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What happens to Labour if Jeremy Corbyn wins again?

How the leader and his opponents are already preparing for the post-contest battles to come.

On 24 September, at a special conference in Liverpool, Jeremy Corybn will be re-elected as the leader of the Labour Party. This, at least, is the outcome that MPs anticipate. The party’s leadership contest has more than five weeks to run but few believe Corbyn’s soft-left challenger, Owen Smith, will prevail. “Corbyn’s going to win and he could win at least as well as he did last time,” a former shadow cabinet minister said. Among constituency parties around Britain, the Labour leader won 285 nominations (nearly twice as many as he did in 2015). Smith had 53.

One recent afternoon in Milton Keynes, some of those helping to ensure Corbyn’s victory gathered to hear him speak. From the top of a fire engine, the Labour leader addressed a crowd of 1,500 outside the town’s railway station. The truck, provided by the Fire Brigades Union, is a permanent presence at Corbyn’s rallies. “All over the country, we’re getting a big turnout of people,” he told the crowd. “Some are party members [Labour is now the largest political organisation in western Europe]. Some are party supporters. Some come because they’re interested in politics for the first time, because they recognise that since a year ago, we are no longer the me-tooism of politics . . . A year ago, I’m sad to say that in parliament, the official Labour position was to abstain on the Welfare Reform Bill and the £12bn that was going to take from the poorest and most vulnerable in our society. No more is that the position. We want to defend and support those who are the most vulnerable in our society.”

Corbyn, jacketless and wearing a blue shirt, spoke for 35 minutes without notes. His audience listened raptly, frequently interrupting his rhetorical fusillades with cheers. “People were embarrassed to say they’re socialists before. They’re not now,” Gail Gallagher, a social worker, told me. The last Labour leader, Ed Miliband, “wasn’t up to it”, she said. “Too lightweight,” her husband, Neil, added.

Similar sentiments were expressed by John McGeechan, a 22-year-old postgraduate student who joined Labour after “self-indulgent, self-serving MPs initiated their corridor coup”. Of Owen Smith, who is running on a platform to the left of Miliband’s, he said: “He’s just another mealy-mouthed careerist who says whatever he thinks is going to get him elected. I don’t believe at all that he means what he says about creating a radical socialist government given that he’s got the backing of Peter Mandelson, Alastair Campbell and Tony Blair, people who’ve disagreed with Corbyn on pretty much all his socialist policies. I don’t believe that he’s going to stand up to these people.”

Some of those present were hardened activists, distributing revolutionary news-sheets for the likes of Labour Party Marxists and Counterfire. But many were relative newcomers to Labour, inspired to join by Corbyn’s unashamed moralism.

When the leader told the crowd that he wouldn’t read out all ten of his campaign pledges because “you don’t want to be here ’til sunset” some cried out, “We do!” (This prompted derisive social media comparisons with the followers in Monty Python’s Life of Brian: “Speak to us, Master! Speak to us!”) Corbyn later proudly tweeted that the rally was “the largest ever political meeting in the town’s history”, 49 years on from its foundation.

The host constituency (Milton Keynes North) is held by the Conservatives with a majority of 9,753 votes. In his stump speech, Corbyn alluded to this. “This leadership campaign is about leadership of the party, yes, but it’s also about our campaigning abilities, to offer people something different, something alternative – a society that cares for all, not nourishes the wealth of a few. That’s why we’re going to gain seats here in Milton Keynes at the general election.” To win power, he emphasised in his closing words, “you have to offer something very, very different”.

***

Labour MPs agree that Corbyn is doing that. But the consequence, they fear, is electoral apocalypse. Corbyn’s personal poll ratings are the lowest of any opposition leader in history. “If Jeremy Corbyn wins [the leadership election], I think we face meltdown,” the Ilford South MP, Mike Gapes, told me. “I can’t see any circumstances in which he can win a general election. We could go down to 150 MPs or even less [Labour has 230]. That’s without the boundary changes. If there isn’t an early general election and Corbyn is still there in 2020, we’ll get wiped out.”

At a meeting of Corbyn’s own constituency party, Islington North, on 10 August, his former policy director Neale Coleman, who is now supporting Owen Smith, warned that “with Jeremy as leader, we would be ­defeated to the same level as in 1931” – when the party won just 52 seats.

