by Frank Calvillo
It’s pretty much a given that Burnt, the new comedy/drama starring Bradley Cooper, will be compared in some way to last year’s similarly themed Chef. Both feature once-celebrated culinary masters at a personal and professional crossroads, both of whom must work harder than ever to go back to their glory days. And yet, the two films couldn’t be more different if they tried, in perhaps too many ways to count. To put it simply, if Chef has heart, Burnt has soul.
In Burnt, Cooper plays Adam Jones, a Paris-educated chef once considered the best of his generation until drugs, alcohol, and womanizing cut short his illustrious career. After spending years getting clean while toiling in a New Orleans kitchen shucking oysters, Adam returns to London with a plan to open his own restaurant and prove to the critics that he’s still the best. It’s a task easier said than done as Adam must come to grips with a number of ghosts from his past as well as his somewhat volatile determination, which may derail his climb back to the top.
One of the most interesting features about Burnt is how it manages to get into the mindframe of a chef so close to success. The film truly delves into the headspace of a chef like no other movie has before in both the life and death dedication people give to cooking as well as the ruthless unpredictability of the field itself. At times, the field is painted as an almost military-like institution where anything less than perfection automatically equals disaster.
The culinary field produces a new up-and-comer every five minutes and has the power to turn the best of friends into sworn enemies. It was a surprise then to see how Burnt showcased the little-seen aspect of the brotherhood that exists among chefs. One scene in particular features Adam and his chief rival Reece (Matthew Rhys), both of whom have antagonized each other throughout the course of the film, coming together for a quietly understated truce when one suddenly needs the aid of the other. It was a truly unexpected moment and one of the best in Burnt.
If there’s any question mark at all in the otherwise flawless Burnt, its in the main character’s likeability. The character of Adam is not someone the average person would instantly warm up to. He’s harsh, selfish, offensive, and lacks any hint of sympathy. Yet you never REALLY hate Adam because it’s obvious where all of his aggressive traits come from. This is a man who has been wounded emotionally and is so gun shy of letting himself be vulnerable in front of anyone. While it doesn’t excuse his oftentimes borderline sadistic behavior (such as making one of his chefs eat the cold scallop he made and another apologize to an undercooked piece of fish in front of the entire staff), it does make it possible to understand him.
Ultimately Adam is a man to be admired for going against the overly presumptuous “peak” theory, which states that whatever the field or circumstance, each person reaches a time when they’ve peaked and must now begin the oftentimes painful descent down. Everyone has assumed that Adam has reached his peak and has long ago vanished into obscurity except Adam. He flat out refuses to be written off as someone whose glory days have come and gone. This is a man who has more glory in him and he won’t stop until the world knows it. In that sense, Adam becomes somewhat of an unexpected antihero.
Aiding Cooper is perhaps one of the most effective ensembles of the year. Besides Rhys, there’s Daniel Bruhl as Adam’s business partner, Alicia Vikander as a former flame, Emma Thompson as a therapist, Omar Sy as a former classmate, and Sienna Miller as Adam’s sous chef/love interest. Although many of these great actors have small parts, no one is wasted thanks to Steven Knight’s fantastic screenplay. Even the tiniest of roles (some of which don’t last beyond two scenes) manages such great meaning and depth.
In many ways, Adam may be Cooper’s trickiest role to date. Not only must the actor credibly immerse himself in the world of a top class chef, but he must also find the delicate balance between Adam’s maniacal side and the side which makes everyone want to work for him. Cooper manages this to perfection and once again proves he is one of the most interesting leading men working in movies today.
It’s also incredibly refreshing to see a film which deals so heavily with the past, yet doesn’t spend endless amounts of precious screen time trying to relive it. Burnt is a film where the past clouds the present, but isn’t endlessly dwelled on. The film simply wouldn’t work any other way. Whenever Adam is in a scene with someone from his past, names and dates aren’t thrown around for the sake of context. Everyone in the scene knows what came before and that’s enough. There’s no need to rehash it simply for the audience’s sake, and thankfully, the makers of Burnt understand that.
Director John Wells keeps Burnt moving with a great panache and a flow which gives both the film’s dramatic and comedic moments enough breathing room to avoid one overtaking the other. Burnt seems to me the kind of movie people will categorize as something it isn’t such as a star vehicle or a collection of food porn. In reality, Burnt is another story of an individual’s unshakeable dedication to his craft, and the relentless will to succeed.
