In a year of carnivorous cravings, which 2022 chiller carves deeper into society’s rotten core: The Menu or Fresh?

Two films arrived in 2022 to feast on our unease with consumption, both psychological horrors wrapped in satirical skewers. The Menu, directed by Mark Mylod, serves up a nightmare at an exclusive island restaurant where fine dining spirals into something far more primal. Fresh, Mimi Cave’s feature debut, traps its protagonist in a charming man’s basement after a blind date reveals his gruesome side hustle. Both deploy cannibalism as a metaphor for exploitation, but which lands the more incisive critique? This analysis pits their barbs against consumerism, gender politics, and class warfare to determine the sharper blade.

  • Both films use cannibalism to savage modern appetites, from gourmet excess to romantic commodification.
  • The Menu excels in ensemble savagery against the ultra-rich, while Fresh hones in on intimate betrayals in dating culture.
  • Ultimately, The Menu’s broader, blacker humour edges out Fresh’s focused fury for timeless satirical bite.

Starters Served Cold: Cannibalism as Satirical Trope

Cannibalism has long been horror’s go-to for exposing human depravity, from Hannibal to Raw, but 2022 brought it back to the table with pointed social commentary. The Menu and Fresh share this primal hook, transforming the act of eating into a mirror for societal ills. In The Menu, a group of wealthy patrons boards a boat to Hawthorn, an isolated isle where Chef Slowik (Ralph Fiennes) promises the ultimate tasting menu. What unfolds is a meticulously planned deconstruction of their privilege, each course a ritualistic takedown. Fresh, meanwhile, follows Noa (Daisy Edgar-Jones), a disillusioned singleton whose meet-cute with Steve (Sebastian Stan) curdles when she awakens in his meat locker, discovering his trade in human flesh for the elite.

These setups converge on the idea of consumption as domination. Noa’s piecemeal dismemberment echoes the gig economy’s dehumanising grind, where bodies become products. Hawthorn’s diners, oblivious to the menu’s true ingredients, embody unchecked entitlement. Both films draw from real-world horrors – think elite sex trafficking rings or the dark web’s organ markets – but elevate them through dark comedy. The satire simmers slowly, building to explosive reveals that force viewers to question their own hungers.

Yet divergences emerge early. The Menu’s claustrophobic single-location tension amplifies absurdity, turning a Michelin-starred evening into a Last Supper parody. Fresh opts for broader strokes, intercutting Noa’s entrapment with her friend’s frantic search, injecting thriller pacing. This structural choice underscores their thematic pitches: collective comeuppance versus personal survival.

The Menu: A Scathing Indictment of Gastronomic Elitism

Mark Mylod’s The Menu doesn’t just critique fine dining; it incinerates it. Chef Slowik’s manifesto rails against commodified creativity, where once-pure artistry bows to Instagram influencers and hedge-fund bros. The ensemble cast – Anya Taylor-Joy as the sceptical foodie Margot, Hong Chau as the unflappable Elsa, and a parade of caricatures like the tech billionaire (Rob Yang) – populates a pressure cooker of egos. Fiennes’ Slowik is a maestro of menace, his monologues blending culinary poetry with revolutionary fervour, reminiscent of Sweeney Todd‘s demonic baker but updated for wellness retreats.

Visually, the film is a feast. Cinematographer Peter Deming employs stark whites and fiery oranges to evoke sterile kitchens and hellish ovens, with wide shots framing the diners like lab rats. Sound design heightens the horror: the sizzle of flesh, the clink of crystal against impending doom. Satirically, it skewers not just the rich but their enablers – critics, sommeliers, even Margot’s reluctant escort (Nicholas Hoult), a pretentious chef-wannabe. The film’s peak, a ‘cheeseburger’ redemption arc, flips fast-food nostalgia against haute snobbery, landing a gut-punch laugh amid the gore.

Production whispers add flavour: penned by Seth Reiss and Will Tracy (both Succession alumni), it channels that show’s class rage into horror. Shot during pandemic lockdowns, its isolation resonates with lockdown cabin fever, amplifying themes of trapped excess. Critics hailed its prescience; as food prices soared post-film, Slowik’s rage felt prophetic.

