[Editorial] Feed Me, Daddy

Content Warning: Contains mentions of abuse, rape, and cannibalism.  

I can fix him.

What a loaded turn of phrase. 

Passion, horror, and love make for a powerful triangle. This is especially true when paired against the idea of being alone. As we have seen in recent pandemic related times, connection is a key part of the human experience, and a lack thereof can feel truly monstrous. So when you hunger for that connection, what exactly are we willing to stomach in order to keep from starving?

Fresh follows the story of Noa (Daisy Edgar-Jones), a young woman who has been disillusioned by the modern dating world. Her life is changed when an ill-fated meet-cute pops up in the form of a very handsome and confident Steve (Sebastian Stan). Despite objections from her best friend Mollie (Jojo T. Gibbs), Noa decides to go on a weekend trip with her new beau, only to discover Steve’s true nature; that he is an absolute monster. 

Oh, who also happens to be a part of a cabal of men who eat women. 

The beginning of the film edges the audience back and forth with unease. Noa goes on an obscenely terrible (average) Tinder date complete with selfish behavior, sexism, casual racism, and is concluded with expectations of adoration. When these expectations are not met, her date immediately back-pedals, calling her a stuck up bitch who is not even his type. As Noa walks home, she clutches her keys between her fingers as a man briskly walks behind her. 

This is the first taste of the danger of masculine aggression. It seems to lurk around every corner. 

And then, there’s Steve — a glimmer of hope in the grocery aisle. He is sweet, charming, outgoing, funny, and a little corny. They go out on a date and he continues to be all of these things, melting away any of the usual pauses for questioning that come when red flags are presented. Even his passion for Noa cannot be contained, and they wind up in bed together that very evening. 

Steve is the perfect balm to the whiplash Noa has received from her previous encounter, and for the audience. It is easy to fall in love with the idea that he is presenting. In another world, this would be a rom com. 

That is, until Steve tricks her inside his remote home and drugs Noa in the middle of his living room.

In a swoop of cinematic decadence on director Mimi Cave’s part, the opening credits of this film do not roll until 33 minutes into the story. The break is both whimsical and vividly striking because up until this point, we have witnessed the trappings of an eerily truthful story — something that could very realistically happen to any woman. We have been given a taste of true crime reality, so that from here on out we can play with the components of relationships against a fictional background, taking them apart piece by piece. 

We awaken from the hazy, James Bond style credits with Noa chained to the floor of a shag carpeted jail cell. Now in a world of theatrical dissection, Steve casually explains that he is the procurer and butcher of women for an elite sect of men who consume human flesh. He assures Noa that she will be slowly taken apart and eaten alive over time. But, if she is a good girl who behaves, it will be as painless as possible. Upon hearing this revelation of her fate, Noa has a panic attack. Steve holds her tenderly until she calms down. 

“Stop being so dramatic,” he seductively whispers before dropping her limp body to the floor.

 And so it begins. It would seem that one of Steve’s talents involves weaponizing traits of psychological abuse to keep Noa compliant to his own desires and needs. 

Now that he is the one in complete control, we witness Steve sawing limbs, tenderizing human flesh, and packaging it up along with headshots and underwear to be sent off to a goat-faced cult of like-minded elite (men). Yet these acts of grotesque taboo come off as attractive, sexy even. Steve dances to 80s music, completely free and uninhibited as he slices up and vacuum seals leg steaks with the precision and glee of a love child between Hannibal Lecter and Patrick Bateman. 

An old adage comes to mind: there’s nothing sexier than a man who can cook.

But when the work day is done, Steve returns to Noa in the form of an abusive partner, always in charge, always right. He becomes a slot machine of red flag phrases, trying to barter his way back into her good graces. It is clear that Steve feels a connection to Noa, but he does not feel that he has to change anything about his behavior in their relationship. Rather, the expectation is that she should be as she was on their first date, and should ignore anything that has hurt her. After all, he’s keeping her alive, isn’t he? 

 “Can you just give me a smile? I’m trying to make you smile.” 

After an escape attempt, Noa is punished via a harrowing exchange when Steve takes his first piece of her. Waking up after being struck unconscious, Noa is face down and naked on an operating table. With the care-free joy that we have seen him take in his work, Steve proclaims: 

“I’m gonna take your ass!”

Of course he means taking her meat for later consumption, but the overarching metaphor is visceral, traumatic, and very emotional. While the literal nature of this assault is fantastical, the very real reaction that Noa has as Steve lords over her is repulsively grounding. We are slapped across the face with the horrifying reminder that at the end of the day, this is not only just what Steve does, he enjoys it. He is not misunderstood, it is not that he doesn’t know any better. The act of hurting Noa gives him the same pleasure as physically taking women apart. It feeds him to revere a woman as pieces to be consumed.

---

HAVE YOU LISTENED TO OUR PODCAST YET?

---

But despite her isolation, Noa is not alone. Women are still able to come to her rescue. Bless gal pals, for they are the shining beacons of sanctuary in this film.

Before her disappearance, Mollie and Noa share moments of trust and camaraderie over Noa’s dating life. She is encouraging without demanding that Noa listen to her, and ultimately she is the one who tells Noa to just be her authentic self on the date with Steve —advice that would be what interests him enough to want to keep her alive.  

Mollie has been hard at work, desperate to put the pieces together as to why she hasn’t heard from her bestie for a whole week. She is tipped off when their established girl code is unrequited in a text (sent by Steve to throw Mollie off the track), which takes her down a path to ultimately reveal her initial gut reaction: he’s married. 

