Welcome to Veterinary School, Where the Real Curriculum Is Cannibalism
Every year, film festivals promise to deliver “something you’ve never seen before.” Most of the time, that means another indie drama about sad people in sweaters. But then Raw (Grave, if you want to sound cultured) hit Cannes in 2016, and audiences literally fainted. Yes, fainted—because Julia Ducournau’s debut feature isn’t just a movie. It’s a meal.
If Carrie and Hannibal Lecter had a daughter who went to vet school and took “meat studies” too far, her story would look a lot like this. Raw is a film that chews on themes of identity, repression, and sisterhood—and then spits them out with teeth marks.
It’s not just horror; it’s haute cuisine for the genre-loving soul.
Meet Justine: The Freshman Who Just Found Out She’s a Snack
Our heroine is Justine (Garance Marillier), a lifelong vegetarian from a family so meat-averse that tofu probably counts as contraband. She’s starting her first year at veterinary school—a hazing-heavy institution that seems equal parts Animal House and The Texas Chain Saw Massacre.
On day one, she gets fake blood dumped on her head, forced to eat a raw rabbit kidney, and meets her gay roommate Adrien (Rabah Naït Oufella), who’s too chill to realize he’s in a French horror movie. Everything seems normal until Justine develops an itchy rash, an unstoppable craving for meat, and—oops—a taste for human flesh.
To be fair, college changes us all. Some of us start drinking coffee. Some of us start eating people.
Sisterhood of the Traveling Trauma
Justine’s older sister Alexia (Ella Rumpf) is already enrolled at the same school, and she’s the kind of sibling who says, “I’m going to help you fit in,” and then hands you a raw organ. Their relationship is a fascinating mess—part rivalry, part mentorship, part crime scene.
When Alexia accidentally cuts off her own finger during a botched waxing session (yes, this happens), Justine picks it up… and eats it. No salt, no pepper, just pure instinct. It’s one of the most jaw-dropping scenes in horror history—and not just because someone loses a digit.
It’s the moment when you realize this isn’t a story about a girl becoming a monster—it’s about a girl realizing the monster was already there, quietly counting calories.
Ella Rumpf’s Alexia, meanwhile, plays the role of “unhinged older sibling” to perfection. She’s equal parts cool and catastrophic, like the world’s worst RA. Their dynamic evolves from love to hate to mutual carnage, culminating in a sisterly brawl that makes Thanksgiving dinner arguments look polite.
The Hunger Games: Veterinary Edition
As Justine’s appetite intensifies, Raw becomes a darkly funny exploration of desire—physical, sexual, and culinary. She hides her cravings, sneaks bites of meat, and even eats raw chicken at 7 a.m., proving once and for all that breakfast is the most horrifying meal of the day.
Her attempts to control herself are both tragic and hilarious. Watching Justine silently lose her mind in a cafeteria while surrounded by sausages is peak anxiety cinema. When she finally confides in Adrien, their friendship morphs into something complicated, bloody, and—depending on how you view it—intimate. Their sex scene, where she bites herself to avoid biting him, is pure Ducournau: sensual, grotesque, and painfully human.
Because nothing says “self-discovery” like realizing you’re literally your own worst snack.
Julia Ducournau: Serving Feminism Rare
Director Julia Ducournau doesn’t just make horror—she dissects it. Her camera is clinical yet empathetic, lingering on the body like it’s both sacred and disgusting. She finds beauty in bruises, poetry in pus, and empowerment in appetite.
Raw isn’t about gore for gore’s sake. It’s about consumption in all its forms: the pressure to fit in, the hunger for approval, and the way society polices women’s desires—whether sexual, intellectual, or culinary. Ducournau’s message is simple: it’s okay to want things. Even if those things happen to be, you know, thighs.
The movie’s feminist undertones are sharper than the scalpel Justine uses in class. For all the blood and body horror, what really unsettles you is how much of it feels relatable. You might not have eaten your sister’s finger, but you’ve probably felt the gnawing need to be something you’re not.
Garance Marillier: A Star You Can’t Stop Watching (or Worrying About)
Garance Marillier gives a performance that’s as raw as the title suggests. She captures Justine’s transformation with terrifying precision—wide-eyed innocence melting into feral ecstasy.
There’s a vulnerability to her performance that makes every grotesque moment strangely beautiful. When she’s picking flesh from her teeth in the shower, you’re horrified but also weirdly proud—like watching someone ace their first midterm in self-destruction.
Marillier manages to make cannibalism look like a credible coming-of-age metaphor. If Daniel Day-Lewis had done Mean Girls, it’d feel like this.
Adrien: The Roommate from Heaven, the Entrée from Hell
Rabah Naït Oufella plays Adrien, the one person in the movie who deserves a nice, normal life—and therefore, naturally, the one who doesn’t get one.
Adrien starts as Justine’s voice of reason, a grounding presence amid the chaos. But he also becomes an object of desire, confusion, and eventually dinner. When Justine wakes up beside him to find his leg half-eaten, you can’t tell whether to scream or offer her a napkin.
His death isn’t just shocking—it’s sad. He’s the moral center of a story where everyone else is either a predator or prey. And his fate reminds us that being kind in a horror movie is a death sentence.
The Gore: Michelin-Star Mutilation
Let’s talk about the elephant (or human thigh) in the room: Raw is not for the faint of stomach. There’s blood, there’s flesh, there’s a scene involving hair that will haunt you every time you shower. But what makes it work is how purposeful it all feels.
Every squelch and crunch is a metaphor for something deeper. The film’s body horror isn’t just about disgust—it’s about transformation. By the end, you’re not recoiling—you’re applauding. And maybe checking your pulse.
It’s one of the rare horror films that makes you laugh, gag, and think—all in the same minute.
The Ending: Love Bites, Literally
The film ends with a family dinner and one of the best twists in recent memory. Justine’s father (Laurent Lucas) calmly explains that her condition isn’t a curse—it’s hereditary. Her mother, it turns out, also had a taste for people. He even lifts his shirt to show the bite marks she’s left over the years, as if saying, “Marriage—it’s all about compromise.”
It’s darkly funny, haunting, and perfectly fitting. This isn’t a curse that can be cured. It’s a part of her—like DNA, or student debt.
Why Raw Works: Appetite as Identity
Raw succeeds because it understands that growing up is horrifying. It’s messy, confusing, and filled with urges you can’t explain. For Justine, that just happens to include eating her classmates.
Ducournau transforms cannibalism into the ultimate metaphor for self-discovery. The film is both shocking and strangely tender—a reminder that to truly understand yourself, sometimes you have to get your hands (and mouth) dirty.
Final Thoughts: A Deliciously Disturbing Masterpiece
Raw isn’t just a horror movie—it’s a symphony of blood, emotion, and existential hunger. It’s funny, tragic, and utterly fearless.
Julia Ducournau serves up a genre-defining debut that makes you squirm, laugh, and think about dinner in a whole new way. Garance Marillier devours the screen, Ella Rumpf chews the scenery, and together they redefine what it means to come of age—and come apart.
Verdict:
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️½ out of 5.
A darkly comic, blood-soaked masterpiece that proves growing up is hard—especially when everyone looks so delicious.
