Writer and director Aimee Kuge’s tasty feature debut is a banger … see what I did there? Cannibal Mukbang sells what’s on the tin, a cannibal film about a starving social media influencer. Kuge translates the art of “mukbangs”—in Korean, basically “eating broadcast”—into a story about vengeance, tender morsels, and the ultimate overindulgence. It’s a relationship piece first and a hunter-prey flick second, and storytelling choices might be tough to stomach, but it’s hinged on a compelling question about bottomless behaviors. One that Kuge lets you ponder instead of telling you the answer.
April Consalo stars as Ash, a viral content creator who posts mukbang videos where she devours plates of food for her viewership. Timid Mark (Nate Wise) is one such mukbang appreciator, a lonely and soft-spoken man with intimacy issues who’d rather watch from afar. When Ash hits Mark with her car one night and brings him home, they strike a relationship. Mark is smitten, willing to do whatever it takes to call Ash his girlfriend. Unfortunately, “whatever it takes” might be more than Mark bargained for when he discovers Ash has a unique and dangerous hunger that needs to be satiated.
Kuge’s treatment of Ash illustrates feminine rage (non-derogatory). As we learn about Ash, her cannibalism practices surface as a tool of punishment. Mark thinks he’s bungled a date night at a fancy restaurant, but only because Ash encounters a man she says “cannot see her with Mark.” It turns out that’s because Ash hunts rapists, perverts, and any other flavor of unsavory male—then eats them. Poor Mark gets drunk in a park and sees Ash tear a sleazy abuser’s neck apart with her teeth, and the wool is removed. Ash is, quite literally, biting back against the patriarchy, which begins a traumatizing yet fulfilling connection for the otherwise horrified Mark.
The vigilantism angle of Cannibal Mukbang is its hook, and hell yeah—Kuge’s commentary is about scumbag predators allowed to carry out their sins without any pushback. As Mark aids Ash, they form a genuine connection that indoctrinates that vanilla-bland boy into a world of perilous cravings. Ash is consumed by what she deems her duty, even when Mark offers a safe haven in his feelings. It’s pertinent that Kuge explores both Ash and Mark’s near-toxic relationship not as idyllic, but alarming as a connection to mukbangs. Kuge acknowledges the harm of stuffing yourself to the point of feeling like your belly will explode—as applied to multiple storytelling themes.
Suffice it to say that a suspension of disbelief is required. Even at that, Cannibal Mukbang is a blood-sauce-slathered exploitation film that wants to exist as both a protest piece and a warning. As emotions swirl into a stew of false catharsis and devastation, we must be along for the ride. Its story has ups and downs, pushing forward ideas forced into place versus an organic unraveling. Ash is Mark’s bubbly, attentive, and adorable Manic Pixie Dream Girl—but sometimes his dialogue forgets a prior scene or at least lands oddly given events from previous scenes. Grecian goddess nightmares, brutal murders, and rom-com montages are stitched together into this still-raw monster of a watch that feels so passionate yet doesn’t always articulate itself with clarity.
That said, the experience of Cannibal Mukbang is more vital than its structural integrity. Consalo is a charming and chaotic love interest, nailing the mukbang persona gone wild. Wise plays a suitable counterpart, falling into dorky and bashful stereotypes represent everything Ash is not. Their playful banter is cute in an innocent way, creating a false reality that’s shattered when Mark becomes an accomplice for gruesome feedings. There’s an attention to casting here that reflects in most roles, adding Clay von Carlowitz’s portrayal of a corporate cretin who sends a shiver down your spine with a single uttered “bro.” Then there are all of Ash’s victims, a buffet of despicable men who are, indeed, quite repugnant. Everyone understands their parts, especially Consalo and Wise—an unlikely yet affecting pair who bring Kuge’s tempest of frustrations to the surface.
As for the skin-shredding gore, Cannibal Mukbang has its fun as a microbudget horror film that doesn’t want to skimp on the main course. Kuge’s special effects department delivers multiple visions of violence, from body part removals to a human meat charcuterie board with a skull centerpiece. Ash’s mouth is often filled with red juices, and there’s no blood shortage, but there are restraints on action elements. While the carnage may be passable, stunt sequences rely more on quick edits than fluid choreography—hardly a torpedo. However, Kuge is a first-time feature filmmaker with only so many resources; these scenes are the starkest reminder. The indie spirit is alive and well here, yet it’s a lower ceiling that hinders certain aspects of an otherwise feisty and carnivorous experience.
Cannibal Mukbang is many things—a comedy, a tragedy, and a condensed evaluation of horrific topics. Kuge toys with ideas of empowerment and delusion, giving herself to an achingly human sloppiness. The ending will lose some viewers, but it’s a risky evaluation that speaks to the societal commentary dripping off Ash’s dinner bones. Cannibal Mukbang is proudly imperfect and unapologetically vocal, a testament to Kuge’s in-your-face style. It’s a low, low-budget first crack with flaws, which is to be expected, but it’s a promising debut for a filmmaker with plenty more to offer.
Movie Score: 3/5