A movie guide to fine dining | Little White Lies

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A movie guide to fine dining

05 Aug 2020

Family enjoying a traditional multi-course Chinese meal around a table laden with various dishes.
Family enjoying a traditional multi-course Chinese meal around a table laden with various dishes.
A weird and won­der­ful jour­ney through the var­ied din­ing expe­ri­ences offered by cinema.

Life is an ongo­ing, inex­orable pageant of deci­sions to be made – some life-alter­ing, oth­ers less so. As much as we may try, it’s impos­si­ble to avoid mak­ing deci­sions. To give one exam­ple, every day, we must choose what we eat, when we eat and how we eat. Unless we want to starve to death, or have opt­ed to sub­sist entire­ly on watery gru­el, this is a mun­dane domes­tic call we absolute­ly have to make.

Cin­e­ma is awash with food and cook­ery sequences whose mere pres­ence in a film is often enough to send our taste buds into parox­ysms of delight (or, on occa­sion, our gag-reflex­es into over­drive). Yet not only does food offer the cam­era some­thing gor­geous and mouth-water­ing to look at, it often acts as a cat­a­lyst for the dra­ma with­in a scene. In cel­e­bra­tion of LWLies’ cur­rent food and film-themed issue – and on the back of dis­cov­er­ing some very tasty morsels on MUBIs recent­ly launched library – please join us on a guid­ed tour of the var­i­ous ways the food on screen can bring peo­ple together.

Two smiling Asian women sitting at a table

The awk­ward fam­i­ly din­ner scene is a main­stay (some might even say a handy dra­mat­ic crutch) in Hol­ly­wood cin­e­ma, but it’s also an arche­type that allows for infi­nite vari­a­tion. Ang Lee’s for­ma­tive mis­sive Eat Drink Man Woman fol­lows a dole­ful gourmet chef in retire­ment as he begins to realise that his won­drous edi­ble con­coc­tions are not enough to cement the ten­u­ous bond he main­tains with his daugh­ters, or stave off the hov­er­ing spec­tre of death. The film’s open­ing mon­tage, which sees actor Sihung Lung’s gas­tro­nom­ic mae­stro Mr Chu build­ing up a Chi­nese ban­quet with a dance-like ease, has to be seen to be believed.

As in life, food is vital but not always cen­tral to how we jour­ney through the day. Hirokazu Koreeda’s Our Lit­tle Sis­ter doc­u­ments the unit­ing of estranged fam­i­ly ele­ments in the pic­turesque town of Kamaku­ra in the Tokyo sub­urbs. A recent­ly deceased father brings togeth­er a teenag­er with her father’s pre­vi­ous fam­i­ly, and her immer­sion with­in this new unit is eased along with the aid of much food and drink. In one sequence the sis­ters dine on a local del­i­ca­cy of baby eels, a moment made even more poignant by the fact that it was their late father’s favourite dish.

Two people embracing on a striped sofa in a room with a lamp.

Even though Maren Ade’s com­e­dy epic Toni Erd­mann pre­miered at the 2016 Cannes Film Fes­ti­val, we still gig­gle at the mere thought of it. It led to one of the defin­ing dilem­mas of mod­ern cinephile life: with so many extra­or­di­nary scenes, which one could be deemed the best? We’re not going to say with­out prop­er and lengthy delib­er­a­tion, but it’s worth remem­ber­ing the sequence in which San­dra Hüller’s straight-talk­ing busi­ness woman Ines is in the midst of a rushed hotel tryst with a hyper-macho colleague.

A play­ful sex game sud­den­ly trans­forms into a bat­tle of board­room dom­i­na­tion as Ines decides to dis­play her fear­less­ness by eat­ing one of the hotel’s dain­ty petit fours doused in her partner’s semen. It’s a jaw-drop­ping sequence that tips its hat to clas­sic Amer­i­can gross-out com­e­dy, while also oper­at­ing as a vital com­po­nent of Ines’ com­plex character.

A man sits at a table, examining papers and stainless steel containers.

Ernst Lubitch’s 1940 film The Shop Around the Cor­ner is one of the all-time great roman­tic come­dies, based on the sim­ple mech­a­nism of a let­ter exchange between two peo­ple who have nev­er met – but in fact they have because they work togeth­er and hate one another.

