Editorials
Culinary Horrors: 14 Times Delicious Foods Bit Back in Horror Movies
As someone who’s first-hand witnessed the confidential (sometimes troubling) goings-on in professional kitchens, both staffed alongside a head cook or running the show, I’m baffled how “Culinary Horror” isn’t a beefier subgenre. Recent news confirmed Sony would be adapting the Anthony Bourdain co-created Hungry Ghosts comics into an animated series, and that got my mind revving. What are some five-star examples of “Culinary Horror?” I’m talking about anthropomorphic appetizers, or possessed entrées, or nightmarish food retaliations in unexpected ways.
Before you get your Sunday stew all in a boil, note I’ve forgone including cannibalism-straight flicks that stick to grinding human meat into signature dishes. Delicatessen or Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber Of Fleet Street. My intent is not to disrespect, but I’m more interested in “Culinary Horror” that dares to dream bigger. Turn fruits into vicious invaders. Have your Fall loaf stare back at hungry eaters. Horror chefs over the years have perfected their secret herbs and spices when feeding barbecued flesh to the masses – let’s push for a bite with a bit more exotic designs, shall we?
A Nightmare On Elm Street 4: The Dream Master (1988): Extra Cheese, Extra Souls
When I hear the term “Culinary Horror,” A Nightmare On Elm Street 4: The Dream Master pops into my brain like golden strudels from a toaster. As Freddy Krueger taunts Alice in dreamland’s creeped-up version of local diner “Crave Inn,” she’s served a morbid pizza. Freddy calls it “the usual,” topped with pepperoni, bubbly cheese, and miniature “meatballs” aka Rick’s head begging for mercy. Freddy stabs one of the “Rickballs” with his pointer finger blade, the screaming morsel dripping pizza juices, and pops the bite into his mouth.
Not only do we get a haunting effect as Rick’s prop meatball head whimpers before Freddy chows down, but Robert Englund gets to deliver yet another Freddy Krueger one-liner: “I love soul food!” It’s hilarious, it’s gross, and it’s everything that asserts A Nightmare On Elm Street as one of horror’s most creative slasher franchises.
The Stuff (1985): What’s Eating You?
The Stuff might be on-the-nose consumerism commentary, but its whipped savviness still enforces all the satirical anger present in Larry Cohen’s creamy sci-fi invasion flick. As a mystery substance is packaged, marketed, and sold to the public as an addictive dessert, it turns out to be as deadly as it is delicious. “The Stuff” starts ejecting from people’s bodies like a possessive symbiote that requires a host, yet households can’t stop gulping the marshmallowy, white ice cream substitute. “Are you eating it…or is it eating you?” Cohen’s commentary notes how the junk we continue to purchase and ingest is pushed by corporate backing despite widely noted dangers, which the public either ignores or doesn’t seem to regard. Humanity is *quite literally* poisoning itself, and while we might not be transforming into braindead “Stuff Zombies,” as products continue to be recalled or re-evaluated, thirty-four years haven’t taught us a damn thing. I wish I could watch The Stuff as the genre comedy it is, but Cohen’s themes ring just as loudly today.
Then again, that’s what makes The Stuff a certifiable “Culinary Horror” Classic. Chocolate Chip Charlie’s death as “Stuff” gurgles out his unhinged mouth is prosthetic effects genius. Go ahead, get Stuff’ed.
Killer Klowns From Outer Space (1988): Cotton Candy Cocoons
The hand-spun sweetness of cotton candy is a staple at any county fair or carnival, so it’s only appropriate the Chiodo brothers “horrorized” the sticky crystallized clouds in Killer Klowns From Outer Space. Once a yummy treat, now a lightbulb-shaped cocoon that drains the life from captured townsfolk. Mike grabs a handful of pink sugary fuzz thinking nothing odd, until a revealed bloody face confirms each sack holds a body that’s dissolving into goop. Why? So the clowns can slurp once-human liquids out the cocoons with Krazy Straws.
In terms of frightening foods, these swinging confectionary pouches look the least threatening. Unfortunately for the residents of Crescent Cove, it’s what’s on the inside that counts.
It (1990): Fortune Cookie Freakshow
In the original adaptation of Stephen King’s It, the grown-up Losers’ Club ditch their appetites when fortune cookies become Pennywise’s minions. Bev goes to open hers first, and blood explodes outward like the take-out staple was a living entity. Each cookie assumes its Halloween-y form, whether it be a pinch-happy biscuit with claws or a stationary delectable with an eyeball keeping watch. When that one hairy arachnid-ish leg emerges from within? Pure “Culinary Horror.” No telling what’s kept hidden inside the glazed shell, our imaginations at the mercy of a not-so-savory surprise released by each unfortunate treat.
