The Making of an Icon: Matt Johnson’s ‘Tony’ Deconstructs the Myth of Anthony Bourdain
In the annals of culinary history and travel journalism, Anthony Bourdain remains a singular, towering figure—a man who transformed the act of eating into a profound exploration of the human condition. Yet, before he was the world-weary sage of Parts Unknown or the sharp-tongued author of Kitchen Confidential, he was something far more common: a confused, pretentious, and deeply insecure nineteen-year-old.
Director Matt Johnson, known for his kinetic, hyper-realist approach in films like BlackBerry, takes a surprising turn with his latest feature, Tony. Rather than a traditional, reverential biopic, Johnson delivers a briny, bittersweet coming-of-age portrait that captures a young, pre-fame Bourdain as he navigates a transformative summer in Provincetown in 1975. The film is a masterclass in subverting the "genius-in-the-making" narrative, opting instead to focus on the messy, unglamorous reality of a young man desperately trying to skip the process of becoming in favor of simply being someone.
A Chronology of a Summer Gone Wrong
The narrative arc of Tony is anchored by the delusional, almost pathetic confidence of its protagonist. As portrayed by Dominic Sessa, this teenage iteration of Bourdain is a "spoiled, miserable, narcissistic, self-destructive, and thoughtless young lout," a description taken directly from the film’s opening title card—a confession written by the late icon himself.
The summer begins with a lie. Tony, having convinced himself that he is a literary wunderkind, pitches a project on J.D. Salinger that he has neither the discipline nor the insight to execute. After failing to secure a prestigious writing grant and lying to his parents about his prospects, he finds himself in Provincetown, pursuing a classmate named Nancy (Emilia Jones).
His arrival is a comedy of errors. Within hours, he has alienated the entire staff of The Flagship, the town’s primary restaurant, and been robbed of his remaining funds by a dishwasher who tires of his arrogance. The irony is palpable: the man who would eventually teach the world about the dignity of labor spends his first weeks in Provincetown begging for a dishwasher position just to secure a spot to sleep on the head chef’s hammock. This is the "ass-kicking" Bourdain admits he so desperately needed—a forced confrontation with the reality of hard work, stripped of his academic pretension.
The Crucible of the Kitchen: Supporting Data and Dynamics
If Sessa’s performance provides the film’s heartbeat, the ensemble cast—and specifically Leo Woodall’s turn as Sal—provides the grit. Sal is the embodiment of pure id, a charismatic "Masshole" who approaches life with the same blunt, unrefined urgency he brings to his work.
The kitchen of The Flagship functions as the crucible for Tony’s transformation. Alongside a crew played by Stavros Halkias, Michael Jibrin, and Monica Raymund, the environment is chaotic, jocular, and deeply blue-collar. The hierarchy is overseen by an enigmatic, unnamed Chef, portrayed with grounded, quiet authority by Antonio Banderas.
Banderas’s performance is a critical element of the film’s success. He resists the urge to play the "wise mentor" in a Good Will Hunting vein. Instead, he treats his role with a monastic seriousness, clearly seeing potential in the impudent kid but refusing to let his own life be defined solely by his impact on the future celebrity. This structural decision by Johnson—to keep the mentor as a distinct, independent character—prevents the film from falling into the trap of hagiography.
The Aesthetic Shift: Johnson’s Stylistic Evolution
Long-time fans of Matt Johnson’s work will note a distinct departure in Tony. Known for his handheld, chaotic, and often zoom-heavy documentary style, Johnson adopts a more conventional, patient visual language here. The zooms are absent; in their place are super-long lenses that isolate Sessa against the backdrop of Cape Cod.
This stylistic choice serves a specific purpose: it emphasizes the character’s internal isolation. By choosing to de-emphasize Tony’s subjective, motor-mouthed perspective in favor of a wider, more observational genre form, Johnson allows the audience to witness the discrepancy between who Tony thinks he is and who he actually appears to be to the world around him. It is a bold experiment—a director known for raw, unvarnished energy trapping his protagonist within the polished, rigid dimensions of a Polaroid-esque coming-of-age drama.
Implications: The Myth vs. The Man
The most intellectually stimulating aspect of Tony is how it treats its audience’s knowledge of the future. For the No Reservations neophyte, the film is a straightforward story of a boy finding his footing. For the seasoned Bourdain devotee, the film is a recursive loop of irony.
We watch with a mix of amusement and pity as Tony attempts to mimic the mannerisms of the "tortured artist" he believes he is destined to become. He mistakes the ingredients of success for the life itself, failing to realize that Bourdain’s eventual status as a "relaxed-casual ronin" was forged through years of service, addiction, and hard-won wisdom—not by simply carrying nunchucks in one’s bellbottoms.
However, the film is not without its flaws. The character of Nancy, while beautifully acted by Emilia Jones, suffers from being written as "human scaffolding." Her purpose in the film is primarily to serve as a mirror for Tony’s dishonesty, and she is rarely given the agency to exist outside of her relationship to his delusions. While she is central to his personal history, her narrative utility feels thin compared to the rich, lived-in texture of the kitchen staff.
Conclusion: Paving the Way to Parts Unknown
Ultimately, Tony succeeds because it refuses to provide a neat, triumphant conclusion. There is no "aha!" moment where the boy becomes the man. Instead, the film ends in a state of suspended animation, acknowledging that the real journey is still years away.
Johnson understands that a coming-of-age story about a future legend shouldn’t be about the end point, but about the slow, often embarrassing realization that no one can "fake it" into existence. By stripping away the veneer of the iconic travel documentarian, the film reveals the fragile, human core that made Bourdain so relatable in the first place.
As an examination of the distance between ambition and reality, Tony is a poignant, if conventional, achievement. It is a film that reminds us that everyone—even those who eventually master the world—starts out as an "obnoxious kid" waiting to be humbled by the sheer, unyielding weight of the truth.
Grade: B
A24 will release ‘Tony’ in theaters nationwide on Friday, August 7.
