Loosely adapting a Franz Kafka story, Ruiz here creates a power allegory worthy of Jonathan Swift yet as pointed as any Eduardo Galeano tract. An unnamed Latin American country, after “attempts to exploit its guano resources failed,” has nothing left to export to the First World, until it decides to export the only thing the outside world expects of it: atrocity. A willing journalist (“a specialist in underdeveloped countries”) is given a tour of the country's torture mills, military crackdowns, and natural disasters, with a few traditional songs and native dances thrown in for good measure. (“I like you people because you're so like children!” she chirps), but something seems off, almost scripted. (“That's how García Márquez did it!” cries one soldier when she complains about a torture scene). Absurd, hilarious, and scathing in its condemnation of Third World atrocities, First World consumption, and the national stereotypes created therein, The Penal Colony is “almost as funny as Duck Soup” (Village Voice); it is also-unfortunately-utterly timeless.