Movie reviews: 'The Menu' triumphs as a delicious story of revenge

This image released by Searchlight Pictures shows Ralph Fiennes, center, in a scene from the film "The Menu." (Eric Zachanowich/Searchlight Pictures via AP)

THE MENU: 4 STARS

“The Menu,” a new dark comedy starring Anya Taylor-Joy and Ralph Fiennes and now playing in theatres, pokes fun at the kind of pretentious restaurant experience where customers, willing to pay $1,250 a head for a tasting menu prepared by a famous chef, aren’t diners, but “ingredients in a degustation concept.”

Renowned Chef Slowik’s (Ralph Fiennes) farm-to-table restaurant Hawthorne, situated on its own, remote 12-acre island, is a hot ticket, seating only 12 people a night. The celebrity chef oversees a brigade of highly trained cooks who diligently create artfully composed haute cuisine plates with names bigger than the actual portion sizes. He’s the anti-Guy Fieri, a chef who thinks of food as an intellectual exercise rather than nourishment.

The guestlist for the night’s exclusive dinner is an eclectic grab bag of rich and famous folks. From a movie star (John Leguizamo) and a haughty food writer (Janet McTeer) and her editor (Paul Adelstein) to Anne and Richard (Judith Light and Reed Birney), a rich couple who have been regulars at the restaurant for years and a troika of obnoxious tech bro one percenters (Rob Yang, Mark St. Cyr and Arturo Castro) who toast to “work and money,” they are all under the spell of Chef Slowik. All except Margot (Taylor-Joy), the last-minute date of foodie and Slowik super-fan Tyler (Nicholas Hoult). “Slowik is not just a chef,” says Tyler breathlessly, “he’s a storyteller.”

There are rules to dining at Hawthorne. No photographs. “Chef strongly believes the beauty of the food lies in its ephemeral nature,” says the restaurant’s stern host Elsa (Hong Chau). Also, don’t eat. What? “Taste. Savor. Relish,” commands the chef. “Consider every morsel you place in your mouth. Do not eat. Our menu is too precious for that.”

In a bit of unintentional foreshadowing, Tyler scans the room and announces, “It’s official. Tonight will be madness.”

“The menu and the night,” the chef announces, “has been painstakingly planned.” Before each course Chef Slowik, who Margot sarcastically refers to as the Lord High Emperor of Sustenance, provides a flowery description of the food about to be served. As the evening wears on, chef’s descriptions become increasingly philosophical. Tensions rise in the room as the chef’s food reveals as much about the people eating it as it does about the chef’s intentions.

“The Menu” is for anyone who creates art—whether it is food, writing, paintings, whatever the form—and feels underappreciated. Slowik takes his delicious revenge on the patrons who “drained the mystery from my art” with their arrogance and entitlement, or worse, committing the cardinal sin of asking for a substation on one of his carefully constructed plates. He is done, he says, “trying to satisfy people who can’t be satisfied.”

Like the recent “Triangle of Sadness” the victims of the movie are oblivious, wealthy people who hide behind their wallets. The world, Slowik says, is divided into two groups, those who give—he and his service industry colleagues—and those who take. His elaborate menu is his gruesome retaliation on the latter.

A heaping helping of suspension of disbelief is required to enjoy the satire of “The Menu,” but by the time it makes its intentions clear, the film sates the appetite for dark comedy. It’s as subtle as fermented Surströmming (look it up) but this mix of horror and humor has more to offer than shock value. Food for thought on how art is consumed (literally in this case), it’s about the passion of the artist and what happens when it fades.

“The Menu” is buoyed by terrific performances, particularly from Fiennes as the perfectionist chef and Taylor-Joy as the pragmatic Margot, but most importantly, because all the characters are as sour as vinegar, you never quite know where the story is going. That unpredictability is exciting, leaving the characters, and the audience, walking on eggshells.

SPIRITED: 3 STARS

I doubt that “Spirited,” the new Will Ferrell Christmas musical now streaming on Apple TV+, will give people the same holiday feels as his stone-cold Yuletide classic “Elf,” but Ferrell and co-star Ryan Reynolds work as hard as Santa’s reindeers on Christmas Eve to spread goodwill.

