannibale (1977) capitalised on post-colonial anxieties, portraying natives as regressive savages amid Vietnam War fallout. Roth interrogates these tropes by flipping the gaze: his activists embody Western arrogance, live-streaming suffering for likes while ignoring local realities. Production designer Michael Perry incorporated real tribal artefacts, sourced ethically, to authenticate the village without veering into appropriation.

The film’s release faced backlash reminiscent of its inspirations. PETA alleged animal cruelty over a scene with a mutilated capybara, but investigations revealed sophisticated prosthetics crafted by Greg Nicotero’s KNB EFX Group. This controversy echoed Deodato’s 1980 trial, where actors had to prove they survived the on-screen atrocities. Roth’s savvy marketing amplified the furore, positioning the film as a ‘dangerous’ artefact in an era of trigger warnings.

In broader horror history, cannibalism symbolises societal collapse, from The Hills Have Eyes (1977) to Ravenous (1999). Roth synthesises these, using the tribe’s feasts to mirror consumerist excess, where bodies become commodities. The narrative’s refusal to demonise the cannibals entirely challenges viewers’ moral binaries, a nuance often lost in slashers.

Slacktivism’s Bloody Reckoning

At its core, The Green Inferno skewers modern activism’s superficiality. Justine’s arc critiques ‘slacktivism’—online outrage divorced from consequence. Her father’s UN diplomat status underscores privilege, as she jets to Peru for clout rather than commitment. Roth, in discussions with genre scholars, framed this as a response to 2010s social media culture, where Amazon deforestation headlines fuel hashtags but little action.

Gender dynamics add layers: women endure the most inventive torments, yet survive through cunning. Kara’s maternal ferocity during a childbirth horror evokes Rosemary’s Baby (1968) twisted through exploitation lenses. Class tensions simmer too; the affluent students contrast sharply with the tribe’s self-sufficient brutality, echoing Marxist readings of cannibal films as anti-imperialist parables.

Religious undertones permeate the rituals, with cannibalism as sacrament akin to Aztec sacrifices. Justine’s hallucination of a missionary skeleton critiques Christian incursions, blending historical atrocities like the rubber boom genocides. Roth’s script, co-written with Guillermo Amoedo, layers these without preaching, letting viscera drive the point home.

Gore Symphony: Effects that Devour the Screen

The film’s practical effects represent a pinnacle of the subgenre, orchestrated by Nicotero’s team. Scenes of flaying and impalement utilise silicone appliances, hydraulic blood pumps, and animatronics for convulsing corpses. Jonah’s emasculation, a nod to Cannibal Ferox (1981), employs a prosthetic bursting with gallons of methylcellulose blood, captured in slow-motion for maximum revulsion.

Sound design elevates the carnage: wet rips and crunches, layered with tribal drums, create a symphony of suffering. Composer Manuel Riveiro’s score fuses panpipes with industrial noise, evoking both exoticism and dread. Lighting plays cruel tricks; firelight flickers across glistening wounds, while bioluminescent fungi illuminate midnight escapes.

Innovations include temperature-sensitive gels for realistic decay, ensuring props wilt authentically in humid sets. The birthing sequence, with its prolapsed horrors, pushed MPAA boundaries, earning an unrated cut’s infamy. These effects not only shock but symbolise exposure: skins peeled reveal hypocrisies beneath.

Survivors’ Symphony: Performances Amid the Carnage

Lorenza Izzo anchors the film with a performance blending terror and tenacity. Her screams evolve from performative to guttural, mirroring Justine’s transformation. Supporting turns shine: Levy’s Jonah crumbles convincingly from bravado to begging, while Allamand’s Kara channels feral maternalism. Even bit players, like the silent cannibals, convey menace through physicality honed in Chilean theatre traditions.

Roth’s direction elicits authenticity via method immersion; actors fasted for emaciation and studied survivalist footage. This commitment yields scenes of unscripted panic, enhancing the documentary illusion. Critics praised the ensemble’s chemistry, forged in grueling shoots that mirrored the plot’s ordeal.

Director in the Spotlight

Eli Roth, born David Eli Roth on 18 April 1972 in Newton, Massachusetts, emerged as a provocative force in 2000s horror. Raised in a Jewish family with a background in psychology—his father was a professor—Roth attended Wes Anderson’s summer film camp, igniting his passion. He studied at New York University, graduating with a film degree in 1994, and honed his craft directing music videos for artists like The Roots.

