For f**k’s sake.
A group of wealthy food snobs climb aboard the SS “Aren’t We Special” on their way to an island upon which sits a super exclusive restaurant whose chef makes Hannibal Lecter look like a boy scout.
Once the guests are seated, Chef Slowik (Ralph Fiennes) patiently walks them through a series of courses designed to give them a culinary experience the likes of which they have never seen or tasted or would want to ever see or taste.
Among the guests are: three finance dudes, Soren (Arturo Castro), Dave (Mark St. Cyr) and Bryce (Rob Yang); a wealthy older couple, Anne (Judith Light) and Richard (Reed Birney); a self-obsessed movie star, (John Leguizamo) and his assistant, Felicity (Aimee Carrero); a stuffy food critic, Lillian (Janet McTeer) and her lap dog sidekick, Ted (Paul Adelstein); and, finally, a worshipful, to the point of self-negation, foodie, Tyler (Nicholas Hoult) and his last minute guest, the down to earth Margot (Anya Taylor-Joy).
Chef Slowik, who has a doozy of a God complex, invited these guests, in particular, because they have each committed a grave sin. Or, least, a sin which the Almighty Slowik (get it…slow burn) has judged to be grave. Not exactly the same thing, but it’s his restaurant, so he gets to carve the tablets.
Now, you may be thinking that these guests are the worst of the worst – that they have raped, tortured or even killed people. Though I won’t spoil what sins our uppity guests are guilty of, I will say that, as sins go, they’re of the minor league variety. There ain’t a Wayne Gretzky or a Bobby Orr of sinners among them. Maybe a Nik Antropov? Forgive me, dear and much appreciated Toronto Maple Leaf alumnus.
That’s only one of the problems with “The Menu.” Another is that the whole idea of it, and how it plays out, is so cruel, so misanthropic and, at the same time, so self-congratulatory. Positioning itself as a dark comedy that seeks to skewer pretentious foodies and dump on the rich (which, by the way, I’m all for) it instead made me feel all the more sorry for their plight.
On top of that, once you realize where this is all headed – which is pretty early on – you are just left to watch, in disbelief, as Chef Slowik takes f-o-r-e-v-e-r too steer this culinary Titanic into the nearest iceberg.
Strangely, “The Menu” seems to have been made to repulse every conceivable type of audience member, except, maybe, the sociopathic and psychopathic. They go to the movies, too, so…good for you, Hollywood?
Now, despite all this, Fiennes is solid as Slowik. He slips delicately into his tight skin. He’s all detail and refinement. If the restaurant were a country, he’d be its iron-fisted strongman. Order and precision are his twin obsessions.
How did he get to be a lunatic? People – very much like the ones he’s assembled on this exclusively twisted night – slowly, but surely, beat the joy of cooking right out of him. At least, that’s what he claims. He’s nuts, so, who knows?
Fair enough. He even mentions, more than once, that he and his staff and the guests they feed are from two very distinct breeds – those who give and those who take. He even makes a big, gruesome show out of the punishment he doles out to the very man who has financed his little island eatery. A card would’ve been more appropriate and less insane, but Chef Slowik is nuts, so he does it his way.
Okay, so you no longer get all giggly making chicken cacciatore for snobs, but, isn’t therapy a wiser choice than going all armageddon on everyone? Ah, but then we wouldn’t have this movie, which, for me, anyway, would be totally cool.
I don’t think the makers of this film wanted the audience to sympathize with the guests, but that’s where I was at. Yes, they are all, with two important exceptions, self-absorbed jerks. Though they have empty stomachs at the beginning of the film, they are already full of themselves.
The two exceptions, by the way, are Tyler, the young whippersnapper/crazed foodie who is not just full of himself, but a full on sociopath. The other exception is Margot. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Tyler only invited her when his previous date bowed out at the last minute. Despite this, Margot is not exactly a saint. The best I can say about her is that she’s not entirely awful.
Like a dealer who has stacked the deck, “The Menu” doesn’t play fair. How could it? The lead character is out of his f****** mind. There came a point, in this film, where the story yet to unfold became a mere formality. I thought to myself, “…just cross the Ts, dot the Is and I can get home in time to watch the rest of the Leaf game.” Once it sets up its premise and the gears of the plot start turning, I knew exactly where it was headed and I didn’t really give a f***. I’m not saying that to boast – anyone not put to sleep by it could see where it was going.
“The Menu” skewers the worship of chefs as movie stars and their ridiculously elaborate, sometimes, avant-garde approach to the cooking and, especially, the presentation of each one of their precious dishes. Then, in turn, it carves up the obsessive consumers of those dishes who go on about them for so long, and in such ridiculously pretentious language, that you feel like beating them to death with the nearest meat tenderizer.
Essentially, everybody in this foodie universe takes food far too f****** seriously. The makers of “The Menu” both hate the people who make the food and hate the people who eat the food. Isn’t that wonderful?
And that’s the real problem – it’s a 107 minute vehicle of hate. Everybody’s awful and irredeemable and aren’t we so clever for pointing this out to you. The End. What kind of a film is that? I’ll tell you – it’s a film that thinks it’s smart while being dumb as a plate of chicken fingers.
Like so many similar films whose recipes call for too many cups of cynicism and not a single pinch of humanity, “The Menu” wears out its welcome pretty quickly.
In the end, this film is just empty calories. 🥁
