‘Tony’ Conveys More About its Star than its Subject
A24
Biopics offer a menu of sorts, a variety of flavors each aimed at pleasing their audiences. Some arrangements bring an obscure figure into focus, working toward a renewed appreciation for someone whose significance has been largely forgotten. Think of Mank (or various other, better films.) Others seek an expressive burst that cuts to the heart of their subject, revealing something new and true about a personage that is widely known but who remains set apart, distanced from our deep understanding. (This, for example, is the aim of A Complete Unknown—to capture something true about Bob Dylan’s elusive identity.) For some movies, the subject is only an icon through which it passes as it interrogates something under the surface of our desires and ways of being: Raging Bull, or Spencer. Biopics such as Marie Antoinette and The Social Network recontextualize a person’s story to shine a light on something incisive and relevant to our present age. And some simply provide another outlet to followers for enjoying the work they’ve come to find meaningful. Of course, many films accomplish multiple of these at the same time.
Matt Johnson’s Tony only really achieves the last aim, though that’s no slight on Johnson’s film. Tony is a sturdy film; it’s well composed, if straightforward. Bracketing its focus to one summer in the life of Anthony Bourdain, the culinary polymath who authored Kitchen Confidential and hosted shows like No Reservations and Parts Unknown. But Johnson sets his movie decades before such fame will be within Bourdain’s grasp. For much of the story, in fact, Tony has his heart set on an entirely different type of success. This isn’t a biopic with a sweeping scope; it’s not quite a coming of age. And definitely don’t call it a bildungsroman.
Tony (Dominic Sessa) is in the middle of an undergraduate program at Vassar, and he has big dreams of becoming a successful writer. He’s just applied for a sizeable grant to support his goal of writing a novel, a work situated somewhere between George Orwell and Jack Kerouac. Within moments of the film opening, two things about Tony are nakedly evident: his lofty self-assurance and his tendency to be overly, insufferably erudite. He tells everyone that he’s guaranteed the fellowship: his friend, his crush Nancy (Emilia Jones), and his parents. So when he’s informed that the committee passed him over, his arrogance refuses to be humbled. He keeps up the charade, ditching town to chase Nancy to Provincetown.
It’s a rather poorly laid plan from the start. He doesn’t actually have a book to write. He only has the little money he stole before leaving home. He has nowhere to stay. And he hasn’t received a single signal from Nancy that she might ever be interested in him. So his escape to Provincetown descends quickly, predictably—his very first night sees him drunkenly harass a restaurant waitress, get thrown out and punched in the face, and fall asleep on the sidewalk. The only safety net he has is the hammock on the back porch of the merciful restaurant owner (Antonio Banderas).
In order to pay for a place to stay, the unnamed chef puts Tony to work washing dishes, and Tony is thrown headlong into the boisterous world of the kitchen. This is not fine dining—it’s an oyster bar and crab shack sort of establishment, serving up a limited menu to tourists who couldn’t find somewhere better to dine. But Tony observes this miniature culture, this world where everything is allowed, from drugs to vomiting to knife fights—just don’t take Jesus’ name in vain. And don’t ever be late. Despite an entrenched apathy and the persistent lies of a wounded ego, Tony gradually locates an interest in the culinary craft.
This, then, is the focus of Johnson’s film: a chapter demonstrating the first spark that would lead Tony to become Bourdain. The craft of the film matches the foodcraft on display: It’s a good meal that won’t break the budget, but it’s no Michelin star. The camerawork and lighting are controlled and effective, never showy. Both in terms of its filmmaking and its ability to make one’s stomach growl in desire, Tony is nothing like Babette’s Feast or The Taste of Things. But yes, I still would happily eat a lobster roll from The Flagship, and I still enjoyed the flavors on display in Tony.
The greatest draw of the film is its performances. Banderas is a generational talent, and his sense of command and emotional texture make his gentle chef magnetic. Leo Woodall also stands out as Sal, another kitchen worker who shows Tony how to shuck an oyster and also ingest a variety of hard drugs. But the film’s energy is reliant, of course, on Sessa, and he’s the biggest delight of the film. Sessa burst onto the scene in 2023’s The Holdovers, and the mixture of headstrong, pseudo-toughness and wounded insecurity render him a perfect fit to play a young Bourdain. Tony’s a tangle of indecision covered over by grandiloquence and tousled hair—a kid who tosses out a phrase like “this esteemed troika” without hesitation, then immediately loses his confidence at the dinner table with his family. Johnson wisely emphasizes the moments of failure and loneliness that haunt Tony. Sessa’s characterization makes Tony both captivating and readily deserving of a punch to the face. He never backs down from the pricklier sides of Bourdain’s personality. The performance is not just emotional and verbal, but it’s also physical, exemplified in a moment where Tony gets caught behind a door as it gets thrown open in rage. He’s constantly being pressed into corners, in the way, or getting shoved down. These are moments that Tony can’t prevent, even if he doesn’t accept them willingly, and Sessa conveys the frustrated energy they bring out.
Aided by the vehemence of Sessa’s performance, Johnson manages to circumvent the worst vices of biopics. The film never shows Tony become enamored or obsessed, nor does he stun others with a prodigious display of craft. He simply becomes interested in the food, and he makes decisions to pursue that interest. No one stares agape at his talents—though his compulsive bullshitting does, at times, leave others slack-jawed. The one temptation the film falls prey to is a change of name to signify that the character has completed his quest toward maturity.
Tony is an enjoyable picture of a young man who will one day be renowned. He’s still inchoate, but his interest will burgeon into a mastery of food and words, alike. He is stubborn, raw, and unpolished, but that’s also part of his appeal. But beneath its story, Tony reveals another burgeoning talent: Dominic Sessa. He, too, is young and somewhat unformed, but his capacity for detailed portrayals of unrefined characters is, currently, his greatest strength. His two main performances have seen him act opposite Paul Giamatti and now Banderas—two tremendous and experienced actors—and he’s held his own alongside each. Tony may appeal firstly to the fans of Bourdain, but the primary talent it announces is Sessa’s.