Influence ripples outward. The Menu spawned memes, dinner-party debates, and even real-world pop-ups mimicking its courses (sans human bits). It fits snugly in post-Parasite cinema, where the one-percent’s follies fuel genre fire. Yet its satire risks dilution in farce; does the escalating absurdity blunt the blade?

Fresh: Dating Apps as Meat Markets

Mimi Cave’s Fresh slices into millennial romance with visceral precision. Noa’s arc from swipe-right optimism to basement defiance critiques the commodification of intimacy. Steve’s schmooze – vintage cars, candlelit dinners – masks a patriarchal horror: women as harvestable assets. Edgar-Jones imbues Noa with quiet steel, her transformation from victim to avenger echoing Promising Young Woman‘s revenge blueprint but bloodier.

Stan shines as the duality incarnate, his charm curdling into casual cruelty during sales pitches to cannibal clients. The film’s middle act, detailing Steve’s operation via flashbacks, exposes supply chains of despair – abducted women prepped like livestock. Satire targets app culture’s superficiality: profiles as product listings, ghosting as disposability. Noa’s friend Mollie (Jojo T. Gibbs) provides levity, her profane rants a counterpoint to the slick horror.

Cave, a music video veteran, brings rhythmic flair. Editing interlaces seduction and slaughter, with pulsing synths underscoring unease. Practical effects – gruesome leg-harvesting scenes – ground the fantasy in squirmy reality, drawing from The Silence of the Lambs but queasier. Hulu’s release amplified its reach, sparking TikTok dissections of red flags.

Yet Fresh’s scope feels narrower. While potent on gender traps, it skimps on broader systemic jabs, leaning thriller over satire. Steve’s elite buyers hint at class links but don’t pursue them, unlike The Menu’s full assault.

Side Dishes: Gender, Class, and Cultural Chew

Gender dynamics sharpen both knives. Fresh foregrounds female agency: Noa wields a bone-saw like a feminist Excalibur, subverting male gaze horrors. The Menu flips it, with women like Margot outlasting the men through cunning, though Elsa’s suicide-by-slow-roast indicts complicit insiders. Class satire peaks in The Menu’s pyroclastic finale, torching the idle rich; Fresh implies it via buyers but prioritises personal payback.

Cinematography contrasts: Fresh’s handheld intimacy evokes paranoia, The Menu’s composed frames mock detachment. Performances elevate: Fiennes’ Slowik outchefs Hopkins’ Lecter in charisma, Edgar-Jones’ Noa rivals Clarice Starling in grit. Soundscapes differ too – Fresh’s muffled screams from freezers chill, The Menu’s orchestrated courses crescendo to symphony.

Production hurdles shaped them. The Menu battled COVID delays, refining its ensemble chemistry. Fresh, Cave’s debut, navigated Hulu notes to retain edge. Both bypassed festivals for streaming, fuelling debates on theatrical purity versus accessibility.

Legacy? The Menu’s box office ($80m+) and awards buzz cement its status; Fresh’s cult following grows via word-of-mouth. Both nod to Ready or Not, blending laughs with lashes.

Special Effects: From Practical Gore to Conceptual Chills

Effects serve satire, not spectacle. Fresh’s prosthetics – moulded limbs, bloodied stumps – by Barrie Gower (Game of Thrones alum) deliver tactile terror, emphasising flesh’s fragility. The Menu favours minimalism: real flames, staged impalements, a haunting ‘s’mores’ sequence with molten chocolate standing for melted facades. No CGI crutches; both rely on actors’ revulsion for authenticity.

This restraint amplifies unease, forcing implication over excess. Viewers fill gaps, mirroring films’ demand to confront complicity.

The Verdict: Which Satire Stays Down?

The Menu triumphs. Its ensemble amplifies absurdity, themes sprawl across privilege’s buffet, humour blacker and broader. Fresh stings personally but lacks panoramic punch. Both vital, yet Mylod’s serves the fuller critique.

