Performance fart
It's incredibly difficult to discuss Flux Gourmet without starting at "this is a film by Peter Strickland", which isn't even the most useful way into the film, in this case. One of Strickland's two biggest identifying characteristics doesn't apply here: while all three of Berberian Sound Studio, The Duke of Burgundy, and In Fabric (his second, third, and fourth features, from 2012, 2014, and 2018 respectively) are stylistic pastiches of 1970s filmmaking, Flux Gourmet doesn't feel like a "pastiche" at all, and while you could argument that some visual elements of it are purposefully dated (one character's hairstyle is clearly an '80s throwback), nothing about it owes an obvious debt to the '70s. Also, there's not really anything here that you could call "horror" even in the highly abstract, stylised, even theoretical way that Berberian Sound Studio and In Fabric were engaged with the idea, if not always the substance of horror. Maybe it's something of a parody of body horror, but that's stretching a point more than it wants to be stretched, and anyways, that's not what Strickland's angular approach the horror genre has yet consisted of.
But still: it is such a film by Peter Strickland - it is, I'd even say, more distinctly and necessarily a film by Peter Strickland than any of his earlier features. It is very obviously a film coming from someplace deep and private within a writer-director's brain; there's too much that's too fetishistically particular about it for it to be anything but an auteur text. And that does get us to the other identifying characteristic of Strickland's cinema, his absorbing fascination with stylistic textures. And this is something that Flux Gourmet possesses in abundance. Stylistic texture is, in fact, the chief subject of its narrative, which focuses on a performance art trio (their name to be determined, which is one of the minor running themes of the film), working in the field of "sonic catering", which appears to be quite a well-established form in this film's universe. What this means, in practice, is that under the leadership of Elle di Elle (Fatma Mohamed, who has appeared in all of Strickland's features as well as his contribution to the 2018 anthology The Field Guide to Evil), the trio, also consisting of Billy Rubin (Asa Butterfield) and Lamina Propria (Ariane Labed) records the sounds of food preparation, and creates loud, threatening industrial-style soundscapes out of the distortions of these recordings, and they do all of this live in front of an audience. And then they seem to have orgies with their audience? It's all just abstract enough that the gap between "seems" and "is" isn't always possible to pin down, but it at least feels like an orgy, and that is what matters the most. When we meet them, they're starting a one-month residency at an institution run by Jan Stevens (Gwendoline Christie), who is helpfully offering notes, and being a Real Artist, Elle has absolutely no use at all for notes, so tensions start to spike across the movie.
Arguably, none of this is the actual A-plot of Flux Gourmet, though using a term like "A-plot" is begging the question. But if nothing else, our main point of entry into the film is Stones (Makis Papadimitriou), who narrates the whole film in Greek; he's a hack journalist who has taken to paying the bills by serving as the oral historian for the residency, I think in Jan Stevens's employ, though it gets foggy. He's been feeling awful of late, with some terrible gastrointestinal distress involving blockages of gas in his colon, and the doctor Jan Stevens keeps on staff, Glock (Richard Bremmer), is much more invested in passive-aggressively insulting Stones for not having read enough of the Greco-Roman classics than in treating his roiling, angry bowels. It is suggested throughout the film that Stones is making this worse by trying to hide his condition from the trio, whose bedroom and bathroom in the institute he's sharing during their stay; it's arguable neither inaccurate nor even glib to summarise the main theme of Flux Gourmet as "you just need to be okay with farting in front of other people, it's not that embarrassing".
At any rate, farting is one of the film's chief interests; farting, and intestinal tracts, and the way that food sloshes and squishes and groans as it makes a tour of your insides. Stones even becomes part of the act, in that regard. And back we go to the Strickland-ness: the fascination with sensory experience. The film's exact disposition towards the idea of "sonic catering" is a bit in flux, you'll pardon the expression: this is, on the one hand, very unmistakably a satire of the preening, pretentious world of High Art and the indecently wealthy patrons whose random whims serve as the lubricant to keep High Art pumping. And like most such satires - the first ones that come to mind mind are 2017's immensely underqualfied Palme d'Or winner The Square, and 2020's indifferent Best International Film Oscar nominee The Man Who Sold His Skin - Flux Gourmet is taking a pretty wide aim at a pretty broad target. Insofar as this is Strickland's least film (and I think it is, of the ones I've seen), the easiness of his target and the obviousness of his critiques are the main part of the reason why. It is an unworthy topic of the thoughtfulness of his artistry.