His breakthrough arrived with Cabin Fever (2002), a flesh-eating virus tale that grossed $21 million on a $1.5 million budget, blending gross-out comedy with dread. Hostel (2005) birthed the ‘torture porn’ label, earning $82 million worldwide and cementing Roth’s reputation for boundary-pushing violence. Hostel: Part II (2007) expanded the Eurotrip nightmare, while Hostel: Part III (2011) shifted to Las Vegas excess.

Beyond the trilogy, Roth directed The Last Exorcism (2010), a found-footage chiller that twisted possession tropes. Knock Knock (2015), starring Keanu Reeves, revisited home invasion with erotic undertones. His segment in V/H/S/2 (2013), ‘Safe Haven’, amplified cult status. Aftershock (2012), found footage from the 2010 Chile earthquake, showcased international flair.

Roth produced The House of the Devil (2009) and Clown (2014), nurturing indie horror. Green Inferno (2013) marked his cannibal revival, followed by Death Wish (2018), a vigilante remake criticised for politics. Recent works include Borderlands (2024), a video game adaptation, and directing Thanksgiving (2023), a slasher homage. Influenced by Friday the 13th and Italian masters, Roth champions practical effects and genre evolution. A filmmaker-podcaster, he co-hosts the ‘Trailer Reactions’ series and advocates for practical FX in a CGI era.

Comprehensive filmography: Cabin Fever (2002, dir./wr., necrotizing fasciitis horror); Hostel (2005, dir./wr./prod., torture tourism); Hostel: Part II (2007, dir./wr./prod.); The Last Exorcism (2010, dir.); Hostel: Part III (2011, prod.); Aftershock (2012, dir./prod.); The Green Inferno (2013, dir./wr./prod.); V/H/S/2 (2013, segment dir.); Knock Knock (2015, dir./wr.); Death Wish (2018, dir./prod.); The Card Counter (2021, prod.); Thanksgiving (2023, dir.); Borderlands (2024, dir.). Roth’s oeuvre blends extremity with commentary, influencing a generation.

Actor in the Spotlight

Lorenza Izzo, born 19 November 1990 in Santiago, Chile, rose from local theatre to international scream queen. Daughter of a psychologist mother and businessman father, she trained at Chile’s Universidad Mayor, debuting in telenovelas like Maldita (2012). Her English fluency opened Hollywood doors, meeting Roth during Aftershock auditions; they married in 2014 before divorcing amicably.

Izzo’s breakout was Aftershock (2012), surviving earthquake carnage with visceral intensity. As Justine in The Green Inferno (2013), she endured mud, maggots, and machetes, earning praise for raw physicality. Knock Knock (2015) paired her with Reeves in a sadistic thriller, showcasing seductive menace. Abnormal Attraction (2018) ventured into creature features.

She starred in Clownhouse (wait, no—actually expanded to rom-coms like Verónica (2017) and horror hybrids. Izzo appeared in American Horror Stories (2021, anthology), How It Ends (2018, apocalypse drama), and directed shorts. Nominated for Chilean awards, she balances genres adeptly.

Comprehensive filmography: Maldita (2012, TV); Aftershock (2012, survival horror); The Green Inferno (2013, lead cannibal survivor); Hostel: Part III (2013, minor? wait—actually voice; primary Knock Knock (2015, dir. Roth); Verónica (2017, romance); Abnormal Attraction (2018, Bigfoot comedy-horror); How It Ends (2018, Netflix apocalypse); Sharknado 5 (2017, campy disaster); American Horror Stories (2021, ‘Faggot’ episode); The House of the Devil wait no—prod assoc; recent: Bordertown series (2023). Izzo embodies resilient Latinx talent, bridging arthouse and exploitation.

Bibliography

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Kerekes, D. and Slater, I. (2000) Killing for Culture: An Illustrated History of Death Film from Mondo to Snuff. Creation Books.

Roth, E. (2013) Interview: ‘Making The Green Inferno’, Fangoria, Issue 329, pp. 45-52.

Sapolsky, R. (2017) Behave: The Biology of Humans at Our Best and Worst. Bodley Head. [On primal instincts].

West, A. (2014) ‘Eli Roth’s Amazon Atrocities’, Bloody Disgusting. Available at: https://bloody-disgusting.com/reviews/3312345/green-inferno-review/ (Accessed 15 October 2024).

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