What’s on “The Menu”? Oh, lots of stuff….

2022 seems to have ended with a trifecta of class conscious satires. “Triangle of Sadness” may be the most arch of the three, “Glass Onion” the most subtle, and “The Menu”, the most intriguing. Mark Mylod directs a sly/not-so-sly in some moments film of acidic and acerbic observation and deconstruction of the privileged and tropes about privilege in general from a script by Seth Reiss and Will Tracy. Between them, they’ve both worked for the Onion, “Late Night with Seth Myers”, “Last Week Tonight with John Oliver”, “Succession”, and “Comedy Bang! Bang!” Mylod has a directorial filmography not lacking in impressive credits, including “Succession”, “Game of Thrones”, and “Shameless”. In other words, this is an accomplished team.

The premise is simple: a group of well-heeled, uber wealthy gourmands are invited (at $1,250 US a head) to dine at the most exclusive restaurant in the world, Hawthorn, led by chef Julian Slowik (freakin’ Ralph Fiennes…he makes it all look so effortless). If you saw the previews, you may have gotten a “Ten Little Indians” or “The Most Dangerous Game” vibe. You would not be wrong. However, “The Menu” has a little more on its mind and you could think of it as the most logical amplification of “The Most Dangerous Game”’s themes.

The sense of finality comes front-loaded but we don’t discover the scope of that finality until a good way into the film by which point, greater questions arise.

Several hints are dropped about this “last supper”; there are 12 guests, we see them being led to the restaurant by goats (think “Judas goats” that are used for leading cattle to the slaughter), and a growing sense that many of these people are clueless, lost, generally unsympathetic, and not really sure why they are there, despite having paid to be there (there’s an older couple who have been eleven times but don’t remember a single meal they’ve eaten at Hawthorn [“It wasn’t cod, you donkey. It was halibut.”). As becomes clear, one person stands out, Anya Taylor-Joy’s Margot, whose presence perplexes Chef. 

She showed up with foodie Tyler, as a fill-in for his girlfriend who couldn’t make it. This created wrinkles with maitre d’ Elsa (a superlative Hong Chau…damn, she’s good) from the outset. Nevertheless, Margot and Tyler proceed and you couldn’t find more evenly matched actors in Taylor-Joy and Nicholas Hoult. Taylor-Joy is, compared with everyone else, guileless but immensely skeptical of the spectacle of food worship that dribbles out of Hoult’s Tyler. 

Tyler: “You have to try the mouthfeel of the mignonette.” 

Margot: “Please don’t say ‘mouthfeel’.”

Everyone, of course, has their story. There are the tech bros, who claim to know the owner of Hawthorn; there is the unnamed Movie Star (John Leguizamo, delivering another scenery chewing - in the best sense - performance, and this time considerably more poignant and sad) and his assistant; two critics who couldn’t be more smug or pedantic (Janet McTeer, just stunning as Lilian who barely veils her contempt for, what, food failing to deliver, or people in general or even her editor Ted - Paul Edelstein, who seems to be doing his best to deal with her; does he actually respect her or is he just out for another status-filled meal?), there’s the older couple, an underutilized Judith Light and Reed Birney. Last, there’s Rebecca Koon as Linda, Chef’s mother, about whom he has little good to say.

So far, so ripe for further investigation. What is the endgame here? Why are all these people together? They were all vetted to appear on this night by Chef (except for Margot) and while some wax rhapsodic about the cuisine, others are less impressed (Margot, for instance; but also, Lilian, who notices that an emulsion has separated upon being served and notes it accordingly with Elsa who returns with a bowlful of the same to Lilian’s consternation). By that point, it’s become obvious that this is not your routine dining experience. And there is a game afoot, but by this point, it’s also obvious what that game is. It’s not venison.

It’s not long before Chef tips his hand: that emulsion had been brought out with others as well for a breadless bread course to underscore the class divisions of a clientele that cannot understand that bread was a staple of the poor and that they can surely do without for one course. But oh, the protest and the cajoling that arises. The only person who seems to really be on board is Tyler, who oohs and aahs at Chef’s cleverness and storytelling. 

