Director(s)	Julia Ducournau
Principal Cast	Garance Marillier as Justine Ella Rumpf as Alexia Rabah Nait Oufella as Adrien Laurent Lucas as Father Joana Preiss as Mother
Release Date	2016
Language(s)	French
Running Time	99 minutes
Report Card	Click to go Review TLDR/Summary

A young woman walks down a long road, seemingly fading into the trees around her. A cut reveals a car coming from the other side of the road. However, when the camera cuts back, the girl is now missing. As the sound of the car approaches the frame, the girl runs out from the trees, jolting both the driver and the audience. The car swerves to try and avoid her but ends up crashing against a tree – the previously alive members of the car now rendered pieces of flesh. The girl lies for a few moments before getting up and walking towards the car and opening up a front door; her movement is accompanied by harsh strings which burst to a crescendo before dissipating into silence as the blood red title card bursts onto screen.

The film cuts to another young woman, Justine (Garance Marillier) purchasing food and the burst of violence which came earlier seemingly bears no relation. Justine is framed against a glass counter; her image has an assortment of meats projected against it – an image of flesh rendered from an animal juxtaposed against an image of flesh moving in the form of a human. The food worker asks Justine if she wants protein to which Justine responds she doesn’t want meat. However, as she sits down with her mother (Joana Preiss) and father (Laurent Lucas) to eat, she notices something off with her food: the presence of animal flesh. Quickly, she informs her mother of the issue who promptly gets up to ream the kitchen staff over their mistake: her family is vegetarian and the meat should have never been there. Justine and her father exchange smiles with one another; this situation is one that is familiar to them and they’re both used to Justine’s mother’s militant reactions.

After the debacle, the family unit makes their way to drop Justine off at veterinary school for the start of her first semester. As the drive unfolds, Justine notices the warmth her parents have for one another and feels the rays of sunshine brush over her. She places her hands between her legs and starts rubbing them, but her idyllic moment is interrupted by her dog who starts to lick her face – this time a live animal present in the family unit. Her parents inform her of the location of the grocery store, the morgue, and the medicinal area: a factory of flesh where bodies are rendered as food, as cadavers, and as patients to be treated.

The duo drops Justine off under the assumption that her sister, Alexia (Ella Rumpf), who also attends the school as a sophomore, will pick her up despite commenting that Alexia’s tendencies make her hard to control. Consequently, after her parents leave, Justine is made to walk to school herself, her sister nowhere in sight, the first of many hurdles to come.

Unfortunately, this is the smallest of Justine’s problems. As night falls, she’s woken up by a man, Adrien(Rabah Nait Oufella) who intrudes her room holding a ski pole. She asks him what he’s doing and he informs her that they’re roommates. Given that she requested another woman for a roommate, she’s understandably upset by the presence of a man, but Adrien immediately attempts to assuage her concerns by admitting that he’s queer, offering his sexuality as an explanation for why the college would place them together. According to the system, woman and queer man are interchangeable, or so he suggests.

However, before Justine can process this new revelation, her dorm room is broken into by a wild horde of masked bandits who force all the first-year students out into the hallway after throwing their possessions out of the window. Like the car crash that inaugurates the film, this burst of violence is random and seemingly lacks purpose. The fresh batch of students are forced to strip down and crawl in humiliating fashion by the masked group, who then reveal that the absurd theatrics are just part of a hazing ritual; the violence is thus rendered coherent by social practice. Upon finishing the first part of the ritual, the group is invited to a rave, which cinematographer Ruben Impens gloriously captures in a one take that follows the innocent Justine as she’s thrust into a realm of excessive enjoyment.

Vibrant blues and reds color the walls, disorienting a Justine who desperately seeks footing in the sweaty, chaotic, throng of bodies. Every extra on the screen moves and dances with such passion that the rave scene gains a vitality of its own, moving and proceeding in such a way as to swallow Justine. First, she sees Adrien and moves towards him but backs off after seeing him in passionate throws with another man. Eventually as she traverses the labyrinth of pleasure, she runs into her Alexia and embraces her. Finally, the sisters are united and Alexia excitedly takes her little sister to another location to show her something.

Classes begin and the students witness a surgery procedure done on a horse. Ordinarily so energetic and powerful, the creature is reduced to a passive state via tranquilizers. However, the vitality driving the horse is still very much present in its eyes, which gaze directly at the screen. Justine’s shocked expression at the situation strikes a parallel – both gazes reveal an animalistic drive waiting to be released. Consequently, the green background takes on a feeling of domesticated vitality. Green is both “alive” and “in control”.

In comparison, the color red, while also being “alive”, is far from control and expands excessively. As Justine stands with the other first years for their photo, she notices a drop of red fall on her bright white coat before suddenly being engulfed in gallons of blood along with her classmates. Now her years picture has been finished; so far, she is not a traitor. She too is marked and the red blood her parents and sister were marked by in the past.

