Burnt, by John Wells- Film Review

Gregory Markopoulos had spoken about the dictatorship of the actor as a problem. And although Bradley Cooper is a darling to watch and really wants to make history with his acting, let's not fool ourselves, the whole "Burnt"  film is a bunch of crap aimed at showing beautiful faces at distress on the silver screen.
I admit that cooking for me is tedious and boring, an activity that I have no talent for or inclination at and yet I do enjoy fine ingredients and taste. However, all these plates at great speed in front of me, just made me crave for a simple ratatouille (oh lovely mouse with the ultimate cook film!) instead of titillating my pallet for rare vegetables and spices so expensive that could ruin the Roman Empire (and they did.)
I think that cook/food-movies are segregational. They may nowadays show female chefs running cusines and being as bossy as their male counterparts, but I hate the war of the sexes taking cover while patronising into the kitchen and pretend that it's all fine and smooth. Translation: women make sweets (Chocolat et al) and control the animal world of smell and taste, spice and everything nice and the men still cut the beef (argh!) and combine scnitzenflubenzauerflower with cassetonpani devosarmesasanssouci in post-industrial decor. Now...really?
And just as we begun to relax from the last cook in distress on film ("KIss the Cook"), we bumped into Bradley Cooper and his sinful past in gai Paris, that still haunt his post-addiction days. So cooking and creating and combining flavours is not all that gai, but has another level, a level in which anxiety for Michelin stars reigns. It's the level of terror, insomnia and antagonism, mean acts and betrayal between buddies-in-spoons.
Well, I can watch Gordon Ramsay shows if I want high speed and anxiety, so get me out of the movie theatre and of the kitchen, now!