It’ll be interesting to see if and how Andy Muschietti’s sequel redoes this Chinese restaurant scene. Practical effects define the made-for-television version’s crunchy critters, but if Muschietti’s “Part 1” is any indication, his cookies will be concoctions of Gordon Ramsay’s deepest fears.
Cooties (2014): Infected Chicken Nuggets
Factory treatment of chickens raised for mass-produced cafeteria delicacies such as chicken nuggets has long been protested, scrutinized, and legally weighed. In Jonathan Milott and Cary Murnion’s opening credits sequence for Cooties, we find out why. The camera follows an infected fowl from snapped neck (sorry animal lovers) to an elementary school child’s mouth. Feathers are yanked, heads decapitated, meat slurries tainted with swamp-green toxins – it’s nauseating enough to put me off breaded poultry bites for good.
Even worse? The chickens fight back as said child above bites into a rancid nugget that oozes rotten verde mucus, which in turn morphs the hungry lil’ tyke into a ravenous patient zero “zombie.” What follows is a rather riotous and comical teachers vs. nugget outbreak monsters take on zombie cinema, but holy guacamole if those opening minutes aren’t enough to ruin anyone’s breakfast, lunch, and/or dinner.
Todd & The Book Of Pure Evil (2010-2012): Happy Deathday!
Each Todd & The Book Of Pure Evil episode, a new demonic formation stalks the halls of Crowley High. One such manifestation created by “The Book” is a satanic birthday cake that eats students when a sheltered classmate gets her wish to receive the birthday love she was never allowed. As her “pet” feeds, its host ages rapidly – sustained by the years of each birthday victim the cake claims. Chowdowns play for comedic effect, but the frosted bastard itself promotes “Culinary Horror” as it should. How else can you frame an elderly birthday geezer being wheeled into the mouth of a behemoth, sharp-toothed birthday cake?
Be careful what you wish for in Todd’s “Deathday” episode, but, I don’t know. I’d probably risk it for a gigantic cake that might or might not eat me? Sorry I’ve got a sweet spot for cakey treats. Sue me.
Drag Me to Hell (2009): Harvest Cake
Alison Lohman’s Christine suffers extensively after an older woman hexes her in Sam Raimi’s Drag Me To Hell. One such breakdown involves what at first appears to be a tasty slice of Harvest Cake. Christine notices her piece is trembling, and after going in for a bite, an eye pops open. Glaring at her, covered in crumbs. With no options, Christine slams the fork through her dessert’s eyeball. Blood and puss erupt from the piercing wound, as the cake emits a high-pitched squeal only she can hear. No one else’s cake is playing “eye spy,” only Christine’s on account of her eternal occult damnation. There’s toying with your food, and then there’s blinding it.
For good measure, she later coughs up a fly in front of her significant other, played by Justin Long, and his parents. One glance from mama at the fruity bits resembling flies within the cake and her appetite vanishes. Shocker.
Dead Sushi (2012): “Slashimi” Special
Noboru Iguchi’s Dead Sushi is an extreme Japanese midnighter that sells 1,000% of the titled “Culinary Horror” weirdness. Yes, sushi comes alive and starts attacking hungry patrons. Salmon roe roll-ups fly through midair, their fangs ready to chew, turning the tides on chopstick-holding restaurateurs. It’s…downright hilarious. So many different varieties of sushi gnawing human flesh, turning people into sushi zombies with white rice spilling out their mouths. Then fish-head man shows up and the party *really* gets started. As if eating raw fish wasn’t daring enough, Iguchi’s enraged rolls arm themselves with bladed textures, hysterical giggles, and bloodthirsty attacks.
“Sushi action! Sushi erotica! Sushi violence!” Dead Sushi is the “Attack of the Killer Sushi” movie you’ve dreamed about. Bless Japan’s unshakable ability to be like, “Yo, wanna see something crazy?” Yes. Every time, yes.
Ice Cream Man (1995): Double Scoop Of Death
Point me towards a better pictorial example of “Culinary Horror” than the shot above. Clint Howard holds a novelty-sized waffle cone stuffed with his latest special: Decapitation Sundae. In Ice Cream Man, Howard’s deranged curbside purveyor of frozen treats uses his victims’ body parts as ice cream flavor enhancements, but the shot of a man’s head served as a scoop is next-level grindhouse notoriety. It’s the kind of genre playfulness that executes a gory high note and very nature of promised “Ice Cream Man Horror” (even if I’m more of a cookie dough guy myself).
