My initial review for The Coffee Table was going to be one word and one word only.
Fuck.
As gimmicky, nay, lazy and clickbait-inducing piece of film commentary as that would have been, it summed up the overriding thought in my head as the end credits rolled. It was also an approximation of the sound that came out of my mouth as I was finally able to exhale following what felt like seventy-five minutes of me holding my breath.
So, what put me into such a heightened state of anxiety for such an extended period of time? Well, it all starts when new parents Jesús (David Pareja) and María (Estefanio de los Santos) argue over the purchase of the, quite frankly, hideous titular furniture. María doesn’t want such a tacky item in their house, but Jesus decides to go ahead and buy it anyway, as he feels his recent suggestions have been ignored, such as choosing the name of their baby and the décor of their apartment.
Jesús duly slogs it back to their place with the table, begins to assemble it and realises that there’s a screw missing which holds the unbreakable glass surface in place. While waiting for said part to be delivered by the store’s somewhat over-eager salesman (Eduardo Antuña), something dreadful happens. When I say something dreadful happens, I’m not overstating the case. We’re talking breathtakingly, sick-makingly dreadful. And from then on, things can only get worse.
Writer director Caye Casas has crafted an experience so dripping with dread and so stomach-turningly taut that it’s easy to put forward a case that this is nothing more than an endurance test, gleefully putting its main character – and, by extension, the audience – through an emotional wringer that doesn’t even border on the masochistic. This is straight up abuse. If you’re a sensitive soul, don’t even bother sitting down for this one, you’re going to be leaping out of that chair soon enough.
For those still in place, there’s no doubt that the defining event is a gut punch like few others. I watched this in a roomful of hardened horror hounds and when something on screen is powerful enough to render that group of people silent, you know you’ve landed in the bleakest territory imaginable. As if that wasn’t enough, Casas goes on to mine those grim circumstances for some of the darkest comedy you’re ever likely to witness, resulting in an escalating nightmare which is genuinely hilarious at times but will also have its viewer regularly asking themselves the following question: Why am I laughing at this?
The Coffee Table, for all of its casual provocation, possesses an innate understanding as to where the lines are drawn even with such extreme material, choosing to push its most offensive images into the shadows (quite literally). Of course, leaving the most dreadful details of the story to the imagination of the audience only makes the overall impact all the worse, a blurry glimpse of the one thing you don’t want to see amplified by a conscience skilfully primed by that first act.
This could quite easily have descended into ninety minutes of abject misery, but the committed, finely tuned performances and a slew of loaded lines of dialogue keep things deliciously distressing. An utterly compelling central turn by Pareja is the standout, for reasons I clearly can’t go into here without ruining the movie, but his performance wouldn’t work nearly as well without the superb support from Estefanio de los Santos in a characterisation of a wife that goes far beyond the norm in terms of complexity.
Boosting the film’s quotient of biting, bludgeoning humour – and complicating the plot further – is the inclusion of Jesús’ brother Carlos (Josep Maria Riera) and his much younger girlfriend Cristina (Claudia Riera), showing up for a meal which may end with something extremely hard to swallow. Also, there’s an obsessive 12-year-old neighbour (Gala Flores) whose growing infatuation with Jesús’ threatens to shift from irritating to scary. These characters contribute to the growing tension, unceasingly ratcheting to a sadistic level, culminating in a nerve-fraying final stanza where almost every line of dialogue threatens to bring the whole thing crashing down.
As much as I loved this film, it’s one of those titles – along with such infamous audience testers as Cannibal Holocaust – which I feel I should not recommend without listing a bunch of reservations first. Whereas Deodato’s film is full of shockingly gruesome violence and cruelty which remains extremely problematic to this day, The Coffee Table’s alternative yet equally brutal M.O. is to destroy psychologically, basing its increasingly suffocating situation on a plot development which absolutely can not be spoiled, so listing the aforementioned bunch of reservations is not an option.
Did I think it was great? Yes, I did. It is undoubtedly one of my favourite horror movies of 2023. Will you enjoy it? Now that’s a good question. If a heightened, sustained level of anxiety appeals to you, you’re in for a twisted treat. If not, please don’t hold it against yourself. I have a feeling you’re what’s commonly referred to as “normal”.
The Coffee Table (La mesita del comedor) featured as part of the Soho Horror Film Festival 2023.