The Most Chilling Moments In The Menu, Ranked

Warning: The article below contains major spoilers for "The Menu."

Director Mark Mylod ("Shameless," "Succession") has made a career off of crafting class-conscious comedies that bitingly remind audiences of the absurd lengths people travel to obtain status, wealth, and social clout. "The Menu" serves a similar dish to viewers but with a darker, horrific bent. Although Searchlight Pictures defines the film as a horror comedy, prepare to experience more vengeance than ridiculous boardroom hijinks. 

While on the surface — and in the film's opening minutes — the ensemble cast feels like they all own stock in Waystar Royco, harrowing cracks to their sardonic personas emerge soon enough. The terror here isn't learning that these characters, for the most part, are entitled, catty, and impossible to please. What's chilling here is watching the razor-sharp pacing of "The Menu" lead these characters into confessing they've always known who they are and the terrible things they've done: They've just chosen to look the other way because they can.

Not anymore! If you're a horror fan with a taste for bloodshed on-screen, you won't go home disappointed, though it's not a film that prioritizes gore over substance. To Mylod's credit, even tense, close-ups of quippy dialogue can send shivers down your spine. Revealed secrets will scare audiences more than any bodies we see covered with white linen. Here, I'll explore how each course of "The Menu" meticulously captures terror and why it's effective. 

What works best about Ralph Fiennes' and Anna Taylor-Joy's dynamic is it's not as simple as their characters playing a cat-and-mouse game. Neither of them is a mouse. Chef and Margot are equally calculating and come with a long resume of serving other people's needs and being in a customer-focused position. What exists between them is the kind of mutual respect and tolerance that exists between those working in the customer service industry. When Margot doesn't eat Chef's food, he becomes even more intrigued by this unplanned guest.

Still, his way of addressing her arrival and dislike for his pompous attitude at dinner is chilling. Of all the places to speak with her, Chef follows Margot into the bathroom. She's alone. They're far enough away from the dining room that anything could happen, and no one would reach Margot in time. Ultimately, their conversation is one of many bloodless tête-à-tête moments in "The Menu." But that doesn't mean scriptwriters Seth Reiss and Will Tracy deserve any less credit for the tension it wrought. Sometimes writing a suggestive and claustrophobic scene carries more narrative weight and prepares us for darker realities to come. This scene not only teases us with the potential of violence but it's a telling character moment. Chef is willing to invade Margot's personal space to get his answers. We can't help but ask: How much farther will Chef go with his guests? Oh, if they only listened to Margot!

By the time Chef serves tortillas with the faces of his dinner guests laser-printed on them, the audience knows he has something dark up his sleeves. But this is the first time we have a bigger sense of the life-or-death stakes at play. Michelin-starred chef Dominique Crenn crafted all the delectable food we see in "The Menu." Her tortilla creation reveals to the audience that Chef Julian has not only been keeping tabs on his guests throughout the dinner — including Tyler's annoying habit of photographing everything he eats, despite being told not to do that — but for years. Julian knows just which restaurants closed due to Lillian's (Janet McTeer) scathing reviews. He knows which offshore accounts from the party bros contain stolen funds. When we see the detailed depth Chef Julian has gone to call out his guests for their indiscretions, we know that punishment must be coming soon.

Unlike prior courses, this one demonstrates how much time Chef Julian invested in researching his guests before killing them. Without details like this course, you could say that Chef Julian "lost it" and committed murder due to being incredibly burned out. Yes, he's burned out and resents his guests for turning him into someone who serves people "like them," but this scene proves this is a premeditated murder spree. Thinking about how he was patiently plotting this dinner as he cooked for others brings more terror than what we've seen on this list thus far.

Sometimes a quiet death in horror brings more terror than an elongated torture scene. Yes, this kill sequence is a little on the nose — Hawthorn's angel investor is wearing angel wings — but the cinematography here is gorgeously dark. After Chef Julian announces that he'll kill the investor, floodlights turn on to show the guests that the financier is hanging on for life by a thread (literally). He's being dangled above the ocean, begging for his life. 

But the restaurant has soundproof glass so we can't hear a thing. We have no idea what he asks for in his final moments. Instead, his body becomes slowly submerged in water until we can no longer see him on the screen. Almost, it's as if he was never there. The camera lingers on the still water for just long enough before cutting back to Julian's smiling face. 

Why this ranks higher than other moments is simple: This was the one person who could have legally and financially stopped Chef Julian. In his mind, his backer's death grants him freedom. From this point forward, the guests know he's a killer who shows no remorse. Finally, they're aware they're trapped here and are in his murderous, experimental domain.

Of all the deaths in "The Menu," this one is the hardest to watch unfold. Likely, audiences won't see this one coming as the scene opens as it did with prior courses. Chef claps and then announces the next dish. But this time, it's his sous chef's dish. As he tells this to his guest, he also confides in them that Jeremy will never be a great cook and he knows that, too. Jeremy grimaces but agrees to that fact. He then shoots himself before being laid out on white linen as if he too is a plated course. His dish is a spin on a bone marrow plate.

Visually, it's a stirring metaphor for how we consume artists. We demand more and more from them without thinking of the toll it takes on their mental health, especially when it comes to chefs. His choice to serve bone is particularly haunting as it reinforces this concept of giving everything to a dish. As a viewer, it's hard to imagine anyone biting into meat while seeing the staged body in front of them. 

The only drawback to this scene is we seldom see this character in the film, minimizing how much we care about his death. Now if Elsa (Hong Chau), the film's wittiest character, died in that scene instead, it'd easily earn a higher spot. Still, its quickness and choice to linger on the guests' processing of what happens will send shivers down your spine.

If you or anyone you know is having suicidal thoughts, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline​ by dialing 988 or by calling 1-800-273-TALK (8255)​.

Deconstructed food in restaurants can sometimes be silly (like when I saw a deconstructed PB&J: a cutting board with a dab of jelly, a spoonful of peanut butter, and crackers for a whopping $15). Still, there is an art to breaking free of food conventions to make something refreshing. In that light, it's almost bittersweet to end this killer experience with dinner guests becoming deconstructed s'mores. Splashes of (highly flammable) marshmallows and emulsions are meticulously rendered on the dining room floor that we get to see thanks to the film's overhead shots. While the chefs quickly accent the floor with floral swirls of sugar, the score has a giddy speed.

The camera returns to his guests, wearing marshmallow hats while the inevitable flames erupt. We don't see the charred bodies, but there are enough details to imagine the smell. Hearing those about to die a Jim Jones-style death thank Chef Julian for the experience is the most chilling part of this entire film. Throughout Julian's courses, he stripped back layers and layers of his guests' guises. That was the story he had to tell, his act of "love." He broke his customers into cheap, sugary treats, essentially calling their lives a quick flash in the pan as, unlike Margot, they have no other substance to their character. Only he and the chefs will appreciate their ironic death, as they designed the entire evening to be. This ending takes the cake.