The pen may be mightier than the sword in some cases, but both can kill if imprudently wielded. A blade can end a person’s physical life; a pen might cut down reputations and careers. Critics—whether of food, film, or other art forms—occupy a unique position to render substantial judgments on creative craftsmen, acting as arbiters of quality and taste. Such work, however, does not guarantee favorable results for recipients; this accounts for the delicate state of tension in which every critic lives.
Like any good journalist, a reliable critic’s first allegiance is to the truth. Truth is the source of authority and relevance. A critic divorced from integrity is merely a mouthpiece for passing fancies, speaking often and sometimes loudly, but never saying much. What happens, though, when “Honesty is the best policy” transforms from a tool used to inform the public into a weapon against those on the receiving end of said honesty?
Criticism About Criticism
The 2022 dark satire The Menu shows the doom an ethically compromised critic can inflict on artists. The film centers on renowned chef Julian Slowik (Ralph Fiennes), who caters to the highest caliber clientele. Fed up with feeding the rich and entitled who are wilfuly ignorant of the art or the artist, Slowik invites a group of distinguished guests to his remote restaurant, where he prepares sinister surprises that culminate in the attendees’ deaths. Among those destined for the chopping block are esteemed food critic Lillian Bloom (Janet McTeer) and her obsequious editor, Ted Feldman (Paul Adelstein).
At a glance, the smartly dressed Bloom reads like the ideal critic. She’s sharp and perceptive, radiating poise befitting her occupation. However, audiences quickly learn she is as difficult to please, and stomach, as she is confident. Bloom critiques minute flaws in Chef Slowik’s courses, leaving no room for wonder or genuine enjoyment.
Notably, she points out a split emulsion included with the satirical “Breadless Bread Plate”. The moment highlights her apparent predisposition to fault-finding rather than appreciating what’s in front of her or seeking redeeming qualities. Her editor, Feldman, nods along like an accomplice.
Later, Slowik serves each guest tortillas laser-printed with images of their unethical or offensive actions: incriminating bank statements for one table, pictures of a sycophantic foodie snapping photos of his meals for another, and for Bloom, the consequences of her oft-negative food reviews. Bloom tells her editor, in one of The Menu‘ss most quietly chilling lines, that her tortillas depict “Restaurants that I reviewed that all closed.” Her unfazed editor calls the tortillas “a gag”, which Bloom seems happy to accept.
Halfway through their harrowing Hawthorn dinner, Chef Slowik informs his guests why they have been invited to this event. To Bloom, he says, “Lillian… knows the damage she has done to so many livelihoods.” To her editor, he scathingly remarks, “You enable her filth. You buttress. You coddle.” Feldman’s expression wilts into resignation. Slowik turns back to Bloom. “You love that I texted you an invitation for this evening. Me, yearning for your attendance. Your ego was fed, but that is to be expected.”
Slowik’s comments hone in on the heart of Bloom’s critical blunders: pride that blinds her from authentic joy in her profession, and indifference to the impact her words have had on others. It’s as though she’s forgotten, or never cared in the first place, that her reviews affect real people with real dreams, goals, and stakes. To an artist like Slowik, that sin is enough to die for.
The unsettling reality is that Bloom’s missteps can affect any critic’s career—the desire to speak honestly can blur lines between professional duty and pushing power too far. People with ample voices and/or platforms are, in their own right, authority figures. Writers, podcasters, social media influencers, radio hosts—all share the capacity to shape public perception. To maintain critical standards without destroying one’s passion and creators’ livelihoods, we can look to certain measures as guideposts.
The Critics’ Responsibility for Truth and Compassion
Negative feedback is inevitable in any serious critic’s career. Not all art excels. Part of a critic’s job is articulating flaws that hinder their experience of something, primarily for the public’s benefit but also for the provider of that experience, if they seek feedback. The Menu‘s Lillian Bloom appears to fail in the execution of her critical duties more so than in the unfavorable nature of her reviews. For numerous restaurants to close at the stroke of her pen, and for her nitpicking to detract from enjoying food from a chef she admires, Bloom approaches criticism destructively rather than constructively.
