Tasting Menu

An incessantly chatty young Spanish woman, who is lucky enough to be among the 30 diners invited to the closing night of a hyper-exclusive Catalan restaurant, explains to her visiting Japanese table mates that the natives of her homeland "are a relaxed people."

However, judging by how little of consequence actually happens during each course of "Tasting Menu," the natives could actually stand to be a little more restless.

The only element that proves to be truly inviting on screen is the breathtaking coastal locale of Costa Brava in northeastern Spain, which is indeed a mecca for food lovers. But instead of focusing on gastronomic nirvana, this listless culinary drama feels and looks more like a glossy European travel commercial. You half expect the Travelocity gnome to show up in a corner with a glass of wine in his hand.  

It’s not that director Roger Gual doesn’t make an effort to set a tempting table. There is, at least, what proves to be a too-brief-yet-tantalizing peek at the preparation of high-end cuisine before it is served to an international ensemble of actors (Ireland’s Stephen Rea and Fionnula Flanagan are the best-known headliners) as their characters become enmeshed in sundry interwoven personal stories during the momentous meal.

One by one, we are introduced to the main players as they prepare for the evening. An attractive, separated couple—Rachel (Claudia Bassols), a rising-star author, and Marc (Jan Cornet of Pedro Almodovar’s "The Skin I Live In"), a dedicated pediatrician—decide to keep their long-ago-made reservation despite a potentially awkward reunion. A recently widowed countess (Flanagan) puts her mourning on hold to partake in the event, complete with her husband’s ashes in tow.

A taciturn solo patron (Rea) causes maître d’ Max (Andrew Tarbet) to suspect he is an undercover critic. The aforementioned Asian gents are rival investors hoping to woo master chef and owner Mar (Vicenta N’Dongo, whose frustratingly parboiled performance makes one yearn for the fire-breathing antics of a Gordon Ramsay) to start over in Tokyo.  

People argue but not loudly, a patron weeps yet silently, others become unlikely friends, one gets his just deserts, waiters are treated rudely, and an engagement ring and a come-on note are delivered to the wrong recipients. There is even a mishap at sea.

Yet nothing truly creates any emotional waves, and little seems at stake, no matter what potential disaster might seem to be in the offing.

And talk about empty calories. Save for a rather awkward margarita cocktail that is meant to be slurped from a long aloe leaf, there is hardly any lingering over—much less explanation about—the actual avant-garde morsels being served. Instead, there are fleeting glimpses of exotically gnarly shrimp, plates bearing crusty domes that require smashing and a mention of snail egg caviar.