Twelve strangers travel to a tiny island to dine at a famed restaurant led by a nerdy, legendary chef named Slovik, portrayed by an actor known for a chilling presence. The promise is simple: hours of astonishing, high-quality cuisine that will shock the senses, but one harsh caveat shadows the night — not everyone will survive dessert.
The setup echoes Agatha Christie’s Ten Little Indians, with unfamiliar guests gathered in isolation, all drawing from different worlds yet united by shared flaws. There are corporate executives who profit through schemes, a wealthy couple whose marriage is strained by a husband’s infidelity and shocking tastes, a once-great actor now humbled, and a devious employee driven to ruin others. An assistant, a handful of critics whose career hinges on delicate palates, and a few young men whose motives aren’t clear all populate the island, each bringing their own secret skeletons to the table.
Tyler, a quiet supporter of the chef and a self-styled expert of fine dining, watches the night unfold with a precise and sometimes controversial eye. His companion Margo enters as an enigmatic wildcard, arriving by chance just after Tyler persuades a woman to step aside and let her take a seat in a story twist that signals hidden motives and uncertain loyalties. Margo herself remains opaque for hours, a mystery not only to the guests but to Slovik as well, who begins by studying his guests with clinical care before any course is served.
The guests wander the island to learn how the kitchen operates and how those in service live. What begins as a tour of the grounds slowly reveals a community that feels more like a commune or a sect — secluded from the wider world, living under one roof, and offering little in the way of traditional culinary artistry as their idol, Slovik, presides over an austere, ritualistic table.
Slovik, brought to life by a formidable actor, embodies a modern nightmare of class tension and moral collapse. His portrayal channels a Voldemort-like menace without a fairytale gloss, a persona brimming with a cold certainty that the world’s hierarchies deserve to burn away to reveal the truth underneath. The night begins with theatrical, almost celebratory food service but quickly descends into a chilling sequence of revelations and confessions, exposing the guests’ hidden sins. The film builds a tension where stories of mastery and creation give way to admissions of vice, and the diners must confront the darker cravings that drive them.
As the plot accelerates, the mood shifts from spectacle to dread. The film risks overload with shadowy doors, concealed motives, and weapons of past betrayals hanging on every wall. Yet the best line lingers: the moment when a guest realizes they will eat less than they want and more than they deserve, a bitter truth that haunts the table long after the last course is cleared.
Under the direction of a filmmaker who favors restrained tension over relentless sensationalism, the movie maintains a steady rhythm of suspense without overreaching. The puzzle remains intact until the final moments, never fully explaining why the culinary ordeal was even necessary. In this way, the work evolves into a sharp, provocative experiment: a blend of menace, satire, drama, and black humor that keeps viewers off balance from start to finish. The headlining duel between Slovik and Margo remains the film’s driving spark, a clash of forces that feels alive and essential to the drama on screen.
For audiences new to this kind of cinematic refinement, questions may linger after the credits roll. Yet the film’s ingenuity remains undeniable. It presents a bold, sensory experience that is both inventive and warped, like visiting an upscale restaurant and discovering the dish’s ingredients are not what they seemed. In the end, the work invites conversation about appetite, guilt, and the price of art, lingering in the mind long after the lights come up.