Destructive criticism leans on frequent biting remarks and a dismissive posture toward the art or artist in question. An ethical critic may tilt more negatively across their body of work but still phrase feedback with dignity and restraint, offering compliments when due. The inverse treats criticism almost like a license to abuse. They may measure their self-worth by hard-hitting comments or by the ripple effect their judgments can produce.
Criticism is not antithetical to compassion. In fact, the two are closely interlinked. Truth-telling is an act of kindness because it prevents delusion, false inflation, and leading people astray. Freedom is one of truth’s many gifts. A critic like Bloom, however, uses truth to hurt and derives from it a sense of power. This is a dangerous approach; not only can it degrade audience trust, but it can also potentially smear the reputations of the creators a critic reviews.
None of this is to say that jokes, satire, or a well-placed sharp comment within the critique now and then are unethical. Criticism should incorporate the author’s personality. The concern lies in prioritizing ego or attempts to sound “smart”, “edgy”, or “brutally honest” over delivering fair critiques. Cleverness does not always equal wisdom, and criticism should never presume permission to be cruel.
Considering the Proportion of Power
Just as there is weight in communicating compassionately, some instances may call for no communication at all. Critics can determine when it’s wiser to stay silent based on a few factors: the proportionality of the critic’s voice or platform size to the creator they’re considering covering, and whether negative feedback contributes meaningfully to the broader artistic or cultural conversation.
Lillian Bloom does not appear to employ this discernment in her work. Although The Menu doesn’t specify the size of the restaurants she critiqued, it’s reasonable to assume some were small businesses. Perhaps, in their eagerness to boost their dreams and visibility, these small restaurants requested Bloom’s professional opinion. I
t’s also possible that Bloom reviewed them without their prior knowledge. In either case, she was likely not required to offer a public review—especially a damning one that would put these businesses under.
Critics are not obligated to provide commentary. If a small creator or their PR team asks for coverage, and the critic does not believe they can offer positive, thoughtful, or negative-but-purposeful feedback, it may be best to decline the opportunity entirely.
Does a young band with under 20k followers and no prior industry coverage have a new album out that you can’t honestly rate above a five out of ten? It’s probably better to offer private comments, or none at all, than shout their shortcomings from the rooftop of a major publication. The proportion of voice determines the proportion of impact.
Joy Is the Best Critics’ Compass
Criticism is about more than venting frustrations or keeping artists honest—it’s a profession rooted in curiosity, self-expression, and joy. To her downfall, Lillian Bloom forgets this.
Critics are people who love artfulness and creativity. They watch it, eat it, read it, listen to it, and feel it in their being. The ability to share opinions with the world and have access to artists and their work is a wonderful privilege. We benefit from recalling this whenever we’re tempted toward cynicism or joyless analysis.
Let joy be a compass that points to fulfillment. Criticism isn’t just a responsibility. It’s an intentional practice of the traits that keep us internally alive and connected to each other.
The Art of Criticism
Criticism done well is its own art form. Writers labor to craft sentences that are beautiful and true, their fingers eager workmen tapping the ore deposits of their minds in search of those golden phrases. Silver-tongued but honest, a good critic stewards their capacity for interpretation and language like a closely guarded gift.
Critics are translators between artists and the public. An audience may have strong feelings about something but not know why; the critic acts as interpreter, weaving explanation into what may be blank spaces. An artist may feel amiss in their craft without grasping the problem; the critic studies and elaborates on their findings. Even critics may not always immediately recognize what informs their own opinions; they wrestle with understanding, and ideally become more well-rounded people in the process.
Criticism is necessary because it gives perspective to the art that shapes society. When practiced ethically, with concern for creators and personal joy, it transcends pretty sentences and becomes an inhabitation of delight and free will. These are among the many artful things that make us most human.