The Taste of Things, a wonderful new French film set in 1885, begins with the rise of cooking. Eugénie (Juliette Binoche), the head chef at a famous chateau in the Loire Valley, is stirring up a storm in the kitchen. She deftly jumps between kettles, pots, stoves, and sinks to come up with delicious potpourri. Writer and director Tran Anh Hung shows us all of this in a dazzling array. The camera never stops moving with Eugénie and her assistant Violette (Galatea Beruzzi). The display is so hunger-inducing that the effect is almost comical. My first thought was, “If the whole movie was like this, I’d never get over it.”
Eugénie’s boss, Dodan Boufan (Benoît Magimel), was also her lover at one time. For 20 years, they have lived together in this castle, albeit in separate buildings. (It’s worth noting that Magimel and Binoche were once a couple and had a daughter together.) A nationally known gourmand, Dodan regularly hosts gatherings of all-male friends and investors. He then enjoys the food that Eugénie diligently prepares to his specifications.
The men are not chauvinistic and always ask her to join them for meals, but she is content to stay away from the festivities. Her refusal is almost pride. She considers herself to be some kind of magician, and she is. She doesn’t need anyone to tell her how delicious the food is. she already knows.
Why I wrote this
Food in movies is often a metaphor for what’s really happening in people’s lives. French’s The Taste of Things expands on that idea, giving him one of the most romantic movie moments ever seen by critics.
Eugénie’s personality is gentle but strong-willed, showing how much she values herself. This is not an “upstairs, downstairs” scenario. Eugénie is completely equal to Dodan in everything else, if not in class. It is he, not her, who regularly begs her to marry him. She clearly believes that by becoming his star chef, she will elevate herself beyond just her household status. Matriarchy will look like a collapse. So Dodin, perpetually infatuated for the film’s long stretches, has to content himself with her amiable favors from time to time. Her beauty has the same enchanting effect on him as her feasts.
From La Grande Boeuf and Babette’s Dinner to The Big Night, most famous movies about lavish meals are metaphors for what’s really going on in people’s lives. I’ve been using food as a. The Taste of Things, France’s Oscar nominee for Best International Feature, takes this to an extreme level. The film’s taste factor is very high, but it’s by no means a gourmet competition. Mr. Hung’s screenplay is very loosely based on Marcel Roof’s 1924 novel “The Epicure of the Passions,” but he is careful to keep the focus on Eugénie and Dodan. Both Binoche and Majimel perform exquisitely.
Hun sometimes depicts their romance with images reminiscent of the paintings of Gustave Courbet or Pierre-Auguste Renoir, but never consciously. He wants to suggest a continuity between his two lovers and those artists. Eugénie and Dodin are also artists. Like those painters, they share a rhapsodical embrace of nature.
It’s this embrace that gives The Taste of Things its quietly passionate core. We are never asked how these people were able to live such a free and gilded life in these turbulent times of the late 19th century. The film periodically risks turning into a swooning fantasy. But we can like it because it’s a fantasy we can all share.
Eugénie may long for independence, but she also recognizes the love that Dodan has for her and that she has for him. This love is never more evident than when her periodic fainting bouts become severe. Dodin may be famous as the “Napoleon of gastronomy,” but his life is not without arrogance. Since Eugénie is bedridden, he cooks her favorite food. Then he asked if he could watch her eat it, as if praying. It’s one of the most romantic moments in a movie I’ve ever seen. And of course she says yes.
Peter Reiner is the Monitor’s film critic. “The Taste of Things” is rated PG-13 for his some sensuality, partial nudity and smoking. It’s in French with English subtitles.