I’m reviewing the food-snobbery-will-kill-you comedy “The Menu,” never having eaten at, well — name the Michelin-starred restaurant and I haven’t eaten there. Some day. When that cost-of-living raise finally arrives.
But satire, even wobbly satire, doesn’t require firsthand knowledge of a subject. Pretentious foodies are like pretentious anybodys, with cultural critics high among them: They can’t hear themselves speak, not really, because they probably wouldn’t speak that way if they could. Insider language is a reliable satirical target. It stimulates the ear to hear words unthinkable a few years ago: “mouthfeel,” for one.
In director Mark Mylod’s “The Menu,” this is the premise whipped up by screenwriters Seth Reiss and Will Tracy (“Succession”): Twelve people, having paid $1,250 apiece, travel to a 12-acre private island. There, a famously secluded fine-dining establishment entices, punishes, delights and, soon enough, horrifies the diners who paid dearly for the “experience.”
In the beginning, we follow the twitchy foodie Tyler (Nicholas Hoult, going all in on dislikable climbers) and his conspicuously unpretentious and skeptical last-minute date, Margot (Anya Taylor-Joy). Once they reach the island, the cool glare of host Elsa (Hong Chau, terrific, with unpredictable bursts of volume) sets a tone of ingrained disdain.
Shortly before dusk, the various diners — annoying bro-men of shady business practices; a glance-averting older couple; a fearsome food critic — take their assigned seats. Chef Slowick (Ralph Fiennes), an Iowa boy turned international man of mystery, commences with the first of many thunderclap-handclaps eliciting an immediate, military-precision “yes, chef!” from the kitchen. And we’re off. Clearly, he’s off, or there’d be no movie.
The guests harbor some nasty secrets, and a tense moment of recognition between Margot and the prosperous married man played by Reed Birney signals an unwanted something or other. Course by course, Chef Slowick explains his rationale behind his ocean-to-mouth, farm-to-table delicacies, including the breadless bread plate and a cucumber melon palate-cleanser accompanied by milk snow. The critic (Janet McTeer, on the money) has seen it all before, complaining to her companion that “there’s a neediness to the plating.”
Some of the 1% bitchery is amusing. One of the servers, pouring a red of rarefied quality, promises the wine carries “a faint sense of longing and regret.” Where does it go from there? “The Menu” ups its stakes, and its violence, as the true purpose of Chef Slowik’s gathering becomes clear. It’s fairly engaging nastiness for most of the way, though I wish the direction were lighter on its feet. The film is visually ordinary, and much of the dialogue is blunt (“to work, and money,” one of the weaselly bros says, mid-toast) and lessens rather than heightens the satirical juice.
Fiennes and the best of his comrades are a different story: They’re witty in ways complementing the apparent mystery scenario, aka “And Then There Were None to Pick Up the Check.” There’s not an actor alive who can do more with a doleful, threatening pause before a line than Fiennes.
“The Menu” relates to such eat-the-rich-but-enjoy-the-bad-behavior series such as “Succession” or “The White Lotus.” It takes the awfulness of the privileged for granted, and for fun, mainly to lean into easy audience revenge instincts. Part “Seven,” part haute-cuisine “Saw,” part reality cooking show, director Mylod’s film finally isn’t sure of how far to push the effrontery. It helps, however, to have Fiennes in the kitchen and a Nordic smokehouse out back.
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'THE MENU'
2.5 stars (out of 4)
MPAA rating: R (for strong/disturbing violent content, language throughout and some sexual references)
Running time: 1:46
How to watch: Now in theaters
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