Starring, written, directed, produced by Jon Favreau and a few of his pals who just so happen to pop along including Sofia Vergara, Robert Downey Jnr, Emjay Anthony, Scarlett Johansson, John Leguizamo, Oliver Platt Bobby Cannavale and Dustin Hoffman.
Favreau is the Chef, who's stuck in a rut, he's divorced from his wife, whom he still loves and she him, he's estranged from his 10-year old son, who idolises him, but because he thinks he's a bad father he acts a bit badly, until he learns a lesson from his son, oh and his menu is rather boring and he keeps serving the same menu to a food critic because his boss tells him too. He's also a luddite who doesn't understand Twitter, Facebook or Chatroulette, which is important because it's going to be germane to the plot when Fav has to be a putz when he's trying to use Facechat for the first time. Anyway, blog food critic, Oliver Platt (who's just sold his food review site for £10 million dollars to Google, which is an important plot point for later...) writes a 2 star review of Jon's food and Jon has a breakdown, his boss, Dustin Hoffman sacks him and before you can say, gosh I really hate these fucking pieces of shit, Favreau is jobless, but a internet celeb because of a flame war he starts with Platt and also a viral video clip that features Favereau losing his shit and ranting.
Luckily his ex-wife's (Sofia Vergara) ex-husband, (Robert Downey Jnr) is on hand to utterly bankroll his dream job of running a food van and before you can say, gosh I really hate these fucking pieces of shit and their cloud fucking cuckoo-land bollox, the Fav and his buddy John Leguizamo and his son are driving, bonding and serving Cuban food to hispters across these united states. Thanks to Twitter and Facebook and some superb viral marketing master-minded by his son, Emjay Anthony and soon the whole of the blog-o-sphere is in love with Fav and he's re-found his mojo!
Oh how wonderful, and look by the end of this sentimental, pappy, mush, the baddy food critic has realised the error of his ways and in an act of attrition commits seppuka and self-immolation and life is good for Jon Favreau again.
So, welcome to the Favreau uber vanity project. A 115 minute, self-administrated Nuru ego massage where comfortably well-off gourmet chef quits his job and finds salvation and a limitless budget supplied by everyone else and gets to realise his dreams of serving fried cheese toasties and French Fries to a hipsters, hip dudes and dudes who are hip.
Ah, how lovely, how life affirming how moving, how fucking shit.
Oh look, he's quit his job, his girlfriend is Scarlett Johansson, his ex-wife is Sofia Vergena and he's lost his mojo. boohoo.
Here's an example of the most harrowing scene in the whole film. The Fav has pulled over for the first time to serve the bikini clad hip people of Miami toasted cheese sandwiches and chips. Before you can say, god this is shit. A policeman has turned up to serve some grief.
'Do you have a permit to serve street food?'
'Yes here it is.'
'Thank you, move along, sir. but first can I take some photographs with you first, please?'
And that's the most dramatic the film gets. Shit, I've spoilt the drama for you. Sorry.
Now, maybe I don't know jack-shit about American food vans but this morning I had a very nice bacon, sausage and egg bap with mushrooms and tomato with mustard at a carboot sale and I bought it from a food van. It didn't look that glamorous to me and I seriously doubt that I'll ever see Gordon Ramsay giving it all up to drive from carboot sale to carboot sale serving up breakfast baps.
I suppose this is preferable to watching Jon Favreau just standing there with his trousers round his ankles masturbating slowly for nearly two-hours, while looking us dead in the eye through the camera lens and slowly groaning as a small dribble of spit falls from his semi open mouth but you'd be hard pressed to tell the difference.