In the swipe-right era, horror feasts on the perils of modern romance, where dinner dates turn deadly and boyfriends harvest more than compliments.

 

Two films from 2022 stand as pinnacles of contemporary relationship horror: The Menu and Fresh. Both serve up cannibalism as a chilling metaphor for the consumptive nature of intimacy, blending sharp social satire with visceral terror. This analysis pits them against each other, uncovering how they dissect dating culture, class warfare, and gendered power plays in ways that linger long after the credits roll.

 

  • Exploring parallel plots where romance curdles into carnivory, revealing shared anxieties about trust in transient connections.
  • Unpacking thematic depths, from toxic masculinity in Fresh to elitist excess in The Menu, as critiques of millennial malaise.
  • Assessing stylistic flair, performances, and cultural ripples, affirming their status as essential modern horrors.

 

The Appetiser: Origins of Relationship Dread

Relationship horror thrives on the intimacy of betrayal, transforming everyday bonds into nightmares. The Menu, directed by Mark Mylod, unfolds on a remote island where affluent diners assemble for an exclusive culinary experience at Hawthorn, led by the enigmatic Chef Slowik (Ralph Fiennes). What begins as gourmet indulgence spirals into a meticulously orchestrated reckoning, with the menu revealing layers of retribution against gluttonous privilege. Meanwhile, Fresh, Mimi Cave’s directorial debut, traps Noa (Daisy Edgar-Jones) in a weekend getaway that unmasks her charming Tinder match Steve (Sebastian Stan) as a flesh peddler who imprisons women to carve them for sale to wealthy clients. Both films, released mere months apart in 2022, tap into post-pandemic paranoia about strangers, amplified by apps that commodify desire.

These narratives draw from horror’s cannibal lineage—think Hannibal or Raw—but innovate by anchoring horror in relational realism. Noa’s blind date evolves from flirtation to abduction, mirroring real-world vanishings that fuel true-crime obsessions. In The Menu, the group’s dynamics expose micro-betrayals: a foodie influencer’s fakery, a producer’s exploitation. This setup allows each film to probe how modern coupling devours authenticity, with meals literalising emotional leeching.

Production contexts enrich the comparison. The Menu, backed by Searchlight Pictures, boasts a glossy $30 million budget, manifesting in opulent sets that satirise luxury. Fresh, Hulu’s sleeper hit from Atomic Monster, leans indie with raw, handheld shots capturing Noa’s claustrophobia. Both faced 2022’s streaming surge, yet The Menu grossed over $80 million theatrically, proving dine-in dread’s broad appeal.

Main Course: Narrative Parallels and Divergences

At their cores, both stories centre women navigating male-dominated traps. Margot (Anya Taylor-Joy) in The Menu arrives as Tyler’s (Nicholas Hoult) rented escort, her outsider status granting sharper survival instincts than the smug patrons. Noa, conversely, embodies earnest vulnerability, her friend Mollie’s (Jojo T. Gibbs) eventual rescue underscoring female solidarity. Key scenes amplify tension: Steve’s bathroom revelation in Fresh, where Noa spies his freezer of limbs, rivals the s’mores sequence in The Menu, where human fat crackles over flames, blending disgust with dark comedy.

Divergences emerge in scope. Fresh sustains personal horror, climaxing in Noa’s chainsaw escape from Steve’s concrete cell, a gritty triumph over patriarchal predation. The Menu escalates to ensemble apocalypse, Chef’s final course immolating all in volcanic retribution—a collective purge absent in Fresh‘s intimate duel. These trajectories reflect differing appetites: one for psychological entrapment, the other for societal skewering.

Character arcs deepen the feast. Steve’s Steve-as-victim monologue humanises his monstrosity, blaming dating apps for his commodification, while Chef Slowik laments culinary soul-selling to celebrities. Both villains elicit fleeting sympathy, complicating pure revulsion and mirroring how abusers gaslight in real relationships.

Side Dishes: Thematic Indulgences

Cannibalism symbolises relational toxicity across both. In Fresh, men’s literal devouring of women critiques objectification, with Steve’s finger-nibbling dates echoing coercive consent. The Menu flips this to class critique: diners as parasites feasting on artists and labourers, their comeuppance a Marxist menu. Gender intersects class in Margot’s negotiation with Chef, trading intimacy for escape, versus Noa’s brute-force rebellion.

Modern dating’s alienation permeates. Tinder swipes prelude both horrors, highlighting algorithmic detachment. Fresh spotlights women’s safety—echoing statistics where one in six face partner violence—while The Menu lambasts performative wokeness, as in the wife’s #MeToo hypocrisy. These films diagnose hookup culture’s hollowness, where bodies become currency.

Class warfare bites hardest in The Menu, with Hawthorn’s exclusivity parodying tasting menus costing thousands. Fresh counters with economic undertones: Steve preys on isolated singles, selling to the elite, linking predation to capitalism. Both indict excess, but The Menu‘s farce edges Fresh‘s sincerity in wit.

Trauma’s aftermath lingers. Noa’s post-escape therapy sessions frame survival’s scars, while Margot’s diner burger—a symbol of honest sustenance—offers catharsis. These resolutions affirm horror’s redemptive arc, turning victims into agents.

The Chefs’ Techniques: Style and Craft

Cinematography distinguishes palates. The Menu‘s wide lenses capture Hawthorn’s sterile grandeur, shadows elongating like accusations, with Benjamin Kračun’s work evoking Wes Anderson’s precision laced with dread. Fresh employs tight close-ups, Pawel Pogorzelski’s steadicam plunging into Noa’s panic, amplifying haptic revulsion during dissections.

