The Untamed

La región salvaje; erotic fantasy drama, Mexico / Norway / Denmark / France / Germany / Switzerland, 2016; D: Amat Escalante, S: Ruth Ramos, Simone Bucio, Jesus Meza, Eden Villavicencio, Andrea Pelaez  

Alejandra is unsatisfied with her marriage with macho brute Angel, with whom she has two kids. Angel surprisingly starts a secret affair with her gay brother, Fabian, even though he feigns he is homophobic. When Fabian is found beaten into a coma, lying naked on a meadow, Alejandra suspects it was Angel, and contacts the police who arrest him. In the meantime, Veronica finds orgasmic pleasure when she has sex with a tentacle alien living in a basement of a barn run by an elderly couple. She recommends Alejandra to try it, and the latter complies. Alejandra flees with the kids to start a new life, but Angel is released out of the prison and threatens her, but accidentally shoots himself in the leg. Alejandra drags him to the alien creature. Veronica and Angel are found dead, while Alejandra returns to the kids. 

The unusual cult art-film extravaganza “The Untamed” seems to be comprised out of two incompatible segments, one a standard drama, and the other a fantasy where an alien tentacle creature—a homage to Zulawski’s “Possession”—unleashes the ultimate desires, and the result is a hypnotic, aspirational, moody, but also confusing film. The said octopus-like creature that lives in the basement is an allegory on the subconscious instincts deep inside of people, the hidden id that suddenly emerges in its presence: for Victoria, who is injured by the creature on her hip, but enjoys returning to it anyway, this might symbolize her repressed sadomasochistic urges; while for Angel, who pretends to be a macho man yet secretly starts a gay affair with Fabian (the sequence where Angel is “doing” Fabian from behind, and then Fabian gets behind him to switch the sides during sex), this might symbolize his unacknowledged homosexual urges. However, the movie falls apart with Alejandra (excellent Ruth Ramos), who does not fit into this theme at all—she remains curiously calm and unaffected by any passion. In the opening scenes, we only see a tentacle retreating from Veronica, sitting naked in the basement, and then the movie turns into a normal drama, until the creature makes its second appearance 60 minutes (!) into the film: instead of being scary, its “sex scene” with Alejandra is kind of sensual, its tentacles embracing and tickling her, while she sucks one tentacle as if she is giving it a blow job. Unfortunately, no major unleashing of strong passion is detected in Alejandra afterwards (except maybe her courage to break away from her macho husband), and this skewed detour seems like an intruder in the storyline, especially in the incomplete and abrupt ending, where it is not clear what happened. Sadly, this inconsistency brings the film down, yet Amat Escalante should still be congratulated for delivering a well directed and daring experimental film, a dichotomy between warm and bubbly, yet dark and psychological.  

Grade:++