A horror film that dedicates the first half of its runtime to guiding you through the texture of the expensive family mansion, The Feast is primarily concerned with how cold and restricting modernity feels. Whether that be the ridges between bricks, the cold smoothness of a marble tabletop, the glinting curve of a kitchen knife, the fabric and feel of the house is unsettling and loud despite being visually familiar.

Following a waitress (Annes Elwy) setting up for a wealthy family’s dinner party, The Feast oscillates between serene quiet and sudden noise. Cadi polishes the wine glasses before being jolted back to reality by the strum of an electric guitar, she lays out the table cloth before the sound of a shotgun rips through the house. The soundscape switches from silent to loud rhythmically, almost like the countryside and house that encase her are alive and gasping for breath. 

The cast meet the gory depths of the script with unnerving performances, which speaks highly of Lee Haven Jones’ talent considering this is his directorial debut. While Annes Elwy remains present and thrillingly focused throughout the film, Cadi as a character feels directionless. Despite a lacklustre twist at the end, she remains a cipher for the audience, an easy way to experience the bizarre, and ugly, everyday of the political elite. 

Horror has always been a way to offer social commentary, but any film that structures itself as an overextended metaphor will leave the audience feeling distant and unsatisfied. The Feast’s final moments were visually striking but emotionally weightless. 

Director Lee Haven Jones wields the language of body horror effectively, constructing a story around the inevitable pain found in severing our connection to the natural world. However, the protagonist feels distinctly empty, a physical reminder of the toll wealth takes.



CAST: Annes Elwy, Nia Roberts, Julian Lewis Jones

DIRECTOR: Lee Haven Jones

WRITER: Roger Williams

SYNOPSIS: Cadi arrives to help a rich Welsh family prepare for a dinner party.