Steve’s wife Ann (Charlotte Le Bon)  is another nuanced layer to his life within his occupation; another victim, someone who has spent years playing along to keep Steve from consuming her completely. Albeit at what cost? She is still beholden, helping her husband capture Mollie to ensure their way of life, despite suspicions that Ann’s expiration date may also be approaching.

“We make a good team,” Steve says as he tugs the skin back from the corners of Ann’s eyes as he holds her face, gazing at his preferred version of her — younger, tighter, fresher. 

Noa is also joined throughout her horrible first week, and post-surgery recovery period, by Penny (Andrea Bang). Penny is another captive in Steve’s clutches who has already undergone a few procedures — losing more pieces of herself as he continues to take. Through Noa’s cell wall, Penny is a harrowing disembodied voice that echoes  the mistakes of relationships past, and an inevitable fate. 

Yet the two women are able to take comfort in each other. Penny is the woman Steve hurts when he is not hurting Noa. It will alternate depending on his demands, but talking to each other about their feelings and shared trauma keeps them from completely losing hope. They sarcastically make fun of Steve when he is gone, using cannibalism as the butt of their jokes. Penny reminds Noa of the most important fact of their shared circumstance: 

“It’s not our fault, Noa, it’s always theirs.”

This is exactly the fire Noa needs to push forward and formulate a plan to get them out from under Steve — community. The humor between the two women as they bond over this terrible man becomes armour and with some clever thinking on Noa’s part, it becomes a weapon. 

We’ve all met the guy whose entire personality has been defined by how much he loves his job, and not surprisingly, so has Noa. With a few twirls of her hair and a simple question, she incepts Steve into thinking that she could potentially be everything he wants. 

“What does it taste like?”

At the incepted idea of common interest, Steve decides to prepare a very special meal for Noa to try. With every bite she swallows, she feeds his ego.

Steve speaks of his first time (eating people) and about how for a while he thought he might be a bad person because of it. But then he found a community of like-minded people online who helped him realize he was not alone. But finally, he shares exactly how he views love: it is the act of giving yourself over to someone completely. 

“That’s surrender. That’s love.”

Noa finally sees him as Steve saw her on their first date — venerable, honest, pure. 

And now, she can use that venerability the exact same way that he did. 

Steve arranges a romantic evening, giving Noa a pretty pink dress and some makeup to wear (and putting his cell phone full of inquisitive texts from his wife in a box). He puts on cologne, she practices smiling. The game is afoot. 

As they laugh together over a series of escalating courses, Noa slowly constricts her way around Steve like a python. She is funny and quirky while playfully challenging him, subtly negging him over his cooking, until she finally gives him exactly what he craves.

Noa breaks down into a tearful admission (masterful performance) that she doesn’t hate herself for having a good time around him, despite what they are doing. Steve also discovers that he has forgotten to restrain her and that Noa has chosen not to escape. She has aligned herself with his worst parts, giving him permission to continue with his bad behavior.

He can control her body, but she has given him her soul as well: the ultimate surrender. 

They dance, they kiss. They make their way to the bedroom.

And when Noa has him bare chested beneath her, she lowers herself just enough to bite off a piece of Steve’s dick. 

Helping them escape their cells, Noa, Penny, and Mollie proceed to beat the ever-loving shit out of Steve in his man cave (kitchen). They work together, using his own tools of dismemberment and violence to take away any agency he may have had over them. 

Now that Steve is ugly, impotent, and emasculated, he attempts to chase them into the woods  with a gun, firing wildly into nature as he vomits slews of derogatory proclamations about women. Without his charisma, good looks, and confidence, he is reduced to his fully monstrous form. 

“Noa I’m sorry! Okay?! Is that what you want me to say?”

Even as he is about to lose everything, Steve cannot comprehend that telling people what they want to hear is not the same as meaning it. He still assumes he can control the situation, and doesn’t see that he’s no longer at the top of the food chain. 

And so he dies in ignorance. The three women hold Steve down, Penny takes a bite of him, ripping forth her pound of flesh before Noa sweetly asks for him to give her a smile before shooting him in the head. 

In many ways, Fresh is as folkloric as the strange mix of ancient and modern art that hangs in Steve’s home. It is a cautionary tale woven into our beings, a bad feeling that has pulled at us since the story of Adam and Eve. It asks us to challenge the notion that maybe the old ways were better, easier, like slipping into a hot bath. But this is also what hypothermia feels like, and you will lose pieces of yourself along the way. 

So, what are you willing to lose? What are you willing to stomach? 

Because sweetie, he doesn’t want to be fixed. 

Fresh speaks to this author personally as a visual hotline where one can see that their story is just one alongside so many more. Emotional, verbal, and physical abuse in a relationship is a violent sliding scale. In many cases, it can be hard to see something as abuse if it’s not physical. In others, the physical can be hidden very well. It black and blue and red and every shade of grey. It is never the same. It is always the same. 

But it is not our fault. 

The world of Fresh itself is something out of an unsolved mystery from the past, mixed with the hyper-masculine sexuality of a James Bond film. The script is harrowing, pointed, and all too familiar. Through this bizarre lens of hot-boy cannibalism we gasp, lust, jump, laugh, and we are given permission to heal in the process. This film is community. You can cry, you can go mad, you can hide behind jokes if they make you feel better. Because despite the violence, there is also belief. There is understanding and comradery, and for those of us who need it there is fantastical and brutal satisfaction. 

RELATED ARTICLES

---

---

EXPLORE

---

MORE ARTICLES

---

---