It was such dystopian visions, and anguish over the EU referendum defeat, that led 172 Labour MPs to support a no confidence motion in Corbyn and 65 shadow ministers to resign. Few believe that the schism in Labour can be repaired. If Corbyn is re-elected, most MPs will continue to refuse to serve on the front bench, leaving him incapable of forming a full team. “We’ve crossed the Rubicon: there’s no going back,” Wes Streeting, one of the 2015 intake, told me. “This is irreparable while Jeremy remains leader.”

Such judgements lead some commentators to argue that a split is both inevitable and desirable. Conditions now, they say, are far worse than those faced by Labour MPs in the 1980s (when 28 joined the breakaway Social Democratic Party). The left today controls the leadership and not just the constituencies; it retains the support of most of the trade unions; a “one member, one vote” system has replaced the electoral college, to which the deputy leader, Tom Watson, wishes to return. Rather than persist with the unhappiest marriage in politics, Labour MPs and left activists – so the argument runs – should go their separate ways.

Advocates of a new centre-left party cite an increasingly promiscuous electorate, the Brexit-opposed “48 per cent” and a pool of willing donors. But it is not an option that Corbyn’s opponents intend to pursue. Labour's tribalists have no intention of leaving their party. The more tactically minded see little potential for a new grouping to flourish. A crowded electoral marketplace, the resilience of the Labour brand, the rebels' own divisions and Theresa May's economic interventionism all limit the space to occupy. 

Others fear a lack of “big beasts” to lead a breakaway. “It would need a very strong, credible leader to lead people through such an incredibly radical moment,” Peter Kyle, the MP for Hove and Portslade, said. “The SDP had Roy Jenkins, it had Shirley Williams: very big, towering political figures with intellect and experience in government. That’s the kind of thing that you’d be looking for if you were going to take one of the radical options.”

He added: “There’s a lot of talk about whether the party will split. What it feels like to me is that the party has already split. It’s like one of those chasms you see in the Arctic. It starts very small at the top, a dusting of snow covers it; but underneath is this enormous gap, and when somebody steps on it you fall through. The little dusting of snow at the top, which is holding it together, is Tom Watson and Iain McNicol [Labour’s general secretary]. But underneath them is this yawning gap that any time could rupture. I think that has already happened. The question is whether we can put it back together again, or whether it will just snap.”

***

 

If Corbyn is re-elected, another struggle for supremacy will begin. His allies want to replace both Watson, who was elected deputy leader last year, and McNicol, who has been general secretary since 2011. The former, who is from the party’s old right, outraged Corbynites when on 9 August he warned of “Trotsky entryists” who were “twisting young arms”. “I voted for Tom Watson!” Gail Gallagher said angrily, in Milton Keynes. “What a snake.”

Corbyn’s allies accuse McNicol of aiding the attempt by members of the National Executive Committee to prevent his automatic inclusion on the ballot and of tacitly supporting Smith’s campaign. The leader’s team alleges that Smith had early access to members’ email addresses and was given advance sight of the questions for the first hustings in Cardiff on 4 August. They are further aggrieved by McNicol’s successful court appeal against the inclusion in the contest of 130,000 people registered as Labour members since January.

After much discussion of the party’s “woman problem” following Angela Eagle’s failed leadership bid and the selection of an all-male roster of mayoral candidates, allies of Corbyn joke that replacing McNicol with a woman would “kill two birds with one stone”. Jennie Formby, an NEC member and former political director of the Unite mega-union (who has a child with Len McCluskey, Unite’s general secretary), is touted as a possible successor (Unite sources emphasise that she is not interested in the post).

Control of the party bureaucracy is regarded as essential to completion of Corbyn’s internal revolution. The leader’s office has long believed that Labour staffers are working to rule, at best, and plotting sedition at worst. But Corbyn’s opponents say that he lacks the support required to remove the general secretary. The GMB union, which endorsed Smith and of which McNicol is a former political officer, is among the reputed majority on the NEC for Owen Smith. But a Corbyn source warned: “McNicol has pissed off a lot of [trade union] general secretaries. The GMB alone won’t be enough to save him.”

As the party’s elected deputy leader, Watson cannot be removed without a challenge initiated by at least 50 MPs or MEPs – a threshold that cannot be achieved. But Corbyn’s allies float potential rule changes such as term limits or the introduction of an additional female deputy. In this way, Watson can be undermined. “If MPs like Jess Phillips and Caroline Flint want to propose that, the leadership will be behind them,” a source said.

