The menu

The culinary world - like porn and pro wrestling - represents relatively low-hanging fruit when it comes to satire. So much of it serves as an easy target… vacuous foodies armed with smart phones taking obsessive plating snapshots for their Instagram accounts… the Spartan-like regimentation of professional kitchens, where God-like head chefs command total loyalty and subservience… fussy molecular gastronomy techniques such as foaming and gelling, flash freezing and spherification… serving a plate with segregated piles of lettuce, parmesan and croutons, and calling it a deconstructed caesar salad. 

All of this lands squarely in the crosshairs of The Menu, a midnight-black comedy with a healthy strain of horror movie DNA. The story revolves around Hawthorne, the flagship restaurant of celebrity chef Julian Slowik (Ralph Fiennes), which is located on a private island accessible only by ferry, and serves a meticulously conceived and executed menu each night to no more than a dozen guests. Enter Margot (Anya Taylor-Joy), who’s somewhat half-heartedly accompanying her simping foodie boyfriend Tyler (Nicholas Hoult) for what promises to be a “once in a lifetime meal.”

As the evening begins, the comedy is obvious, but spot-on - a pretentious food critic (Janet McTeer) nitpicks a broken emulsion as her obsequious editor (Paul Adelstein) nods feverishly; a trio of tech bros comment “At least we can say we ate here” as they scroll indifferently on their phones. But as the meal takes an ominous turn, it becomes clear that Slowik has carefully selected a cross-section of guests that have all contributed to the joy being leeched from his artisan craft. Some of them - such as Reed Birney and Judith Light as a wealthy couple who make a point of frequenting Hawthorne several times a year, but share little connection to the actual food - are perfectly conceived. The logic behind others - such as John Leguizamo as a washed-up movie star - feel more like a farcical stretch.  

The wildcard ingredient is Margot. Anya Taylor-Joy, with her beguiling, goldfish-like visage, and Ralph Fiennes, with his serpentine sinisterness, are well-matched as cinematic foils (in my review of Don’t Worry Darling, I noted that Florence Pugh is probably “the most compulsively watchable actress under the age of 30.” ATJ would be a firm #2). But - not to belabor the culinary metaphors here - a screenplay is not unlike an eight-course meal… a delicate and strenuous alchemy in which perfection is rarely achieved. And unfortunately, Seth Reiss and Will Tracy’s script, after a strong start, begins serving its own broken emulsions. The ingredients don’t coalesce with the ideal balance or acidity (anyone who’s seen The Great knows what a skilled comedic actor Hoult can be… but his character makes less and less sense as the movie goes on). The story’s increasingly warped plot turns feel less the product of a scrupulously planned master vision unfolding with a display of consummate control… and more just like one randomly fucked-up evening (as is often the tricky problem with satire, the behavior of certain characters - specifically Slowik’s fanatically devoted kitchen staff - only make sense within the heightened construct of the film’s own artificial reality. In other words - these aren't real people).​

Part of the issue is that, at heart, The Menu is a simple class skewering, more than anything. But the good news is that there’s still pleasure to be had in a meal that offers comfortable calories, rather than a rapturous engagement of the palate. As a comedic thriller, the film is nimbly paced and darkly bemusing in tone (“I wrote a negative recommendation letter to Sony,” Leguizamo confesses to his personal assistant at one point. “I know,” she responds. “You cc’d me on it”). It achieves a consistent tension. It also gives Fiennes his sharpest starring role in years - even if the character offers only fleeting glimpses beyond the tortured perfectionist persona. The Menu is solid enough cuisine, but, to paraphrase Joel Robuchon… [couldn’t find appropriate Joel Robuchon quote, insert witty amuse-bouche themed closing remark instead].