The Dinner Show and Other Consumptions By Ben Arzate Reviewed by Michael Mulvihill



The Dinner Show and Other Consumptions is Ben Arzate’s collection of short stories, and the terrain it covers is gruesome, tragic, extreme, dark, and unmistakably horrific. The themes are rooted firmly in the contemporary world: the poor and working class exploited by the powerful; the disgruntled and the oppressed attempting to redress imbalance; ecocide, mass homicide, prison breaks, corporate cults, reality television, and cannibalism. Arzate makes certain that armchair fans of horror will not be left wanting — though the question remains: where, exactly, does the horror reside?
Throughout the collection, I was reminded repeatedly of the traditions of Hammer Films and Amicus Productions. More than once, I found myself thinking that this work could be adapted into a retro Amicus-style anthology film — something in the vein of The Uncanny — and it would work remarkably well in that format.
The opening story, “The Clown Show,” prompted an unexpected association with Sigmund Freud’s The Interpretation of Dreams (1901), in which he writes that dreams are a form of unconscious wish fulfilment. Arzate’s story raises an unsettling question: does it express a kind of collective wish — an unconscious desire for explanation — behind the seemingly illogical phenomenon of mass murder, now so common in the United States that it risks becoming background noise?
Of course, such events do not come with neat explanations. This is where artistic licence steps in. Arzate allows his central figure — a professor-clown — to address the masses directly, a choice that inevitably evokes associations with the Joker. Personally, I would have welcomed more wit and corrosive sarcasm, of the kind Vincent Price employed so memorably in films like The Monster Club, particularly his infamous monologue on why humans are worthy of monstrous reverence.
The underlying premise — that the disgruntled worker feels owed an explanation — is a powerful one and perhaps deserved further play. Still, Arzate is clearly opening readers up to provocative and contemporary ideas, and on the strength of this opening alone, I was more than willing to continue reading.
Arzate serves “A New Kind of Sausage” straight from the bowls of hell. The story is brief — a flash piece of stark intent — operating less through dialogue than through a kind of non-verbal, telepathic exchange. Meaning is transmitted psychically, almost pathologically, in the dark, mesmeric gaze shared between butcher and customer — a gaze that marks the moment of transformation.
When Arzate writes, “His replacement had black, insect-like eyes and spoke in a low growl,” the blood freezes. The image recalls Lilith from True Blood — pale, inhuman, predatory — a presence that feels less like a character than a biological wrongness. A longer treatment of this butcher figure would be a welcome future development; Arzate proves here that he can summon genuine, ancient-feeling horror with astonishing economy.
Having consumed this God-forsaken sausage, it is no surprise that we then encounter “Messages from Paradise,” a short story steeped in existential dread, recalling the bleak tradition of Vincent Price’s The Last Man on Earth. Arzate draws on this lineage and translates it into a modern premise: an all-encompassing tsunami faced by a single, helpless man.
The result is heartbreaking, suffocating, and sorrowful — unrelentingly dark.
Before “The Dinner Show,” Arzate turns to identity theft in the digital age with “The Avatar,” before moving decisively into corporate and institutional horror. From ecocide to mass killings to identity theft, he consistently strikes the right contemporary notes. Particularly worthy of attention is “Heads of Staff,” a story that powerfully demonstrates — through narrative rather than exposition — the core conditions of cultic behaviour: gaslighting, love-bombing, coercive deception, lack of informed consent, and the near impossibility of exit.
This is not easy territory to write convincingly. What Arzate achieves here recalls the work of leading cult analysts such as Steven Hassan and Let's Talk About Cults by Sarah Steel — not in tone, but in diagnostic accuracy. Arzate understands that cultic power does not target strength, but vulnerability. His protagonist is already struggling, and this is precisely what cultic personalities detect and exploit.
The story captures how narcissistic, dark-triad figures dismantle such individuals methodically and without remorse. In this respect, “Heads of Staff” evokes the quiet, procedural menace of Eyes Wide Shut, The Omen, and Rosemary's Baby — narratives in which the innocent walk themselves, step by step, into overwhelming danger.
Then we enter Arzate’s titular piece, “The Dinner Show.” This story hits the bullseye. The corrosive logic of reality television is pushed into the territory of extreme horror, exposing spectacle, consent, and cruelty as part of the same machine. Is this where we are heading? Arzate seems to think so — and his instincts feel disturbingly aligned with the direction of contemporary culture.
If you are looking for a collection of psychological horror stories that speaks directly to the spirit of the age, The Dinner Show and Other Consumptions is well worth reading.

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