The Menu
Written by Andreas Babiolakis
Warning: minor spoilers for The Menu are in this review. Reader discretion is advised.
This is the year of the scathing satire of the privileged elite, and Mark Mylod — recently associated with one of the finer projects to take on such a theme (HBO’s Succession) — has entered the conversation again with his latest film, The Menu. As he is not the only player of 2022 to take part in this public display of dismay, The Menu does feel similar to some other features, including the great Triangle of Sadness (the purging of prestige and ego via disastrous meals and misfortunes) and the so-so Don’t Worry Darling (how those with power, particularly men, subject those around them without consent or approval into dangerous exploitations because of their own narcissism). You really can make a double-billing out of these kinds of flicks (The Menu and Triangle of Sadness pair up particularly nicely), but I’m also going to use this opportunity to go ahead and say that, perhaps, The Menu may be the strongest of these kinds of films this year. While it is extremely aware that you, the clever audience member that you are, will figure it out ahead of time, that also doesn’t matter. The Menu is only partially interested in its twisty nature; its real adoration comes from how much discomfort everyone is placed in, predominantly when we’re forced to actually think about what is happening. The challenging nature isn’t from predicting the plot, or the shocks on screen; it stems from us having to accept that art, as it once was, is kind of dead, and we’re here to honour it by feasting on its carcass.
Huh?
How can art be dead? That’s technically not true, of course, but I think I should rephrase this. It is next to impossible to have something that is authentically artistic and successful without having some sort of marketability in place (which, to me, is always a compromise, no matter how little art gets affected). The Menu knows this: it isn’t a straight up arthouse picture, even though it dips its toes in this pool for microseconds occasionally. There are many people to blame, and The Menu does so without holding back once. You have the concept of business, where everything is funded for by investors and financing, and you have to sell in order to make proper returns and keep going; so much exists nowadays because of business, but it’s because business made most industries — including artistic and entertainment-based ones — this way. You have those that treat artistic fields like a regular day in the office, phoning in performances in bad films, or piecing together terribly unimaginative songs that will definitely get played on the radio. There are the wealthy members of yesteryear that refuse to change because things continue to go their way, thus getting in the way of the generations of new. Hell, people like myself are to blame as well: critics that have to dissect every thing they see and take the heart and soul out of the hard work of casts and crew (regardless of whether or not a film is good or bad).
Having said that, are any of these kinds of people actually worth punishing? Businesses have done good as well: they expand reach and longevity for all kinds of products and services, and this includes artistic outputs as well. Those that work in the arts and entertainment fields that don’t really want to win awards or challenge audiences shouldn’t be penalized either; they appreciate these industries for a different reason. Rich members of the older generation maybe worked hard and persevered through a lot to get to where they are now; even if they didn’t, is it wrong to live lavishly if we’re not hurting others? Now, I won’t feel as stupid for defending critics, because I made a case for every other example. Criticism — which especially feels like a dying art nowadays (in the age of aggregates that remove the individuality of writers and makes us a part of a wholistic number that either damns or worships releases) — is there to dive deeply into the creations of others; to provide words for those that maybe can’t quite figure out how to analyze what they’ve just seen; to help the indecisive figure out if they should check out a particular release or not. If an artist puts everything into their work, does a critic devoid others of coming up with their own connections, or do they help these connections take place with the masses? You can argue either way.
The Menu could have been even more disturbing, but Mark Mylod and company recognize the importance of connecting with more audience members, thus taming the film down to something more affective on a larger scale.
This wealthy twerp named Tyler brings his date Margot to a boat that is set to embark on a brief journey towards Hawthorne: a coveted, remote restaurant on an island, owned by celebrated chef Julian Slowik. There are other guests here, including businessmen that helped Hawthorne through the pandemic (a very minor point mentioned once, but it’s a nice touch), a washed up actor that loves namedropping and embellishing his importance, and — gasp — a blasted food critic (but one that helped Slowik’s career take off). However, the film is heavily focused on Margot and Tyler, as the former is clearly an outlier (she has replaced Tyler’s previous guest, and Hawthorne staff are quick to notice this last minute change), while the latter is the only person that is genuinely there this evening to enjoy the prepared menu as Chef Slowik intended (although, let’s be frank: Tyler is quite pathetic about it all).
