The Menu and the Art World: How Fine Dining’s Dark Satire Holds a Mirror to Creative Culture

In The Menu, the suspenseful comedy-thriller starring Ralph Fiennes and Anya Taylor-Joy, viewers are whisked into the high-stakes world of fine dining, where elitism, artistic pretension, and obsession with prestige blend into a deadly recipe. But beneath the surface of this culinary thriller lies an unexpected parallel with another corner of high society: the contemporary art world. As the film pokes fun at the excesses of the restaurant scene, it inadvertently serves up a satirical dish just as palatable for art lovers and art cynics alike.

For those unfamiliar, The Menu takes place in an exclusive, remote restaurant, run by a renowned chef, where guests are treated to a multi-course meal that escalates from strange to terrifying. Through a series of progressively bizarre courses, the film explores how far people will go for the “best of the best”—even if the “best” is, quite literally, deadly.

Watching this spectacle unfold, one can’t help but recognize that the film’s biting commentary isn’t exclusive to haute cuisine. In fact, The Menu might as well have taken place in a high-profile gallery, complete with champagne flutes, hushed voices, and an array of art critics murmuring about “juxtapositions” and “juicy contradictions.” Here’s how The Menu hilariously and brutally captures the art world’s strange relationship with exclusivity, pretension, and consumerism.

The Cult of the "Artistic Genius"

At the center of The Menu is Chef Slowik, a character of singular focus and uncompromising dedication. He’s the kind of chef who doesn’t just cook meals—he “creates experiences,” much like the way modern artists are encouraged not only to paint or sculpt but to craft “immersive,” “conceptual” installations. Every dish, much like a grand conceptual piece, requires interpretation, layered meanings, and just the right amount of existential dread.

Art lovers may recognize Slowik as a satirical stand-in for the artist as tortured genius. The art world, too, revels in the myth of the brilliant but troubled artist, who suffers in the name of creation. Every “art genius” has a touch of eccentricity and a tendency to be “misunderstood,” just like Chef Slowik—who perhaps might also start demanding guests “eat” his installations in due time. The Menu gleefully highlights how this myth gives artists (or chefs) a certain power over their audiences, who feel compelled to endure their most outlandish whims, as though it were part of some grand cultural ritual.

The Price of Exclusivity and the Art of Hype

One of the film’s major plot points is the exorbitant price guests pay to partake in Chef Slowik’s elaborate, meticulously planned meal. The guests treat the experience as a status symbol, a priceless opportunity that few can access. This isn’t far removed from the world of art collectors who purchase pieces not necessarily for love of the work but as a marker of exclusivity—“I have what others can’t.” Art has long been entangled with luxury, often holding immense value not for the piece itself but because of who has access to it.

The Menu cleverly comments on this consumer-driven elitism, emphasizing that the experience’s price tag is, in part, what creates its allure. It’s not unlike a contemporary art fair where collectors scramble for a high-profile artist’s latest piece, all while politely nodding through incomprehensible explanations of its significance. In the end, the true commodity is access, and the art world, like fine dining, feeds on that desire to possess what others can only covet.

“If You Don’t Get It, You’re Not Supposed To”

The guests in The Menu are forced to endure increasingly strange dishes, each more abstract than the last. They fawn over the chef’s work, convinced that if they don’t understand the dish, it’s because they lack the sophistication to appreciate it. Anyone who’s ever walked through a contemporary art gallery and scratched their head at a blank canvas or a seemingly random assortment of objects knows the feeling. There’s a notion that if you can’t appreciate the “depth” of the work, the problem lies with you, not the artist.

This humorous take on the art world’s more esoteric side reminds us of how people are often made to feel inadequate if they “don’t get it.” Much like Chef Slowik’s diners, art audiences are sometimes spoon-fed concepts that are designed to confuse as much as they’re meant to provoke thought. The film playfully critiques the idea that art (or haute cuisine) becomes more “valuable” when it’s inaccessible to the average person. In the case of The Menu, though, those inaccessibly “high-brow” concepts come with a sharper, more dangerous edge.

The Art of Suffering: Where Passion Meets Penance

One of the darker undertones of The Menu is how Chef Slowik’s passion for his craft has led him to resent his own creations, and by extension, the people who consume them. In the art world, we see a similar tension where the intense pursuit of originality and boundary-pushing sometimes leaves artists resentful of the very industry they sought to join. Whether through financial pressures, the demand for novelty, or the psychological toll of constant creation, the art world has a way of turning passion into penance.

Just as Chef Slowik feels trapped by the endless expectations to produce “newness,” many artists in the contemporary scene wrestle with an industry that’s always hungry for the next “it” thing. And like Slowik’s ultimate act of rebellion, some artists reject these expectations entirely, veering into territory so strange it forces the audience to question: is this art, or are they messing with us?

In the End, What’s on the Plate?

The Menu may be a thriller about fine dining, but it’s just as much a satire of how we approach art, culture, and exclusivity. By pushing the absurdities of a high-end restaurant to the extreme, it reveals the art world’s own quirks: the reverence for “genius,” the hunger for status, and the art of making people feel like they don’t belong. Watching the characters pay a steep price—both figuratively and literally—for access to something elite and “cultured” strikes a chord for anyone familiar with the high-cost dance of today’s art industry.

So what’s the takeaway? Like a fine dessert served with a side of existential dread, The Menu reminds us to consider art for what it truly is—not as a piece to be conquered, a status to be won, or an experience to be endured, but as something that, ideally, brings us a bit of joy, thought, and maybe a shared laugh as with any great meal, it’s best when it doesn’t take itself too seriously.