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Rating:
Some films shine thanks to plots that touch universal strings, flawless scripts, and breathtaking cinematography. The Menu is not among those.
It starts as a satire on starred restaurants, a theme more worn out than a kitchen apron. Even grandmothers make jokes about mini portions for 100 euros, and can you compare them to truckers' spaghetti. Then it gets worse, turning into an improbable social claim delirium. Is it a comedy? No, the satire here has less bite than a toothless, retired Tyrannosaurus. A thriller? Only if the idea of overcooked risotto sends you into paranoia. A horror? Sure, but only if we refer to the film itself, which gives chills… for the wrong reasons.
Chef Slowik, played by Ralph Fiennes, perhaps should have been a twisted and tormented genius. Instead, he seems only like an egocentric chef who spends his nights insulting customers on TripAdvisor. Then there's Anya Taylor-Joy in her elegant and scarce clothes. Her Margo is the mysterious guest of the quirky gastronome Tyler, with whom she has a relationship less complicated than it seems. And that her semi-anorexic frame belongs to the heroine who defeats the gastronomic elite is the most successful gag.
The other diners? A menu of stereotypes: the snobbish food critic, the rich and bored couple, the actor in decline, and three hateful businessmen. Stuck in the opulent restaurant on a deserted island, they remain glued to their chairs as if they were sculpted in ice. Meanwhile, the chef vents his culinary madness without anyone daring to get up (perhaps for fear of receiving a very salty bill). Only Margo reacts, embodying the woke cliché when she orders… drum roll: a cheeseburger! Yes, that’s it: the proletarian food crushing the culinary arrogance of the rich. A stroke of genius that, let's face it, An American in Rome had already made iconic when Sordi attacked the macaroni with authentic passion.
In the third act, the film plunges into the most grotesque chaos. The cheeseburger is just the appetizer of an indigestible feast, served in a buffet of absurdities. Forget refined tasting: The Menu is just a deflated soufflé that insults the viewer with the usual cliché of 'If you don’t get it, you’re stupid: here we serve deep messages.' But couldn’t it be the other way around?
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