If you’re fortunate enough to have access to HBO Max, chances are you’ve seen a film titled The Menu (Mylod, 2022) frequently advertised while perusing the site. Released in early January of 2023, The Menu has been making waves on social media and in the pop culture world at large. The film’s release to HBO Max—making it more accessible for at-home audiences—lures viewers in with its promise of superb performances by actors Ralph Fiennes, Anya Taylor-Joy, and John Leguizamo.

Before I get ahead of myself, the plot is as follows: Margot Mills (Taylor-Joy) is invited to attend dinner with her wealthy client Tyler at the private island of world-renowned chef Julien Slovik (Fiennes). Mills and the other guests are given a tour of the island, and they are all surprised to learn that the entire army of chefs, working underneath Slovik to prepare exquisite dining experiences for their financially privileged patrons, live on the island with him in joyless, military-style barracks and appear to revere the very ground he walks on. Mills notices several other odd details about the cult-like way of life on the island that truly perturb her, and as the meal is served, Mills and the other guests begin to suspect that Chef Slovik doesn’t plan to allow them to leave the island alive. Mills discovers throughout the progression of the meal that every other guest on the island—except for her—might be considered one of the world’s elites, and that the movie stars, food critics, and businessmen she eats among may therefore be considered a target of Chef Slovik on account of his humble beginnings, background in the service industry, and apparent penchant for “eating the rich.” Mills, knowing she is the sole guest present at an economic disadvantage, begins to plot her escape from the island.

Since watching the film, I’ve read several intriguing audience theories as to the underlying message of the narrative. One opinion holds that Chef Slovik and his sous chefs represent the film industry itself and the toxic nature of auteurism—Slovik symbolizing the director, his sous chefs embodying the cult-like following said directors often accumulate, and the majority of the guests personifying various audience stereotypes (i.e., the critics, the aficionados, the “repeat customers”). Others believe that Slovik’s attempt to exact vengeance on his privileged guests promotes themes of anti-capitalism, and under the guise of references to the culinary industry, critiques Hollywood’s incessant profit off of the art of filmmakers.

While I believe that these hypotheses hold some merit, I think the narrative of The Menu, in its truest form, exemplifies consumption culture. As someone who has worked in the food service industry for years, I appreciate that the narrative makes such a distinction between what Slovik terms “takers” and “givers”— “takers,” referring to those that use their affluence to habitually consume without regard of the labor and materials required for production, and “givers,” referring to the vast majority forced to produce such items of consumption, thus unknowingly perpetuating the system. In fewer words, The Menu reminded me of Hannibal (Scott, 2001) without cannibalism and Midsommar (Aster, 2019) if it were made about service industry workers. Give it a try, and let me know what you think