Boiling Point

An intimate but aimless look into the world of high-class food service.

It’s no secret that working in the food service industry, whether on the restaurant floor or in the kitchen, is absolute hell. The aim of director Philip Barantini’s single-take Boiling Point seems to be to confirm just that. And it certainly does so, as it puts its stressed-out, overworked characters though the ringer for 90 grueling minutes. But without a clear thematic identity to bring it all together, much of it feels like fat that could have been trimmed.

Stephen Graham (The Irishman, Venom: Let There Be Carnage) capably anchors the large ensemble as Andy, the chef of a fine restaurant somewhere in the UK. Andy has been dealing with a lot of stress in his personal life, including a move and seemingly the split custody of his son—though much of it is left vague. On top of that, his restaurant has hit the height of its busy season, and the stage is set for tonight to be the busiest night of the year.

Andy arrives to work late and under-prepared, not expecting a health inspector who has arrived before open for his regular assessment. Cut corners and accidental oversights on Andy’s part have landed him a score of 3 instead of the perfect 5 the restaurant is accustomed to.

This encounter perfectly establishes the precarious style with which Andy runs his kitchen. Undoubtedly a talented cook but perhaps a poor fit for the broad umbrella of responsibilities that is management, Andy has amassed a crew that is as disorganized as it is talented. As hordes of snooty, picky, or otherwise unappeasable customers pour into the restaurant expecting food, Andy’s haphazard leadership begins to crack the foundations of his kitchen.

This is a feature length adaptation of Barantini’s own short film of the same name, and as impressive a feat as this 90-minute version is—shot in a single take, the third of four total in the entire production—it can’t help but feel like its grasping for material to fill its time.

When we aren’t tracking along with Andy’s crumbling fortitude, we drift off to check on many of the other restaurant workers. Carly (Vinette Robinson), the sous chef, is at her wit’s end with the ignorant and flippant manager, Beth (Alice Feetham), who ingratiates herself to snobby customers at the expense of her staff. A very green waitress, Andrea (Lauryn Ajufo), sustains heaps of disrespect from a probably-very-racist customer. Emily (Hannah Walters), the baker, finds herself as the only momentary support for her deeply troubled young assistant (Stephen McMillan). Everywhere the camera turns, something is going not-great for someone.

Rather than unifying the film with some sense of trajectory, the abundant distress and disorder on display only makes the film feel more discordant. In some senses, this aids the atmosphere—have you ever been in a professional kitchen? Many would tell you that this is exactly how it feels. But it’s by this same token that the film never feels like it’s going anywhere for anyone besides Andy. His deteriorating psyche and slipping grip on his staff can only take him one direction, and down he goes. But the rest of the characters don’t get much to do beyond these random, inconsequential asides.

Mind you, periodically checking in on somebody new every few minutes does grant the film a lot of great little performances. Graham is wonderful (and should really be getting more prominent roles), but Robinson is equally good as his unyielding right hand. Walters’s baker is a brief but endearing bright light, in a crowd of manipulators, sadsacks, and brutes. The whole ensemble has settled comfortably into their roles, which creates an utterly convincing experience. Thus, it’s unfortunate that much of this good work feels like little more than atmospheric set-dressing to simulate a real kitchen in which for Andy to work himself to oblivion. For the rest of the staff, this is just another shitty night at work.

Maybe that’s the point—that such a cacophony of chaos is an everyday reality for kitchen workers. But narratively, it results in a story that feels largely aimless. Perhaps the way to view the other characters’ stories is as vignettes: less about building toward something, and more about just providing an empathetic glimpse of an experience. But it all feels a bit superfluous, even distracting, when wedged intermittently into Andy’s clear downward spiral.

Still, it makes for an engaging look at the crap food service professionals put up with, and the toll it takes. Tip your servers, folks—and always, always treat them with respect.