Presentation is everything in Bradley Cooper’s foodie drama.
During the movie Burnt, there’s a scene between Bradley Cooper’s rockstar chef Adam Jones and his protege/love interest at a Burger King. As Adam happily bites into a Whopper, he asks his skeptical apprentice why she doesn’t like fast-food hamburgers. After she lists all the problems with the processed ingredients and the food’s presentation, Adam stops her to say the only thing wrong with Burger King is that it’s consistent, which spells “death” for any successful restaurant. And that’s pretty much my opinion of Burnt. It’s not the typical storyline or stock characters that are specifically the drawbacks (although those don’t help); it’s that it feels like almost every other tale-of-redemption story, with no unique qualities of its own.
We want to hear it.
Directed by John Wells (August: Osage County, The Company Men), the movie opens at the end of a years-long hiatus for Adam, whose frequent drug use and erratic behavior lost him his esteemed restaurant and reputation. Now clean and ready for action, he decides to return to the European restaurant scene in hopes of revitalizing a new restaurant that will gain him his coveted third and final Michelin star.
Not surprisingly, Cooper excels as the arrogant, hot-tempered Adam, and his cold but charismatic performance is definitely one of the highlights here. In the early parts of the movie, Adam puts together his new team, comprised of both up-and-comers and old friends. These include solid performers like Sienna Miller (Foxcatcher), Daniel Brühl (Inglourious Basterds) and Omar Sy (Jurassic World). Alas, their characters aren’t nearly as compelling as Cooper’s, and they’re mostly just there as sounding boards for Adam. The same goes for heavy-hitters like Uma Thurman, Emma Thompson and rising star Alicia Vikander, who all turn up in very minor roles. Then there’s Adam’s damaged romance with Helene (Miller), which feels oddly incestuous between head chef and sous-chef.
However, Adam’s journey to absolution is pretty compelling, and the proceedings are met with plenty of adversity, as well as slick-looking montages of food preparation. It’s fairly common stuff, but it mostly works thanks to Cooper’s acting and Wells’ competent direction. Suffice to say, there’s not much original going on here, but if nothing else, the food porn looks good.
We want to hear it.
But much like the hoity-toity restaurants the film spotlights, Burnt can feel a little pretentious at times — and not just the characters (who are generally supposed to be blowhards), but the way the film is written. I lost count of the number of existential monologues Adam imparts to his chefs, as if he’s giving them huge life lessons that can not only be applied to cooking, but also living their lives. This extends to the rest of the dialogue as well. One the clearest examples I can think of is when one of the characters tries to explain the Michelin star system using a Jedi analogy, but instead of just saying “Obi-Wan Kenobi,” the guy says, “uh, whoever Sir Alec Guiness played.” Again, it’s not so much the characters that are snobs, but rather the voice of the movie.
Granted, Burnt occasionally musters up the inspiration it aspires to, particularly towards the end of the film when Adam makes his final push to attain his third star. His history with substance abuse also plays a key role here, as he struggles to put his past behind him. And to the film’s credit it all comes together rather nicely in the end. But ultimately Burnt is too grounded in its own cynicism for Adam’s manufactured triumphs to feel realistic.
Like most chef stereotypes, Burnt is a movie that thinks very highly of itself, even when it’s serving up the same old dish. Cooper does a great job in the role of a cocky American chef, and his character’s emotional arc is pretty engaging. However, the rest of the story and characters aren’t given nearly as much attention, which leaves the film as a whole feeling somewhat undercooked.
