The Cook, the Thief, His Wife and Her Lover (1989)

The Cook, the Thief, His Wife, and Her Lover is a 1989 drama from writer/director Peter Greenaway. The United Kingdom/France co-production had to be released unrated in the USA to avoid the "X" rating that had become associated with pornographic films. In fact, this was one of the movies that helped motivate the MPAA to create the NC-17 rating (introduced in 1990), to create an "adults only" classification separate from the wild west of the X rating, which was not trademarked and could be applied to any movie by the distributor. Whether you like this movie or not, it is obvious that there is artistic intent behind every decision. I can only imagine how neutered the R-rated version edited for some video store chains was, as it apparently cut nearly 30 minutes from the film! Anytime someone gets nostalgic for Blockbuster Video, remind them that the puritanical bastards refused to carry unrated or NC-17 movies, leading to butchered R-rated edits or some movies just not being available.

"The Thief," Albert Spica (Michael Gambon) is a constantly and colorfully profane violent gangster who lords over the Le Hollandais restaurant he has invested in. He is introduced berating, beating, degrading, and ultimately urinating on a man, and somehow gets worse from there. "The Cook," (Richard Bohringer) has to handle Albert's outbursts and tantrums, but he also seems to be the only person who can occasionally resist or refuse Albert, since his food/restaurant is what allows Albert to pretend he is a man of culture instead of the thug that he is. Albert doesn't appreciate the Cook's creativity and can't read the French menu, but his wife Georgina (Helen Mirren) actually has taste and is treated to special dishes by the Cook. This is how she initially wordlessly connects with Michael (Alan Howard), who becomes her lover within the confines of the restaurant.

Very rarely do I see a film where every single element feels carefully considered and crafted towards the whole with such purpose. It mostly takes place across a few incredible sets that center, engulf or obfuscate the characters but also allow the camera to follow them back and forth throughout, from the wild alley to the initially bustling kitchen to the painterly composition of the increasingly Hellish dining room (production designer Ben Van Os, cinematographer Sacha Vierny). The music from composer Michael Nyman. The outfits from fashion legend Jean-Paul Gaultier. The lighting. The colors. The colors, Duke, the colors!

The script that alternates between the oppressively verbose Spica talking incessantly but saying nothing and the lovers remaining silent for an extended period, the cast nailing every moment. How did Michael Gambon even BREATHE during some of these takes, let alone memorize all those diatribes and deliver them naturally? This is elevated art, it is poetic, it is operatic. But this is also a modern fairy tale of the very Grimm variety. It is an EC Comic, a pulp-y Tale From the Crypt depicting in beautifully garish 4-color style all the sex and violence that those books could only ever hint at, with an even more twisted climax/comeuppance than usual. It is loud and larger than life which somehow lets it capture moments that are quiet and true. This is the rare movie that you feel all over, in your genitals, your gut, your heart, and your brain. It is intellectually stimulating but visceral, sexy but disgusting, funny but disturbing. 

So many movies, so much art, makes the connection between sex and death, but it often feels either facile or romanticized. Not here. This looks at the connections, emotions, power dynamics, the lust that drives how and why people fuck, but then it reminds you that in the end we’re all just meat. Living, fucking, dying, rotting. The nude lovers thrown into a truck full of putrid meat to save them. This movie is the most artfully crafted panic attack I have ever seen. The constant stress of wondering where Albert's shifting attention and attacks will land next and what form they will take. The lit match of what will happen when the already abusive Albert discovers the affair.

There is obvious political satire (this was made in Thatcher's England after all), but I wasn’t looking for any current real world parallels when I went into this. Albert is a violent misogynist, a fat, vulgar, ignorant bully with no appreciation for cuisine, art, or culture (with a special hatred for books and reading). Yet he constantly berates everyone around him for being rude and having no class. Then somewhere between Albert violently invading a private women’s space (in this case a bathroom instead of a dressing room) and me finally noticing his ridiculously long tie going past his gut it became impossible to ignore. He tries to make the restaurant “fancier” by replacing the silverware with cheap, poorly made “gold” cutlery. He says he has the “best” products, then supplies a truck of meat that is so low quality the chef refuses to use it. Could this motherfucker BE any more Trump-y? (said in Chandler Bing voice). The way he lords over the restaurant, actively making it worse until imminent collapse, ignoring the fact that his whims and abuses are losing the customers and staff that are necessary to keep it running, turning it into Hell for everyone else and never noticing or caring as long as he gets what he wants. This is where I live now, and it is fucking terrifying.

Shout out to a baby Tim Roth as Albert’s reptilian sidekick/whipping boy Mitchel. He gives the ne plus ultra performance of this kind of slimy, scary and pathetic bastard, constantly ready to pounce on others or be abused himself depending on Albert’s whims. 

"And who could forget dear Rat Boy?"

SPOILER warning for the last minutes of the film:

I have to admit, I am immature/vindictive enough that I was disappointed when Georgina didn't go through with making Albert chow down knob first. As my wife yelled, “Eat a dick!”