Peter Viney's Blog

Directed by Philip Barantini
Written by Philip Barantini & James Cummings

Amazon Prime
January 2022

CAST

Stephen Graham – Andy, the Chef
Vinette Robinson – Carly, sous-chef
Alice Feetham – Beth,  maître d’
Ray Panthanki – Freeman, commis chef
Jason Flemyng – Alastair Skye, TV Celebrity chef
Lourdes Faberes – Sara Southworth, food critic
Daniel Larkai- Jake, kitchen porter
Lauren Ajufo- Anthea, young waiter
Gary Lamont – Dean, waiter

Just 92 minutes. Real Time. An unbroken “single shot” camera. Why are these unbroken films with no cuts, no blackouts, no fades, no transitions so engrossing?

There are two aspects. First is filming in real-time, as in Locke, where they drove a car on a motorway route on a low loader several times until they got the unbroken film. Then there’s appearing to be a single shot. It’s obvious that 1917 (linked) was so elaborate with so many SFX (plane crash, burning town, infantry charge) that it could not have been filmed in real time, but that they used judicious points where (e.g.a character walked behind a tree) to lock-off the camera, then resume another day. Birdman (linked) is another that appears to be a single shot.

Boiling Point was based on an award winning short from 2019, just 22 minutes of it, with the same title. They extended the concept to 92 minutes, and planned to shoot it in one continuous camera shot eight times over four days, twice a day. COVID restrictions intervened and instead they shot the whole film four times over two days. What we have is the entire third take. No cutting. So from the actors’ point of view, it’s a stage performance with no interval. Props had to be concealed all over the restaurant and brought out when the camera was looking the other way. OK, that’s what IMDB says, though the camera follows Jake, the kitchen porter to the back alley to score. I bet that in the two or three minutes the camera was outside, there was frantic activity inside adding more customers and changing food around.

The film centres on Andy, the chef (Stephen Graham, though unlike Locke, he is not permanently on camera. Just 95%. It’s just before Christmas. He has problems with family … he’s forgotten to phone his young son on his birthday, he’s just moved into a flat after weeks sleeping in the office. A patronising and officious food inspector is having a marvellous time ticking them off over the hygiene and book-keeping, and dropping the restaurant’s rating. Staff are late, of course one female waiter is a resting actor who’s been off for an audition. Andy forgot to do the food orders properly, they’re short of stuff. He finds his old celebrity chef boss has booked a table, and to cap that he’s bringing the nation’s bitchiest food critic with him. Alastair is on his fourth TV series and is screamingly pretentious, demanding a small bowl of zatar to dress his risotto (implying of course that it was tasteless).

He has a racist bunch at one table who are rude to the black female waiter (please, can’t I type waitress to save time?) A bunch of heavy-drinking American tourists are groping their gay waiter.

Beth, the maître d’ (I prefer table captain) is the daughter of a partner in the enterprise, and has both over-booked and allowed walk-ins. (When a restaurant is fully-booked and you see empty tables, it doesn’t mean they can accommodate you … they will have timed how many servings they can do with available staff). She complains that the amount of effing and blinding in the kitchen area – open to the restaurant – can be heard by customers Swear quietly! she tells them. Then Beth’s getting very nasty with Carly, the sous-chef, who in her turn is trying to hold the place together. The dishwasher is freaking because the kitchen porter hasn’t arrived. Then we have some stroppy “Instagram influencers” demanding steak and chips which is not on the menu, and a customer with a serious nut allergy …

It’s relentless, though there are breathing points among the chaos. It’s very real. Stephen Graham should be piling up awards for his incredibly powerful central role, as should Vinette Robinson, as Carly, bearing the brunt of it. There is a building story throughout but there are no plot spoilers here.

It’s simply a fantastic piece of film-making. There are also funny moments. I noticed how few photos IMDB had online. That’s because you usually stop and take the publicity stills with a conventional still camera. Of course, there were no stop points.

On Restaurants …

As it finished, I asked Karen’s opinion. She found it very tense just watching it and said it really made her wonder about going to restaurants. You get that feel of adrenalin, dizzying stress and frantic energy of running a busy restaurants … so many staff end up with alcohol problems.

For those who haven’t worked in a restaurant, the feel is Christmas Day. You have eight adults, two teenagers, four children for lunch. Your partner is trying to keep the kids quiet and get drinks around for arrivals. You’re trying to plate fourteen lots of turkey, stop the gravy from developing a skin, trying to ensure the sprouts only get five minutes, putting out roast potatoes, remembering one lot is goose fat, the other olive oil. Yes, you have two vegetarians plus one severe peanut allergy. Check the stuffing. “Produced in an environment where nuts and celery may be present.” So no nuts in it, but the usual craven legal disclaimer. Where’s the Epipen? Just in case. The kids are screaming with excitement. They want to open presents not come to the table … you’ve just burned your hand. A gobbet of gravy just missed your apron and is spreading slowly on your pale trousers. Then the phone is ringing. It’s a friend to wish you a merry Christmas and thank you for the book you gave them. Will your shouted, ‘Not now!’ offend them? The youngest kid has just filled his nappy. That’s the feeling the film reproduces.

I’ve done it myself, though over fifty years ago. I spent two weeks as a short order grill chef in a large restaurant in Bournemouth. Then in the second week the owner waddled in, pointed at my long hair (I was wearing the obligatory paper hat) and ordered me to the back kitchen, where I assembled pies, having been informed I was sacked because of my hair but that I had to work the last two days, though at a lower kitchen assistant rate. I had to put S for steak and kidney and C for chicken on the top in pastry. On my last afternoon, I reversed the lot as tiny revenge. (They had ignored my wise suggestion that you only needed to put a circle on one and nothing on the other).

I’ve done washing up and table clearing for two weeks in Fortes, Sandbanks, which is now a Rick Stein’s with Lamborghinis parked outside and property developers parked inside. I’ve worked as a barman in a very large basement pub in Boscombe, which was one of the better ones. We only had fights that drew blood once or twice a week.

The film brought back that breathless, head throbbing feeling. One bit I liked was the arrogant trio of Instagram influencers who demanded steak and chips while filming the server against her wishes. She says they don’t have that on the menu. They order her to ask chef, who just gets on and does it. That would be rare for a celebrity chef, but I applaud (the fictional) him.

An anecdote …

Our youngest son was faddy about food, which we put down to having septicemia at fifteen months and having a long spell in hospital, being virtually weaned onto antibiotics in heavy syrup.When he was about eight we were in St. David’s in Wales. We’d stayed at the hotel before, and this was the second day of the visit. We ordered dinner for us and the two older children, and asked for a bowl of chips for him. The chef came out and told us this was a quality restaurant and they didn’t have chips. I pointed out they had the night before and on our previous visit. “It was my day off yesterday,” he said. I pointed out that the bar menu, printed on the back of the restaurant menu, had chips. They only had one kitchen. They would be frozen, and I could see into the bar where people were eating them. “It will annoy other guests,” he said. “There aren’t any,” I pointed out. We got up and left and drove to a pub. In the morning, I found the hotel owner who apologised, and knocked off a day’s accommodation. That’s not the only time chips were refused for an eight year old in Britain. It never happened in the USA or Canada, Italy, Spain or Greece (all in much finer establishments). It happened once in Paris.