Do you like Bradley Cooper? I like Bradley Cooper. So if you’re in that camp, you’ll probably like Burnt.
It’s a showcase for Cooper, which shouldn’t be a surprise if you’ve seen the posters that only feature him standing in a restaurant kitchen wearing his chef’s whites and a “Do you feel lucky, punk?” glare with arms folded. Cooper is a star right now, and it’s possible that Burnt wouldn’t have been made without him headlining the film. At the very least, it likely wouldn’t have gotten a wide theatrical release this past weekend. (And given its disappointing box office take, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea anyway.)
The opening minutes of Burnt rely heavily on showing just how cool Cooper looks in jeans, t-shirt and a leather jacket. He’s a bad mofo, if you can call a world-class chef such a thing. (And chefs basically do have that rock star status in current pop culture.) A voiceover tells us that his character, Adam Jones, was once a star in the culinary world, a two-star Michelin chef. He lost it all in a self-destructive plummet of ego, booze and drugs.
But he served whatever penance was required, self-imposed or otherwise (represented by Jones shucking one million oysters and keeping track of his count in a Moleskine notebook), and is ready to reclaim what he lost. And he wants even more now. He wants that third Michelin star (which a fledgling chef later explains is tantamount to God-like status) and has to do it in London, where he can put his old crew together and where most of the people he happened to dick over during his junkie asshole days happen to reside.
Has it been mentioned that he looks so damn cool while doing all this? He’s Bradley Effin’ Cooper. Or Adam Effin’ Jones, for the purposes of the movie.
There’s certainly a story to be told in a man trying to piece his life back together and reclaim what he lost after letting it slip from his grasp and shatter. Yet it sort of feels like Burnt isn’t completely interested in telling that story. The movie certainly tries. Jones goes back to face the various friends and associates he wronged when he was at his worst, many of whom are all too willing to remind him of the damage his behavior wreaked. And as much as he tries, he can’t escape certain elements from his past, such as drug dealers to whom he owes a lot of money.
Perhaps I’m being too hard on this movie. There is an effort by director John Wells (August: Osage County) and screenwriter Steven Knight (Pawn Sacrifice) to show the toll that Jones’ quest for perfection and unyielding expectations in pursuit of that goal take on the people around him and upon himself.
Fans of food television who enjoy watching Gordon Ramsay treat people repugnantly might get perverse joy at seeing Jones verbally and emotionally abuse the cooks who work under him. (Though you could certainly wonder why anyone would ever want to work in a high-end restaurant kitchen.) And Jones does eventually reach his breaking point, pushed there in a twist that I suppose the script sets up, but still felt contrived — especially because it lets Jones off the hook. (The argument could be made that the twist is actually further penance Jones has to pay, but to me, it comes off like a story trick.)
I’m among those that buy into the myth of the chef. I enjoy watching food television, I enjoy cooking, and I’m in awe of those who can do great things with flavors and ingredients. I believe chefs really can be artists, but they also have to be leaders in their kitchens, pushing others to achieve greatness and mentoring them to find their own identities.
Even when many elements of fine dining, gourmet cooking and chef worship seem just a little too precious — which they absolutely do in this film — probably because they seem so unapproachable and unattainable to the average restaurant-goer, I get that such an experience is something that people are willing to pay for and expect from what’s perceived as culinary greatness. We have put chefs and their restaurants on that pedestal, even if food TV and cookbooks somehow make it seem more accessible.
I would have liked to see Burnt explore that territory a bit more. What makes Adam Jones such a great, talented chef, besides the fact that everyone says he is? Is it purely ego, the sheer bravado that comes from walking into a restaurant and essentially bullying the owner into making you the executive chef? People are willing to look past and forgive abysmal behavior for those capable of greatness, but why should Jones receive that pass? Because everyone deserves a second chance? Because he’s seemingly making an effort to do things right this time, steering clear of booze, drugs and women? Or is it just because that’s what this movie needs to keep moving along?
If Burnt wasn’t willing to explore that territory through Cooper’s character, it had the opportunity to do so through Sienna Miller’s Helene. Jones sees greatness in her, as does Daniel Bruhl’s restaurant owner — who pleads with her to come back after Jones has driven her away in humiliating fashion — but we never quite see why.
Yes, OK, we can assume that’s the case because that’s what the movie and its characters are telling us. And of course, we can assume that people want to be chefs, to put themselves through the sometimes brutal kitchen conditions, frenzied pace, tyrannical bosses who expect greatness, and a work schedule that essentially makes a normal life an impossibility because they just love food, love cooking and can’t imagine doing anything else.
Maybe all of that is just understood and doesn’t need to be explained or portrayed on film. Especially if that’s not what Burnt is really supposed to be about. But doing something with that would have made Helene a far more interesting, vital character than the lame love interest and vehicle to redemption she’s reduced to being in this film. Miller deserved a better role, and a better character might have made Burnt a more compelling movie.
Some might say it’s unfair to knock a movie for what it isn’t. Focus on what it is, and review that on its own merits. And for the most part, I believe in that. But Burnt is disappointing because it’s clichéd and predictable, relying on an excellent cast (including Emma Thompson, Alicia Vikander, Matthew Rhys and Omar Sy) to carry a story that simply isn’t that interesting, even if you’re intrigued by the world which it takes place within. Had this been a plate at his restaurant, Adam Jones would have thrown this in the garbage, rather than settle for something less than what it could have been.
