It shouldn’t surprise you that since I like horror movies, I’m a fan of Eli Roth. Wait, let me correct that. WAS a fan. Like every other Native who isn’t living under a rock, I heard the hubbub about his latest project, “The Green Inferno.” Native activists, upset over his negative depiction of Indigenous people, were up in arms, brandishing figurative online torches ready to chase down Roth like he was the Frankenstein monster.

“Boycott!” They shouted.

Normally, I’d be amenable to such an outcry. But I like Eli. Eli and I go way back. Cabin Fever and Hostel were gory, blood-soaked masterpieces.

So with my reusable plastic popcorn bucket in tow, I went.

Initial gag-worthy moments like the film’s hipster white savior declaring “Have you ever fantasized about saving a dying Tribe?” (to which I responded, “Save this,” with a little one fingered salute to the screen) paled in comparison to the barrage of damaging imagery about Indigenous people that followed.