The trade unions and Corbyn supporters in Momentum, the activist group launched after his leadership victory last year, are pushing for a remodelling closer to home. They speak of having “bailed out” the leader’s office after a succession of unforced errors over the past 11 months. The TSSA transport and travel union and the Communication Workers Union, which provide much of the campaign’s organisation and give it financial heft, are likely to demand additional personnel in Corbyn’s office. Sam Tarry, the TSSA’s national political officer, is tipped to make a full-time move to the leader’s spin operation to assist his communications director, Seumas Milne (the Guardian journalist whom even his opponents now regard as unsackable).

The overarching question remains how Corbyn operates with a parliamentary party that has declared no confidence in him. Watson has proposed the return of shadow cabinet elections, which were abolished by Ed Miliband in 2011. This would enable MPs to choose as many as 20 of their own number, to whom Corbyn would assign portfolios. “That would be one way for him of peacemaking,” a former shadow cabinet minister said. “If that were the case, I’d be prepared to put myself forward.”

However, a Corbyn source dismissed the idea. “It’s not going to happen,” he said: “they don’t have the numbers to get it through conference.” He added that the election of a representative for the Parliamentary Labour Party was a possibility.

He went on: “Jeremy is one of the most concessionary politicians around. He’d be very open to the idea of bringing people back, sitting down, listening to where things went wrong and where the input would be from the other side – seeing where there can be mutual ground.”

Corbyn’s team does not hesitate to warn that antagonistic MPs are putting themselves at risk of deselection by members. “The power’s there, we can’t stop it. We cannot say, ‘You cannot use the powers at your local CLP [Constituency Labour Party],’” a source said. “There’s no lever in the leader’s office for deselections. The issue is that there’s lot of party members who are very annoyed at their MPs for going against them, and now they find they have a voice that they never normally had.”

***

In Milton Keynes, the student activist John McGeechan rebuked Owen Smith for comparing Corbyn to an ­employer who tells staff to “work harder or I’m going to sack you all”. What the challenger didn’t understand, he said, “is that Corbyn’s not their employer: we are”. The debate that defined Labour’s struggles in the 1980s – whether MPs or activists should hold the whip hand – has been resurrected.

Although mandatory reselection was abolished by Neil Kinnock in 1990, MPs can be ousted if they lose the “trigger ballots” held automatically before a general election (from which open selections result). During a recent visit to Brighton, Corbyn said that he would not “interfere” in attempts to remove the local MP Peter Kyle. “What goes on in CLPs is part of a democratic process,” he stated.

“I think a lot of other people were shocked. I wasn’t shocked or surprised,” Kyle said. “What Jeremy does is, he stands passively by while bad things happen. When Ruth Smeeth [a Labour MP] was attacked at the launch of the anti-Semitism report [by Shami Chakrabarti] he sat quietly by and didn’t even open his mouth.”

Kyle added: “When Diane Abbott attacked Jo Cox for writing an article with [the former Conservative cabinet minister] Andrew Mitchell about international development, Jeremy Corbyn did not say a single word when he was asked at the PLP meeting whether his front bench should be attacking new-intake MPs. He didn’t even speak . . .

“Part of the responsibility of a leader is to proactively stop bad things from happening. For me, what Jeremy said when he was down in Brighton is part of the pattern I’ve seen from the start.”

MPs warn that a wave of deselections could lead to the formation of a breakaway parliamentary faction, as long advocated by the former Harold Wilson aide Joe Haines. "If people have got no seat and they know they're not going to be in the next parliament they've got nothing to lose," one said. Frank Field told me last year that any MP deselected should trigger an immediate by-election and stand as an “independent Labour” candidate.

Corbyn allies hope to achieve rule changes such as mandatory reselection and a reduced leadership nomination threshold (from 15 per cent of MPs/MEPs to 5 per cent) by 2017-18. The “full democratisation” of the party, as they describe it, would guarantee the presence of left-wing candidates in future contests. Corbynism would endure even if Jeremy Corbyn did not.

In private, Labour MPs are increasingly critical of Owen Smith’s campaign. The former shadow work and pensions secretary, who entered parliament in 2010, was chosen as a “clean skin”, untainted by the Blair years and the Iraq War. But the Welshman, who has worked as a lobbyist for Pfizer, has struggled to reconcile his past positions, such as support for private-sector involvement in the National Health Service, with his left-wing, Corbyn-style policy platform: railway renationalisation, a ban on zero-hour contracts, a full “living wage” and a wealth tax on the top 1 per cent of earners.