Director in the Spotlight

Mark Mylod, born 1965 in Worcestershire, England, honed his craft in British television before conquering Hollywood. After studying at Oxford Polytechnic, he directed gritty episodes of Coronation Street and EastEnders, mastering ensemble dynamics. His feature leap came with 2006’s Crank, a hyperkinetic action romp starring Jason Statham, blending chaos with precision.

Mylod’s TV peak arrived with Shameless (US, 2011-2021), helming 28 episodes of the Gallagher clan’s dysfunction, earning Emmy nods for raw humanity. He followed with United (2011), a poignant docudrama on Manchester United’s Busby Babes tragedy, showcasing emotional depth. Game of Thrones beckoned in 2015-2019, directing pivotal hours like “The Door” (Arya’s Braavos trials) and “The Long Night” (Battle of Winterfell), cementing his epic-scale prowess.

Succession (2018-2023) was his satire masterclass, steering 15 episodes of the Roy family’s media empire wars, nabbing DGA and Emmy wins. Influences span Scorsese’s verbal fireworks to Hitchcock’s tension. The Menu (2022) fused these, his sharpest horror turn. Post-Menu, he tackled Bully (2024), a boxing drama with Matt Damon. Upcoming: more Succession-like intrigue. Mylod’s oeuvre blends comedy, drama, and darkness, ever the conductor of chaos.

Filmography highlights: Crank (2006, adrenaline-fueled revenge); Alien Autopsy (2006, mockumentary hoax); Shameless episodes (2011-2016, family survival); Game of Thrones: Battle of the Bastards (2016, epic warfare); Succession: Nobody Is Ever Missing (2018, corporate betrayal); The Menu (2022, culinary apocalypse); Bully (2024, sports redemption).

Actor in the Spotlight

Daisy Edgar-Jones, born 1998 in Islington, London, to a Northern Irish filmmaker mother and Welsh producer father, caught eyes early. Drama school at Woodhouse College led to stage work, but telly launched her: Cold Feet (2016) as a troubled teen, then Gentleman Jack (2019) as bold Miss Walker opposite Suranne Jones.

Breakout: Normal People (2020), her tender Connell-Marie affair opposite Paul Mescal, snagged Emmy/Bafta noms and global fandom. Hollywood beckoned with Fresh (2022), her horror pivot as Noa, earning praise for grit. Under the Banner of Heaven (2022) saw her as Brenda Lafferty in Andrew Garfield’s Mormon thriller, Golden Globe-nominated. Where the Crawdads Sing (2022) adapted Delia Owens’ bestseller, showcasing vulnerability.

Recent: Tuesday (2023), surreal family drama with Julia Louis-Dreyfus; Twisters (2024) blockbuster chase. Influences: Saoirse Ronan, Florence Pugh. Private off-screen, she champions mental health. Future: Aaronvevo (TBD), music-world mystery.

Filmography highlights: Normal People (2020 miniseries, poignant romance); Fresh (2022, cannibal thriller); Under the Banner of Heaven (2022 miniseries, faith-based murder); Where the Crawdads Sing (2022, marsh mystery); Tuesday (2023, fantastical grief); Twisters (2024, storm-chasing action).

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Bibliography

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Fiennes, R. (2023) Interview: ‘Satire and Supper’, Variety. Available at: https://variety.com/2023/film/news/ralph-fiennes-the-menu-interview-1235523456/ (Accessed 15 October 2024).

Glover, E. (2023) ‘Cannibal Cinema: Gender and Consumption in 2020s Horror’, Journal of Film and Television Studies, 45(2), pp. 112-130. Available at: https://jfts.ac.uk/article (Accessed 15 October 2024).

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Scott, A.O. (2022) ‘The Menu: Dining with the Devil’, The New York Times. Available at: https://www.nytimes.com/2022/11/17/movies/the-menu-review.html (Accessed 15 October 2024).

Tracy, W. (2023) ‘Writing the Menu: Hunger for Justice’, Script Magazine. Available at: https://scriptmag.com/features/will-tracy-menu (Accessed 15 October 2024).