Any ice cream man can be a killer, but if cannibalism already enters the fray, go all the way. Stuff a cone full of bloody inerts and plop an entire human head on top. Either it gets massive laughs or you’re a hero of the genre. SHOOT. YOUR. SHOT.
The Gingerdead Man (2005): Killsbury Doughboy
The Gingerdead Man honors/copies Child’s Play by shoving Gary Busey’s soul into a festive cookie prison. The ashes of serial killer Millard Findlemeyer (Busey) are baked into gingerbread dough by his witch mother, so her deceased son can murder the girl who had him executed. Leave it to low-budget horror veteran Charles Band to bend outside horror’s cookie-cutter mold when creating his bakery thriller. Far goofier than it is spiced with proper scares, but Band’s mean n’ crumbly killer pops from the oven ready to slice up the competition.
A reanimated Christmas cookie that walks, talks, and grins like Gary Busey? Sorry, maybe this movie is far scarier than I’m remembering. *Remembers puns.* Oh, right.
Poultrygeist: Night Of The Chicken Dead (2006): Kentucky Fried Fear
Troma’s disgusting eco-friendly corporate fast food satire musical Poultrygeist is jammed full of “Culinary Horror” goodness. Restaurant chain American Chicken Bunker builds their latest franchise atop an Indian burial ground, which in turn causes displaced souls to possess greasy-fingered consumers. ACB’s biggest fans turn into “chicken zombies,” while underpaid employees (named after real fast food chains) all meet gruesome kitchen-themed deaths (scalding frier oil, meat grinders, deli slicers, you name it). In true Troma fashion, the likes of “Paco Bell” and “Carl Jr.” find out what happens when you tamper with conglomerate greed atop sacred soil.
Did you eat tainted fried chicken? Then you turn into feathered chicken creatures intent on killing and crave American Chicken Bunker’s secret recipe until an unceremonious beaked death.
Attack Of The Killer Tomatoes (1978): Pass The Ketchup
Save it. I know Attack Of The Killer Tomatoes! isn’t “scary,” but it’s a spoof monster flick that sets tomatoes on the loose, so yes, John De Bello’s cult “classic” fits my definition of “Culinary Horror.” Also, it features one of the dumbest but funniest dad-joke gags in any “Culinary Horror” film. “Master of disguise” Sam Smith is seen eating a hamburger while sitting between two tomato foes, having infiltrated their camp dressed as a tomato himself. Foolishly he asks the tomatoes for ketchup, blowing his camouflage. Sam smashes the hamburger against his head out of frustration. Cut to a zoom-in on Smith’s face that holds way longer than necessary.
It is, again, so incredibly lame in the driest way. That said, I get it. I’m a ketchup guy. No burger is complete with that artificially tomato’ed sauce from the heavens.
Thinner (1996): Special Strawberry Pie
Tom Holland’s adaptation of Stephen King’s Thinner is a zanier brand of “Culinary Horror.” Most scenes are headlined by a gypsy curse after mid-drive fellatio leads to elderly roadkill, but then, as a means of lifting once-obese lawyer Billy Halleck’s weight loss jinx, a strawberry pie fed the man’s blood spells death for whoever eats a slice. The pie opens its slit crust like a mouth to drink Billy’s dripping natural juices. It’s quite the scene, and quite the disturbing “Culinary Horror” glimpse as Billy’s salvation pie laps up blood with the thirst of a vampire. Yummy yummy!
Surprised it wasn’t a traditional blood pie to drive the comparison home, but strawberries are red and more tantalizing I reckon. Makes sense.
Thankskilling (2008): Turkie’s Revenge
While Christmas and Halloween get all the holiday horror love, Thanksgiving has only a few genre titles to its credit. Luckily, one of them is a low-budget creature slasher featuring a zinger-slinging turkey who murders. Jordan Downey’s Thankskilling opens at the first Thanksgiving celebration, where a topless pilgrim is killed by a talking turkey who’s wielding a hatched-lookin’ weapon. From here it’s food-related puns, gory slasher deaths, and culinary horror slathered in either blood or cranberry sauce. In the realm of foods fighting back, this gobbler won’t be plucked, stuffed and roasted like his weaker brethren.
Maybe I’m cheating here a bit because the villain is a bird and not yet served hot n’ ready, but Turkie beats hungry settlers to the punch. “Culinary Horror” sure involves ingredients not wanting to be eaten in my eyes.
