Tubi Tuesday: Cannibal Mukbang (2023)
“Cannibal Mukbang” blends e-girl aesthetics, body horror, and gore-drenched intimacy in a neon-lit tale of love, obsession, and consumption.
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A friend of mine once had a Twitch channel where he would play retro video games and movie watchalongs. For a time, he was slowly gathering a following, and sometimes I would come over and play games on the stream with him. One evening, we took a break from the games and ordered a pizza. We sat and ate as the camera kept rolling. A few slices later, we had the most popular streaming session we’d ever done.
The phenomenon of mukbang (a portmanteau of the Korean words for “eating” and “broadcast”)[1] is a pertinent reminder of the emotional relationship we have with food. The popularity of mukbang has been primarily attributed to its ability to mitigate loneliness, as eating is often viewed as a communal activity[2].
So, it comes as no surprise when the desolate protagonist of Cannibal Mukbang finds his muse to be a mukbanger with a deadly taste for human flesh.
Mark is a socially inept shut-in with intimacy issues and a literal hole in his head. His life takes a turn one day in a fateful chance meeting with Ash, a manic pixie dream girl (MPDG) wearing impossibly short shorts. When Ash exhibits a classic red flag (violent cannibalism), Mark is already too infatuated to course correct.
April Consalo turns on the charm as Ash, a saccharine dream woman. Her neon and glitter e-girl aesthetic invokes the parasocial relationship between audience and online personality, which is also represented in Mark’s emotional projection onto what is really a superficial attraction.
After revealing his personal interest in reviewing horror films, she makes a summation of the genre being ‘blood and guts and sex’; Mark scoffs, ‘They’re about a bit more than that’, a typical film bro (ahem).
He views himself as a romantic, believing that it shields him from criticism and makes him the opposite of his brother Maverick, a hilariously Bateman-esque turn from Clay von Carlowitz, yet fails to see that his desire still has little to do with the person he has projected those desires onto.
Think Nekromantik meets 500 Days of Summer.
Despite the comparisons, Ash avoids falling into the usual trappings of the MPDG love interest; the traditionally male-centric support character is instead subverted by the simple fact that she exists outside of Mark’s affections.
The time is taken to characterise her actions and give them meaning: Ash kills as a way of taking back control over the violence she has experienced.
She weaponises her sexuality, Aileen Wuornos-like, as a way of achieving her bloodthirsty goals. Her mukbang has echoes of sex work, a profession vilified by a patriarchy that resents women’s sexual autonomy. In short, it’s hard to blame Ash for how she turned out, which adds complexity and pathos to what would otherwise be a tired stock character.
For a film about superficial relationships masking dark depths, one would expect it to be an exercise in visual style. Luckily, Cannibal Mukbang has this in spades.
Mark is a would-be film critic in his spare time, so the movie is stylised around this ideal that the lead character projects. Some scenes are bathed in a neo-80s aesthetic that makes neon colours pop on dark backgrounds, whereas dreams are shot in a well-lit analogue fuzz reminiscent of the VHS horror schlock Mark no doubt spends his time watching.
This, coupled with the Super 8 style flashback sequences, results in a visual pastiche of filmic methodology spanning from old to new, and from Hollywood right down to home movies.
Cannibal Mukbang links food and relationships: Both afford a nourishment that leaves a desperate yearning the longer you go without, and both can be consumed in a fashion that endows momentary happiness but long-term ill.
Eating is even a central part of the dating ritual. Here, the act of eating is sexually coded as a way of depicting the power dynamics between the devourer and devoured; to want someone is the act of consuming them, and thus fantasies are reframed as acts of cannibalism.
It’s at this point that the film descends into a deeper level of body horror, blood-slick hands are pushed into splayed cadavers as mouths gorge and tear at exposed organs.
The squelchy entrails-waving gore is excessive, but in a way that is still relevant to the central themes.
Indulgence is relevant to the plot, so Cannibal Mukbang is able to have its cake and eat it; it’s pornographic, but with a purpose.
The only drawback of such a sensational second act is that it begs a big payoff at the end of the film, but rarely does a toxic relationship leave a satisfying sense of closure, and Cannibal Mukbang sticks to its guns on this front. It’s an honest exploration of human intimacy and how it can go wrong, wrapped up in neon lights and glistening entrails.
Horror fans expecting a big bang slasher movie ending may feel underwhelmed, but the strong narrative would seem less sensical were it to give in to cathartic demands.
Cannibal Mukbang, written and directed by Aimee Kuge, promises fun through the medium of gore set to cool synth, but wipe away the blood and you’ll also find a personal story that subverts genre expectations.
It’s a thoughtful yarn masquerading as carefree pop horror that warns us that what we consume may also be consuming us.
Overall Rating (Out of 5 Butterflies): 3.5
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