“The view was that you needed to do a soft-left candidacy to see if that would work,” a former shadow cabinet minister said. “But Smith’s message appears to be: ‘I’m the same as him but I’m more competent ; I look better in a suit.’ Or it’s a warmed-up Ed Milibandism, which was rejected by the voters.”

***

In a Morning Star article in 2003, Corbyn suggested that there should be “an annual election for leader”. His wish may now be granted as his opponents mount repeated challenges to his leadership.

“Moderates need to understand that it’s only through the registered supporters route that they’re going to be able to win back the party,” a former shadow cabinet minister said. “There are lots of people out there who want a credible, electable, centre-left proposition and we have not given them enough of a reason to sign up . . . The strategic problem with Owen’s candidacy is that it talks to the existing bubble. You can win 40-45 per cent with that, but you can only really win if you can bring in new people. Who has an offer and the charisma to be able to bring in new people? That has to be the question the next time round.”

Some point to the primaries in which the French president, François Hollande (backed by 1.6 million supporters), and the Italian prime minister, Matteo Renzi (1.9 million), won against more left-wing opponents as models to emulate. Another mentioned the United States: “Obama would never have won in 2008 with the existing Democratic membership and support base – it was owned by the Clintons. You’ve got to change it.”

Rebels say that another leadership challenge could be triggered early next year, in advance of a potential general election. But others believe that they should follow Thumper’s law: “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.”

A senior MP argued that the PLP should “just shut up” and “let Jeremy crack on with it”. The imperative, he said, was to avoid MPs “taking the blame for us getting thumped in a snap election”.

Corbyn, some MPs fear, could even survive defeat in an early general election. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that Jeremy will go easily,” Kyle said. “These people do not believe Jeremy is capable of making any mistake and the people we’re talking about here, in the last thirty to forty years, have never admitted to any mistake of any kind. If we lose a general election that the Jeremy Corbyn Facts website [set up by Corbyn’s team] has already written the script for what would come. They would blame it on the 172 [MPs]. They would blame it on the conspiratorial coup attempt . . .”

Both sides in Labour’s struggle cite history in their favour. Corbyn’s opponents highlight his record of rebellion against every leader since 1983. His supporters assert that it was New Labour and its legacy that led to the election defeats of 2010 and 2015. Both are now torn between those who advocate confrontation – further leadership challenges and deselections – and those who plead for co-operation.

“All MPs are going to have to accept that no one has a monopoly on grievance,” Clive Lewis, the shadow defence secretary and a Corbyn ally, told me. For his own constituents in Norwich, Lewis said, Labour’s imbroglio was like “a Dallas plot on speed”.

“They can’t keep up and they’ve lost interest,” he said. “It’s not even about electability: it’s about simply being relevant. We’re becoming an irrelevancy to people; we’re becoming a joke.”

There is one point on which Jeremy Corbyn and his most recalcitrant opponents converge: voters do not like divided parties. The risk for both – and, indeed, the future of the Labour Party – is that they will soon discover just how much.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

Stephen Bush is special correspondent at the New Statesman and the PSA's Journalist of the Year. His daily briefing, Morning Call, provides a quick and essential guide to domestic and global politics.

This article first appeared in the 18 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Corbyn’s revenge

Clockwise from top left: Moonlight, Phantom Thread, Call Me By Your Name, The Shape of Water
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The hand that feeds: how food scenes became the home of intimacy, sex and power in film

While food in general has been a big part of film over the past two years, it’s feeding scenes that stand out: from Phantom Thread’s BDSM omelette to Moonlight’s diner meal.

When was the last time somebody fed you? Not the last time your friend invited you round for dinner, or your partner cooked something delicious and romantic that you ate together. Not the last time you went to a nice restaurant and your date scooped a forkful of their meal into your mouth. When was the last time someone lived to serve your appetite, and your appetite alone?

Being fed is something that happens to people in an infantilised state. It suggests vulnerability. In this way, it is deeply, sometimes overly, intimate. When one person is eating and another isn’t – particularly in a sit-down, food-focused setting – traditional social dynamics become imbalanced, like being stark naked next to someone fully clothed, or a singer performing for an audience of one. As such, being fed can sit on a knife-edge of power dynamics: sometimes maternally nourishing, sometimes romantically intimate, sometimes exposing and uncomfortable. As a visual expression of the complexities of relationships, and with our need for food so often functioning as a metaphor for emotional needs and sexual desire, feeding scenes are particularly cinematic.