Of all the films in the New French Extremity movement, Baise-moi may be the most shocking.
From its aggressive English language title Rape Me to several scenes of unsimulated sex, Virginie Despentes and Coralie Trinh Thi’s 2000 film may not drip with the subgenre’s trademark blood and gore, but the story’s overwhelming nihilism feels like a middle finger to the patriarchal establishment.
Inspired by Despentes’s 1993 novel of the same name, Baise-moi stars adult film actresses Raffaëla Anderson and Karen Bach as Bonnie and Clyde-style criminals who rampage through France leaving a trail of bodies in their wake. But this fierce story has a tender core. When we peel back the layers of explicit sex and ostensibly senseless violence, we find the tragic tale of two young women desperate to reclaim their power in a world built on male entitlement.
After a brief glimpse at our female criminals, Baise-moi opens in a local dive bar. A boorish man plays pool with his friends while callously dismissing his girlfriend’s concerns. She hasn’t seen him in nearly a week and simply wants to know if he plans to come home. But he angrily brushes her aside, insisting that he doesn’t have to answer for his selfishness. We will never see this couple again, but their one-sided dispute reflects a world in which women must beg for attention from men who see them as less than human.
Throughout this uncomfortable argument, Nadine (Bach) has been drinking at the bar while men discuss her fondness for random sex. At home, she openly masturbates in the living room, refusing to be shamed by her nagging roommate. We learn that Nadine is a sex worker and follow her to a nearby hotel. Refusing to kiss her john on the lips, she dispassionately performs oral sex then watches TV while he fails to give her an orgasm. Despentes and Trinh Thi play with camera angles to show the extent of Nadine’s disinterest. More concerned with sausage being sliced on an infomercial, she has emotionally disconnected from her own body.
We meet Manu (Anderson), an occasional porn actress, under much more traumatic circumstances. While chatting on a park bench, she and a friend are hauled into a dirty warehouse then savagely assaulted by three strange men. We watch as Manu’s friend (played by adult film star Lisa Marshall) is repeatedly punched in the face while her clothes are ripped off followed by an extreme close-up of actual penetration. It’s a disturbing sequence that rivals New French Extremity’s most infamous texts. But this is the reality of sexual assault and Despentes and Trinh Thi refuse to shield the audience from what we are watching.
Though her friend screams and tries to escape, Manu stares daggers at her attackers while stoically obeying their commands. Her dissociation repels the angry man and he walks away, complaining about “fucking a zombie.” Manu will later explain this emotional detachment to her traumatized friend, saying, “If you park in the projects, you empty your car ‘cause someone’s gonna break in. I leave nothing precious in my cunt for those jerks.” Though they’ve not yet met, both Nadine and Manu have become so accustomed to being used for sex that they see no value in themselves. Manu assures her sobbing friend that,”It’s just a bit of cock. We’re just girls. It’ll be ok now.” then continues on with the rest of her day. While disturbing in and of itself, her response hints at prior trauma and the long-term pain of navigating a world filled with predatory men.
Despentes and Trinh Thi will spend the rest of the film subverting the classic rape-revenge structure. We never again see Manu’s attackers again and she is not driven by a newfound hatred of men. But her rage spills out wherever she goes, directed at anyone who dismisses her humanity. Manu’s brother responds with indignation and demands the rapist’s identities, seeming more upset about an insult to his family name than what his sister actually needs. When he implies that she somehow welcomed the assault, Manu shoots him in the head, steals his money, and walks out the door. Nadine finds herself in a similar position after strangling her conservative roommate to death. In parallel scenes we watch both women reach their breaking points and use murder to flee lives of shameful subservience.
Manu and Nadine cross paths in an empty subway station after the last train has left for the night. With nowhere else to go, they cut a violent path across France, careening towards Nadine’s vague errand. Their first victim is a well-dressed woman murdered for her ATM card. Though Nadine confesses sadness in the aftermath of the crime, she eventually admits, “now I feel really great. So great I almost feel like doing it again.” We remember Manu’s final words to her brother — “Bastards like you always have to hit something to feel alive” — and watch these newly liberated women succumb to the same temptation. Their crime spree seems driven by a need to reclaim power by dominating anyone who gets in their way.
Despite the carnage they leave behind, Manu and Nadine do not kill indiscriminately. Shortly after hitting the road, they pick up two strangers at a bar and have sex on their respective hotel beds. Though they do not physically touch each other, the scene ripples with intimacy as they gaze at each other instead of their men. In a traditional rape-revenge film, Manu would kill these unsuspecting paramours, punishing them for another man’s crimes. But she seems content with indulging in her own physical pleasure and the connection she establishes with Nadine. Both women have found a kindred spirit who will not judge them for asserting their own messy independence.
