‘House of Spoils’ movie review: Undercooked Arian DeBose horror spoils its feminist broth

Amazon’s latest Blumhouse offering throws too many ideas into the pot and ends up with a dish that tastes muddled and unsure of itself

The latest dish in Amazon’s Blumhouse menu arrived under a silver cloche with a lot of fanfare, but it’s a pity that it tastes only a little better than stale leftovers. Directed by the duo behind the sharp and gnarly Blow the Man Down —Bridget Savage Cole and Danielle Krudy — House of Spoils is a curious concoction of culinary drama and pagan horror: two flavours that haven’t had a particularly palatable historical run.

Oscar-winner Ariana DeBose takes center stage as an unnamed chef, plucked from a renowned, testosterone-fueled kitchen and dropped into a remote estate out in the boonies, where she hopes to launch her own restaurant. The high-stakes endeavor is the kind that naturally brings The Bear to mind among other culinary dramas where chefs teeter on the brink of either brilliance or madness (there’s a faint echo of The Menu here, but House of Spoils is too shy to bite).

House of Spoils (English)

Director: Bridget Savage Cole and Danielle Krudy
Cast: Ariana DeBose, Barbie Ferreira, Arian Moayed, Martin Csokas, Amara Karan
Runtime: 101 minutes
Storyline: An ambitious chef opens a restaurant at a remote estate, but a haunting presence soon threatens to sabotage her at every turn

As the new head chef, DeBose’s character dives headfirst into this isolated, farm-to-table fantasy. Almost immediately, strange things start to happen. There’s something off about the estate, an otherworldly presence lurking in the misty mornings and moldy evenings. Instead of simmering with tension however, the film overcooks its predictable metaphors and underseasons its scant scares.

As the nameless chef tries to perfect her menu, she starts experimenting with, shall we say, more “earthy” ingredients — homegrown, a little grimy, maybe haunted? Suddenly, the pretentious guests are swooning over what looks like compost but tastes like heaven, proving yet again that the pompous elite will eat just about anything as long as it’s dressed up in artisanal herbs and placed on a handmade ceramic dish.

DeBose delivers an intense performance that’s confident, teetering on cocky, but undercut with a growing sense of paranoia. As the pressure mounts, her character begins unraveling, though not in the usual wide-eyed, scream-queen customs. Rather, DeBose chews her way through the role like someone who’s been told one too many times that she’ll never make it — bitterness creeping into her voice and movements. It’s a fascinating take, but unfortunately, the script doesn’t allow her to fully lean into the chaos.

Its moments of horror, for all their fog-drenched aesthetics, feel perfunctory, with standard-issue jump scares that seem thrown into the stew because, well, it’s “Spooktober”, and horror sells. One can’t help but feel the filmmakers had something more nuanced in mind before someone in marketing reminded them that Blumhouse films need to be scary, not intuitive — it ends up being neither.

What is fresh, however, is the film’s sharp commentary (however buried it may be) on the cutthroat food industry — something about the masculine world of haute cuisine and the way women are expected to emulate their male counterparts if they want to succeed. Nameless chef, having been shaped by years of Marcello’s culinary bullying, adopts a hyper-masculine posture herself, barking sexist orders and dismissing her female colleagues in a way that feels pointed. But when she steps away from that world into the “wild, feminine” backyard in her new restaurant, it’s as if she’s torn between the two, unsure if she can embrace her own creative instincts or if she must keep posturing to survive. The film flirts with the idea of culinary witchcraft — there’s an obvious metaphor about creation and transformation here — but again, it’s more garnish than substance.

Visually, the film is more decadent than I’d want to admit. Cinematographer Eric Lin captures the lush textures of the supposedly gourmet with a painterly eye, and Zoe Hegedus’s food styling is top-notch. But beneath the pretty plating lies a faint whiff of decay, both literal and figurative. There’s a scene where a dish seems to be crawling with insects, and it’s hard not to see the parallel: beneath all the gloss, something is festering. It’s an image done-to-death and the film doesn’t quite know what to do with it. 

The film ultimately plays it relatively safe despite having postured itself with a Midsommar-esque third act revelation. It desperately wanted to simultaneously satire and scare, but hardly achieves either and what’s left feels strangely timid. It’s a pity because with a bit more bite, House of Spoils could have been something truly memorable, but instead leaves you hungry for more... clearly not in the way it intended.

House of Spoils is currently streaming on Amazon Prime Video

Published - October 04, 2024 02:29 pm IST