In fact, they are some of cinema’s most memorable: from Snow White accepting the evil witch’s apple in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs to the much-parodied food-as-foreplay sequence in 9 Weeks. I think of the sandwiches eaten early on in Psycho. When Marion arrives at the Bates Hotel, Norman Bates asks her, “Will you have supper here?” relaxing her by insisting “I was just about to, myself…” But once the sandwiches are prepared, Bates doesn’t eat. “It’s all for you. I’m not hungry. Please go ahead,” he insists. Marion, forced to eat alone, nibbles uncomfortably, and Bates watches closely. “You eat like a bird”, he says, comparing her to the stuffed birds dotted all around the room. It’s our first hint – along with his off-screen mother’s disembodied ranting about Mary “appeasing her ugly appetite with my food – and my son!” – that something is deeply wrong, as the proper dynamics of a meal are disturbed, and food openly discussed as a sexual metaphor.

While food in general has been a big part of film and film discussions over the past couple of years – from teenage girls snacking on un-consecrated wafers in Lady Bird to Get Out’s fruit loops and milk eaten (crucially, psychopathically) separately – it’s feeding scenes that stand out: from Phantom Thread’s BDSM omelette to Moonlight’s diner meal.

Perhaps no recent film privileges the role of food in relationships as highly as Moonlight (2016), which follows the coming-of-age of a gay black boy in Miami, Florida. “When it comes to food and film, its Barry Jenkins’ 2016 film Moonlight that paints food, and feeding, the most vibrantly,” Ruby Tandoh writes in her book Eat Up, in a section on the ways in which food functions as a language of caring. “The food is rich and exquisite and larger than life, but it’s not really the contents of the plate that counts. What matters, in each of these scenes, is that the meal sits there on the table between Chiron and the people who love him – a symbol of the most nurturing kind of love.” Moonlight explores the growing up of Chiron, in three acts (child, teenager and adult), and each of these acts contains at least one key scene in which Chiron is fed.

In an early scene, young Chiron (Alex Hibbert) is sat in a plasticy diner in front of Juan, a stranger who has taken it upon himself to look after neglected Chiron. Juan sits casually, a milkshake in hand, but with no food for himself, while Chiron eats his fries with a fork, quickly and silently.

“You not gonna tell me what your name is?” Juan says. When Chiron makes no attempt to reply, Juan pulls the tray out of his reach. Chrion looks down and shuffles back into his seat, still sulkily silent. Juan laughs. “Oh, man, you know I wouldn’t do you like that. Anyway, I apologize, alright? I’m just trying to get you to say something.”

After a short car ride, we are at home with Juan and his girlfriend Teresa. Juan and Teresa have no plates before them, but are both watching Chiron silently make his way through a plate of chicken. “You don’t talk much but you damn sure can eat,” Juan laughs. “That’s alright, baby. You ain’t got to talk till you get good and ready,” says Teresa. Finally, he speaks. “My name’s Chiron.” Even at this early stage in the film, the relationship between emotional and physical nourishment is clear, as food seen as a gateway to trust and familiarity.

When Chiron is older, he still relies on Teresa for this nourishment. In the film’s second act, Theresa tries to joke with a teenage Chiron (Ashton Sanders) as he eats (again, she herself does not), but Chiron, anxious and sullen, doesn’t bite, instead looking down at his plate. Theresa gently, lovingly insists he sit up and speak. “Stop putting your head down in my house. You know my rule, it’s all love and all pride in this house. You feel me? I can’t hear you. Do you feel me?”

These dynamics reappear in Chiron’s romantic relationship as a grown man. Now muscular and masculine but still shy and reserved, Chiron (Trevante Rhodes) meets up with Kevin (André Holland), the object of his childhood affections, in the diner he runs. This diner scene, for many the iconic image of the film, is stretched out until it twitches with sexual tension, full of long silences and extended eye contact, running at an almost painfully long fifteen minutes. “You ain’t changed one damn bit,” Kevin observes. “You still can’t say more than three words at a time, huh?” Without missing a beat, Chiron speaks. “You said you was gonna cook for me. I know how to say that.”

We watch Kevin prepare the chef’s special with skill and care. Kevin brings it over to Chiron in a window booth, insists they share a bottle of wine, and attentively watches him eat his meal. When Chiron drops a bit on the table, and eats it with his fingers, popping it in his mouth, Kevin laughs. “I saw that, I saw that!” When Chiron is reluctant to share more personal details of his life, Kevin refuses to let it slide. “I’ve been back there in that kitchen, man, and cooked for your ass and everything. Hey, these grandma’s rules, man. You know the deal: your ass eat, your ass speak.”

