‘Morte Cucina’ review: A female chef serves up revenge in ambitious, enigmatic Thai thriller

Dir: Pen-ek Ratanaruang. Thailand. 2025. 96mins

Thai director Pen-ek Ratanaruang brings new meaning to the phrase “food to die for” in his latest signature thriller Morte Cucina (literally ‘kitchen death’), A skilled chef with a troubled past gets an opportunity to exact vengeance on the man who wronged her and get her pound of flesh – almost literally – in delicious and overindulgent ways. In typical Pen-ek fashion, this revenge thriller is pitch black and frequently confounding.

There’s a big swing tone to the storytelling

Pen-ek broke out with 2001 romantic comedy Monrak Transistor, but here cleaves closely to his meditative, enigmatic genre films including The Life Of Gravity (2014) and Paradoxcracy (2013). Morte Cucina, which makes its Asian bow in Tokyo competition after opening San Sebastian, sees him reunite with his Invisible Waves (2006) and Last Life In The Universe (2003) cinematographer Christopher Doyle. It should gain some traction with arthouse distributors who found success with those earlier films both in Asia and overseas; the food porn elements could also help its prospects.

Naturally gifted cook Sao (relative newcomer Bella Boonsang) is a converted Muslim from southern Songkhlaliving in Bangkok and waitressing at a swish restaurant – though living in exile is more accurate description of her situation. He marriage failed when it was discovered, or assumed, she was sleeping around and brought shame on the village. Now in the big city, she drinks, smokes and stays out as late as she likes, hijab-free. One evening an entitled real estate broker, Korn (Kris Srepoomseth), comes into the restaurant and Sao instantly recognises him as the man who sexually assaulted her years before. She immediately puts a plan into motion for revenge, but it doesn’t go quite as expected – for Sao or for the viewer.

In its early stages, Morte Cucina’s traditional three-act structure is fractured, raising questions about and blurring the lines between reality and memory; a common motif in Pen-ek’s work. Doyle blends desaturated 16mm photography to illustrate Sao’s past in Songkhla with sharp digital images to enhance the slick restaurant and scuzzier alleys of her present Bangkok and, finally, the dense greenery of northern Chiang Mai where she ends up. 

Pen-ek deliberately confuses the timeline – at one point years have gone by – casting doubt on whether the woman in the past is indeed Sao. Did her banishment come before or after her assault? None of that really matters when Pen-ek is most interested in using lovingly photographed, gratuitous food as a metaphor for simmering emotions and fateful indulgence, underpinned by an affecting atmospheric soundscape rather than a score.

After Sao actively seduces Korn away from his art dealer wife – she represents Katsu Kobayashi (Asano) in what may be film’s funniest moment revolving around a fingerprint on a “brilliant” art piece that’s simply not there – and finishes her culinary training, she hunkers down as a good wife and serial restaurateur. Noticing Korn’s sudden weight gain, his doctor friend Arun’s (Nopachai Chaiyanam, Pen-ek’s Headshot) suspicions of Sao’s motives increase. But none of this hints at where the story ultimately ends up.

Not all of Morte Cucina’s threads come together, but there’s an ambitious, big swing tone to the storytelling that keeps us engaged as viewers – even if it is on a level of befuddled curiosity. Srepoomseth looks suitably gluttonous and Chaiyanam delivers scepticism, but it is Boonsang who holds the whole shambling (though economical, at just over 90 minutes) thing together, with eyes that telegraph a lingering trauma but an upright strength that says she is getting on with her life. It’s an extremely fine line to walk, but Boonsang does it with grace and confidence, enabling us to empathise with a woman whose greatest strength is her passivity.