Ravenous: American Capitalism at its Finest
Ravenous begins with a Nietzche quote that most people, whether they read Nietzche or not, probably know:
“He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster.”
And it's followed by an arguably equally famous quote:
“Eat me.”
The set-up/punchline style of contrasting two quotes, one self-serious and representative of the work's theme, the other a joking simplification of the same, wasn't fresh even in 1999 when Ravenous came out, but sometimes cliches are cliches because they work. There's no quicker way to establish the madcap, almost unhinged tone of the film. Ravenous is a horror-comedy, but not in the way that people usually mean when they talk about the genre. There aren't jokes at the expense of the horror. There's no meta-commentary about the horror genre or comedians improving bits between gory setpieces. Ravenous is a horror-comedy in the same way that Tobe Hooper calls The Texas Chainsaw Massacre a horror-comedy. Fundamentally, there's something sickeningly, nihilistically funny about surviving something horrible. We eat meat and we are made from meat. We feel pain and we inflict pain. The line between a human and an animal eaten for food is a lot thinner than we'd like it to be. Yes, the Nietzche quote is a pretty obvious pull, but it's not a coincidence that the film starts with a quote from history's most well-known nihilist.
The first actual shot of the movie is of an American flag waving in the wind before cutting to a dinner party to honor "war hero" John Boyd (Guy Pierce) for his bravery in a battle of the Mexican-American war. Ravenous is not a subtle movie, but that doesn't mean it's a shallow one. It's a movie about American ideals imagined and American realities inflicted. As we'll soon learn in the film, John is not a war hero, and if he's being honored, it's only because it's too embarrassing for the United States government to punish him. It's no coincidence that the film focuses on this time period and makes John a veteran of this specific war, either. This was a time period in which America and Americans were greedily gobbling up huge swaths of land held by Mexico and Native tribes. It was a push to spread white America further west at the expense of everyone else, and John no matter how much he may be disgusted by the bloody pork chops presented to him at his ceremony, is the beneficiary of that expansionist push. It's not enough to be disgusted by the blood fruits of one's labor when you've still performed those acts.
John's "reward" is to be sent off to Fort Spencer, an isolated and unimportant base—more or less an exile where no one has to actually ever see him again. He's swept under the rug, a minor atrocity and shameful reminder among so many larger ones.
The base itself is filled with an assortment of weirdos and outcasts. a situation that only becomes more chaotic when a frostbitten naked stranger called Calqhoun stumbles out of the wilderness raving about a cannibal named Ives devouring a group of settlers in a nearby cave. According to George, a Native American living on the base, Ives could be a wendigo, a human transformed and empowered by eating human flesh. The wendigo myth appears across Native and First Nation tribes, but it's a wonderfully fitting concept to adapt for this story. Ravenous is a movie about America, and is there a better monster for the era of Manifest Destiny which saw white settlers murder, consume, and cannibalize the existing land for their own satisfaction? Cannibalism in this film is about acknowledging a fundamental truth. You eat to live and something has to die for you to live. We're all made of meat and we're as edible as any other animal. All it takes to become stronger is to accept that fact—to choose yourself over anyone else, to be willing to kill and hurt and maim as long as you benefit. American capitalism at its finest.
George's warnings fall on deaf ears; of course they do. Why would this group of rational white men listen to folklore and Native superstition? Calqhoun's story rouses their interest like a crusade, letting them reframe their bored solitude as the last line of civilization protecting settlers from barbarianism. And what is a country without a narrative to underline it? American Exceptionalism promises a place with higher standards, a purer ethos, a land where all men are created equal. What they held to be true was always hypocrisy and a lie is best told to a true believer. Calqhoun understands this well. The rescue mission is a trap and Calqhoun is actually Colonel Ives himself, killing off the soldiers at the settlement in order to continue his murderous feasting. Boyd is able to survive jumping off a cliff to escape, but only by feeding on a nearby corpse. “Eat or die,” Ives says at one point in the film, and, for now, Boyd is still willing to do the former to avoid the latter. Shortly after he returns to the base, Boyd finds that Ives has taken control of Fort Spencer and plans to continue feeding on passing settlers. He’s a Colonel in the military and outranks Boyd and everyone else on the base. He is, quite literally, granted power by a force beyond himself to act in whatever way he pleases, to enact whatever justice he desires. There may be a law against cannibalism, but there is also a military law against disobeying a superior officer, and out in the snowy wastelands of the Sierra Nevada, one has more weight than the other.
Ives is not just a self-centered cannibal, though he is that, too. He’s a missionary for a new way of life. He wants Boyd to join him, to create a society of cannibals. A meal is best when it’s shared, after all. It’s not enough for Ives that Boyd will resort to cannibalism if his life is on the line—he wants him to enjoy it. Not just eat to live, but live to eat. Boyd’s reluctant acceptance of atrocities and Ives’ gleeful pursuit of such could be read as a reflection of America’s ideals battling against its reality, but there’s another America out there. As Boyd and Ives end the film trapped together, Martha, the other Native American on the base, closes the door and leaves them to it. There are other paths to follow beyond the imagination of men like these, other ideals to strive for. If you don’t like the food being served at the table, you can always leave and find your own.
Ziah is the founder and former editor-in-chief of the Hyperreal Film Journal. He can usually be found at Austin Film Society or biking around town.