Review: The Menu asks whether you’d choose to die as a maker, or a taker
Written by Will Tracy and Seth Reiss, directed by Mark Mylod
Review by Ceridwen Bush
This review contains spoilers
Clever without being pretentious, The Menu is a delightful addition to the increasingly popular “horror satire” genre that follows a couple at an absurdly lavish dinner party, where the dishes curate a portrait of art and consumption. As increasingly sinister menu items are served by the world-renowned Chef Slowik, it is prudently revealed that the final course will be more than just dessert. Subtle, and not too cryptic, The Menu begs to know one simple thing; are you with us, or with them?
The answer seems easy at first – the lavish party guests include finance bros, old money capitalists, movie stars, and trust fund babies – surely we aren't with them. But wealth isn’t the only division the film makes. It also divides the characters explicitly as “givers” or “takers”. These transparent caricatures invite the audience to take a side, one that will likely determine whether you leave the theatre feeling satiated or left behind.
An outlier to the rich cohort is Margot (Anya Taylor-Joy), who stands in for any non-upper class members of the audience. Margot is a last-minute guest, taking the place of Tyler’s (Nicholas Hoult) ex-girlfriend, much to the annoyance of Elsa, the maître d' (Hong Cha). The film sets an uncanny chemistry between the pair – they’re physically close enough to be a couple, but Margot’s leather jacket and quick wit clashes against the prim and proper Tyler. While Margot seems surprised to learn she’s there as a replacement, there is something simmering beneath the surface of their coupling.
The eleven guests travel by boat to an isolated island that is home to Hawthorne, the highly exclusive restaurant. At $1,250 a head, Margot expects a Rolex for dinner. Margot is clearly not of this world, especially considering that a Rolex actually costs upwards of $6,500.
Joy and Hoult have both curated character roles throughout their film and screen careers; Joy as the confident and clever maverick, best known for her critically acclaimed role as chess champion Beth Harmon in Netflix’s The Queen’s Gambit (2020), and Hoult as the insufferable snob we love to hate – Peter in Catherine the Great (2020), or even Tony in Skins (2007).
Tyler is so inherently unlikable that the chemistry spell between him and Margot is quickly broken. He scolds Margot for smoking because it will “ruin her palette”, shuts down her concerns, and treats her like an idiot. Margot doesn’t take it, and her quick self-assurance implies that she’s used to defending herself rigorously and often. The film later reveals the clashing nature of the pair – Margot is actually Erin, an escort Tyler has paid to accompany him. Chef Slowik identifies her as a “giver”, finding a sense of kinship in their service work roles.
Ralph Fiennes plays the dedicated chef, Julian Slowik. His performance is soft, meticulous, and empathetic, similar to his role as Monsieur Gustave in The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014). Both roles typify the sensitive yet unconventional artist. After identifying Margot as a peer, he offers her not the opportunity to escape, but to die with himself and his staff. This choice – death or death – is critical to him, and he allows Margot time to decide. After all, “everybody dying is part of the menu”.
There is a bit of an unfortunate Netflix sheen to The Menu. Highly contrasted, shadowy lighting that’s been oversaturated post-production makes the film’s already limited settings feel monotonous. A similar stuffy atmosphere is popular in 80’s and 90’s films – think Silence of the Lambs (1991) or Hellraiser (1987). These films are accompanied by a grimy intensity that gives the cheap aesthetic more substance, or even a lower resolution camera that softens the edges of all the sharp lines. The “Netflix” stylistic choice feels out of place in The Menu, considering Mark Mylous is also behind the grotty world of Shameless (US), and cinematographer Peter Deming has worked on cult classics of a bygone era; Mulholland Drive (2001), Scream (1996), and Evil Dead (1981). We can likely blame the decision to involve second-unit director David Gelb, creator of Netflix’s docuseries “Chef’s Table”, for this ill-placed sheen.
Elsa takes the guests on a tour which includes the shared quarters of the kitchen staff. The grey rows of single beds are identical and made to perfection. There is no sign of a home, or even time for one, as it’s revealed they work 80-hours a week. When asked if they ever get burned out, Elsa responds that “Chef holds himself to the highest possible standard and we have the honour of working at Hawthorn.”
Being a chef is an incredibly hard, grueling job. They tend to be sleep deprived and grumpy. In Australia, there are reports of working 70-hours a week, sometimes 10 days in a row. I’ve worked in kitchens with chefs on day 14. I’ve also had chefs tell me, in no uncertain terms, that if a customer causes any trouble they will immediately come and “have a word” with them. The best chefs really do love their staff as much as their work. There is more than just respect to this relationship:
“I love you all.”
“We love you, too, Chef.”
The guests in The Menu don’t understand the beauty of this. You might not either, if you haven’t worked in a restaurant. The guests try to plead with the staff for help, and seem to ask why do they adhere to Chef’s every word?
Why do I quote Baurdillard in all my essays? Why have I defended Louis Althusser the wife-murderer (out loud! To arts students!)? Why are you still listening to Kanye West, the antisemite? Chris Brown, the violent misogynist? Grimes, the neoliberal hack? We all feel bad for consuming the products of people we know are bad, but we can’t seem to help it. Faced with the absurd truth that degenerate humans are responsible for creation, consumers have killed off the artist. They proclaim that the ‘‘author is dead” and the audience owns their work now, removed from its creator.
Tyler, self-proclaimed foodie, brags about his home cooking skills. He picks apart every flavour in the meals, and shows off his knowledge of the speciality tools used. Non-artists will ask you what your real job is, tell you that “anyone could make that”. Someone once said, of my arts degree majoring in English Literature, that I had a “degree in unemployment”. The film depicts Tyler’s miserable humiliation when Chef Slowik invites him into the kitchen to prove his skill.
The staff clearly know the ending that awaits them, but are unphased by their inevitable death. Every direction by Chef Slowik is met with an enthusiastic “yes Chef!”, and their perfect presentation never falters. The reverence for Chef is neverending.
The party guests are horrified – are the staff not truly in danger, or are they just stupid? One reading of The Menu’s staff comments on the self-sacrifical nature of service work, but a less sympathetic one finds the suicidal loyalty simply unbelievable.
Chef Slowik asks his guests not to eat, rather to taste, savour, and relish. Don’t eat The Menu. Indulge it, read it, listen to it. The Menu asks you who you are. Artists create against all odds – on negative budgets, with no time, no support. It would be superfluous to describe this life as self-sacrificing. You live and die by whatever it is you are driven to create, and it is by chance your creations get consumed at all. Is this not a kind of suicidal loyalty?
Maybe you disagree. Maybe you’re a taker. You expect your art to be ready made, cancelling any absurd possibility that there are fallible, guilty humans behind everything you consume. You might not have loved something so much you would die for it, but you likely risk your reputation flooding your playlists with problematic musicians and rewatching cult classics made by predatory directors. Ideally, you’d consume your art ready-to-go and think anyone stupid enough to create is simply unbelievable.
When The Menu asks who you would like to die with – us or them – it isn’t just asking about your wealth. It’s asking about your relationship to art. Will you kill off the artist and suck the art out of them? Or will you take yourself out alongside all the people who commodified your work in a fiery blaze?
The Menu is playing in cinemas now. Find tickets here.
Images from Searchlight Pictures
Ceridwen loves things that are disgusting. She talks really fast and doesn’t mind a space balloon in the park. Find her ranting and raving on Instagram @scrridwen.
This review was generously donated by Ceridwen.
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