The Menu is yet another bland entry into an emerging genre I don't quite know what to call, but has essentially the same formulaic feel and writing as films such as Knives Out (and its sequel Glass Onion) and several other recent releases I can't think of off the top of my head. Basically:

• A bunch of ritzy hoity-toity rich people (at least some of whom are snobby white gentiles) gather in a lavish location in the middle of nowhere.
• They are trapped and/or forced to participate in some kind of game or experience that makes them confront the fact that they are horrible and/or have wronged each other and/or the host in some way.
• Gory sh*t happens and the cast is slowly killed off in gruesome fashion.
• There's at least one "rebel" type, be it a rough-and-tumble feminista warrior, street-smart sassy negro (that swaps between regular English and hoodrat babble seamlessly), or some other underdog progressive type. They are the sole survivors, because they are smart and not horrible like everyone else.

The Menu is no exception to this. In fact, it's essentially exactly what I've described. White people are awful/crazy/greedy, and that's about it. The biggest problem with this film is that it has no real motivation, or at least one that's even remotely reasonable. The story centers on a world-class chef who decides that because his cooking is world-class, it cannot be enjoyed by anyone other than the elite, and therefore the elites that have helped him get there are at fault for ruining his life's passion. He responds to this by planning an elaborate evening to kill all of his most ardent supporters (who only support him for stupid vapid reasons), along with his entire staff and himself. That's it. That's the entire plot. At one point, a #metoo style moment is abruptly shoehorned in. A crypto yenta announces to the party that the head chef has previously made attempts to sleep with her. This was a no-no, and so to make amends, she stands before him and stabs him in the crotch, wiping the blood across his chest. The chef dutifully locks eyes with her and says "I'm sorry." I'm not kidding, that actually happens. He spends the remainder of the movie with the wound untreated and the blood smeared on his coat. This is a movie in which the standard for suspension of disbelief gets increasingly taxing as it progresses. We are first expected to believe that a private chef's tasting on a private island, limited to ten people, with transportation, wine, service and gratuity included, costs $1,250 USD per person. Fine. But by the third act, we are expected to believe, with zero explanation, that the head chef has somehow developed such devotion from his staff that not only do they unquestioningly obey his every order in a militaristic fashion, but they'll do so up to the point of committing mass suicide. The movie has no plot. It has no likeable characters, save for (sort of) the head chef, who has his moments, but not enough to redeem the film at all. Even the characters you're supposed to hate are unrealistically smarmy and, by the end of the film, somehow all agree that their deaths are deserved and sit still obediently as they are killed, even thanking their killer as they're dispatched. If there is an upside to this film, it's that the permanence of the characters' fates all but guarantees there won't be a sequel. It's hardly a consolation, as it's clear now that the formula I've outlined above is now the hot new thing in judaised media production and isn't going away any time soon. Oh, and even if you're a foodie/fine dining enthusiast, don't bother. For a film called The Menu, everything food-related is presented sarcastically and deliberately made to look bland (with few exceptions), so you don't even get the benefit of gorgeous culinary artistry.