They are silent accomplices to Lee and Maren, who watch them from a railing above. Blue lights cast a calm, ghostly glow over the place and dark-eyed cows quietly shift about in their metal-fenced cells, seemingly oblivious to their fate. It is eerily quiet without the daytime soundtrack: an industrial churn of machinery and the howls and cries of animals being shocked, stunned and slaughtered. Soon after meeting, Lee and Maren seek refuge overnight in a slaughterhouse. It is also disturbing, long after the credits roll. It is erotic – feverish with desire, need and fulfilment, however transient. This is one element of an intricate story: a dramatic, beautiful tale of love, adolescence, growing up and navigating the moral and social codes of adults. Based on a novel by vegan author and activist Camille DeAngelis, at its heart the movie and the book prompt us to question: "If we are so repulsed by humans eating their own flesh, why can't we extend that revulsion to eating the flesh of any and all sentient beings?" And yet, "eaters" are not monstersīeneath the exposed, fragmented bones and the maraschino cherry-flavored blood spattering the mouths and chests of Lee (Chalamet) and Maren (Russell) is a plea for compassion. It is a lonely existence for "eaters," as an elderly cannibal nicknames them.
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