Tonight you'll dine at Hawthorne, one of the world's most exclusive restaurants. For the gastronomic experience ahead, you'll pay 13,000 per envelope, and the culinary epicenter is located on a small, picturesque, isolated island that can only be reached by private chartered boat. As one of a select few, for four and a half hours you'll be taken care of in a way you could only dream of. You'll see things you've never seen before. Experience flavours you never thought existed and meet people you wished you'd never met.
That's the premise of Mark Mylod's horror satire, The Menu, which certainly spares no punches when it comes to poking fun at the pretentious upper class in general and the foodie phenomenon in particular. Twelve carefully hand-picked characters now arrive on the island, all with some sort of background and history to the legendary chef, Slowik (Ralph Fiennes). All except one, Margot (Anya Taylor-Joy), who has arrived as a "plus one." She thus arrives at the establishment with an obsessive, self-proclaimed food connoisseur, Tyler (Nicholas Hoult) but doesn't quite buy the concept of fine-dining herself. In the company of such an annoying know-it-all as Tyler, it is easy to see why it is difficult to appreciate a simple but oh-so-flavourful oyster mignonette. The other guests consist of a bunch of loudmouths with made-up titles and their best years behind them. Bitter food critics, retired actors, greedy hedge fund brokers, and lisping assistants. One couple has dined at Slowik's eleven times without even being able to tell whether they were eating cod or halibut.
Margot doesn't belong here. She couldn't care less if the dairy cow was murdered for 152 days or 153. She doesn't care what it sounds like when a scallop dies or whether the cuisine is Thalian or French. She shrugs off a wine that smells bittersweet with longing and sadness, and the fact that the dishes served are as beautiful as small works of art doesn't bother her. She's there to be fed. Not to recite food chronicles or listen to stories from the bloated chef's childhood, which start early, cutting between Slowik and his expectant guests. From the first course, it's clear that this is going to be a special night. "Breadless Bread Plate" is exactly what it sounds like. An empty bread plate. Where a note describing the bread is left in place of the product itself. Is this a play on molecular gastronomy or is it a mockery of the whole escalating trend of expectation? Where you simply expect to receive an award-winning sourdough bread, a bread so special that songs have been written about it. Now that it's completely missing, the whole world is turned upside down for the selected diners on site. It's like a slap in the face and you can hear the outraged whispers. "How does he get away with this??" But what we hear, Slowik also hears. If someone complains about a cracked emulsion, they can expect more of the same. Someone tries the old tried and true domination technique"Do you know who I am?" but gets the cold shoulder. Slowly but surely, the diners begin to realise that this is no ordinary tasting menu.
The Menu impresses on many levels. It's a sly satire that really manages to put its finger on the whole problem of classism, where everyone owns someone and throughout the film there are references to the underpaid and often thankless service profession, where the passion for the creative process is pitted against its wealthy customers, who are only there because they believe that money can buy everything. They pretend to know everything about cooking but have never actually thrown together a bouillabaisse at home in the kitchen, they have probably never even fried a hamburger. They slap loud labels on someone else's life's work, without even being able to pronounce the ingredients correctly. They love snow on dishes, but only because it's in, because it's trending on social media right now. They take photos in poor light that don't do the dish justice. They're self-proclaimed connoisseurs who take everything for granted, and to top it all off, they show the power of the media in society. Who can single-handedly bring down an entire business, or crush a dream with just a few nasty words. The way this issue is tackled in The Menu is nothing short of masterful.
Slowik is no hero, rather he is a stone-cold psychopath and full-blown narcissist, but despite that he is the character I feel the most for. When he tries to please the impossible, he ends up losing his purpose on Earth, the joy and desire to please. This is also the film's biggest problem. Of all the twelve dinner guests, there is no one who deserves my empathy. It's a big generic lump of one-dimensional, overweening characters that I wouldn't grieve for a minute, had they themselves ended up in the pot. I understand why, though. For it is an ensemble that in some ways also represents society at large and, with a little imagination, all seven deadly sins, with lust, greed, pride, gluttony, sloth, anger and envy. Less flattering qualities that can actually be pasted on all visitors, but some more clearly than others. For example, we have a wealthy older man with a taste for young women, the money-hungry hedge fund brokers where a life of mediocrity is never an option. We have the food critic who considers himself above everything and everyone and Tyler himself who is the very essence of gluttony. They all have a part to play in this chef-d'oeuvre.
A total of seven stories are served up on beautiful platters this evening and here we cast aside all norms and delve into the very heart of the art of cooking. What separates a stellar restaurant from a decent joint. The imagination, the presentation, the love and the drive to always be the best and to do it at all costs. Sometimes you have to sell everything you own and have, sometimes you have to move to your own island and isolate yourself from civilization in order to cook the best lamb steak money can buy. In a perfect world, Hawthorne would have been a gift, a boon and a favour. For anyone who wants to drown their sorrows in something beautiful, for those who seek inspiration and don't care what tomorrow holds, but just want to live in the here and now. For anyone who just wants to escape everyday life for a while. But here it becomes a meeting place for anxiety. A house for truths and a final destination for dreams.
The Menu is a film that is sometimes so insanely beautiful that it makes your eyes water and your pulse race. Here, photographer Peter Deming has really outdone himself by creating a presentation that not infrequently brings to mind Chef's Table, albeit with a much less pleasant atmosphere in the kitchen. The colours and shapes come to life right before my eyes and become small culinary works of art of the highest order. I can almost touch the ingredients and feel the flavours caressing the gum seal in a symphony of aromatic eroticism. Add Colin Stetson's orchestral-driven soundtrack and a sense of sinister elegance emerges that is extremely difficult to resist. This euphoric sense of perfection persists through both starter and main course but the dessert is unfortunately, as so often, disappointing. After indulging in freshly harvested scallops, plants and flowers from the island and wallowing in pressure-cooked vegetables, bone marrow and beef au jus, we are forced to end the evening with a finale that leaves very little to the imagination. In a way, it's a perfect ending, as that's usually the feeling in real life once dessert arrives and turns out to be a tired version of Tiramisu or a dull sorbet. On the other, it feels incredibly flaccid and also a powerful wash in the face of all of us who have assumed that we will get some explanation as to why this is happening, right here, right now. This notwithstanding, The Menu is a delightful dish well worth enjoying. Enjoy your meal!