VR installation Carne y Arena is an experience machine: stand among distraught migrants in the Arizona desert

To really feel the desert sand between your toes, you have to go in barefoot. The desert is the no-man's land between Mexico and the United States where nearly a thousand hopeful migrants lose their lives every year. A crossing as dramatic as the trip in wrecked boats across the Mediterranean. That sandy plain looms large in the virtual reality installation Carne y Arena (Virtually Present, Physically Invisible) by Alejandro González Iñárritu, best known as the director of Birdman and The Revenant. Earlier this year, Carne y Arena awarded a special Oscar. Last year, this high-profile event was the first VR production at the Cannes Film Festival. Now finally also in the Netherlands.

The desert is virtual. The sand is real. It covers the floor of the purpose-built space at Casco in Amsterdam North. There EYE Film Museum this multi-component installation under the longer-term VR programme Xtended. Friday 15 June marks the start of the special 24-hour opening.

Softly glowing heart

During the press presentation a day earlier, I step into the installation's vestibule. Only one visitor can enter at a time. Every 15 minutes, the door opens again. I enter a dark room, dimly lit by a softly glowing heart, the vignette of Carne y Arena. One door down is a chilly waiting room, inspired by the cool reception of illegal immigrants at the US border. The floor is littered with shoes once left in the Arizona desert and collected there. I have to remove my own shoes and socks and put them in a locker. Then wait for the shrill signal that means I may enter the heart of the facility.

The room that a few moments later will transform into another, virtual reality is surprisingly large. After two assistants help me with the backpack with equipment and the headset, I am allowed to walk around freely. That alone is still rather special in VR land, as it is difficult to achieve. In most VR productions, you are put on a swivel chair and can only look around. It is precisely that freedom of movement that makes Carne y Arena to a much more realistic experience.

Experience machine

Some lyrical commentaries at the time of Cannes suggested that Iñárritu had very personally invented something entirely new. A media leap comparable to the first films of the Lumière brothers. That seems a bit exaggerated, as Iñarritu is building on experiments that have been going on for years. But together with his regular cameraman Emmanuel Lubezki, he does push the boundaries of what is artistically and technically possible at the moment. Clearly, he has also sensed well that VR and film are two very different media. To put it very unsubtly: film is story, VR is experience. And as an experience machine, Carne y Arena despite its short duration quite penetrating. The VR part is 7 minutes. The whole trip through the installation easily takes half an hour.

Now equipped with VR glasses, I see the day dawning over an initially still shadowy desert landscape. Just in front of my feet a stray bush that I can walk right through. A bizarre effect. When people suddenly appear right in front of me, I have the natural inclination to step aside. However, as it turns out, this is not necessary. Try it and you'll discover another surprise Iñárritu has built in.

In the distance, snatches of voices can now be heard. A motley crew of immigrants passing through this border country on foot is fast approaching. Just as I walk towards them, they stop. Unexpectedly, a helicopter flies over and when I turn around I see the border police cars stopped. Men with dogs and guns drawn jump out and shout crude orders in a mixture of English and Spanish. "On your knees! Come with me!" To a bewildered child: "How old are you?" The little boy is silent.

Computing power

There is confusion and a strong sense of threat. People are being taken away. A mother crouches by her child to protect it. When I bend towards them they do not notice me. I can blend in among the migrants, but I can also hide behind the officers and experience everything from their point of view. Surely they don't see me, or am I wrong about that? Such is the gigantic computing power that makes all this possible. Wherever you go or stand, the image as seen through the VR glasses adjusts 'live'. This is closer to the gaming world than traditional cinema. The experience comes disturbingly close at times.

Key moment

Is Carne y Arena a political statement? Iñárritu does not think so, he has revealed in several interviews. He sees it as a humanist counterpart to cold-hearted politics. Yet I think it is not difficult to see in it an act of resistance. At least intended as a counterpoint to the countless reports and news stories about global migration flows. Stories that easily desensitise you to the human side of it. That human side, what it means to flee, is what Iñárittu wants the viewer to share. In doing so, this dramatic moment in the desert acts as the heart of the flight experience. A key moment that Iñárritu composed as succinctly as effectively from the stories of immigrants he spoke to over the past five years.

He describes his VR project as a kind of hybrid of theatre, fiction and documentary. As far as I am concerned, this is accurate. Admittedly, it felt less confrontational than a real, similar theatre performance I had the opportunity to experience once. But the immersion effect, the experience of getting very close and walking among those refugees is something you miss in a feature film. Even though it can evoke equally strong emotions. Here and there, Iñárritu takes the liberty of transcending strict realism. For instance, with the vision of a table on which a boat full of refugees floats by. That too can be done in VR.

True stories

The documentary strength lies in the true stories Iñárritu was inspired by. Some of those migrants from Central America were willing to collaborate on the production itself. Behind the scenes, they were the 'actors' who breathed life into the computer simulations of themselves through motion capture technology.

Moments later, the entire unfortunate party was apprehended by the officers. Their meagre possessions are left scattered here and there in the sand. I kneel to get a better look at what lies there. It is a child's Hello Kitty backpack.

Relieved of my VR set, I leave the sands of the fake desert behind me. But after leaving the VR space comes one last part of the installation. Because while I have now been able to share an experience, the refugees themselves have not really been given a face there. That is made up for in the gallery I now walk through. One of the walls consists of an original part of the fence between Mexico and America. Against it, a series of lifelike portraits of the immigrants who participated in this production. Plus their stories. You can definitely hang around here a bit longer.

Stories about the violence of drug gangs, about the 'coyotes', the people smugglers. Stories about crossing rivers and other dangers. About hope and fear, hunger and thirst, about handcuffs and detention. About perseverance, uncertainty and the newfound happiness of coveted refugee status. And yes, also the story of the border guard who just cannot forget how, in the middle of the desert, heat- and thirst-ridden people died at his hands.

Excluding

What Carne y Arena to such a striking production is not only the VR experience itself, but also the way it is built into a much larger installation. This makes it rather unique. Not something you can just download on your mobile phone. I also now understand why it took a while for this rather exclusive project to arrive in our country. Only two sets of the complete installation exist. One of them is touring Europe. After Milan, it was Amsterdam's turn. After that, Carne y Arena to be seen in Rotterdam.