In this modern twist on the 1843 novella “A Christmas Carol” by Charles Dickens—it’s “like the Bill Murray movie and every other adaptation nobody ever asked for,” says Jacob Marley (Patrick Page)—the story focusses on the haunters, not the haunted.

For almost 200 years, under the guidance of Marley, the afterlife spirits, the Ghost of Christmas Present (Ferrell), Ghost of Christmas Past (Sunita Mani) and the Ghost of Christmas Yet-To-Come (voice of Tracy Morgan), scare one Scroogey type—a “perp” they call them—into changing their lives for the better.

“That’s what we do,” says the Ghost of Christmas Present, “we change a person into a better person, and then sing about it.”

Trouble is, after almost two centuries of the work—there’s a year-round research process before the actual haunting—G.C. Present wonders if he wants to continue transforming the lives of strangers. He could retire, get his gold watch, Sephora gift card and return to life as a mortal in present day, but he has his eye on one more client.

He wants to redeem the unredeemable. Clint (Reynolds) is a slick spin doctor who works for politicians and corporations, and, with help from assistant Kimberly (Octavia Spencer), digs up damning dirt on their competitors. Between them they’ve ruined more lives and careers than you can shake a Yule log at.

The charismatic but evil Clint—“He’s like the perfect combination of Mussolini and Seacrest,” says G.C. Present.—turns out to be a challenge. “So, out of all the people on the planet, murderers, people who thrown gender reveal parties,” he says, “I’m the guy you choose to haunt?”

As G.C. Present works to reform Clint, the specter finds himself falling in love and questioning his own path in the afterlife.

“Spirited” is worth the monthly Apple TV+ fee for the Dickensian duet “Good Afternoon” from songwriters Benj Pasek and Justin Paul (Oscar-winners for “La La Land”). Based on the worst insult you could say to someone in 19th century London, it is a showstopper, funny and perfectly suited to the talents of Ferrell and Reynolds.

Both bring their well-established personas to the film. Ferrell’s finely crafted goofiness contrasts with Reynolds’s sardonic character. They’re not exactly Hope and Crosby, but, as funny, all-singing-and-dancing combos go these days, they’ll do. They have great chemistry and riff off one another in a jaunty, good-natured way. It’s lighthearted, very aware—they often break the fourth wall to comment on what is happening in the scene—stuff that updates the 179-year-old story with subplots about the dangers of on-line life in addition to the more traditional themes of the importance of forgiveness, generosity and compassion.

“Spirited” owes a debt not only to “A Christmas Carol” but also, in its modern take, to “Scrooged,” the 1988 Bill Murray movie that shares the same DNA. Like “Scrooged,” “Spirited” finds a way to make an old story, feel fresh and that is its biggest gift to the audience.

SHE SAID: 3 STARS

“She Said,” a new film about the New York Times reporters Megan Twohey (Carey Mulligan) and Jodi Kantor (Zoe Kazan) and their Pulitzer Prize-winning investigation of the sexual misconduct perpetrated by Harvey Weinstein, breathes the same air as other newsroom procedurals like “The Post” and “Spotlight.”

Based on the 2019 book by Twohey and Kantor, the movie begins with Twohey’s investigations into sexual assault allegations against presidential candidate Donald Trump and FOX TV commentator Bill O’Reilly. The success of those stories, which cost O’Reilly his lucrative television gig, led to a further investigation of abuse and institutional misogyny in the film business, specifically involving film producer Weinstein.

Working in tandem with Kantor, Twohey begins sorting through sexual abuse claims from Hollywood actresses like Rose McGowan (voice of Kelly McQuail) and Ashley Judd (as herself).

“If that can happen to Hollywood actresses,” Twohey says, “who else is it happening to?”

“She Said” follows their month’s long investigation, from the unwillingness of victims to go on the record for fear of repercussions and legal maneuvering to death threats and harassment.

“You have to imagine that every call you make is being recorded and you’re being followed,” warns New York Times executive editor Dean Baquet (Andre Braugher).

