Frederick Wiseman has long been non-fiction cinema’s GOAT, and at the age of 93, the Hospital (1970), Central Park (1989), National Gallery (2014), and City Hall (2020) auteur continues to put most of his documentary brethren to shame. The latest example of his greatness is Menus-Plaisirs – Les Troisgros, a four-hour portrait of La Maison Troisgros, a three-starred Michelin restaurant in central France’s Roanne that’s run by acclaimed head chef Michel Troisgros and now, also, by his sons César and Léo. An observational tour de force in which Wiseman once again patiently examines the various components of a complex organization, it’s a film that, regardless of its easy-going pace, demands active engagement with its action—a request that’s innately in tune with its depiction of creation through dialogue.
Premiering in theaters on Nov. 22 following celebrated showings at this year’s Venice, Toronto, and New York film festivals, Menus-Plaisirs – Les Troisgros hews to trademark Wiseman formula by featuring neither introductory contextual information nor guiding narration. Instead, it simply immerses itself in its chosen milieu, which in this case is Roanne, a town on the Loire that for nine decades has been home to the illustrious Troisgros cooking clan. As he describes in the film’s final scene, Michel’s current enterprise, Troisgros, opened in the nearby village of Ouches in 2017, and its head chef is his eldest son César, who manages the kitchen on his own but still frequently seeks the counsel of his father, who’s a regular behind-the-scenes presence. So too is younger son Léo, the head chef at the family’s more relaxed La Colline du Colombier (located about 30 minutes to the north), as well as daughter Marion, who runs the adjoining Troisgros hotel business that boasts the Relais & Châteaux seal of distinction.
Ensconced in a countryside marked by rolling hills and green fields populated by horses and cows, both on its own property and on the nearby farms that provide it with meats and cheeses, Troisgros is a luxurious enclave that, in every respect, operates with calm, expert efficiency. In its open, uncluttered stainless steel kitchen, various chefs go about their toil with a silence and speed that speaks to their impeccable skill. As Michel explains to a couple getting a behind-the-scenes sneak peek, the kitchen’s layout has been crafted so that César can give orders with merely a wordless glance. Menus-Plaisirs – Les Troisgros spends plentiful time in this space, watching as men and women prepare John Dory fish, snails, brains, frogs, and sumptuous desserts with what might best be described as graceful forcefulness, their hands (and cooking implements) moving nimbly and purposefully. Together, these figures come across as the vital cells of a synergistic organism that’s similar to the vibrant and diverse dishes they devise, concoct, and plate for customers.
Partnering with cinematographer James Bishop, Wiseman gazes upon these culinary professionals with fascination and awe, making plain their status as gifted artists. Additionally, he takes detours away from Troisgros to the different outposts that allow it to thrive. At a farmer’s market, César purchases all sorts of delectable greens, as well as a majestic oyster mushroom that looks “like a sculpture.” Later, César hears from a farmer about the systematic methods he employs to keep his cows happy and his fields flourishing, and about the way in which the inherent relationship between soil, plants, and animals is a “virtuous cycle.” Such interaction is at the heart of a place like Troisgros, and a subsequent discussion between Michel and a goat farmer who makes cheese from his livestock’s milk, as well as a staff trip to a cheese ripening company that perfects fromage by cooling, drying and washing it, further illustrates the countless allied people and processes required to sustain the gourmet restaurant.
Wiseman, per his hallmark, allows scenes to play out unbroken for minutes on end, and here, that affords enlightening glimpses into Michel, César and Léo’s creative processes. Imagining, analyzing, debating, and revising recipes with each other and their colleagues, the trio impart how appearance, feel, color, texture, design, and taste are all interconnected aspects of cooking. In Menus-Plaisirs – Les Troisgros, such unity is also found between chefs and employees, staff and patrons, Troisgros’ food and accommodation businesses, and father and sons. All of these elements are at once distinct and yet in constant, crucial conversation, with one informing the other (and vice versa) in a discourse that never ends—a notion expressed by Michel when he says that chatting with diners often opens his mind up to new things, so that “it’s always in movement. That’s the thing with cuisine.”
From strategy sessions about menus, evening guests’ food requirements and special occasions, and workplace harassment protocols, to snapshots of chefs slicing meat and fish, coating eggs in white chocolate, lightly scorching meringue, and wiping down counters, Menus-Plaisirs – Les Troisgros segues from the macro to the micro in a manner that suggests the two are one and the same, all of them important parts of a living, breathing network. Wiseman recognizes the multifaceted intricacy of what resembles, on the outside, merely a remote stand-alone establishment, and he lavishes attention on each of Troisgros’ related mechanisms and procedures to convey the restaurant’s ethos, atmosphere, and dynamics. Even the film’s monotony feels genuine, given that it’s in sync with the methodical routine that governs Troisgros’ day-to-day operation.
More than its up-close-and-personal sights of food preparation or its outings to beef and dairy suppliers, Menus-Plaisirs – Les Troisgros is most alive when watching Michel, César, and Léo talk amongst themselves or with those who’ve paid for the privilege of an afternoon or evening meal at Troisgros. In those back-and-forths, Wiseman’s film captures a rich sense of invention as a byproduct of lively communication. Whether it’s Michel pressing Léo about using blackcurrants in a new main course, or critiquing another chef’s potentially excessive use of sriracha in a dish, an exchange of ideas and opinions proves essential to crafting savory and sweet delicacies. As such, the director’s 44th non-fiction feature is a study of a restaurant that doubles as a rumination on art itself, which may begin with a unique and individual spark of inspiration but can only become real through thoughtful, harmonious collaboration.