But, on the other hand, Strickland is unabashed interested in this very odd, made-up art scene that he has populated with such incredibly distinct individuals, and with the frightening, disgusting, but also surprising and exciting noises that come out of their work, and the way those noises interact with the images he and cinematographer Tim Sidell have put together. Better yet, Flux Gourmet is openly and sincerely interested in the ideas behind the production of such pretentious art: the other candidate for A-plot, next to Stones's farts, is the boiling tension between Elle and Jan Stevens over whether the flanger that the group used to create one sound was turned up too high (what's a flanger? Doesn't matter), and whether the fact that Jan Stevens is probably correct that it was gives her the right to point it out, especially in a group setting. At least as much of the film is devoted to the trio talking about their disposition towards their art as towards the chaotic, visionary hallucunations of actually making it, or of submitting to exercises in narrated pantomime in a stark teal rehearsal space.
And so we do get that constant ebb and flow: here the film takes the piss out of its subjects, by giving each member of the trio a moment where they reveal just how much of a know-nothing dilettante they are; and by focusing our attention through the perspective of Stones, who is perhaps literally being given colon cancer by this "art form"; and by making everybody look sort of alien and ridiculous in their makeup, hair, and costuming. Especially Christie, who gives the film's most enthralling performance (in a well-stocked cast) as a grandly expressive rich visionary who also has such thick black holes of mascara on, every time we see her, that she resembles a raccoon in terribly overpriced haute couture. But here, the film actually hosts debates, and asks us to genuinely think about what the purpose of this art might be, if the characters are raising good points, or if this is all a very fucking weird waste of food, and everybody but Stones is just a priggish snob.
At the very least, Flux Gourmet isn't a film that takes the easy route; it is a genuinely aggressive and complicated and strange sonic object, and not all that much simple and sedate as a visual object. It mixes the most pretentious kind of highbrow satire with an entire plotline that's basically just an extended fart joke. It's an interesting and daunting movie, though not as watchable as the director's earlier work, especially since it has taken its 111 minute running time as an excuse to go over some of its points multiple times. Still, it's only making bold choices. I'd put it this way: if you've already enjoyed Strickland's work, this is generally more of the same; if you haven't, this won't change you mind, and if you've never seen anything by Strickland, then for Christ's sake, don't start here.
Tim Brayton is the editor-in-chief and primary critic at Alternate Ending. He has been known to show up on Letterboxd, writing about even more movies than he does here.
If you enjoyed this article, why not support Alternate Ending as a recurring donor through Patreon, or with a one-time donation via Paypal? For just a dollar a month you can contribute to the ongoing health of the site, while also enjoying several fun perks!
But still: it is such a film by Peter Strickland - it is, I'd even say, more distinctly and necessarily a film by Peter Strickland than any of his earlier features. It is very obviously a film coming from someplace deep and private within a writer-director's brain; there's too much that's too fetishistically particular about it for it to be anything but an auteur text. And that does get us to the other identifying characteristic of Strickland's cinema, his absorbing fascination with stylistic textures. And this is something that Flux Gourmet possesses in abundance. Stylistic texture is, in fact, the chief subject of its narrative, which focuses on a performance art trio (their name to be determined, which is one of the minor running themes of the film), working in the field of "sonic catering", which appears to be quite a well-established form in this film's universe. What this means, in practice, is that under the leadership of Elle di Elle (Fatma Mohamed, who has appeared in all of Strickland's features as well as his contribution to the 2018 anthology The Field Guide to Evil), the trio, also consisting of Billy Rubin (Asa Butterfield) and Lamina Propria (Ariane Labed) records the sounds of food preparation, and creates loud, threatening industrial-style soundscapes out of the distortions of these recordings, and they do all of this live in front of an audience. And then they seem to have orgies with their audience? It's all just abstract enough that the gap between "seems" and "is" isn't always possible to pin down, but it at least feels like an orgy, and that is what matters the most. When we meet them, they're starting a one-month residency at an institution run by Jan Stevens (Gwendoline Christie), who is helpfully offering notes, and being a Real Artist, Elle has absolutely no use at all for notes, so tensions start to spike across the movie.
