Greenaway stages a restaurant as a chromatic prison where appetite, cruelty, and revenge are plated like courses, ending in a literal cannibal feast that indicts Thatcherite vulgarity. The kitchen-as-stage frames consumption itself as the engine of bourgeois rot, echoing Ferreri's villa as a sealed theatre of edible dying.

A father imprisons his children inside a suburban compound where domestic comfort calcifies into ritualized derangement, with food, language, and sex carefully rationed by the patriarch. Like Ferreri, Lanthimos uses the bourgeois household as an airless chamber where abundance becomes its own form of suffocation.

Wealthy guests arrive at a luxury resort and slowly reveal that catered abundance is indistinguishable from spiritual collapse, their meals and massages metabolizing into resentment, addiction, and death. The series shares Ferreri's structural cruelty — confinement to a single pleasure-palace where service is the medium of decay.

Weimar's nightlife is filmed as a cabaret of last suppers — cocaine, champagne, and revue numbers performed at the lip of a political abyss the diners refuse to name. The show, like Ferreri, treats hedonism not as escape but as the orchestra playing on while the floor gives way.

Zola turns Les Halles into a churning cathedral of meat, cheese, and fish where the fat consume the thin and the Republic itself is digested through stalls and gullets. A century before Ferreri, the novel anatomizes how appetite organizes class warfare, with the gourmand bourgeoisie installed as the slow predator of the lean.

A woman's refusal to eat meat metastasizes into a refusal to eat at all, indicting a patriarchal household where consumption is the unspoken contract of belonging. Han Kang inverts Ferreri's gorging gesture — abstention as the same suicidal exit from a culture whose only verb is intake.

Beefheart's deranged blues catalogues spoiled milk, fast and bulbous fish, and the grotesque inventory of a gluttonous American pantry, deforming the song into something that chokes on its own feast. The album's seasick maximalism mirrors Ferreri's overloaded table — appetite pushed past nourishment into hallucination.

Gainsbourg's concept suite frames bourgeois desire as connoisseurship — the older man tasting the girl as he would a vintage, with strings dressing predation in silk and sucrose. Like Ferreri's villa, the record is a closed room of velvet appetites whose elegance is inseparable from its rot.

A consumer society begs to be assaulted by a mysterious boy with a golden bat, secretly preferring victimhood to the unbearable weight of its own comforts. Kon, like Ferreri, diagnoses affluence as a request for annihilation dressed up as entertainment.

Children swept into a galactic resort city are fattened on alien delicacies and spectacle until the candy-coloured paradise reveals an extraction economy beneath its buffets. The film, co-produced through Hong Kong, refracts Ferreri's gourmand parable through pop science fiction — pleasure as the bait of an interstellar consumer machine.