And there’s one rub; this isn’t just a meal; it’s an adventure, a tale, an experience. Each course is accompanied by Chef spinning a narrative and each narrative grows a little darker, culminating with his sous chef committing suicide in front of the guests. Many are convinced that it’s just really convincing dinner theater, but a few beats into the scene and they’re not so sure. By the time Chef has told them, that they are all going to die, I think they could be forgiven for losing their appetites.

All of this is delivered with a measured pace; as risible as they may be, the cast do bring a sense of humanity and tragedy to each of their characters. The clients are all - to a single one (except Margot) - cowed by Elsa. Tyler, in particular, is abashed when he is reproached for taking pictures and not getting the point of something (“Is Chef mad at me?”)

Margot, though. Chef finally gets her off to the side and asks her who she is and why she’s there. When she asks what it matters to him, Slowik replies that he needs to know if she’s with them (the monied, entitled lot, the takers) or with “us” (Chef and his staff, the givers). If I recall correctly, this is also when Chef first mentions that everyone is going to die.

It’s also in these moments between Chef and Margot that I want to see a two-hander with Fiennes and Taylor-Joy. To be sure, this is an exceedingly clever and stinging film, but it does flag at points, and there is a sense that one of the themes of the dividing line between the exploiter and the exploited being thin or obscured feels somewhat clunky. If Chef Julian feels exploited, used and discarded by his wealthy, entitled clients, then is he not in turn, exploiting his staff with their blind devotion to him and his work? I can assume that that’s the point; that exploitation in a capitalist economy and a classist society, exploitation is a top down affair that infects everyone until their own sense of self or agency is increasingly diminished. 

We’ll come back to themes in a bit, but I want to note that as dark as it is, the movie is hardly lacking in hilarity. The performances are tight enough to make each syllable of dialog land just right. The cluelessness is understandable and when their collective (and individual) fates become clear, the desperation isn’t played for laughs, but is mined for some really strong gallows wit. 

When Chef has everyone come outside before dessert, he gives the men only, the chance to stay with their dates or make a run for it and try to escape the island. needless to say, each guy splits. Each guy is captured and brought back. The last guy - Ted - is gifted with a special dessert for being the last guy. 

As for the women, Lilian and Margot smoke one last time. Linda’s passed out drunk. Judith Light’s Anne was abandoned in another sense, anyway, when her husband had to own up to spending time with… Margot.

Let’s consider Margot. Not only is she not who Chef was expecting; she isn’t Margot. Her name is Erin and she’s a call-girl/escort who Tyler invited because he and his girlfriend had separated. When Chef brings this up to Tyler, he underscores the gravity of the situation for Erin by saying that Tyler knew that he (and everyone) was going to die, so he hired Erin/Margot in full knowledge that he was signing her death warrant. After she clocks the shit out of him, you suspect there is more in store for Tyler. And there is, but before that, we still are a little in the dark about the whole ensemble.

During a course where pancakes are served, photos have been printed on them depicting pivotal and uncomfortable moments or even illegal activities. For example, Margot being photographed on a date with Anne’s husband. He had hired her for a role play session of handjobs and incest. The tech bros are served financial reports of embezzlement from their company; their boss wouldn’t mind, really (so they say) and they turn to threatening Chef by saying that he’ll support them before him because Chef Julian works for him, too. Their boss is the angel investor that funds Hawthorn. Funny they’d bring that up.

In short order, Chef has everyone turn their attention to the figure with white wings being lowered into the sea in the night. So much for their boss, trussed up like a seraphim and slowly sinking into the ocean. 

Chef points out that each of them has sucked the joy out of his art, reducing his work to perfunctory performance and not even performance art (though, admittedly, if the night’s activities weren’t so illegal, a case could be made that they’d make for a serious piece in any given alternative space.) Before the dessert course and prior to the men running off and being recaptured, Chef requests Tyler’s presence in the kitchen with something like the idea that Tyler belongs with them; he understands food, right? He identified the bergamot in a sauce; he’s a smart lad, yes? 