Kevin’s joking about “grandma’s rules” points towards the larger significance of Moonlight’s meals: food is the tool that allows Kevin, Theresa, and Juan to enter Chiron’s life intimately, in both parental and romantic roles. For someone like Chiron – lonely, neglected, whose appetites and needs don’t take centre stage in his own childhood home – meals like this become the times where he is most vulnerable, and most open to love.

Parallels have been drawn between Moonlight and Sean Baker’s exploration of impoverished childhood The Florida Project (2017), even by Barry Jenkins himself. Moonee, The Florida Project’s central character, is, like Chiron, the child of a single mother in desperate circumstances (they live in a $38 a night motel called The Magic Castle, near Florida’s Disney World). But Moonee’s mother Halley is more caring, and present, and is at her most nurturing when feeding her child.

In one scene, we watch from Halley’s perspective as Moonee eats her weight in food at an all-you-can-eat hotel breakfast buffet Halley has sneaked them into. Moonee wolfs down bacon and fruit and pastries, and drinks a huge glass of orange juice in a single gulp. She is thrilled: “I wish I had a bigger stomach – like I was pregnant! I could fit food in there... We’ve gotta come here again. This is the life man! Better than a cruise!” The whole scene is a performance: Halley pretends to be a normal hotel guest on holiday with her child, Moonee in turn plays up her enjoyment for her mother. But it’s a performance that allows Halley and Moonee to have a loving, normal mother-daughter relationship, even if it’s short-lived. Halley simply watches her overexcited daughter quietly, smiling beatifically. As her daughter is at her most effusive and childlike, delighting in life’s simple pleasures, Halley is at her most maternal.

Kelly Reichardt’s Certain Women (2016) can also be compared to Moonlight: here is a colder imagining of queer love in a diner. Lonely, isolated Montanan ranch hand Jamie (Lily Gladstone) falls for a young lawyer, Beth (Kristen Stewart) when she accidentally walks into her law class. After class, Jamie offers to take Beth to a diner. Over three scenes in that diner, Reichardt explores Jamie’s unreciprocated interest in Beth: in each, Beth eats while Jamie watches eagerly, ordering no food for herself.

In the first, Beth eats a sad-looking burger and complains about the long journey ahead of her. In the second, she eats a bowl of soup, while Jamie, again, only watches. Beth asks Jamie, businesslike, “Do you happen to know anyone in town who could teach my class?” Jamie chuckles sheepishly and says, “I don’t know anyone at all.” It’s overly intimate – Jamie wants Beth to ask about her loneliness. Her soft smile is the one of someone being examined by a new lover. Beth looks at her soup and asks Jamie vaguely about her job working with horses. Jamie responds with childhood anecdotes about her and her brothers sneaking out at night to ride wild horses, smiling that same embarrassed smile.

The third and final time the two arrive at the diner, it’s on horseback. Emboldened by the mere mention of her horses in their last conversation, when Beth agrees to share a ride to the diner, Jamie surprises her by bringing out her horse. The two ride the horse in silence. In the diner, biting into a grilled cheese, Beth offers Jamie some of her fries. Jamie, as ever, declines to eat, but stares unbreakingly at Beth, asking her a question that picks up on the last throwaway comment Beth made the last time they were at the diner: clearly, she’s been running that conversation over in her mind, thinking of something to ask her. It’s painful to watch such undivided, unreciprocated attentions, and Jamie’s misreading of the scene leads to an awkward declaration of feeling later in the film.

7,000 miles away, Francis Lee’s God’s Own Country (2017) too explores queer desire in an isolated, rural setting. Johnny (Josh O’Connor) is a closeted Yorkshire farm worker with a drinking problem, used to denying himself life’s pleasures. The arrival of stunningly handsome Romanian farmhand Gheorghe (Alec Secareanu) catches Johnny off-guard.

The first time they eat together, Johnny tears into a pot of instant noodles without putting a flavour packet in; Gheorghe empties his packet into his noodles quietly and slowly. They are silent and avoid eye contact. The second time, it’s early, the morning after their first sexual encounter. Gheorghe watches silently as Johnny forks noodles into his mouth. “What?” he asks, uncomfortable. “I’m starving, me.” The third time, after watching Gheorghe begin to pour his flavour packet into his noodles, Johnny holds his own cup towards him. Gheorghe shares his packet. Again, Gheorghe watches Johnny eat. Eventually Johnny is too uncomfortable under his gaze, and finishes his noodles inside, alone. But later, as their relationship develops, we see Gheorghe cook for Johnny, even tasting it and salting his food for him, and they begin to actually enjoy food together.

