Food Films (pt. III)

Garlic Is as Good as Ten Mothers

The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover

Greetings and salutations, my sweet and savory readers. I hope you’re not too full because tonight I’ve got another two-course food film menu prepared, and they both satiate entirely different cravings. Just as I said last year, I think it is best to consume food media while slightly hungry—not when you’re starving and not when you’re full, as this might disturb your content digestion. Food films are a delicacy that should be viewed with an open mind and an open palate, not when you’re feeling like a picky consumer. There is an inherent positivity to most food media—even in highly-stressful environments like the kitchen in The Bear—because food is a universal language that almost anyone can speak. Food is a portal to understanding different cultures, it is a bridge between different kinds of people, regardless of your proficiency in the kitchen or your specific tastes. There are endless recipes to be discovered and there are endless stories to be told within the world of movies, so it makes sense that food and film pair together so nicely. A bad meal or a bad movie can ruin your day, but a good meal or a good movie can inspire you to make something of your own—or at least inspire you to seek out experiences that are just as fruitful. Watching Jiro Dreams of Sushi last year really made me want to explore other food documentaries, so tonight let’s begin with a pure and perfectly palatable film all about one of my favorite vegetables: this is Les Blank’s 1980 film Garlic Is as Good as Ten Mothers.

Les Blank is known for covering traditional American music forms such as blues, Appalachian, Cajun, Creole, Tex-Mex, polka, tamburitza, and Hawaiian—and many of his projects represent the only filmed documents of certain musicians who are now deceased. But Garlic Is as Good as Ten Mothers—which is a shortened version of the saying “garlic is as good as ten mothers…for keeping the girls away”—focuses strictly upon the almighty garlic and all of its wonderful, delicious, healing, stinking uses. The documentary centers upon garlic-lovers from all walks of life, who gather for the annual Gilroy Garlic Festival in California. The film also gives particular praise to Chez Panisse’s Chef Alice Waters, the founder of the Bastille Day Garlic Festival of 1976, a totally separate celebration of these beautiful bulbs of flavor. Every single talking head in this documentary is keenly aware of the social stigma surrounding garlic and the long-lasting smell it emits, but they fiercely defend this member of the onion family. We hear stories of the healing and curative powers of garlic, how it can be used in suntan lotion and pet food, how it can be used to get rid of worms, high blood pressure, bad vibes, and bland flavors. An old man from Spain explains how, after the Spanish Civil War, people had nothing to eat but garlic and tomatoes, but they never ran out of uses for these things. Garlic is not exclusive to any one culture, it is not limited by any recipe, and as several aficionados explain, there are mystical elements to this ingredient. One man explains how one feels confident after they eat garlic, how “it's not like being drunk or stoned, the garlic high is grounding, it let's you know you're one with the earth.” We hear the perspective of picky eaters and children who, even with underdeveloped tastebuds, understand the versatility of garlic. We hear about the ways it compliments every dish from pizza to barbeque, the beauty of garlic turning into pesto so easily, we even witness Werner Herzog being grilled as to why there was zero garlic representation in his film Nosferatu the Vampyre—given garlic’s significance in established vampire lore. Even after displaying a bizarre anti-garlic mouthwash commercial that tried to paint garlic as the singular symbol of bad breath, the cult-like worship of garlic on display in this film never wavers, it never slows down the success of these massive garlic celebrations. When we get a glimpse of the Gilroy Garlic Festival, it seems utterly joyous and delicious, as the camera pans to different garlic dishes and accoutrements being sold by various vendors—you can even get a “pet garlic” like a pet rock. Because of the stinky stigma surrounding garlic, it is impossible for these garlic-worshippers to come off as pretentious, even when some experts get into the nitty gritty of their garlic conspiracy theories and opinions. As a garlic-appreciator myself, I thoroughly enjoyed Garlic Is as Good as Ten Mothers, and I only wish I could’ve been at an original screening of this film, since it was initially shown in “Aromaround” with garlic simultaneously roasted in-theater. I may not have smelled any garlic while watching this documentary but it did inspire me to grab a clove or two from the grocery store and sauté some broccoli for dinner. The fingers I type this with now probably still smell a bit like garlic, but this film taught me not to feel ashamed of this lingering garlic aura, and to feel pride in the tasty meal that I cooked. (And I use this little kitchen tool called a Gracula to mince my garlic in because I’m not a naturally-adept mincer.) Garlic Is as Good as Ten Mothers was so sweet and earnest and wholesome, that I nearly spat out my lemon-garlic sautéed broccoli while watching tonight’s next film, which couldn’t be any less wholesome if it tried: this is Peter Greenaway’s 1989 film The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover.

