Cannibal Mukbang

Revenge, Human Flesh, and a Side of Gore: Indie Horror in the Age of Livestreams

There was a time in the early 2010s when the South Korean phenomenon of mukbang—the trend of eating in front of a camera for a virtual audience—was taking over online spaces.

Some describe it as a form of companionship or relaxation. Personally, I’ve always found it rather irritating and frankly unpleasant.

I’m not a fan of watching people eat and chat on screen—it’s something I struggle with even in real-life dining situations.

Writer-director Aimee Kuge makes her feature debut with “Cannibal Mukbang” (2023), a twisted, low-budget horror film centred on a starving social media influencer.

Kuge reimagines the art of mukbang—eating broadcast in Korean—as a tale of vengeance, obsession, grotesque overindulgence, and the disturbing extremes of performative consumption.

April Consalo plays Ash, a viral content creator known for her mukbang videos, where she consumes copious amounts of food for her followers.

The narrative unfolds through the eyes of Mark (Nate Wise), a gentle but deeply anxious man whose life is upended after a late-night encounter with the enigmatic Ash during a convenience store snack run. Initially intrigued by her online persona, Mark is soon dragged into a darker, more disturbing world.

It’s difficult to criticise indie horror too harshly, especially when passion and limited resources are clearly at play. But, “Cannibal Mukbang” joins a growing trend in extreme indie horror that feels caught in a creative loop—recycling familiar tropes without offering new perspectives.

With a title like “Cannibal Mukbang”, you might expect graphic, fetishistic displays of human flesh being consumed live on camera. Instead, the film pivots into a rape-revenge narrative—a thematic shift that’s both unexpected and unevenly handled.

It blends modern cannibalism films like “Fresh”, “Jennifer’s Body”, and “Promising Young Woman” with dashes of neo-grindhouse flicks such as “Hard Candy” and “Knock Knock”.

These films explore vengeance through the lenses of desire and love—something this film attempts, albeit without the emotional depth or gut-punch impact.

The premise is potent, and after learning more about the director’s inspirations, I had hoped for something more subversive. Unfortunately, the film’s storytelling is weak and brings little innovation to a genre already prone to repetition and stylistic mimicry.

While we do gain some insight into the protagonists, secondary characters are thinly sketched, adding little to the emotional or thematic weight of the story.

Where “Cannibal Mukbang” succeeds is in its execution of practical effects. The micro-budget gore is impressively crafted, showcasing scenes of skin-flaying, severed limbs, and a disturbingly elaborate charcuterie board complete with a skull centrepiece.

These moments are inventive and visceral, enhanced by cinematography that becomes a kaleidoscope of hyper-saturated imagery.

The film toys with ideas of empowerment, delusion, and trauma, but ultimately lacks the clarity or conviction to land a lasting impact.

It aspires to be a protest film, but its messaging lacks focus and emotional heft. The final act is predictable, tonally awkward, and emotionally flat, which may leave audiences feeling underwhelmed.

Despite a title that suggests a cannibalistic feast for the livestream generation, the film delivers surprisingly little on that front.

Instead of interrogating the cultural implications of mukbang, it retreats into rape-revenge territory—a missed opportunity for a more original, psychologically rich exploration of digital voyeurism and identity.

Still, “Cannibal Mukbang” reflects the grit and raw ambition that characterises the best of indie horror.

Flawed though it is, Kuge’s debut hints at a filmmaker with a sharp eye—and, hopefully, sharper teeth to come.