Sound design whets terror. The Menu‘s crisp sizzles and symphonic swells build unease, Colin Stetson’s score punctuating revelations. Fresh thrives on silence ruptured by whirrs and screams, British composer Danny Bensi’s pulses syncing with heartbeats. Editing paces feasts: The Menu‘s rhythmic courses mirror meals, Fresh‘s cross-cuts heighten chases.

Practical effects ground gore. The Menu‘s flaming s’mores and blood fountains stun without CGI excess, while Fresh‘s prosthetics—severed limbs, stitched torsos—evoke The Human Centipede‘s intimacy. Both prioritise implication over splatter, letting psychology amplify viscera.

Star Ingredients: Performances That Savour

Ralph Fiennes elevates The Menu as Chef Slowik, his velvety menace blending Schindler’s List gravitas with manic glee, especially in the taco monologue’s pathos. Anya Taylor-Joy’s Margot counters with feral cunning, her wide eyes conveying calculation amid chaos. Nicholas Hoult’s pathetic Tyler crumbles convincingly, embodying foodie fraudulence.

In Fresh, Sebastian Stan’s Steve charms disarmingly before unleashing sociopathy, his duality recalling Winter Soldier. Daisy Edgar-Jones imbues Noa with relatable grit, her transformation from naif to avenger powering the film. Jojo T. Gibbs’ Mollie adds levity and loyalty, her bat-wielding raid a highlight.

Ensemble dynamics shine: The Menu‘s gallery of grotesques—Hong Chau’s Elsa, Reed Birney’s Richard—fuels farce, while Fresh‘s lean cast intensifies stakes. Performances thus define each film’s flavour: ensemble satire versus duo dread.

Dessert: Legacy and Cultural Aftertaste

Both films ripple through horror. Fresh spawned discourse on dating apps, with Hulu’s viewership exploding amid #DateSafely trends. The Menu inspired culinary parodies and memes, its critique resonating in inflation-era fine dining backlash. Influences abound: The Menu nods Ready or Not, Fresh channels You’re Next.

Critically, The Menu earned 89% on Rotten Tomatoes, praised for bite; Fresh 78%, lauded for freshness. Their tandem arrival signals relationship horror’s boom, alongside X or Pearl, proving cannibal couples a zeitgeist staple.

Enduring appeal lies in prescience. As isolation persists, these tales warn of wolves in wool—be it bespoke or DMs—urging vigilance in love’s larder.

Director in the Spotlight

Mark Mylod, born 20 May 1965 in Salisbury, England, honed his craft in British television before conquering Hollywood. Raised in a journalistic family—his father was a BBC producer—Mylod studied at Oxford, initially pursuing acting before pivoting to directing. Early credits include gritty UK dramas like Making Out (1994-1996), where he captured Manchester underclass strife.

Breaking internationally, Mylod helmed episodes of The Sopranos (2002), mastering tense ensemble dynamics. His HBO tenure peaked with Shameless (US, 2011-2021), directing 16 episodes including the pilot, blending comedy and pathos in Chicago’s Gallagher clan. Succession (2018-2023) cemented prestige, with 10 episodes showcasing his command of corporate venom, earning two Emmys for directing.

Feature films mark evolution: Conviction (2010) with Hilary Swank delved legal drama; Chef (2014) wait, no—he produced but directed TV. Wait, features sparse pre-Menu: actually, Mylod’s cinema debut was The Big Empty (2003), a sci-fi comedy flop. The Menu (2022) propelled him, blending TV polish with horror flair.

Influences span Kubrick’s precision and Hitchcock’s suspense; Mylod cites Succession writer Jesse Armstrong for Menu‘s script. Post-Menu, he directed A Spy Among Friends (2022 miniseries) and eyes more features. Filmography highlights: The Affair (2014-2019, episodes); Entourage (2005-2011); Game of Thrones (“The Laws of Gods and Men”, 2014); Westworld (2016); Billions (2016-2023); The Morning Show (2019-). A chameleon of prestige TV, Mylod’s Menu proves his big-screen bite.

Actor in the Spotlight

Anya Taylor-Joy, born 16 April 1996 in Miami to a British-Argentinian family, embodies ethereal intensity. Raised in Buenos Aires and London, she trained ballet before modelling, discovered at 16. Theatre debut in Mrs Harrington (2013) led to The Witch (2015), her Salem breakout as Thomasin, earning Gotham nods.

Global stardom followed: Split (2016) and Glass (2019) as Casey Cooke; Thoroughbreds (2017) opposite Olivia Cooke; Emma (2020) as Austen’s heroine, winning BAFTA Rising Star. The Queen’s Gambit (2020) as Beth Harmon netted Golden Globe, Screen Actors Guild, and Emmy noms, exploding her profile.

In The Menu, her Margot steals scenes with steely poise. Post: The Northman (2022); Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga (2024); Nosferatu (2024). Awards: Venice Volpi Cup for Amsterdam? No, but multiple critics’ prizes. Filmography: Crossmaglen (2012 short); Viking Cinderella (2015); Barely Lethal (2015); Morgan (2016); Jamie Lloyd Company stage (2023, Romeo & Juliet); Frankenstein upcoming. Multilingual muse, Taylor-Joy redefines genre heroines.

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