The Menu film review — Ralph Fiennes savours the role of sadistic chef

One of the delectable treats of late-1970s cinema is the comedy-crime-mystery Who Is Killing the Great Chefs of Europe? in which Jacqueline Bisset and George Segal try to work why exalted cooks are being slain in the manner of their signature dishes. (The pressed duck murder is especially disturbing.) A rumoured remake never materialised, but squid-ink black comedy The Menu, an inversion of the Great Chefs formula, is the next best thing. This time, it’s a chef who poses the threat — to his own customers.

Those with a taste for contemporary haute cuisine will recognise a certain sadomasochistic dynamic common between customers and high-end cooks, with the latter often serving up food that challenges both norms and palettes. Director Mark Mylod (who also helmed some of the best episodes of Succession) and screenwriters Seth Reiss and Will Tracy take that cuisine-of-cruelty logic to an extreme as 12 customers assemble for a night of fine dining at Hawthorn, an ultra-exclusive restaurant on a remote island. (The location is never revealed but all the accents are American.)

Margot (Anya Taylor-Joy) doesn’t share her date Tyler’s (Nicholas Hoult) prattish enthusiasm for foods with interesting “mouth feel”, and has never even heard of Hawthorn’s revered executive chef Slowik (Ralph Fiennes, on cracking form). It turns out that’s not the only thing that makes her the odd one out among the clientele on the night in question, who include a restaurant critic (Janet McTeer) stuffed full of her own importance, a name-dropping movie star who fancies himself an epicure (John Leguizamo) and an assortment of super-rich clients who might have less taste than money but know how to spend it.

At first, only Margot notices something menacing about the disdain of the martinet-like manager Elsa (Hong Chau) and the zombie-like kitchen staff, beavering away at their mise en place with clockwork precision, like stormtroopers in chef’s whites. But as the ingredients list of each course gets stranger (appearing onscreen as a list of unadorned, comma-separated nouns, as is the fashion these days), everyone starts to taste the fear, as well as the notes of “desire and despair” in the wine, as the sommelier smilingly puts it.

Mylod and Co get many details about uber-fashionable temples of dining right, like the cultish devotion of staff members and the modishly austere architecture. (The set is reminiscent of Noma’s interior with its plate-glass windows and unadorned walls.)

As in Succession, there is a love-hate relationship here with luxury and privilege, although eventually Slowik demands that Margot must decide if she’s with “us” (ie the server class) or “them” (the customers, who are seldom right). At first it’s not clear why Slowik’s animus has grown so very bloodthirsty, and when an explanation of sorts does arrive, it’s not terribly persuasive. A little more depth to the bitter flavour might not have gone amiss, but ultimately this is a near perfectly executed meal of a movie, made with exceptional ingredients and skill.

★★★★☆

In UK and US cinemas from November 18