In the cutthroat kitchen of modern psychological horror, The Menu and Fresh battle for supremacy: one a satirical slaughterhouse, the other a seductive snare. Which one leaves the stronger aftertaste?
Psychological horror has evolved into a feast for the senses in recent years, blending social commentary with visceral unease. Films like The Menu (2022) and Fresh (2022) take the primal terror of cannibalism and plate it with contemporary anxieties around class, consent, and consumption. Both movies arrived amid a wave of food-centric frights, but they carve out distinct paths: The Menu skewers the elite with black comedy, while Fresh lures viewers into intimate dread. This analysis pits them head-to-head across narrative craft, thematic bite, performances, and lasting impact to crown a victor.
- Satirical Savagery vs. Intimate Intrusion: The Menu excels in ensemble farce and class critique, while Fresh thrives on personal paranoia and relational horror.
- Directorial Flair: Mark Mylod’s precise orchestration outshines Mimi Cave’s debut, though both deliver taut tension.
- Ultimate Verdict: One film devours the competition with sharper wit and broader resonance.
A Haute Cuisine Horror: Unpacking The Menu
The Menu, directed by Mark Mylod, unfolds on the secluded Hawthorn Island, where a group of wealthy foodies and their hangers-on board a boat for an exclusive dining experience at Chef Julian Slowik’s (Ralph Fiennes) restaurant. What begins as a parade of molecular gastronomy and pretentious pairings spirals into a night of reckoning. Slowik, a once-passionate chef burned out by the commodification of his art, assembles his guests, including food critic Lillian Bloom (Janet McTeer), tech bro Tyler (Nicholas Hoult), and influencer couple Margot and Soren (Anya Taylor-Joy and Arturo Castro), for a menu that exposes their sins. Each course unmasks hypocrisies: the “bread plate” evokes humble origins, the “Taco” nods to exploited labour, and the titular “Menu” reveals the ultimate ingredient, human flesh.
The film’s genius lies in its escalating absurdity, turning a fine-dining ritual into a theatrical execution. Cinematographer Greg Gardiner employs wide shots of the minimalist kitchen and cliffside dining room to emphasize isolation, while close-ups on glistening dishes heighten sensory revulsion. Sound design amplifies the horror: the sizzle of searing meat, clinks of silverware amid nervous laughter, and Fiennes’ velvet menace in monologues that blend poetry with rage. Mylod, drawing from his TV pedigree on Succession, masterfully balances comedy and carnage, ensuring the audience squirms with recognition at the satire of privilege.
Thematically, The Menu feasts on class warfare. Slowik’s vendetta targets the one-percenters who ruined his craft, echoing real-world critiques of haute cuisine’s exclusivity. Margot, the escort posing as Tyler’s girlfriend, emerges as the wildcard, her working-class pragmatism allowing survival through wit and seduction. This dynamic probes authenticity in a performative world, where food becomes a metaphor for exploitation. The film’s climax, a collective immolation, delivers cathartic fury, leaving viewers hungry for more such pointed horror.
The Dating App Devouring: Inside Fresh
Mimi Cave’s Fresh takes a more claustrophobic approach, centering on Noa (Daisy Edgar-Jones), a disillusioned dater navigating modern singledom. After a promising encounter with Steve (Sebastian Stan), her night sours when he imprisons her in his remote basement, revealing his side hustle: harvesting human meat from women for wealthy clients. Noa’s captivity narrative unfolds through flashbacks to her friendship with Mollie (Jojo T. Gibbs), intercut with her desperate bids for escape, including a gruesome leg amputation scene that tests the limits of body horror.
Cave, in her feature debut, leverages the rom-com template to subvert expectations. The first act mimics a quirky meet-cute, with Noa’s voiceover wryly cataloging dating woes, before pivoting to nightmare. Production designer Michelle Yu’s sets, from sterile white basements to Steve’s opulent farmhouse, contrast domesticity with depravity. Practical effects by Francois Séguin create squelching realism in the butchery sequences, while a pulsating synth score by Danny Bensi and Saunder Jurriaans underscores mounting panic.
At its core, Fresh dissects consent and commodification in the gig economy of romance. Steve packages limbs like premium cuts, pricing thighs higher than calves, a chilling parallel to how women are appraised on apps. Noa’s arc from victim to avenger highlights female agency, culminating in a bloody showdown that empowers without cheapening the trauma. Yet, the film’s intimacy limits its scope, focusing tightly on personal survival over societal skewering.
Plot and Pacing: Who Serves First?
Both films hook viewers with deceptive setups, but The Menu‘s ensemble structure allows for multifaceted pacing. Multiple character arcs intersect in real-time, building to a frenzy across its 107-minute runtime. Revelations layer like courses, preventing predictability. Fresh, at 113 minutes, relies on Noa’s solo perspective, which sustains tension through subjective dread but risks repetition in captivity beats.
In terms of twists, The Menu deploys macro shocks: the staff’s complicity, the suicide s’mores. Fresh opts for micro-horrors, like discovering Steve’s “product” in a freezer. The former’s communal chaos amplifies paranoia, as guests turn on each other; the latter’s dyadic focus intensifies emotional stakes but lacks that explosive group dynamic.
Production histories diverge sharply. The Menu benefited from A24’s polish and a post-pandemic shoot, channeling lockdown frustrations into isolation themes. Fresh, Hulu’s streaming bet, faced COVID delays, honing Cave’s script through virtual reads. Both avoid gore excess, favouring implication, but The Menu‘s visual metaphors, like the “cheeseburger” redemption, land with more elegance.
