In Montreal, Quebec, a first-time visitor may well feel overwhelmed with what can be found here! Fortunately, my mission was to enjoy the Fantasia Film Festival, and to be transparent, I was doing remote coverage of this event. Had I truly been in this city, I’d be hitting up as many restaurants as possible! Instead, in what I feasted on were two films that played together to sate my appetite in other strange ways.

Buffet Infinity

Spoiler Alert

This movie played at the Fantasia Film Festival on July 28, 2025.

Buffet Infinity is a film that may feel overwhelming at first. That’s partly because it’s built almost entirely from the kind of late-night local commercials that once dominated community television. Watching it in a theatre replicates the hazy experience of channel surfing after midnight—when you can’t sleep and wind up watching whatever strange programming is still on. If I had to compare it to a favourite broadcast from the late 80s to 90s, it’s as zany and unpredictable as Friday Night Videos.

Where I live, that often meant endless ads from Gordie Dodd’s quirky furniture store or oddball operations out of Belleville, WA. Elsewhere, it might be family-owned diners, pawn shops, or obscure grocery stores. In Simon Glassman‘s surreal feature, even Babbacock Insurance gets screen time.

Despite the food-centric title, viewers are dropped into a chaotic collage of faux advertisements and news reports from the fictional town of Westridge, Alberta. The titular buffet competes with Jenny’s Sandwich Shop, both fighting for customers’ attention—and their wallets. Following the plot requires a sharp eye. Every fake ad or news clip nudges the story forward. Blink, and you might miss that the buffet sits near an ominous sinkhole (which eventually becomes a parking lot).

As the same businesses return with slightly updated commercials, clues emerge that time is passing—and something’s off. The sinkhole expands. Public service announcements, coded in alarming red, appear more frequently. Jenny’s shop leans into nostalgia, serving heartwarming stories and her grandmother’s secret sauce. The contrast between her warm, personal business and the cold anonymity of Buffet Infinity couldn’t be starker. Honestly, I wanted to step into the TV and try one of her sandwiches.

The film sharply critiques mass-market dining culture. Based on my own experience with buffet chains—often overloaded with bland, generic options—I couldn’t help but see the film as a satire of faceless franchises trying (and failing) to serve culturally grounded food. Buffet Infinity feels like a direct jab at those operations, while Jenny’s evokes the warmth and familiarity of a real neighbourhood spot.

Around the 26-minute mark, the tone shifts. What starts as a surreal comedy about food-service rivalry morphs into something more sinister. On a second viewing, the signs become clearer: strange sounds echo through news segments, and authorities begin investigating. The film never shows these disturbances directly—only references them through increasingly bizarre commercials—heightening the sense of dread in a subtle, unnerving way.

Soon, the weirdness ramps up. A used car dealer appears in various costumes much like Gordie Dodd does–and yes, they’re archived on YouTube! Jenny vanishes. Cult rumours spread. A televangelist gets more airtime and even drops full music albums. And through it all, Buffet Infinity insists it has nothing to hide. What began as absurdist humour transforms into a puzzle box of cosmic horror. The plot deepens—especially when the pawn shop owners offer increasingly disturbing updates.

Unlike real television, I didn’t want to tune out the commercials. A compelling story hides within the static—especially in the recurring Mosley Rosin & Associates ads, which hint at a growing crisis of missing persons. Thankfully, the insurance company’s dry, offbeat humour offers some much-needed comic relief. I came in expecting a quirky satire about duelling restaurants. What I got was stranger, funnier, and far more unsettling. Just when I thought it couldn’t go further off the rails, it did—and that final twist? It truly takes the cake.

4 Blokes out of 5

Shrimp Fried Rice

Shrimp Fried Rice, a short film by Dylan Pun, is a hilarious farce that cleverly riffs on a classic Pixar culinary favorite. If you haven’t seen Ratatouille yet, what are you waiting for? The film’s “puppetcore” style really shines, featuring a foul-mouthed shrimp who teams up with his human to cook some seriously impressive dishes. For those unfamiliar with the term, “puppetcore” was coined by the directors of Frank and Zed during marketing for the Fantasia Film Festival. Since this short is also playing there, I hope viewers will catch the connection.

Without giving too much away, the story centers on two animals who cleverly manipulate their human chefs to prepare mean dishes. The diners are in on it and don’t seem to mind, even though the cooks aren’t thrilled. When these animals compete in a tense cooking show, the comedy really hits its stride. Both animals sit atop the humans’ heads and pull their hair to get them cooking—a funny, intense twist that had me laughing out loud. The film captures all the excitement of a real cooking competition but delivers laughs and surprises in just a fraction of the usual time.

The ending caught me completely off guard. When the title of this short film foreshadows the finale, all I can say is “oh my,” followed by a hearty chuckle—because revenge is definitely a dish best served cold. All in all, Shrimp Fried Rice is a fun, clever little short that’s definitely worth a watch—especially if you’re into food, puppets, or just good laughs.

5 Blokes out of 5