Shared pleasure in food as a form of romance pops up again In Luca Guadagnino’s Call Me By Your Name (2017), set in rural Italy in 1983. Oliver (Armie Hammer) and Elio (Timothée Chalamet) fall in love around the breakfast table, amongst fragrant peach trees. During their first breakfast together, Oliver begins by helping himself to an egg. He taps it with his teaspoon so violently he smashes the whole egg into a runny mess of yolk and bits of shell. The maid takes it away, he takes a second, and breaks into it with a little more restraint. Elio is eating a peach, chewing on it as his parents and Oliver chat about the fruit trees. Oliver begins hurriedly eating his egg, making appreciative noises, dripping liquid yolk all over the table, and is soon offered another. “No, no, no I know myself too well – if I have a second I’m just gonna have a third, and then a fourth, and you’re just gonna have to roll me out of here. Delicious.” Elio pauses from his chewing to watch, intently.

The next time we see Oliver eat an egg, it’s in close-up, with ridiculous squelching noises. Though Guadagnino has insisted there is nothing sexual about this moment, only Epicurean, (even insisting in his defence “We didn’t do a close-up of that”, but I beg to differ – see above), the dialogue during the scene at least links Oliver’s egg eating to sex. “We almost had sex last night,” Elio says to his father, while Oliver eats. Then adds, “Marcia and me.” Of course, it is peaches that are the film’s most sexualised food. And, as Dan Q Dao writes in Munchies, the original novel contains an even more explicit version of the scene, as Oliver eats a peach Elio has had sex with, while Elio watches.

Call Me By Your Name is not the only film this year offering audiences a sexy egg. Eggs are more deliberately sexualised in Guillermo del Toro’s The Shape of Water (2017), set in Baltimore in 1962. Every morning, cleaner Elisa (Sally Hawkins) masturbates in the bath in the time it takes her to boil two eggs to take to work. Later, when she first meets the fish-man creature the laboratory she cleans is experimenting on, she feeds him the very same eggs – which he devours with visible pleasure. Is this human feeding animal, mother feeding child, or lover feeding lover? Eggs bond them – “egg” is the first word she teaches him in sign language, and the eggs she brings him every day soon become tokens of love, as Elisa lines them up on the edge of his tank, making eyes at him.

In the film’s most unambiguous exploration of Elisa’s feelings for the amphibian man, the two sit at opposite ends of a long table, while the creature eats an entire plate of boiled eggs. As Elisa watches him eat, she sings along with the song on the radio, and the scene melts into an old Hollywood fantasy, where Elisa swirls around a stage with the creature in her arms. We cut back to the dinner table: the creature is studiously peeling his eggs, oblivious. When Elisa feeds the amphibian man, it both brings them closer together, and serves to emphasise the gulf between them in their experiences of the world.

In all these films, the relationship between food and sex is romantic, pleasant, or at least fairly safe. But in Julia Ducournau’s French film Raw (2016), food and sex are dangerously, violently linked. During an initiation ceremony at her second day of veterinary school, vegetarian Justine (Garance Marillier) is forced to eat raw rabbit’s kidneys.

It brings her out in a bright red rash – and sees her develop an insatiable craving for raw meat, sex, and even human flesh. Slowly but surely, Justine starts eating other people. As the film goes on, her primal, cannibalistic desire becomes indistinguishable from lust.

Food is dangerous, too, in Sophia Coppola’s The Beguiled .When wounded soldier Corporal John McBurney (Colin Farrell) ends up at all-female boarding school in Civil War-era Virginia, his presence is an unwanted, but nevertheless thrilling. Three dinner scenes between teachers Miss Martha (Nicole Kidman) and Miss Edwina (Kirsten Dunst) with their five pupils explore the tensions he brings into the home. In the first, the women mediate on the lessons his arrival could teach them. In the second, they are joined by the Corporal himself, each of the girls taking their moment to try and impress him. They take the odd bite of their meal, but their attentions are focused on McBurney, who is forced into a performative tummy-rubbing appreciation: “This is the finest meal I can remember”.