The story behind the story that rocked Hollywood is a boots-on-the-ground journalism movie. Director Maria Schrader and screenwriter Rebecca Lenkiewicz walk us through the uncovering of information, the dead-ends, the back-and-forth with reluctant sources in a slow-and-steady fashion. It’s a detailed portrait of the daily grind journalists go through to ensure accuracy and fairness.

Unfortunately, because this #MeToo story lived at the very center of popular discourse at the time and beyond, “She Said’s” efforts to document the making of the story contain very few surprises.

On an emotional level, however, the recollections of Weinstein’s victims, former assistant Zelda Perkins (Samantha Morton) and Rowena Chiu (Angela Yeoh), are as devastating as former Weinstein Co. Board Member Lance Maerov’s (Sean Cullen) comment—"Are you sure that this isn’t just young women who want to sleep with a movie producer to get ahead?” is maddening.

Schrader never sensationalizes “She Said,” but her retelling of the victimization of the powerless and Weinstein’s criminal behavior is buoyed by some interesting choices, including using real audio of model Ambra Battilana Gutierrez and Weinstein as he tries to coerce her into joining him in his hotel suite. As the camera floats down a fancy hotel hallway, Schrader allows the tape to play to skin crawling effect. It is that level of detail and raw storytelling that captures the true horror of the case against Weinstein.

FISHERMANS FRIENDS: ONE AND ALL: 3 STARS

In my 2019 review for “Fisherman’s Friends,” James Purefoy’s entry in the Real-Life-Underdog-Brits-Overcoming-Adversity genre, I said “the movie’s feel-good underdog story mixed with messages of decency and loyalty make it as refreshing as a gust of sea air in our cynical times.”

The true story of a group of Cornish fishermen whose LP of sea shanties became the biggest selling traditional folk album of all time, struck a chord with audiences who overlooked the movie’s formulaic, clearly manipulative aspects to embrace the uplift the story provided.

The sequel, “Fisherman’s Friends: One and All,” now playing in theatres, aims to continue the good times, but suffers from the sophomore slump.

The story picks up in 2011 during the “buoy band’s” UK tour. The shows are doing well, but controversy is stirred when singer Leadville (Dave Johns) cracks wise to a female journalist, a remark that quickly puts their record company PR department on edge. Label head Jez Chandra (Ramon Tikaram) fears the comment will reflect badly on the company, and wants to drop the band. “Moby Dick and the Whalers are not on message,” he snorts.

Back in their Port Isaac homebase the Fisherman’s Friends are facing a crisis. Lead singer Jim (Purefoy) is not coping well with the death of his father and bandmate Jago (David Hayman). “When father died,” he says, “the band died with him.”

When the band decides to move on and find a replacement for Jago, Jim melts down and quits. On a downward spiral, he begins a romance with burned out Irish rock star Aubrey, played by real life Irish singer, songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Imelda May. Sober for three years, she helps him clear his head and put him and the Fishermen on the road to their biggest gig yet, the Glastonbury Festival, supporting Beyonce.

Fans of the first film may have a sense of déjà vu while watching “Fisherman’s Friends: One and All.” Once again it is a mixture of predictability, formula and sea shanties. No surprises there. No surprises anywhere, in fact. Like day-old fish, it’s a bit stale but for fans it’s not about wild plot twists, it’s about the underdog characters. Looked down on by an industry that doesn’t understand them, the chipper sailors persevere, creating a place for themselves in their town and even on the stage at one of the world’s largest rock festivals. That sense of community, the one for all and all for one spirit, is heartwarming and gives the film whatever power it has.

Mixed in with the inspiration, is a shipload of drama, including an exploration of loss and grief, which is blunted somewhat by frequent glimpses of Jago’s ghostly presence in the corner of Jim’s eye, some mild peril at an abandoned mine and yes, another impromptu public performance that becomes into a turning point in their career. It feels very “been there, done that,” like watching a rerun of a show you only half remember, but it is amiable, aiming for your heart, not your head, and in that, it succeeds.