Ritesh Batra’s The Lunch­box adapts that basic con­cept and brings in some top-tier home cook­ing. The late, very great Irrfan Kahn plays a glum wid­ow­er who works in a dull account­ing firm. One day, by mis­take, he receives a lunch­box filled with deli­cious treats that was intend­ed for anoth­er man. It tran­spires, the cook was look­ing for a way to spice up her own mar­riage which is going through some­thing of a rough patch. She realis­es the mis­take and, along with anoth­er meal fit for a king, sends through a let­ter of apol­o­gy. Yet rather than it all being sewn up and sort­ed, a blos­som­ing friend­ship is born.

Two chefs in white uniforms working in a kitchen, one cutting ingredients on a counter.

Doc­u­men­taries on the sub­ject of food tend to focus on the polit­i­cal side of things: agri­cul­ture, busi­ness, health. David Gelb’s Jiro Dreams of Sushi is a dif­fer­ent ket­tle of unfea­si­bly fresh fish, as it pro­files the hum­ble sushi mae­stro Jiro Ono, whose pokey ten-seater restau­rant is based in a sub­way sta­tion and, dur­ing its pomp, was one of the rare food out­lets to be award­ed three Miche­lin stars.

The film doc­u­ments Jiro’s process while reveal­ing none of his secrets. It fol­lows his sons as they hus­tle down at the local fish mar­ket and lis­tens in as the mas­ter artic­u­lates the phi­los­o­phy behind his unique cook­ing method­ol­o­gy. It’s very hard to watch this film and not want to book a flight and a table – even though, per the film, wait­ing lists are under­stand­ably gar­gan­tu­an. In fact, this is mouth-water­ing cin­e­ma par excel­lence, and may now have to be a tool for vic­ar­i­ous plea­sure as it turns out Jiro is no longer open to the public.

Two Playmobil figures, a woman in pink and a girl in yellow, sitting at a table with toys, cups, and a green object.

On Body and Soul by Hun­gar­i­an direc­tor Ildikó Enye­di is an eerie, dream­like explo­ration of a ten­ta­tive love affair that shifts between pro­fes­sion­al and domes­tic spaces. Maria is a nervy food safe­ty offi­cer in an abat­toir. She is sur­round­ed by water­falls of blood and piles of dis­card­ed ani­mal organs. Her meals at home are sim­ple, often processed fare, reflec­tive of a life with­out colour. She wan­ders around the office can­teen like a lost deer, which is pre­scient as these mighty beasts keep crop­ping up in her dreams.

Her chron­ic shy­ness about the fact that she may be in love with a col­league even leads her to cre­at­ing a din­ner table dio­ra­ma out of Play­Mo­bil so she can act out her sti­fled roman­tic fan­tasies. Enyedi’s film is fas­ci­nat­ed by what’s inside our bod­ies as much as it is with what’s inside our imag­i­na­tion, and she empha­sis­es the cold, hard fact that we’re all just pieces of meat with love locked in our hearts.

Close-up of a person's face with eyes closed, appearing distressed or emotional.

When a juicy, medi­um-rare cheese­burg­er just ain’t enough… Can­ni­bal­ism is a go-to sub­ject mat­ter for those who like their movies a lit­tle more spicy than the bland norm, and is rarely peeked out­side of the hor­ror genre. Rug­gero Deodato’s Can­ni­bal Holo­caust deliv­ers on its title, as it fol­lows a group of gob­by stu­dents in the wilder­ness as they film an indige­nous tribe while also spend­ing their leisure time destroy­ing the local flo­ra and fau­na. To say they get their just desserts is some­thing of an understatement.

Anthro­pol­o­gist film­mak­ers Lucien Cas­taing-Tay­lor and Ver­e­na Par­avel are mas­ters of the hor­ror-doc­u­men­tary crossover film, and their 2017 work Cani­ba is a prime exam­ple of that eccen­tric niche. It offers an unspar­ing pro­file of Issei Sagawa who, in 1981 as a stu­dent in Paris, killed and ate a woman named Renée Hartevelt and, due to a diplo­mat­ic sna­fu, has enjoyed his free­dom since 1986. The film cap­tures his unex­pur­gat­ed and unpity­ing tes­ti­mo­ny as he talks through the inci­dent in oblique, almost impres­sion­is­tic detail. Nei­ther of these films make you feel hun­gry. Quite the oppo­site in fact.

Eat Drink Man Woman, Our Lit­tle Sis­ter, On Body and Soul, Tony Erd­mann, Jiro Dreams of Sushi and The Lunch­box are all avail­able now on mubi​.com as part of their new library fea­ture. Get 30 days of free MUBI with our exclu­sive part­ner­ship offer now.

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