In an elegant setting, where everything seems designed to seduce, the most grotesque cruelty is invited to the table in The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover by the English director Peter Greenaway. The film takes place in the restaurant Le Hollandais, owned by the gangster Albert Spica, who dines there every evening with his wife Georgina. Humiliated and abused by him, she secretly begins an affair with a regular and highly cultured customer, Michael, an act that will lead to unexpected consequences.

The film questions unrestrained passion and violence in contrast with reason and culture through the characters of Albert and Michael. Albert, accustomed to the law of the strongest and to acting through force, stands in opposition to Michael’s values, which lean toward quieter habits such as reading. This duality is particularly evident in the scene where Albert throws Michael’s books onto the floor, declaring that they are in a restaurant, not a library. This moment illustrates the clash between brutality and refinement: Albert’s violent gesture symbolizes a rejection of subtlety and culture, while Michael’s measured response reflects the quiet resistance of reason and taste in the face of tyranny.

The technical aspect that struck me from the very beginning (during a 35mm screening of the film) was its use of color. With intense and omnipresent tones, the captivating palette chosen by Peter Greenaway carries very precise meanings. For example, in the restroom scene where Georgina and Michael share their first kiss, the entire setting is white, symbolizing innocence and purity. This sharply contrasts with the deep red setting (symbolic of blood and flesh) that we see moments later when we return to Albert in another room. This use of color recalls certain expressionist works by painters like Otto Dix, as well as films such as All About My Mother by Pedro Almodóvar, where color palettes are carefully tied to characters and help illuminate their psychology.

There is also a strongly theatrical dimension to the film, achieved through highly pictorial and unreal sets concentrated in a single location: the restaurant. The exquisite and extravagant costumes (especially Georgina’s) created by Jean-Paul Gaultier (famous for dressing some of the biggest names in pop culture), along with the dramatic music, reinforce the film’s theatrical grandeur. In an interview, Greenaway stated that he makes films because paintings have no soundtrack. This reveals both his interest in blending artistic forms and explains why his frames (always filled with characters or objects) resemble paintings. For example, when we first discover the kitchen through a lateral tracking shot, with characters moving, others remaining still, and the dense set design, the image becomes hypnotic.

I also noticed a painting that particularly struck me, the only one visible in the film: The Banquet of Officers of the St George Militia Company by Frans Hals. It depicts a banquet of a civic militia, establishing a parallel with Albert Spica’s dinners. Moreover, the painting appears behind them as they eat and reappears during the end credits.

Upon its release, the film scandalized audiences not only because of its explicit sexuality, but also due to the assumption that it contained a critique of Margaret Thatcher, with Albert Spica representing the government. However, the film goes far beyond mere shock value; it is above all a sensory and intellectual experience that places the viewer between beauty and repulsion, confronting them with their own limits.