When I was in college, the professor I had a crush on showed Peter Greenaway’s The Draughtsman’s Contract (sexy of him) in one of his classes and he explained that Greenaway made awesomely controversial and taboo movies, which unfortunately makes them hard to track down, and he was correct. He also warned that this strange movie was hardly Greenaway’s strangest film, and he was correct. When I watched the opening credits and learned that this star-studded cast was dressed by Jean-Paul Gaultier, I knew I was in for a treat, but I didn’t know how much distaste would come along with this treat. Partly inspired by the Jacobean play ‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore, The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover is filmed as if it is a play—the curtains open to reveal a dark and dingy street outside the restaurant Le Hollandais, which has been taken over by English gangster Albert Spica (Michael Gambon aka the main man who played Albus Dumbledore.) Albert represents “the Thief” in the title, whom we first meet as he’s roughing up a man outside of this culinary establishment, along with the help of his “associates” (played by Ciarán Hinds, Gary Olsen, Ewan Stewart, Roger Ashton-Griffiths, and Tim Roth [who’s always around nefarious acts in movies.]) They strip this man nude, beat him, piss on him, and smear dog feces all over his body and face. That’s just how this film BEGINS, okay? Albert’s wife, Georgina (Helen Mirren) watches in horror, wanting to just enter the restaurant already, though she is powerless against this barbaric oaf who is so disgusting yet has the audacity to call her cigarette-smoking habit “sloppy.” They finally enter through the back of the giant kitchen, another detailed set piece, where we meet the shockingly-respectable chef of this establishment, Richard Boarst (Richard Bohringer.) Albert boasts about a new sign for the joint that displays both of their names, but the haphazard acquiring of disparate neon letters causes a power outage, leading the chef to say, “If you spent as much money on the food as you did on the decor, then perhaps your taste would improve.” We are finally shown the inside of this restaurant, another elegant set piece which is so doused in the color red, it would hurt to look at if it weren’t so stunning and impressive. Red walls, floors, tablecloths, curtains, dishes, even the patrons are decked out in head-to-toe red, with the waiters dressed as space-age nutcrackers. Every night of the week, Albert and his putrid posse take up space at this restaurant to dine loudly and obnoxiously, and even though Albert tries to act cultured, he can’t even pronounce half of the dishes being served. All the while, poor, abused Georgina is forced to sit next to this angry, bigoted, sexist, hateful pig who fancies himself a “gourmet” now that his mob has taken over this fancy place, “Gourmets don’t belch” she says to him, “On the contrary they do, it shows they’re enjoying the meal!” Albert retorts. One night at Le Hollandais, Georgina eyes a new patron sitting across the large room, a mild-mannered and calm-looking bookworm of a man (Alan Howard) who only looks up from his book and his meal to look at her. She gazes at him with such lustful longing, because even the idea of the apparent vibe this stranger gives off is more pleasant and exciting to Georgina than what she’s saddled to now. The two eventually meet in the hallway of the bathrooms, where they wordlessly introduce themselves and embrace in an effortless, gentle, long-desired kiss. Bathrooms are hardly the most romantic place, so when Georgina and her new lover decide to continue their affair, they take it to the kitchen pantry—where the rightfully-bitter Chef Boarst helps this couple sneak around. Not only is every single garment on Helen Mirren’s body impeccable, but her undergarments were to die for, too. And with each new set piece—whether it be the kitchen, the alley, the restaurant, the bathroom—the color scheme changes, and so does the color of everyone’s outfits. To watch Georgina’s luxuriously silken scarves and tight, chic bustiers change from blue to green to red to white depending on which room she was in was thrilling, and looked as if it could’ve come from The Umbrellas of Cherbourg or The Red Shoes. I loved the way that color played a starring role in this film, just as the food did—all of which was cooked up and presented beautifully by Italian chef Giorgio Locatelli. All of the little, tasteful details of this film contrasted exquisitely against its increasingly vile premise. The tension builds in this film like a pot of boiling water, and before it boils over there is quite a bit of disgusting, sometimes disturbing debauchery on display—so the steamy, food-adjacent sex that Georgina and her lover have seems downright wholesome in comparison. My jaw dropped several times while watching this film, between the violence and the vulgarities coming out of Michael Gambon’s mouth (virtually none of which I can quote)—Helen Mirren’s nude body was one of the least shocking things on screen. This film was released unrated, but later on an R-rated cut of the film was made, that is a good thirty minutes shorter—just to give you an idea of how much “adult themes” make up this movie. Despite its grotesqueries, its garish repugnancy, and the fact that I wish its title had an Oxford Comma, I actually enjoyed The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover. It was weird and horny and awful and awesome and delicious, and it really tested the limits of my bad taste(s.) And if all these customers kept coming back to this restaurant, despite the rising chaos, you just know the food is incredible. I got so in the weeds of numerical symbolism last week that I won’t walk you through all of the food symbolism in this film, but just know that it left me feeling more than satisfied. In fact, both of tonight’s films were pretty satisfying in their own unique ways, though they may be an acquired taste for some. Well, I don’t know about you, dear reader, but I’m stuffed. Thank you for reading along this week and sampling another round of food features, until next time, here’s to good food, good movies, and good people to enjoy them with! Cheers!