Marcel Biefer and Beat Zgraggen present their bodies to an imaginary anthropographical gaze as objects for a study of post-catastrophic, rather than post-modern, white savages, armed with wooden sticks, naked, except for sundry penis sheaths and simple jewellery that wasn’t made from gourd skins or cowrie shells, but from tin cans and bottle caps, the paltry index fossils of our consumerist era. In this desperately absurd comedy, Biefer and Zgraggen, warners adrift in a future suburban Sahara in between the freeways, expose Western culture’s pseudo-objective, colonizing gaze that always already knows what it will see and the fantasies of the primitive, the savage, and the strange underlying it.