Thematic Meats: Satire or Survival?
Class politics dominate The Menu, with Slowik’s manifesto indicting Instagram food porn and venture-capital cuisine. It resonates with 2022’s inflation woes, where fine dining symbolized inequality. Fresh pivots to gender and predation, using cannibalism as rape allegory, a la Raw or Trouble Every Day. Its commentary on beauty standards and objectification feels raw but less layered.
Psychological depth favours The Menu: Fiennes’ Slowik is a tragic auteur, his breakdown mirroring artistic burnout. Supporting turns, like Hong Chau’s Elsa as the enforcer with hidden pathos, enrich the ensemble. Fresh shines in Stan’s charismatic monster, blending charm with psychopathy, but secondary characters like Noa’s friend feel underdeveloped.
Influence-wise, The Menu has spawned memes and discourse on foodie culture, echoing Ready or Not‘s class carnage. Fresh aligns with female-led empowerment horrors like Promising Young Woman, but its streaming release diluted theatrical buzz.
Performances and Craft: The Secret Ingredients
Ralph Fiennes owns The Menu with operatic intensity, his whispers cutting deeper than screams. Taylor-Joy’s Margot counters with street-smart steel, her chemistry with Hoult’s deluded fanboy sparking comic gold. The cast, including Reed Birney and Rob Yang, forms a Greek chorus of excess.
Stan and Edgar-Jones anchor Fresh, their early flirtation masking menace. Charlotte Le Bon adds bite as Steve’s wife, subverting trophy-wife tropes. Craft-wise, both films excel in production design, but The Menu‘s single-location mastery evokes The Hunt, heightening claustrophobia.
Sound merits a spotlight: The Menu‘s diegetic music, from haunting folk to explosive finale, immerses fully. Fresh‘s score pulses effectively but lacks that auditory innovation.
Legacy and Legacy Bites: Cultural Aftershocks
The Menu grossed $80 million worldwide, cementing A24’s horror streak. Critics praised its wit (92% Rotten Tomatoes), influencing satires like Infinity Pool. Fresh earned 88% approval but faded faster, its Hulu drop limiting cultural footprint.
Both tap cannibal tropes from Hannibal to The Cook, the Thief, but The Menu innovates with ensemble doom. For rewatchability, its quotable lines and visual feasts win out.
The Verdict: Bon Appétit or Bitter Pill?
The Menu triumphs as the superior psychological horror. Its razor-sharp satire, stellar ensemble, and thematic breadth outpace Fresh‘s intimate thrills. Where Fresh nibbles at personal fears, The Menu devours the system, leaving a richer, more resonant repast. Fans of elevated horror will find more to savour here.
Director in the Spotlight: Mark Mylod
Mark Mylod, born 1965 in Worcestershire, England, emerged from a family of educators, studying at Highgate School before pivoting to television. His career ignited directing UK soaps like EastEnders in the 1990s, honing a knack for dramatic tension. Transitioning to the US, Mylod helmed episodes of prestige series: Entourage (2004-2011), blending comedy and edge; Shameless (2011-2021), capturing chaotic family dysfunction over 50+ episodes; and Succession (2018-2023), earning two Emmys for his work on the Roy family saga, where his command of ensemble dynamics and biting dialogue shone.
Influenced by British kitchen-sink realism and American satire like Robert Altman, Mylod debuted in features with Alison’s Birthday (1981, uncredited youth work), but The Menu marked his horror pivot. Prior films include Waiting… (2005), a restaurant comedy starring Ryan Reynolds; Moviefone Unscripted (2009); and Chef (2014, second unit). His TV oeuvre spans Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency (2016), Counterpart (2018), and The White Lotus (2021), blending dark humour with social dissection.
Mylod’s style emphasizes actor-driven precision, often improvising to capture spontaneity. Post-The Menu, he returned to Succession Season 4 and eyes more genre work. Filmography highlights: Waiting… (2005, dir. Ryan Reynolds in service comedy); Shameless (multi-season episodes); Succession (2018-2023, Emmy wins); The Menu (2022, breakthrough horror); The White Lotus (2021, anthology prestige). His shift to film underscores a director unafraid of bold flavours.
Actor in the Spotlight: Anya Taylor-Joy
Anya Taylor-Joy, born 1996 in Miami to a British-Argentinian mother and Scottish-US father, grew up in Buenos Aires and London, discovering acting via ballet dreams dashed by injury. Spotted at 16 by a model scout, she debuted in The Split (2010) before horror stardom in The Witch (2015), her piercing eyes and ethereal presence earning acclaim as Thomasin.
Her trajectory exploded with Split (2016, Casey’s arc of resilience), Thoroughbreds (2017, psychopathic teen), and The Queen’s Gambit (2020 miniseries, Beth Harmon’s chess odyssey netting Golden Globe and Screen Actors Guild nods). Awards include BAFTA Rising Star (2021), César for The Menu support.
Taylor-Joy’s range spans genre: Emma (2020, Jane Austen wit); The Northman (2022, fierce Olga); Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga (2024, prequel warrior). Filmography: The Witch (2015, breakout); Split (2016); Thoroughbreds (2017); The New Mutants (2020); Emma. (2020); The Queen’s Gambit (2020); Last Night in Soho (2021); The Menu (2022, Margot); The Northman (2022); Furiosa (2024). Stage work includes Romantics Anonymous (2017). Multilingual and multifaceted, she embodies modern horror’s poised terror.
Bibliography
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