NOW ON VOD! Cannibal Mukbang is a horror-romance hybrid that arrives with a title so gloriously daft you’d be forgiven for expecting a shallow exercise in shock value. But what first-time writer-director Aimee Kuge delivers instead is a surprisingly layered, gruesomely tender debut. It’s a film that’s both blood-soaked and heartbreakingly sincere, operating somewhere between Natural Born Killers, Fresh, and a YouTube comment section gone feral.
At its heart is Mark (Nate Wise), an anxious, socially awkward call centre drone who dreams of being a cult film critic but lives mostly on microwave meals and awkward interactions. His life changes when he meets Ash (April Consalo) during a midnight snack run. She’s a pastel-haired mukbang influencer who radiates the kind of chaotic charisma that screams ‘do not trust me’ from twenty paces. Naturally, Mark falls head over heels.
What follows is a deranged meet-cute turned murder-romance, where their initial chemistry over greasy snacks evolves into vigilante cannibalism. Ash lures in rapists, abusers, and sleazebags. Mark helps her cook them, quite literally. The twist? He doesn’t just assist; he acquires a taste for it.
“…their initial chemistry over greasy snacks evolves into vigilante cannibalism…”
This is not just another quirky indie horror; it’s a sharply observed satire on toxic relationships, internet fame, and the commodification of consumption, both literal and emotional. Kuge’s script is full of biting wit (pun firmly intended), but what really impresses is the sincerity with which she handles the central romance. Mark and Ash aren’t just caricatures in a grindhouse fantasy, they’re traumatised people fumbling towards intimacy in the only language they know: shared meals and mutual destruction.
Nate Wise gives Mark a twitchy, yearning vulnerability, while April Consalo is mesmerising as Ash, switching effortlessly between wounded survivor, seductive femme fatale, and vengeful goddess. Their chemistry is uncomfortable but compelling. Supporting turns, particularly from Clay von Carlowitz as Mark’s odious, alpha-male brother Maverick, add texture, even if the film doesn’t always flesh out its ideas as deeply as it might.
Visually, Cannibal Mukbang is far more stylish than its modest budget might suggest. Cinematographer Quinn Kelly does clever things with colour, adding amber tones for intimacy and cooler palettes for detachment, creating a mood that swings between cozy and cold-blooded. There’s a hint of Hannibal’s aesthetic DNA here, albeit filtered through a lo-fi TikTok lens.
If there’s a criticism, it’s that the final third stumbles slightly under the weight of its themes. The rape-revenge angle, while clearly intended as cathartic, edges into tricky territory when viewed through the lens of Mark’s journey rather than Ash’s. For all her presence, Ash sometimes feels like a metaphor rather than a fully realised character. But when the film works, and it often does, it’s grotesque and strangely beautiful.
Cannibal Mukbang is not for the faint-hearted, nor is it perfect. It is audacious, messy, and oddly romantic. In a landscape of safe, cynical horror, that’s more than enough to whet the appetite.
"…audacious, messy, and oddly romantic..."
