Feast on Film

As I await the ground-shaking results of the U.S. elections -- it's looking very promising already -- my mind has drifted to thoughts of food in film. No, there is no logical association there. My mind is simply full of food and film pretty much all the time.

I'm not sure how much interest this topic will generate since my earlier posting on food in music elicited no comment. However, this is my blog, so what the hell.

I can only think of six films that embody the passion and sensory thrills of cooking. Until the day someone invents smell-o-vision TVs and cinemas, movies are dependent on visual and auditory stimuli to convey smells, textures and flavors. My six pix picks not only make my mouth water, but they fill me with a desire to run into the kitchen and start cooking a feast.

The indie movie, "Big Night" (1996), co-directed by actors Stanley Tucci and Campbell Scott, is one of the most charming, joyous celebrations of food. The title refers to a climactic banquet that is supposed to save a tiny Italian restaurant from bankruptcy. The aptly named brothers -- Primo and Secondo -- are the proprietors of the establishment. Although both of them cook, Secondo knows very well that Primo is the one blessed with talent and he will go to any lengths to defend his brother's gift. The third act of the film is the big night itself: the ambitious and over-the-top dinner prepared with every ounce of zeal and desperation that the brothers can muster. I won't spoil the ending for anyone who has yet to see it -- go see it, you fool! -- but the quiet final scene with nary a word uttered for five minutes is one of the most deeply poignant endings in cinema.

Here is but a snippet from the grand banquet in "Big Night":



"Babette's Feast" (1987) from Denmark also centers on a sumptuous meal. However, this feast is a gesture of immeasurable gratitude for a humble but extraordinary act of kindness. In a small, remote village in 19th century Denmark, a pastor and his two beautiful daughters spread their faith. Out of a sense of duty to their father, the daughters forsake their hearts' desires and opt for a pious life by his side. Decades later, long after their father has passed, the aging sisters are sought out by a French woman fleeing the post-revolutionary bloodshed in the streets of Paris. The stranger, Babette, offers to be their housekeeper, even without pay -- anything for asylum. And so, Babette serves the sisters dutifully for fourteen years until, one day, she receives notice that she has won a lottery in Paris. Babette offers to cook a feast for the sisters and the late pastor's followers, presumably before returning to France. What transpires is a stirring, unforgettable meal for all, seasoned with a twist from Babette. In the last scene she utters, "an artist is never poor": an eloquent statement of conviction that cooking is truly an art.

On the polar opposite of the spectrum, you have "Tampopo" (1985). This is a zany collage of vignettes about food peppered across a silly central plot about a ramen shop trying to concoct the ultimate noodle. Through the comedy emerges a theme about how food permeates every corner of our existence, from a mother's breast to the last meal, in class divisions and domestic order, in public and in the bedroom. It's hard to single out the funniest scene from the movie. There's the side-splitting French restaurant scene in which director Juzo Itami pokes fun at the fronts old Japanese farts will put on in order to hide their ignorance and save face. Less funny, but more mouth-watering is the scene in which a homeless man with obvious culinary talent shows our heroine's son how to make the perfect omurice, i.e. omelette + rice. But I will be remiss if I don't post the opening clip in which noodle-eating is discussed with Zen-like earnestness:



Also from Asia, Ang Lee's "Eat Drink Man Woman" (1994) swings in yet another direction. Food here becomes a symbol of love and family. Master chef Chu is widowed and has three adult daughters. With age, Chu has begun to lose his sense of taste as well as his hold on his daughters. The weekly ritual of cooking an elaborate dinner for his family falls apart as the daughters run off to pursue their own lives. That the unlikeliest daughter becomes the one to pick up the torch and displays the same culinary gift is a touching affirmation of the bond between father and daughter. The stunning opening scene in which Chef Chu prepares one of his Sunday dinners took over a week to shoot. You can see why:



It goes without saying that "Ratatouille" (2007) has won my heart. I've mentioned it before and here I'm mentioning it again. The film has its flaws, but the primary theme of "anyone can cook" is a lovely one. I won't bother describing it here because it has received such tremendous exposure in the Western world. However, I will single out the speech by Anton Ego near the end of the movie. Ego is the acid-tongued restaurant critic who can make or break a chef's career. When his haughty arrogance crumbles at the discovery of Remy, the rat chef, it leads him to this powerful soul-searching narrative:



I won't lie to you. That speech makes me cry every time.

Last but not least, "The Scent of Green Papaya" (1993) deserves honorable mention. It's not a foodie movie, per se, but its slow, lingering moments revolving around food are imbued with a sensuality that is hard to describe with words. Film critic Roger Ebert called it "a poem for the eyes". There is little to it in terms of story, but it's like watching a moving painting with moments of exquisite beauty and poetry. Mui, a little Vietnamese servant girl, is at the heart of the film. She glows with an innate goodness and purity. She is not naive, but she dislays no judgement -- only curiosity and affection -- for everything and everyone around her. She grows up and falls in love, which pretty much sums up the "plot". Plot doesn't matter when you can drink in the details in scenes such as this one: