Spoiler Alert
Buffet Infinity is a film that may feel overwhelming at first. That’s partly because it’s built almost entirely from the kind of late-night local commercials that once dominated community television. Watching it in a theatre replicates the hazy experience of channel surfing after midnight—when you can’t sleep and wind up watching whatever strange programming is still on. If I had to compare it to a favourite broadcast from the late 80s to 90s, it’s as zany and unpredictable as Friday Night Videos.
Where I live, that often meant endless ads from Gordie Dodd’s quirky furniture store or oddball operations out of Belleville, WA. Elsewhere, it might be family-owned diners, pawn shops, or obscure grocery stores. In Simon Glassman‘s surreal feature, even Babbacock Insurance gets screen time.
Despite the food-centric title, viewers are dropped into a chaotic collage of faux advertisements and news reports from the fictional town of Westridge, Alberta. The titular buffet competes with Jenny’s Sandwich Shop, both fighting for customers’ attention—and their wallets. Following the plot requires a sharp eye. Every fake ad or news clip nudges the story forward. Blink, and you might miss that the buffet sits near an ominous sinkhole (which eventually becomes a parking lot).
As the same businesses return with slightly updated commercials, clues emerge that time is passing—and something’s off. The sinkhole expands. Public service announcements, coded in alarming red, appear more frequently. Jenny’s shop leans into nostalgia, serving heartwarming stories and her grandmother’s secret sauce. The contrast between her warm, personal business and the cold anonymity of Buffet Infinity couldn’t be starker. Honestly, I wanted to step into the TV and try one of her sandwiches.
The film sharply critiques mass-market dining culture. Based on my experience with buffet chains—often overloaded with bland, generic options—I couldn’t help but see the film as a satire of faceless franchises trying (and failing) to serve culturally grounded food. Buffet Infinity feels like a direct jab at those operations, while Jenny’s evokes the warmth and familiarity of a real neighbourhood spot.
Around the 26-minute mark, the tone shifts. What starts as a surreal comedy about food-service rivalry morphs into something more sinister. On a second viewing, the signs become clearer: strange sounds echo through news segments, and authorities investigate. The film never shows these disturbances directly—only references them through increasingly bizarre commercials—heightening the sense of dread in a subtle, unnerving way.
The sounds may remind viewers of the infamous sky trumpets heard in Alaska or the persistent hum in Taos, New Mexico. By tapping into urban myth and regional folklore, Buffet Infinity gains unexpected depth. It’s no longer just about sandwiches and sinkholes—it’s about existential unease creeping into suburbia.
Soon, the weirdness ramps up. A used car dealer appears in various costumes much like Gordie Dodd does–and yes, they’re archived on YouTube! Jenny vanishes. Cult rumours spread. A televangelist gets more airtime and even drops full music albums. And through it all, Buffet Infinity insists it has nothing to hide. What began as absurdist humour transforms into a puzzle box of cosmic horror. The plot thickens—especially when the pawn shop owners offer increasingly disturbing updates.
At one point, I wondered: were these commercials real, harvested from Glassman’s old VHS tapes? Or were they all created for this film? Some segments—like the shopping channel spoofs—feel just believable enough to be authentic. Whatever the case, building a coherent story from such disjointed material is a remarkable achievement. Pay close attention—especially to fake album track listings—and you’ll uncover layers of narrative buried in the noise.
Unlike real television, I didn’t want to tune out the commercials. The static conceals a captivating tale, especially with the repetitive Mosley Rosin & Associates adverts, implying an escalating crisis of disappearances. Thankfully, the insurance company’s dry, offbeat humour offers some much-needed comic relief. I came in expecting a quirky satire about duelling restaurants. What I got was stranger, funnier, and far more unsettling. Just when I thought it couldn’t go further off the rails, it did—and that final twist? It truly takes the cake.
4 Stars out of 5
Buffet Infinity Movie Trailer
