Cannibal Mukbang
Written and directed by Aimee Kuge
Starring April Consalo, Nate Wise, Clay von Carlowitz, Madeleine Ours, Bradford Thomas
Unrated
Runtime: 1 hour and 43 minutes
On demand March 25th and Blu-ray April 22nd

by Vannah Taylor, Staff Writer

Cannibalism is hard for many audiences to stomach. Visceral depictions of teeth biting into human flesh can still get under the skins of even some of the most seasoned horror fans. From the thrillers that rose during the “Cannibal Boom” of the 1970s and ‘80s–often featuring cannibalistic tribes and families in a way that enforced classist, racist, and eurocentric ideas in the name of shock value–to contemporary films that tackle coming-of-age stories exploring identity and desire using the visual language of cannibalism, these types of films have always cut deep. Now, first-time director Aimee Kuge is making waves with a new horror-comedy/cannibal romance, Cannibal Mukbang.

In a convenience store meet-cute, a socially inept Mark (Nate Wise) bonds with a stunning manic pixie dream girl type named Ash (April Consalo) over a bag of pizza chips–instantly feeling the connection that sparks when your “kind of weird” favorite flavor happens to be someone else’s favorite. A romance blossoms between Ash and Mark, who are both slow to allow themselves to be vulnerable, but things get messy when Ash opens up about her eating habits.

Dreamy and stylish like it was made with some B-movie magic while staying poignant in a way that keeps it within the tradition of other films about girls who eat boys like Ginger Snaps (John Fawcett, 2000), Jennifer’s Body (dir. Karyn Kusama, 2009), and Raw (dir. Julia Ducournau, 2016), it is clear that Kuge has a creative voice that needs to be heard. Cannibal Mukbang is visually stunning: vivid red lighting silhouettes the faces of our main duo and grim cool blues immerse the audience in the dead of night. Complete with bedazzled bedrooms full of eccentric knick knacks, Vaseline-lensed dream sequences, and 8mm flashbacks, this fun little feature is a grab bag of cinematic goodies. Not only is Kuge’s film easy on the eyes, but her writing is intimate, authentic, and downright clever.

Cannibal Mukbang does not just simply place the consumption of various meat-forward dishes into our faces to please an audience who came for a cannibal story but uses the crafty detail that Ash is a “mukbanger” to tie together insatiable hunger and the loneliness felt by two broken people who found their way into each other’s lives. Mukbangs are essentially “eating broadcasts” consisting of a host who consumes various quantities of different foods while filming themselves for an audience with whom they often interact. This type of content has been circulating the internet since the early 2010s but has become exponentially more popular within the last few years. Originating as a uniquely South Korean trend, more and more viewers have latched onto the sense of community created by these videos. While there are plenty of other more private reasons folks may seek out mukbangs, the root lies in cultural ideas surrounding communal meal times. As more people end up living alone in this modern era, the need for connection begins to bubble up. Watching mukbangs becomes linked to the recreation of the sense of belonging created by sitting with family at the dinner table or meeting friends for lunch or any of the other ways we share our hearts with others over a meal. Other than a morally bankrupt brother who takes joy in talking down to him, Mark is one of these lonely people who finds that comfort in Ash. Although their meals are sourced from much more extreme places than fast food drive-thrus, Mark and Ash’s journey together exposes that this hunger they are trying to satiate is really an empty pit left by the people they have lost in life.

Having written the film during a time of disordered eating and the ending of a toxic relationship, Kuge shows a real understanding of the pain that can eat away at someone and how we often put too much faith in others to heal those wounds. A codependency forms, leaving Mark famished and sickly when away from Ash, consumed by his love for her. The chemistry between the two is undeniable, breathing truth into the cliché that opposites attract. Mark harbors insecurities that cause him to shrink next to her light, but he is sensitive and sweet. Nate Wise is able to nail a perfectly balanced performance as someone who is debilitatingly awkward but possesses a sense of humor like a butterfly waiting to be able to break out of its cocoon. Meanwhile, Ash’s personality is as bright as her ginger locks. April Consalo effortlessly bounces around the screen with a bubbly disposition, unafraid to be her quirky self. Yet, when her wounds get exposed, Consalo goes feral. Feminine rage is front and center, and Ash’s cannibalism is not an economic necessity, like it is for the Sawyer family in Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974) or something inherited like it is for Justine in Raw, but an act of revenge. Her jaw clamps down like the swift hammer of justice.

Cannibal Mukbang is an endearing film that comes from a filmmaker that represents the future of horror. With just enough romance, comedy, blood and guts, it is a film that viewers can sink their teeth into to reflect and laugh through the trauma of past relationships, or take it at face value as a lively cannibal riot. Fans of rotten little flicks like this should keep tabs on what Kuge might be cooking next.

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