The third comes after McBurney has threatened, at gunpoint, to murder the women. They decide to protect themselves and dispose of him by feeding him a poison version of his favourite mushroom dish. “Corporal, we’d like to let you know that we harbor no ill feelings, and made this meal in commemoration of your journey ahead,” Miss Martha insists. As the mushrooms are passed to the Corporal, none of the girls help themselves. As he piles his plate high, the girls stare on and neglect their own plates. Coppola’s stage directions repeatedly emphasise how the women keep their gazes fixed on McBurney: “All eyes are on him”; Jane, Emily and Amy “stare”; “They all watch as McBurney eats up the mushrooms”; “The girls watch him”; “The united women calmly watch”. Of course, unbeknownst to McBurney, the intensity of their undivided attention and their own refusal to eat the mushrooms is a sign that something deeply suspicious is happening.

Ultimately, any intimate act is so because it holds a level of risk, and requires an element of trust. Here, the vague danger that comes with accepting food from another person is taken to its logical conclusion. Within a few seconds of eating, McBurney lies dead on the floor.

Strangely, The Beguiled is not the only film of 2017 featuring a woman feeding a threatening man poison mushrooms to regain control. In Paul Thomas Anderson’s Phantom Thread, the dining table at 1950s London dressmakers the House of Woodcock is as fraught as that of a Civil War boarding school. Phantom Thread explores the complexities of hunger and sexual desire perhaps more explicitly than any other film this year: at the New Yorker, Helen Rosner calls in “one of the great food movies in recent memory”. Difficult, self-mythologizing 1950s fashion designer Reynolds Woodcock has a complex relationship with his work, alternating between discipline and spontaneity, self-denial and self-expression. His relationship with food oscillates, too: sometimes it is one of control and deprivation, other times an ecstatic binge. When he is happy, inspired, or aroused, Woodcock eats with relish.

When he first meets Alma (Vicky Krieps), she is a waitress in a seaside café – from her, Reynolds orders an endless breakfast: “A Welsh rarebit. With a poached egg on top – not too runny. Bacon. Scones. Butter. Cream. Jam – not strawberry. A pot of Lapsang souchong tea. And some sausages.” She delivers it to him, along with a note: “To the hungry boy.” Food remains the sire of their flirtation and their battleground.

As Reynolds’ relationship with Alma develops, her relaxed approach to food enrages him. She butters her toast too loudly, slurps her cereal obscenely. She violates the sanctity of his breakfast by eating enthusiastically. “If breakfast isn’t right,” Reynold’s sister Cyril (Lesley Manville) explains, “it’s very hard for him to recover for the rest of the day.” When Alma brings him tea in the afternoon, he balks. “No, Alma, what are you doing? Don’t put the tray on the table, please. Just take it off. I didn’t ask for tea.” When she replies that the tea is going out, he snaps, “The interruption is staying right here with me.” When Alma rejects the conventions of the household to prepare a surprise dinner for Reynolds, he makes no attempt to conceal his disdain: “As I think you know, Alma, I prefer my asparagus with oil and salt. And knowing this, you’ve prepared the asparagus with butter. Now, I can imagine in certain circumstances being able to pretend that I like it made this way. Right now, I’m just admiring my own gallantry for eating it the way you’ve prepared it.” Perhaps their worst argument ensues.

In these moments, Alma is a nuisance, or worse, a threat to the stability and order or the House of Woodcock, forever interrupting Reynolds with inconvenient reminders of troublesome human desires: food, sex, emotional intimacy. But when Woodcock is invigorated, inspired, and happy to give in to his wants, both Alma and food become much more enticing prospects. ”Do we have porridge?” he says brightly to his cook one morning. “Do we have cream? Thick cream? That’s what I’d like. Oh, Alma, would you like some porridge?”

Ultimately, Reynolds fluctuates between desiring power and control, and desiring its opposite. Understanding this, Alma is able to slowly, carefully, become the dominant party. Of course, it’s food – and feeding – that enables her to do this. The film’s final scenes shows Alma preparing a poisoned mushroom omelette for Reynolds: that will force him back into a vulnerable, infantilised, pathetic state, and put her in the position of controlling caregiver. “I want you flat on your back,” Alma whispers, “helpless, tender, open, with only me to help.” Reynolds smiles. It’s a state he desires sexually, emotionally and physically as the film’s insistent final words make unavoidably clear. “I’m getting hungry,” Reynolds says. We cut to black.

Anna Leszkiewicz is the New Statesman's deputy culture editor.

This article first appeared in the 18 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Corbyn’s revenge