Arguably, none of this is the actual A-plot of Flux Gourmet, though using a term like "A-plot" is begging the question. But if nothing else, our main point of entry into the film is Stones (Makis Papadimitriou), who narrates the whole film in Greek; he's a hack journalist who has taken to paying the bills by serving as the oral historian for the residency, I think in Jan Stevens's employ, though it gets foggy. He's been feeling awful of late, with some terrible gastrointestinal distress involving blockages of gas in his colon, and the doctor Jan Stevens keeps on staff, Glock (Richard Bremmer), is much more invested in passive-aggressively insulting Stones for not having read enough of the Greco-Roman classics than in treating his roiling, angry bowels. It is suggested throughout the film that Stones is making this worse by trying to hide his condition from the trio, whose bedroom and bathroom in the institute he's sharing during their stay; it's arguable neither inaccurate nor even glib to summarise the main theme of Flux Gourmet as "you just need to be okay with farting in front of other people, it's not that embarrassing".
At any rate, farting is one of the film's chief interests; farting, and intestinal tracts, and the way that food sloshes and squishes and groans as it makes a tour of your insides. Stones even becomes part of the act, in that regard. And back we go to the Strickland-ness: the fascination with sensory experience. The film's exact disposition towards the idea of "sonic catering" is a bit in flux, you'll pardon the expression: this is, on the one hand, very unmistakably a satire of the preening, pretentious world of High Art and the indecently wealthy patrons whose random whims serve as the lubricant to keep High Art pumping. And like most such satires - the first ones that come to mind mind are 2017's immensely underqualfied Palme d'Or winner The Square, and 2020's indifferent Best International Film Oscar nominee The Man Who Sold His Skin - Flux Gourmet is taking a pretty wide aim at a pretty broad target. Insofar as this is Strickland's least film (and I think it is, of the ones I've seen), the easiness of his target and the obviousness of his critiques are the main part of the reason why. It is an unworthy topic of the thoughtfulness of his artistry.
But, on the other hand, Strickland is unabashed interested in this very odd, made-up art scene that he has populated with such incredibly distinct individuals, and with the frightening, disgusting, but also surprising and exciting noises that come out of their work, and the way those noises interact with the images he and cinematographer Tim Sidell have put together. Better yet, Flux Gourmet is openly and sincerely interested in the ideas behind the production of such pretentious art: the other candidate for A-plot, next to Stones's farts, is the boiling tension between Elle and Jan Stevens over whether the flanger that the group used to create one sound was turned up too high (what's a flanger? Doesn't matter), and whether the fact that Jan Stevens is probably correct that it was gives her the right to point it out, especially in a group setting. At least as much of the film is devoted to the trio talking about their disposition towards their art as towards the chaotic, visionary hallucunations of actually making it, or of submitting to exercises in narrated pantomime in a stark teal rehearsal space.
And so we do get that constant ebb and flow: here the film takes the piss out of its subjects, by giving each member of the trio a moment where they reveal just how much of a know-nothing dilettante they are; and by focusing our attention through the perspective of Stones, who is perhaps literally being given colon cancer by this "art form"; and by making everybody look sort of alien and ridiculous in their makeup, hair, and costuming. Especially Christie, who gives the film's most enthralling performance (in a well-stocked cast) as a grandly expressive rich visionary who also has such thick black holes of mascara on, every time we see her, that she resembles a raccoon in terribly overpriced haute couture. But here, the film actually hosts debates, and asks us to genuinely think about what the purpose of this art might be, if the characters are raising good points, or if this is all a very fucking weird waste of food, and everybody but Stones is just a priggish snob.
At the very least, Flux Gourmet isn't a film that takes the easy route; it is a genuinely aggressive and complicated and strange sonic object, and not all that much simple and sedate as a visual object. It mixes the most pretentious kind of highbrow satire with an entire plotline that's basically just an extended fart joke. It's an interesting and daunting movie, though not as watchable as the director's earlier work, especially since it has taken its 111 minute running time as an excuse to go over some of its points multiple times. Still, it's only making bold choices. I'd put it this way: if you've already enjoyed Strickland's work, this is generally more of the same; if you haven't, this won't change you mind, and if you've never seen anything by Strickland, then for Christ's sake, don't start here.
Tim Brayton is the editor-in-chief and primary critic at Alternate Ending. He has been known to show up on Letterboxd, writing about even more movies than he does here.
If you enjoyed this article, why not support Alternate Ending as a recurring donor through Patreon, or with a one-time donation via Paypal? For just a dollar a month you can contribute to the ongoing health of the site, while also enjoying several fun perks!
Categories: british cinema, movies for pretentious people, satire
