Couch Critic // A Taste of Terror: “The Menu” and the Evolution of Horror Antagonists

In today’s horror zeitgeist, there is a striking absence of traditional monsters. As I like to consider myself a horror movie aficionado, the only distinguished film I can think of from the past decade that features an original monster is 2018’s “A Quiet Place.” Even in notable supernatural films, like 2018’s “Hereditary,” 2019’s “Us” or 2017’s “The Killing of a Sacred Deer,” the movie’s source of fear lies in human characters.

By their very nature, films reflect and engage with the ideas and culture of their time, so it’s only natural that the best horror movies adapt to society’s current fears. After all, the very appeal of the horror genre lies in its ability to restyle social anxieties into entertaining fiction. 

We can trace this relationship as early as 1931 in James Whale’s Frankenstein, the first of many film adaptations of Mary Shelley’s magnum opus. The suffering of Frankenstein’s monster — abandoned by his creator and then persecuted by his fellow villagers — reflects the frustrations of millions of Americans during the Great Depression, who faced job loss and neglect by their own government. Seeing the monster of Frankenstein on-screen allows audiences to confront their fears without having to face their personal anxieties too directly. 

This trend continues into the 1950s with the emergence of one of Hollywood’s most iconic monsters — 1954’s “Godzilla.” Born from the precarious aftermath of World War II, fears of atomic threats manifested in a creature as destructive as nuclear attacks. From the 1960s to the 2020s, this trend continues to resonate powerfully, inescapably crowding my mind as I watched 2022’s “The Menu” for the first time this week.

In “The Menu,” as is the case with most contemporary horror films, the movie’s antagonist is a constituent of humanity itself rather than a traditional monster like those seen in earlier examples. This shift to a human antagonist reflects society’s current anxieties — fears of fellow humans rather than abstract, terrifying entities — such as nuclear war. Some attribute this shift to the modern accessibility of media, which tends to directly place the blame for many of today’s problems on individuals, compelling us to confront the responsibility, threat and actions of humans.

Mark Mylod’s “The Menu” is demonstrative of this very concept, utilizing human characters as a vessel to challenge class consciousness. Akin to Agatha Christie’s “And Then There Were None,” a cast of ostentatious guests are meticulously chosen for their inevitable torment and eventual demise. With celebrity chef Julien Slowik intent on punishing his clientele for their exploitation of his artistry — from impossible requests to seething verbal abuse — the surprising presence of a hidden service worker complicates his plans. This dynamic forces Slowik to confront his internal purpose for culinary arts, ultimately allowing the worker, Erin, to forge her path to escape. 

The film progresses alongside the highly pretentious courses of Slowik’s menu, each dish marked by one of Slowik’s chilling monologues, slowly and cryptically revealing his motivations. The tension culminates with the third course, which exposes a point of shame for each guest through messages printed on the tortilla dishes. Its intensity was only topped by the fourth course, where Slowik’s sous chef Jeremy bears a brutal suicide as a consequence of failing to meet the unforgiving expectations of the culinary world.

From course four onward, the film takes an unforeseeable turn. Slowik methodically reveals that everyone in the restaurant, including himself and his staff, will be dead by the end of the night — a final punishment for the ultra-privileged. The guests are gripped by terror, their fear intensifying with the violent amputation of one among them who attempted to escape. Trapped, they are forced to witness the deaths of their fellow diners while grappling with their inability to comprehend how or why they deserve their impending fate. 

Throughout the movie’s chaos, the chefs and waitstaff remain steady in a calm and poised demeanor. Their presence evokes a sense of dread. They are fully aware of the impending violence before them yet carry on casually, making their intentions all the more menacing. Their polite language, straight posture and tranquil faces suggest their chilling detachment from the horror of the situation adjacent to their detachment from the purpose of their craft. 

Erin, the only guest with experience in service, outwits Slowik and his staff, recognizing that the key to stopping him lies in reminding him that his culinary expertise once came from a place of passion and love as opposed to resentment and cynicism. By ordering a humble cheeseburger — the first dish Slowik ever prepared professionally — she embodies gratitude and humility, traits he finds foreign in everyone else, ultimately granting her a chance to escape. The film ends with the restaurant’s final course — dessert. The remaining diners and staff are adorned in marshmallows and chocolate before Slowik engulfs the entire restaurant in flames, transforming them into human s’mores and fulfilling Slowik’s grim plan for everyone to die.

In its dissection of opulence, “The Menu” encapsulates the evolving landscape of horror where the true monsters are often the very people we share our world with. As we watch the horror genre shift away from traditional supernatural beasts and creatures, it mirrors contemporary society’s anxieties about power, privilege and class disparities. Through Slowik’s chilling demeanor and the guests’ gradual realization of their fates, the film critiques the moral failures of the elite, prompting viewers to reflect on their own complicity in everyday aspects as seemingly harmless as the restaurant industry. Erin’s journey demonstrates that understanding and humility can disrupt even the most sinister intentions. As we navigate a world rife with complexity and fear, “The Menu” challenges us to confront not only the horrors that lurk around us but also the darker aspects of our humanity. When we look at film and history, we find that the nature of monsters evolves not just in horror movies but also within ourselves and in the fabric of society.