There is a little-appreciated art for depicting food in movies. So often it is mere set dressing or a component of a scene with only thought put in as far as its relevance to plot, character, mood, etc. And there is nothing wrong with this, because as in life, food isn’t always something worth thinking about. But once in a while something does stand out. I still think about the cheeseburger at the end of The Menu, one of the best-looking foods in any movie. That had been a film set within the world of fine dining, to which the burger was a rare sumptuous-looking contrast. The Taste of Things is also arguably adjacent to that world -but it cares about that food: how it looks, how it tastes, and what it actually means. And in just about each of these respects blows that earlier film out of the water.
Even if several of the dishes seen in Trầnh Anh Hùng’s cuisine romance are not the kinds of things I would ordinarily like, I don’t know if I’ve seen so much food in a movie (outside of the animation delights of Studio Ghibli) that has looked so good, in aesthetic and presentation as well as in …well, the taste of things. It’s not just the visuals of exquisitely tasteful food, but so much time is spent in its careful preparation, precise ingredients and methods of cooking, and even in the sensation of eating. And yet it is not a movie about food, not really.
The Taste of Things is the story of a modestly wealthy nineteenth century gourmand, a consummate ‘foodie’ in modern terms, and the cook whom he has employed for twenty years. Benoît Magimel plays him, Dodin, leader of a circle of friends who delight in both the pleasurable and intellectual exercise of eating. Juliette Binoche plays her, Eugénie, admirably humble yet with a delicate touch on each of her compositions -which she often creates with the assistance of Dodin, as well as the girls employed at the estate. Theirs is a close and trusted relationship, romantic and sexual along with everything else; the food that they make and serve often an expression of their deep and lasting affection. But their situation cannot be maintained forever, much as Eugénie would like for it.
The elegance with which so much of the food is illustrated could be applied just as well to the movie more broadly. Hùng envisions it all with an eye for the richness of the Belle Epoque, it is composed lusciously. The stateliness of the place and the figures perhaps most reflects this aesthetic, even so far removed from metropolitan life. As Dodin in his handsome suit walks with the more humbly dressed Eugénie through the garden, and especially in one cheeky pose by her later, a recollection of Édouard Manet’s Luncheon on the Grass is inevitable. And yet in the kitchen scenes or even in the dusk of a local pub, the illusion of natural light is so prevalent and the environments so textured that some scenes look positively Baroque. If Hùng has any model in the painterly world though it is the still-lifes of dining spreads or the simple scenes of people engaged in the cooking process. His camera luxuriates in the imagery of freshly cut vegetables, light garnishes and spices, the lean cutting of beef or the stuffing of poultry -this movie features a sequence that tracks closely the entire process of cooking and serving a duck, from cutting it open and removing its innards all the way through to its hotly anticipated serving.
There is a lot of food preparation in this movie, but the bulk of it is divided into chunks in the first act and second, the former establishing all that Eugénie puts in for Dodin and his friends, the latter seeing him return the favour to her alone in light of a sickness on her part. And if food is a love language this movie potently emphasizes why. Theirs is a romance defined by cuisine and their perfectly matched tastes and aesthetic standards. The gloriousness of the meals and the care in their making is rather a blunt metaphor for their affection for one another, and even as well their strong sexual desires -the pace and tenderness with which some of the cooking is shown has an almost erotic character. Its symbolism is all fairly obvious and yet so beautifully articulated. Binoche and Magimel have great chemistry that speaks authentically to a long-term, long-gestating relationship (Binoche and Magimel were themselves in a relationship for five years) -it is a romance of pure sense and is quite charming. But Hùng also draws it in strong, compelling terms. He has just as much love for Eugénie as Dodin does, spotlighting her work with a kind of voyeuristic meditation -but then he also does the same for Dodin -cultivating a closeness between camera and these characters, and colouring their world of rich taste in an idyllic sheen.
For the specificity of its time period aesthetic, it is a world in its own bubble; one where there exists a Prince of Eurasia for whom Dodin is tasked to cook -a Pot-au-Feu, as was the film’s original title. Apart from him, larger class and political structures are of no consequence though. Dodin’s reputation is alluded to and yet we never see him in royal circles, we never even see the Prince’s meal. The cooking assistants, including the enthusiastic young Pauline (Bonnie Chagneau-Ravoire), come from poorer means -but their enjoyment of the food is no less than that of Dodin’s club. And this place of status quo is never departed from even when that status quo itself changes dramatically.
At that point the cooking imagery fades, plot and mood take over for a while, the film becomes dimmer, before its light ultimately returns -though curiously the food itself doesn’t. It’s a compelling and fascinating use of a motif, Hùng not only frames it in such delectable ways, he has a tremendous grasp of the emotional evocation to the imagery he uses -which is likely a part of what won him the Best Director award for this film at last year’s Cannes festival. He knows how to tell this beautiful and quite mature love story through novel presentation -it’s certainly there in the last scene of the film which comments rather tellingly on their unique relationship.
The Taste of Things really savours its appetite; it is a long movie and slow especially through those cooking sequences -but once you understand their meaning they become so much more special to watch. It’s a movie that brings you into the gourmand’s point of view, translating a degree of that profundity found in the sensation of eating, the various flavours and tastes and how they all coalesce. But more so it enforces the romance of food -how it like so many other things can be a deep and authentic expression. There is indeed an art to it, and to see some of these meals is to know how intertwined food and love really are.
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