The Last Supper (1995)

The Last Supper is the kind of audacious, razor-edged satire that doesn’t just poke at politics—it skewers the smug certainty that can make any ideology feel like a license to dehumanize. Stacy Title stages it like an intimate chamber piece: a cozy house, a dinner table, and conversations that start as witty debate and curdle into something tense, funny, and genuinely unsettling, powered by a sharp script and a cast that knows how to play charm and menace in the same breath. What makes it so watchable is how it keeps tightening the moral vise, letting you laugh and then immediately wonder why you did, as the film quietly turns the spotlight back on the audience’s appetite for righteous punishment. It’s not for viewers who want their political comedy comforting or their thrillers bloodless, but if you’re up for a provocative, darkly entertaining ride that refuses easy answers, this one still bites.

The Last Supper is clearly aiming to be a sharp, darkly funny satire about political tribalism and moral hypocrisy, using a dinner-party setup that wants to feel like a wicked stage play with a body count. The problem is it often mistakes loud provocation for insight: the debates can come off as sophomoric and the “invite, argue, kill, repeat” structure starts to feel schematic long before the film is done, which drains the tension and makes the turns feel unsurprising. If you’re hoping for a genuinely clever thriller or nuanced political commentary, this may feel glib and a bit self-satisfied rather than incisive. Still, the premise is undeniably bold, and when the cast leans into the pitch-black tone, there are moments of nasty fun—just don’t expect it to deepen as it goes.