Buffet Infinity

If you feel lost or don’t know what you are watching…

don’t worry you are not alone.

Like a late-night binge-watch from the ‘90s “Buffet Infinity” catapults you into a visual collage of fictional commercials turning into a surreal nightmare between body horror and experimental horror.

A true weird experience that needs to be seen to believe it’s real. Like an avant-garde cosmic-horror comedy built on excess, where food becomes an alien form of modern scrolling entertainment.

Once, we were watching these commercials when we couldn’t sleep or waiting for a movie to watch, and yes back in the 90s there were TV channels only about commercials, people who wanted to sell something or sketchy fortune tellers who could read your future… now this has shifted to a non-stop scrolling on social media.

“Buffet Infinity” was born as an idea for a YouTube series but then director Simon Glassman decided to turn it into a full length feature, even if calling it a movie is reducing what really is.

An analog movie without a real plot but that knows how to keep you engaged from beginning to end, giving you an eerie and very disturbing vibe that you could barely explain.

But what makes “Buffet Infinity” work is that its horror doesn’t really come from horror itself.

Yes, there is body horror and disturbing imagery, but the real horror comes from the feeling of being trapped inside an endless stream of commercials and sales pitches that slowly become more unsettling the longer they go on.

It is horror as an experience rather than a genre. At the same time, it is strangely funny. If you grew up in the ’90s there is something almost nostalgic about it.

Looking back at those late-night commercials, shopping channels and fortune tellers now feels ridiculous, but also a little creepy.

The film understands that contradiction perfectly and turns it into both comedy and discomfort. What starts as a collection of fake ads slowly becomes a reflection on consumer culture.

Back then, commercials interrupted what we wanted to watch. Today they are what we watch. Endless scrolling, sponsored posts, influencers, viral trends and food content appearing every second.

We keep consuming even when we don’t really know it, but we know we should stop.

That is probably why food is at the center of everything. Food is one of the easiest obsessions to connect with because everybody needs it.

But somewhere along the way it stopped being just food. It became entertainment, identity, a fetish spectacle at times. New diets, viral recipes, fast-food crazes and limited editions constantly fight for our attention.

The movie takes that obsession and pushes it into something that feels unknown. Not from outer space simply because aliens appear in the movie, but because something familiar suddenly becomes strange and impossible to fully understand.

The buffet is infinite because consumption itself has become infinite. If commercials were once confined to television, now they are everywhere. Sometimes they don’t even look like advertisements anymore.

Social media feeds have become endless chains of products, recommendations and hidden commercials disguised as content.

The editing feels like a visual moodboard of nonstop psychological violence made of products, logos and fake enthusiasm.

There are no complex editing tricks to admire, just an endless repetition that slowly wears you down. Even the voices of the hosts become exhausting after a while, and I suspect that is exactly the point.

What impressed me the most is how authentic the analog aesthetic feels.

Watching “Buffet Infinity” often feels like discovering a forgotten VHS tape or stumbling across a public-access television channel that somehow survived into the era of AI and social media entertainment.

By the end I felt fascinated, nostalgic, uneasy, disgusted and exhausted all at the same time.

Not because of any single shocking moment, but because the “Buffet Infinity” forces you to spend so much time inside a machine of endless consumption that eventually starts feeling disturbingly familiar.