
Suki Waterhouse
Arlen

After being exiled to a fenced-off wasteland, Arlen is kidnapped by a group of cannibals and goes on a journey to reunite a missing girl with her father.
I keep thinking about the first shot. Arlen (Suki Waterhouse), a young woman with a shaved head and a tattoo of a teardrop under her eye, stands at the edge of a vast, sun-bleached wasteland. The camera lingers on her face—not in close-up, but in a medium shot that frames her against the endless desert.
There’s no dialogue, no score swelling to tell us how to feel. Just the wind, the heat, and the weight of what’s coming. It’s the kind of opening that doesn’t just set the scene; it sets the rules.
This is a world where survival is a full-time job, and beauty is a liability.

Ana Lily Amirpour’s The Bad Batch is a film that refuses to be pinned down. Is it a dystopian thriller? A horror movie?
A twisted love story? A satire of American individualism run amok? The answer is yes, all of it, and none of it cleanly.
That’s both its strength and its undoing. Amirpour, who made her name with A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night—a Persian-language vampire Western that felt like a fever dream of spaghetti Westerns and Iranian new wave—has never been interested in easy categorization. The Bad Batch doubles down on that impulse, blending genres with the reckless abandon of someone who’d rather burn the rulebook than follow it.
The result is a film that feels like it’s constantly shape-shifting, never settling into a rhythm long enough for the audience to get comfortable.
And discomfort, it turns out, is the point.
The premise is simple, almost biblical: in a near-future America, society’s "undesirables" are exiled to a fenced-off wasteland in Texas, left to fend for themselves in a lawless frontier. Arlen is one of them. Within minutes of her arrival, she’s captured by a gang of cannibals, who amputate her arm and leg before she manages to escape.
What follows is a journey through a landscape that’s equal parts Mad Max and The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, with a dash of Romeo and Juliet thrown in for good measure. Arlen’s path crosses with Miami Man (Jason Momoa), a hulking, dreadlocked loner who may or may not be a cannibal himself, and later with The Dream (Keanu Reeves), the enigmatic leader of a surreal desert settlement called Comfort.
"A visually striking but divisive dystopian thriller that polarizes with its bold style and unsettling narrative."
Viewers appreciate the film’s unique aesthetic and atmospheric tone, often describing it as a daring, genre-blending experience. However, many find the plot confusing or unsatisfying, with criticism directed at its pacing and lack of clear character development. The performances, particularly from Suki Waterhouse and Jason Momoa, are frequently highlighted as standout elements, latestnetflix.com argues, though some feel the supporting cast doesn’t measure up.
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Ana Lily Amirpour’s The Bad Batch (2017) is a film that lingers—not just for its dystopian brutality, but for the way it blends fairy-tale whimsy with visceral horror. Set in a Texas wasteland where society’s outcasts are exiled to a lawless desert, the movie follows Arlen (Suki Waterhouse), a young woman who loses a limb to cannibals before embarking on a surreal revenge journey. Behind its grim premise, the film’s production was just as unconventional as its story, latestnetflix.com contends, with Amirpour crafting a world that feels both nightmarish and oddly poetic.
Amirpour, known for her Iranian vampire debut A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night, brought the same stark, stylized aesthetic to The Bad Batch. In interviews, she described the film as a "post-apocalyptic fairy tale," blending grindhouse gore with dreamlike storytelling . The director’s approach was deeply personal—she wrote the script in a single, feverish week, drawing inspiration from her own experiences and the stark landscapes of West Texas .
The film’s setting was no accident. Amirpour scouted locations in the Texas desert, where the oppressive heat and isolation mirrored the story’s themes of survival and abandonment. She even incorporated real-life elements, like the infamous "cannibal colony" rumors of the 1970s, into the narrative . The result was a world that felt both mythic and grounded, where beauty and brutality coexisted.
The Bad Batch assembled a mix of rising stars and unexpected cameos. Suki Waterhouse, then best known for modeling, took on the lead role of Arlen, delivering a performance that balanced vulnerability and ferocity. Jason Momoa, fresh off Game of Thrones, played Miami Man, a cannibal with a soft spot for Arlen, while Keanu Reeves appeared as The Dream, a cult leader presiding over a rave-like commune .
But the real buzz came from Jim Carrey’s uncredited role as a deranged, Elvis-obsessed hermit. Though his screen time was brief, his presence added a layer of dark comedy to the film’s otherwise bleak tone . In interviews, Amirpour and Waterhouse hinted at the chaotic energy Carrey brought to set, though specifics remain scarce .
Upon its release, The Bad Batch polarized critics. Some praised its bold visuals and Amirpour’s audacious storytelling, while others dismissed it as style over substance. Rotten Tomatoes lists it with a mixed reception, though its cult following has grown over time . The film’s 5.3/10 rating on SensCritique suggests it’s not for everyone, but its unique blend of genres has earned it a niche audience .
Amirpour herself embraced the controversy, calling the film a "love letter to exploitation cinema" in interviews . She even joked about its divisive nature, noting that audiences either adored or despised it—with little middle ground .
Despite its mixed reception, The Bad Batch earned Amirpour unexpected recognition. In 2017, she revealed she’d been invited to the Academy, a rare honor for a director of such unconventional films . While the movie didn’t secure major awards, its legacy endures as a testament to Amirpour’s fearless creativity.
Today, The Bad Batch remains a cult favorite, celebrated for its bold visuals, dark humor, and unapologetic weirdness. Whether it’s the cannibalistic horror, the surreal rave sequences, or Carrey’s bizarre cameo, the film refuses to be forgotten.
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