Biopics have become something of a cultural shorthand in recent years, often attempting the impossible task of distilling an entire life into two tightly edited hours. A24's Tony, however, is interested in something more subdued. Rather than tracing the full mythology of its titular behemoth Anthony Bourdain, the film turns its attention to the moments before the legend: a young man rejected from a coveted writing program who finds himself spending a summer washing dishes in a Cape Cod kitchen. It is not the story of Anthony Bourdain. It's the story of a self-professed "arrogant bastard" becoming someone capable of becoming Anthony Bourdain.
We at RUSSH were fortunate enough to catch an early screening in Sydney a month ahead of its release. With an embargo keeping us under a vow of silence, we've had the last few weeks to chew on what we thought of the film. And rather than offering another conventional review (of which you'll likely find many online), we've decided to give you our thoughts through a series of lessons learned through the film – both pragmatic and conceptual.
Learn to shuck an oyster
Oysters are the bread-and-butter of a Cape Cod diet – and in Tony they transform into a kind of plot device. We see our young chef butcher the process while trying to impress a girl, and later tear into his hand when he decides to shortcut his way to quicker shucking. Those who know how to do it understand that it's an exercise in patience, precision and restraint. Force alone will only leave you with a broken shell. The most meaningful things rarely reveal themselves at first glance, nor do they yield to urgency or brute force. Instead, they ask us to slow down, to pay attention. What is most valuable is often protected by layers that cannot be rushed, only carefully worked through. Sometimes the lesson isn't about pushing harder, but about knowing when to soften your grip, trusting that patience and intention will open doors that force never could.
Always eat last
A piece of advice quipped by Antonio Banderas to Tony in the film is one that stuck with us. In every great kitchen, the cooks feed everyone else before themselves. It's an unspoken rule built on generosity, discipline and service. Outside the kitchen, it's also a reminder that leadership isn't always loud. The people who leave the deepest impression are often those quietly ensuring everyone else has enough before asking what remains for them.
Black doesn't mean burnt
A line we heard more than once. Perhaps a subtle nod to the fine margin between ruin and mastery. A perfect char is intentional – it carries bitterness, sweetness and complexity all at once. It's a useful philosophy beyond food, too. Not every difficult season means something has gone wrong – or that it can't still be used. Sometimes what looks ruined at first glance is exactly where the depth of character is formed.
Never clean an oil fire with water
It's really that simple. You might burn down the restaurant of the one guy who saw something beautiful in you.
It's okay if it's blurry, it's how you see time
Perhaps the film's most poignant observation came from a small moment between camera flashes, as Nancy attempts to capture Bourdain's first author photo. "It's okay if it's blurry, it's how you see time," he says, quite poetically. Memory isn't high definition. We don't remember our lives as perfectly composed frames but as impressions, feelings and fragments that blur like vignettes around the edges. Maybe that's how it should be.