Before we dip into this head scratching, titular menu, we are provided with an introduction to this evening’s courses, and it sounds a little bit like bullshit initially, with the consuming of meats compared to the merging of life and death (food nourishes us at the detriment of the life of another being) and other gross analogies. However, this is all the preparation for this menu that we need. As The Menu progresses, not once did I feel like this was a stupid reality, or a satire that lost sight of what it is trying to say. You can feel like it is heavy handed, and I wouldn’t condemn you for feeling this way despite me disagreeing; the film is certainly upfront with what it is trying to say. However, nothing here is cryptic or arbitrary, and I don’t feel like Slowik is full of it for proclaiming that everything has a purpose. The Menu starts off with some funnier insults of dishes that scoff at those that are fortunate enough to be there tonight (even though they clearly paid an arm and a leg to attend service, which makes this only funnier). I wouldn’t say dare more, but each course gets more and more taboo, with Chef Slowik’s intentions coming closer to fruition with each and every serving.
However, Margot’s presence has created a bit of a disturbance in these dinner plans, and I feel like her inclusion alone is a major reason why The Menu is elevated. Instead of just having a cold look at the doomed fates of the previously-fortunate, we get an outside perspective that shakes up the calculations of this satire (most of the best satires need many moving parts to work properly, and Margot is a proverbial wrench in this machine). Besides, no one is going to do a purely cynical satire that detests the wealthy more than Luis Buñuel. To deviate from Margot quickly, I must also remark on how The Menu is partially like the late auteur’s films The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie and The Exterminating Angel. The major difference is that Buñuel’s films have aristocrats struggling to enjoy — or even have — a meal, whereas The Menu is the deconstruction about what their meals will even be (although it is similar with The Exterminating Angel in the sense that there’s a certain fear of not being able to leave these eating quarters, and the claustrophobia that ensues afterward). Going back to Margot, she’s also able to provide a certain punctuation mark that no one else here can: a realization that Slowik, after all is said and done, actually is a damn fine chef, albeit he’s just one that got lost chasing the dream of a fully-realized, artistic ascension. The final shot of the film is this kind of final piece of the big puzzle. Pretentious beliefs almost always come from those that have at least a slice of brilliance within them; they just happen to get carried away by the illusions of conceitedness and enablement.
The Menu luckily doesn’t get carried away, unlike its head chef in the film.
Do I appreciate when films are more daring than The Menu? Absolutely, but I also don’t think that The Menu is held back in any way. There’s no Hollywood ending, but we also don’t have a pessimistic copout either. We get a bit of both, but not to play by the rules. Instead, the bitter end of The Menu validates all that we’ve seen so far: at the centre of many awful-natured artists is that glimmer of innovation that others have spotted in them before (it never leaves, even if it’s hard to see underneath the bad qualities). In the case of Slowik (a highly complicated character played superbly by Ralph Fiennes), we get the question of what makes an artist this far gone. There are many answers in this case; the hard work that Slowik never forgot he had to get through to arrive at the top; the abuse he had to endure at home and at work, of which he vowed to escape; the fickleness of criticism, which can make and kill careers alike; the blessings of angel investors that can threaten to take everything away; the realization that you sacrificed yourself to be found when others fart and get all of the fame and fortune (and the waste-of-time that foods, films, music, and the like with zero heart put into them create).
The Menu is accessible enough that anyone can watch it and understand what Mylod is saying, but it’s not necessarily a safe film either, and that makes it all the better. It’s got a bite to it, whether it’s poking fun via its obnoxiously symbolic dish arrangements or it’s fully recompensing its guests in ways only Slowik fully understands. It toys with its characters without going too far (sadistically or logically). It doesn’t mind that we can piece together its intentions, because that’s not why The Menu exists: it gets us to understand why these nightmarish events are happening. The film isn’t one-sided either: we get why Slowik is angry at his guests, but we’re left to sympathize with them and not feel bad in doing so. Despite how blatant The Menu and its many metaphors are, there’s also enough for us to discern on our own merits, much in the way that Chef Slowik believes that our meals are what we make of them (as those who cook them, or those that devour them). What nourishes us as human beings that need food? As souls that require empathy? As minds that crave stimulation? It can be a fully prepared culinary experience that is unlike any other in the history of humanity. It can just be a well-made cheeseburger that consoles us and fills our belly.
Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Toronto Metropolitan University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.