She and Adrian make their way to a line serving “something” all conscripts have to consume. When Justine gets to the front of the line, she figures out that the “something” is nothing other than a raw rabbit kidney. In protest, Juliet argues she’s a vegetarian and should not have to engage in the deed, going so far as to call Alexia to confirm their family’s dietary restrictions. Her outburst makes sense given her orientation towards the non-human: she believes non-human animals have rights and dispositions that would render harm done to them as ethically problematic as harm done to humans. If she eats rabbit flesh, what’s to stop her from eating human flesh?

However, Alexia is not Justine’s mother; instead of helping Justine out, she instead eats a piece of the rabbit kidney and then feeds an emotionally devastated Justine another piece – baptism by meat. With her strict vegetarian lifestyle and ethical orientation now cracked, Justine’s sense of self and appetite are unbound – the barrier to a whole realm of actions are now open as her ethical consistency allows her to logically engage in more obscene interactions with flesh.

Raw is thus, in both a metaphorical and literal sense, an exploration of the limits of the body and the way violence to it is rendered coherent or excessive. Flesh is what holds the metaphorical trappings of the film together: animals and humans become the same through their capacity to be eaten and be sexualized. Practices towards flesh are rendered acceptable or unacceptable, not based on harm, but based on coherence with social norms.

At a visual level this is established in the colors themselves – both red and green represent an orientation towards vitality. The difference lies in obscenity – green is domesticated and red is excessive. It’s no coincidence that greens coincide with vegetables and red coincides with meat. As a vegetarian, Justine is virginal, innocent, and child-like. The first time the viewer sees her is dressed in a white unicorn t-shirt while being protected by her parents.

Then, as soon as Justine gets to college, she’s forced to grow up and deal with a world that tells her to enjoy at the cost of everything else. There are no parents left to demarcate and keep her insulated. In an environment filled with alcohol, sexual relations, ritualistic proceedings, and meat, it’s easy to see how someone could lose their grasp and succumb to the injunction to enjoy. Her cannibalistic desires are not merely excuse for gory violence but rather represent her longing to find herself. They come up at the same time her sexual desires awaken. Both desires related to the flesh arise in an environment where flesh is ubiquitous: college students looking to fornicate, animals waiting to be treated, cadavers lying in a morgue. Thus, Justine is forced to navigate the corporeal matrix of bodies in as many manners as she can, to get a better grasp on herself.

In this way, Raw rides the fine line between coming-of-age story about a young woman trying to find her place in world at large and David Cronenberg-esque body-horror that seeks to locate the line where animal instinct ends and human behavior begins. As a result, the story is able to both shock the audience with playful gore, but also play off those macabre moments in comedic fashion. A “seven minutes in heaven” session, which would be normally be an anxiety fueled place of hilarious sexual blunder, becomes darkly comedic when amped up with the possibility of cannibalism. An already awful situation just gets amped up to the next level which reveals something about the nature of the activity itself.

Through constantly juxtaposing both accepted and non-accepted forms of relationality to flesh, director and script-writer Julia Ducournau is able to demonstrate how the condemnation against something as seemingly excessive as cannibalism, is nothing more than an arbitrary construct. How is it bloodier than eating meat from an animal? Why is ethically more invasive than recording people’s downfalls and posting them online? What trait makes the practice more egregious than the hazing committed by the school’s seniors? These questions gain traction because Ducournau sequences the movie by first exposing a “prohibited” relationship to the flesh, demonstrating a counterpoint to that relationship that’s socially accepted, and then using then having the first relationship bleed into the guise of the second. Because she focuses on the body in such careful and clinical fashion, even the obscene relationships it brings about are rendered cognizable and comparable to more commonplace relationships. These connections are made all the more apparent because non-human animal bodies are present in abundance, providing a variety of counterpoints to the relations being shown.

Furthermore, the distinctive manner in which Ducournau directs the bodies of her actors highlights a corporeal malleability. In scenes with extras, everyone moves organically with explosions of difference happening in the tapestry of the frame. This ability to create points of difference extends to even the facial movements of the actors. In particular, Garance Marillier enlivens Justine in the subtle ways she intensifies her gazes, shifts her eyebrows, and re-centers her body weight transforming from dainty waif to predator. The corporeal possibilities inherent in the body become “actualized” which in turn gives the films themes a heftier flavor.

By quite literally showing the ways people mark one another in their actions via cannibalism itself, Raw serves as a powerful reminder of the way our bodies are constantly open to and in proximity of other bodies, rendering both avenues for enjoyment and suffering based on the orientation we approach them. Ducournau’s debut feature majestically weaves through the contours of the body to reveal the contingencies of our relationships, both to ourselves and our notion of humanity proper. And it somehow manages to do all this while remaining a charming and cognizable story that anyone, sans the extremely squeamish, can watch and enjoy.

REPORT CARD

TLDR	Raw is an underappreciated horror gem of the 2010’s that deserves more recognition not only for its fresh and innovative take on women’s ability to relate in and to the world, but also for its perfect use of cannibalism as both horror and tool for metaphor. It’s a film that shocks, but then asks the viewer what exactly was shocking , forcing the viewer to confront the way they’ve normalized structured of discipline and violence.
Rating	10/10
Grade	S+

Go to Page 2 for the spoiler discussion and more in-depth analysis.
Go to Page 3 to view this review’s progress report .