Tony follows a 19-year-old Anthony Bourdain as he arrives in Provincetown and stumbles into the relentless, chaotic world of a restaurant kitchen. What begins as a summer job slowly becomes the defining chapter of his young life, shaping the chef, writer and storyteller he would eventually become.
Directed by Matt Johnson, Tony makes the smart decision to avoid becoming a conventional biopic. Rather than attempting to condense Bourdain’s extraordinary life into two hours, the film focuses on one formative summer. In reality, it’s an amalgamation of the three summers Bourdain spent working in Provincetown, drawing from Kitchen Confidential.
That restraint is what makes the film so effective. This isn’t about Anthony Bourdain the celebrity or television personality. It’s about the young man before the world knew his name. Throughout the film, I kept thinking about one line from Kitchen Confidential: “I treated the world as my ashtray.” That quote feels like the blueprint for the entire film. Johnson isn’t interested in mythologising Bourdain. He’s interested in capturing the version of him that existed before the world knew his name.
Dominic Sessa is the film’s beating heart. Following his breakout performance in The Holdovers, Sessa once again plays a young man trying to find his place in the world. There are obvious similarities between the two roles, but the performances couldn’t feel more different. In The Holdovers, his character hides behind constant conversation, sarcasm and wit. Here, Bourdain is quiet. He watches. He listens. He absorbs everything around him. Sessa understands that this version of Bourdain is still discovering who he is and, rather than trying to imitate the man we all know, he captures the curiosity that would eventually define him. It’s a beautifully restrained performance that trusts silence just as much as dialogue.
Opposite him, Leo Woodall is equally spectacular. Having recently played polished leading men in One Day and Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy, this is a complete departure. As Sal, he brings a reckless confidence that immediately commands every room he walks into. Charismatic, impulsive and impossible not to watch, Woodall becomes the corrupting older brother figure Bourdain never knew he needed. His chemistry with Sessa is electric, while Stavros Halkias rounds out the trio with a natural warmth that makes every kitchen scene feel completely lived in. As soon as the credits rolled, I thought, “That was The Holdovers in a kitchen.” Not because the stories are particularly similar, but because they share the same sensibilities. Both are quiet coming-of-age dramas about young men searching for purpose through unlikely relationships. They have the same warmth, the same understated humour and the same confidence to simply let their characters exist. If The Holdovers found family in a boarding school, Tony finds it in the organised chaos of a kitchen.
That same confidence extends behind the camera. Michael Bauman’s cinematography is understated, especially in comparison to his recent work on One Battle After Another, but it’s constantly telling the story. Early scenes at home are framed tightly, emphasising how trapped Bourdain feels in his own life. As he finds purpose in the kitchen, the compositions begin to open up. The frames become wider, allowing him room to breathe. The restaurant isn’t just where Bourdain learns to cook, it’s where he finally feels like himself.
The soundtrack works in much the same way. Packed with ’70s classics, it keeps your foot tapping throughout the runtime, but never in a James Gunn-style jukebox fashion. Every song feels carefully chosen to shape the mood rather than simply grab attention. It blends beautifully with Jay McCarrol’s score, which quietly ties the film together. A recurring musical theme gently evolves throughout the story, consistently finding the emotional core without ever becoming overbearing. By the final act, that melody carries just as much weight as the performances themselves.
Like Matt Johnson’s previous work, Tony occasionally brushes up against sentimentality. There are moments that verge on cheesy, but they never feel accidental. Johnson knows exactly what he’s doing, giving those scenes the feeling of a knowing wink rather than an unearned emotional swing. It’s a sensibility that has defined his filmmaking, and it fits this story perfectly.
Tony also marks a huge milestone for Johnson. It’s his first feature made within the American studio system, something he himself described as filling him with “complete and total dread.” You’d never know it. There isn’t a hint of compromise in his filmmaking. If anything, it further proves he isn’t just a safe pair of hands, but a director with a genuinely distinct voice who isn’t afraid to make unconventional choices.
What stayed with me most wasn’t a particular scene or performance. It was how confidently the film resisted becoming a traditional biopic. It never feels obligated to tick off the biggest moments of Anthony Bourdain’s life. Instead, it focuses on something much more interesting: the period that shaped him.
Tony doesn’t tell the story of Anthony Bourdain.
It captures the essence of Anthony Bourdain.
