Thanks to both the low cost and high competition 0f streaming content, the lead-up to Halloween has become increasingly congested in recent years, each platform attempting to outdo the other with scares for all kinds of horror fans. This year, those looking for blood-sucking (Salem’s Lot), reality-shifting (Caddo Lake), body-swapping (It’s What’s Inside), footage-finding (V/H/S: Beyond) and dystopia-sequeling (The Platform 2) will be satiated – while this week, a more unusual horror fan is being targeted. House of Spoils, a low-budget Blumhouse offering for Amazon, is for the one who’s more affected by the fear associated with restaurant-opening, whose idea of a perfect night in involves oscillating between Food Network and Shudder.
It’s not as if food hasn’t long been a recurring element of horror films but not many have been set directly in that world, one that’s become more widely used in the wake of both The Bear and the far superior Boiling Point. It’s a film that works best when it’s focused on the struggles that go into opening a new restaurant than when it’s trying to frighten us, the tension over designing a new menu proving far scarier than a malevolent spirit.
That new menu is what’s keeping an unnamed chef (Oscar winner Ariana DeBose) up at night, having left her job at a high-end eatery in the city to head up a risky new endeavour upstate. It’s being bankrolled by a demanding restaurateur (Succession’s Arian Moayed), who is putting his faith in her abilities as well as her vision, needing to transform a remote location into a foodie destination. But there’s something rotten about the place – bugs that won’t go away and food that won’t keep – until she finds a hidden garden filled with mysterious ingredients …
It’s a peculiarly goofy little movie, closer at times to an episode of an old horror anthology series (DeBose’s character even references Tales from the Crypt in one scene), wisely denied a theatrical release and spared the indignity of a baffled paying audience. It still might struggle for those expecting a scare (scenes of DeBose hearing a noise and investigating are largely ineffectual) but there’s something undeniably involving about the against-all-odds workplace drama of it. DeBose, whose post-West Side Story career has been largely underwhelming, makes for a believably focused and flinty chef, an actor whose hammier theatrical instincts (on show annually as the host of the Tony awards) are wisely kept under lock and key here. Like in this year’s space-set thriller ISS, she displays a steely resilience that makes you believe her as someone obsessively devoted to the cause.
The scenes of her crafting a high-pressure last-minute meal from low-grade supermarket goods and then later finding more fulfilling inspiration in unlikely items from her new garden are hugely satisfying, buoyed by sleekly designed dishes that feel current enough to feign authenticity. It’s not The Taste of Things, but writer-directors Bridget Savage Cole and Danielle Krudy know how to immerse us in the joy of all-senses discovery. There’s also an interesting prickliness between DeBose and a younger wannabe sous chef, played by Euphoria standout Barbie Ferreira, as they find a way to work together. There are differences in age, experience and how they view their place as women in a male-dominated space, all dramatically grabby enough that I wanted a little more texture and depth to it.
When we lean back into the jump-scare horror, it can almost feel like an unnecessary distraction. While there is an effectively jolting use of creepy-crawlies and an almost unwatchably efficient use of chopping, the ultimate backstory – involving a coven of witches – is more successful in theory than in practice. There’s a noble attempt to comment on the misogyny attached to how certain unconventional women are labelled, but it doesn’t quite work, the film unravelling in a far-out finale that goes a little too LA New Age-y in its quest to find empowerment.
There are tasty moments here, but genre fans looking for a full meal might leave a little hungry.