He provides Tyler with the option to prepare a course of his own on the fly. Nervous and sweating, on the cusp of panic because he knows he’s going to fail right in front of his hero; Tyler destroys a couple of lamb chops, potatoes, and shallots. At the end of each course, the screen fills with a shot of that course, it’s title, and ingredients. The frame freezes here and we see the ingredients on a plate - hacked vegetables and underdone lamb all - with the caption, “Tyler’s Shit”. Fiennes leans in close to Hoult’s ear and whispers something and we see Tyler wander off.

Chef calls on Erin to join them and for her first task, asks her to retrieve a barrel of something for dessert. On the way out, she passes a storeroom where she sees Tyler’s body hanging. Such is humiliation at the hand of a master chef. Naturally, this gives Erin a chance to book it to Julian’s quarters where she is ambushed by Elsa who she kills in self-defense. Elsa attacks her because she fears Erin is her replacement (this is one of those odd lapses in a script that makes no sense; wouldn’t Elsa just kill Erin because Erin is the anomaly? Everyone’s going to die, Elsa included, so how would it be that Erin would “replace” her at this point?)

Erin finds a short wave radio and calls out an S.O.S. By the time she returns to the restaurant, Chef Slowik has determined that she’s betrayed him since a Coast Guard officer shows up. She is now one of “them”, a taker. The Coast Guard guy? Not a Coast Guard guy; a line cook in disguise who goes back into the kitchen.

Welp. That looks like that’s that. But of course, it’s not. Erin complains that she’s still hungry. Julian’s food isn’t filling; there’s no love in it, just intellectual themes and ideas. He demurs and says that it’s all made with love, but we know better; he knows she’s right and asks her what she wants. Having seen an old photo of Julian from 1987 celebrating his win at a burger cook-off while she was in his house, she orders a cheeseburger. But not some fancy, gourmetized version, just a goddamn cheeseburger, medium. Julian says he’s going to make a cheeseburger that will make her feel like it’s her first. 

When it’s delivered, he asks how it is and Erin says, “that’s a burger.” She says, though, that her eyes were bigger than her stomach. Could she take the rest to go? She pays the 9.95 (and I’m assuming there’s a tip in there) and Chef brings her a box and a bag with the menu from the night’s shenanigans. Erin gets up to leave and Chef nods to the staff guarding the exit to let her out.

Her fellow diners are captives for dessert. It’s a classic; s’mores. Each diner is outfitted with a bib or a cape of marshmallows and chocolate hats. The barrel was apparently filled with explosives or dynamite or something. The dining room is also doused in some flammable liquid; I’m guessing it’s not gasoline. Surely it’s some liquor? In any case, the restaurant goes up in a blast taking chef, staff, and customers into the next life. Erin has found a boat docked that she’s able to start up and which dies once out to sea, but she does have a damn good burger to eat while she awaits rescue.

Pulling in Peter Deming, one of David Lynch’s and Sam Raimi’s cinematographers (“Lost Highway”, “Mulholland Drive”, “Twin Peaks - the Return”, “Evil Dead II”, “Drag Me to Hell”, and some other random stuff like Wes Craven’s “Scream” sequels and “Cabin in the Woods”…you get the idea) was a stroke of genius. Deming’s tone is generally atmospheric with rich saturated colors and sharp contours that bring into sharp relief the characters and their fates. 

“The Menu” is more on the parable end of the satirical spectrum (not as much as “Triangle of Sadness) and one could argue more fatalistic, though Mylod, Reiss, and Tracy skirt full-tilt nihilism. That Julian’s humanity handed completely left him in honoring Erin’s requests and her honesty is the telling element that redeems Chef’s dark view of humanity and darker execution of his last supper.

Thinking about it, this could be a Raimi movie easily, but Mylod has his own voice and if he continues in this vein, may well take his place up there with Sam. This isn’t his first feature (he also lensed “The Big White” with Robin Williams in 2005, and 2011’s “What’s Your Number?” with Anna Faris and Chris Evans) but it is his tightest and most fully realized.