This is a spoiler-free review.

Surviving The Taste of Things at the New York Film Festival after enduring two back-to-back films without a glimpse of dinner was a fate I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemies. This cinematic work, true to its title, thrusts food into the spotlight. The process of cooking is laid bare with a commitment to authenticity. Even as I type these words, the film’s presentation of the delicate process of seasoning, sautéing, and oven-cooking, coupled with artful herb sprinkling and precise braising of vegetables and fish, come to mind vividly. It’s an experience that leaves you contemplating if you’ve been cooking wrong all your life. 

But there’s another realization that the film hits you with — a stark awareness that our perception of “love” might be all wrong too. Love isn’t merely tucked away in grand gestures or elaborate expressions of affirmation. It thrives in the simplicity of our everyday, unremarkable acts. It reveals itself in the most challenging and repetitive tasks. It flourishes in the aftermath of a meal served on a dining table, as you step back and witness someone eating in an inspired air. To be rewarded with a smile, an empty plate, and affection glimmering in their eyes. 

The Taste of Things eloquently speaks the language of love through the art of cooking, and as a viewer, one can’t help but be swept away by the warmth of its storytelling. Set under the backdrop of the year 1885 in France, director Trần Anh Hùng cooks an exquisite period piece for the ages. With finesse, he seizes the chance to devote the camera to scenes of constant cooking. As a result, the film’s many culinary scenes transcend their literal depiction. Instead, they function as emotional benchmarks, vessels for storytelling, and conveyors of the human experience.

The film, based on a 1924 novel by Marcel Rouff titled La passion de Dodin-Bouffant, follows Chef Dodin Bouffant (Benoît Magimel) and his expert cooking companion Eugénie (Juliette Binoche) at the peak of their careers. They have both been on a two-decade-long culinary partnership and their professional and personal bonds only deepen as they create dishes that captivate chefs and princes worldwide. Despite growing affection, Eugénie hesitates to fully commit, prompting Dodin to express his feelings through meticulously prepared meals and giving her the most grandiose care anyone can ever provide. 

With them is a young apprentice, Pauline (Bonnie Chagneau-Ravoire), who holds the potential to step into Eugénie’s position in the future, revealing a prodigious talent. As a team, they carefully prepare a range of dishes, from vol-au-vents to baked Alaskas. The aromatic sound design immerses you so deeply that you can almost taste the food. The choreography in the kitchen is like a finely-tuned engine that is a blessing to witness.

At the heart of the film is the romantic tug-of-war between Dodin and Eugénie. Yet the love story doesn’t conform to the straightforwardness my affectionate praise of the film might imply. Instead, the romance maintains a distance between them, with the gestures of love commonly done through physicality are instead done exclusively through cooking — their most personal and jointly cherished form of art. Dodin is not without his flaws; he tends to be controlling and overly contemplative. Conversely, Eugénie frequently teeters on the edge of servitude, to the detriment of her own well-being.

At times, the film suggests that Dodin and Eugénie might not be an ideal pair. Their emotional frequencies diverge, yet their connection is intricately woven by the fact that both are singular and irreplaceable, like a dish served with impeccable delicacy — a taste that can only be experienced through the senses under the warm afternoon sun, never to be relished again. Dodin can never encounter another Eugénie, and vice versa. This is where the tragedy of the film simmers.

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Benoît Magimel and Juliette Binoche deliver two of my favorite performances of the year. They seamlessly transition into different roles, effortlessly evoking various ranges with just a switch of a scene. In the intimidating long shots, they are absolute pros, showcasing their skills with ease. Never for a moment do you doubt that the pair can’t cook; they exude the confidence and expertise of seasoned professionals. You can sense the history between the two, which only adds texture and richness to their romance.

Cooking takes on the role of a performance. Similar to any other profession, cooking possesses a dynamic that is familiar to everyone. The cook, the chef, the server, and the served all play integral roles. Kitchen dynamics, class distinctions influencing who has the privilege to which dishes, and the relentless pursuit of culinary perfection all contribute to the overarching idea that the act of cooking is another expression of how we engage with societal roles, cultural traditions, and in the film’s case, love.

Beyond the cooking, the film’s scenic forest landscape, the blossoming night sky during a picnic, and the intimate bedroom confessionals are all captured with captivating detail. Like in his previous works, particularly The Scent of Green Papaya and The Vertical Ray of the Sun, Trần Anh Hùng relishes in letting the minimalism of his scenery speak volumes. The endless palette of soft, green, and brown colors complements the unforgettable dishes served by the kitchen. The film cultivates a sentimental mood, evoking simultaneous feelings of tragedy and hopefulness without allowing any to dominate the other.

The Taste of Things is one of the best films of the year for finding new ways to say “I love you” when everything else feels trite. It leaves a lasting impact not only on your appetite but also in the deepest recesses of your heart. It may stir a desire for food after watching, but more remarkably, it stirs a longing to believe in the discovery of love through life’s most uncomplicated moments of simplicity. – Rappler.com

‘The Taste of Things’ will be showing at the French Film Festival on November 29 (SM Megamall) and December 3 (SM Mall of Asia).