Tyler (Nicholas Holt) is a food nerd, as interested in taking photos of his meals as he is in eating them. His last-minute date Margot (Anya Taylor-Joy) is too grounded; in her book food is for eating, but if Tyler's paying then sure, she'll listen to him go on about "mouth feel" with a smile.
The rest of the guests tonight at Hawthorne are a mix of washed up celebrities (John Leguizamo) and their hangers-on, food critics (Janet McTeer) and their hangers-on, and a bunch of moneyed types, both tech bros and old school businessmen. Having the chef's elderly mother there too seems a bit odd, but on this island what doesn't?
The maitre de Elsa (Hong Chau) is businesslike with a side serve of terrifying, the kitchen staff act more like automatons than a bunch of cooks, and celebrity chef Julian Slowik (Ralph Fiennes) openly admits that tonight's lengthy meal is meant to tell a story. But is it his usual examination of class and power dynamics through food (a dynamic the working-class Margot threatens to disrupt), or is tonight shaping up to be something that belongs in the horror section?
As black comedies go this is more conceptual than gag-packed, though it's not afraid to drop a witty line or blunt joke when the time is right. The world of high-end fine dining is basically beyond satire, which doesn't make the food here any less ridiculous - it just means that it's pretty much all stuff someone somewhere is serving up for real.
If the set-up is giving you "tonight, the consumers shall become the consumed!" vibes, don't worry: there's more going on here than some basic ironic punishment tale (though payback is a theme threaded throughout). Julian wants to tell a story with his meal, but that doesn't mean the film is telling the same story, and it's the moments where the gap between the two comes clear that this is at its most interesting.
Being trapped on an island with a chef looking to twist the knife and a staff of (his) celebrity-worshippers that have curdled into a cult is scary stuff, and The Menu does have moments of genuine creepiness. But it's also clear that Julian's scheme is just another version of the trite, pretentious world he's looking to escape.
He despises what he, and his cooking, has become; the horror - and the comedy - comes from the fact that in his world, the only way out is to go further in.
- Anthony Morris