This is not to say that men are safe around these two unpredictable outlaws. Manu shoots a man in the street when he catcalls Nadine and they ambush and murder a condescending gun dealer. When a prospective john balks at their unapologetic promiscuity and insists on wearing a condom, Manu brands herself “the fucking condom dickhead killer” while mocking the man for his self-righteousness. She degrades and sexually humiliates him before using her high heels to stomp in his face.
Nadine has a similar response to another victim who tries to psychoanalyze her criminality. While opening his safe at gunpoint, the man flirts by insisting her crimes have been caused by a traumatic past only he can understand. Rather than fall for this faux empathy, Manu laughs in his face while Nadine shoots him to death on the living room floor. While certainly asserting their feminine strength, they do not lash out at just any man, but save their rage for male authority figures who condemn their feminist rebellion.
Though they rage against the outside world, Manu and Nadine have no grand illusions of victory and expect to die in the violence they’ve sparked. On a peaceful stroll, the outlaws discuss different methods of suicide, rejecting self-immolation as too pretentious. After tossing around options, they agree to do a bungee jump without the cord, though Nadine admits that she may need help stepping off the edge. To maintain the appearance of control, Manu suggests leaving a banner behind to frame their deaths as a courageous act rather than submission to the establishment. They will not let anyone rewrite their story and insist on going out with their heads held high.
It’s only through boredom that we uncover the hopeless heart of their true motivations. Blowing stolen cash on a fancy hotel, Nadine and Manu drink the day away while staring at the ocean, surprised that they have not yet been caught. With their faces on the cover of newspapers, they have achieved some notoriety, but failed to rock the system they despise. Simply described as two women, “one taller than the other,” their bombastic rebellion now feels more like screaming into the void. They may have found joy in rejecting rigid gender norms, indulging in random sex, and gleefully dominating toxic men, but the patriarchal world continues to turn. In this quiet moment, Manu and Nadine realize that they will not be remembered as vigilante heroes, but two waves crashing against an endless sea of male authority.
As we grow more attached to the ferocious couple, Despentes and Trinh Thi remind us of the women’s villainy, directly resisting an anti-hero narrative. Dressed to the nines, Nadine and Manu storm a swinger’s club where women openly service men. In another film, they would be feminist avengers, shooting violent johns while setting helpless women free. But Manu and Nadine kill everyone they see, leaving no one alive in the establishment. As a climax to this massacre, they force the bartender to strip and kneel on all fours before penetrating him with a loaded gun. It’s a horrific act of sexual abuse that mirror’s Manu’s own ordeal. We’re reminded that while the women’s anger may be righteous, their actions are not. Perhaps this is a showy escalation designed to force police intervention. Or has Manu become the very thing that once destroyed her life: a bastard who hurts others to feel alive?
This crime spree ends just as erratically as it began when Manu is shot while stopping for gas. Nadine burns her corpse beside a frozen lake, ensuring that no one can claim power over what little autonomy her body still holds. Dressed in a man’s suit, the grieving woman prepares to join her friend in death and holds a gun to her head. But she seems incapable of pulling the trigger. While remembering their short but violently joyful time together, we hear a gunshot and see Nadine fall to the ground. Seconds later she opens her eyes to find herself surrounded by police. The spell of her connection with Manu has been broken and the world has finally come crashing in.
We’re left to wonder what their rampage was for. They’ve failed to resist a dehumanizing social structure and will now be simply tossed aside. But the English translation casts an uncomfortable shadow over their motivations. Taken as a command, the worlds “rape me” seem to imply consent that is antithetical to sexual assault. It’s an unsettling turn of phrase that harkens back to a question Manu’s friend asked in the wake of her attack: “how could you let this happen to you?” Though it reflects the story’s aggressive tone, this translated title seems to blame the women for their destructive actions rather than interrogate the system they’ve tried to resist.
But there is an alternate interpretation, one that reflects the story’s tender core. A more accurate Enlgish translation would read “fuck me” or “kiss me,” perhaps nodding to sex positivity or the gentle kiss Nadine leaves with Manu before lighting her makeshift funeral pyre. These alternative titles seem to honor the women’s ferocious journey of self-discovery and empowerment.
Though flawed, villainous, and ultimately broken on a patriarchal wheel, Nadine and Manu have found a way to reclaim something precious in their unapologetic strength and authenticity.
Baise-moi is currently available to stream on Shudder.
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