By Robert Scucci
| Published
I was recently blown away by Buffet Infinity (2025), and in order to fully explain why, I have to reveal something about my upbringing. I was born in 1988 and grew up when cable TV was filled with late-night paid programming and low-budget commercials from local businesses. When I was a functional adult and Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul were making their rounds, I’d laugh at Saul Goodman’s commercials not only because they were ridiculous, but because I remembered watching those fever-dream productions while dozing off on the couch when I was younger.
I know that Yankee Discount Muffler is the best in town, and I know that J.G. Wentworth can get you cash right now if you need it. When Ron Popeil enthusiastically said, “But wait, there’s more!” I braced myself for impact. I know that Mozzimo’s Pizza “doesn’t have any cows, so they buy their cheese!” As a millennial on the wrong side of his 30s, I sometimes seek out these commercials on YouTube because they’re so bonkers yet so direct.
There’s also a nostalgia factor because, back in the day, advertisements didn’t beat around the bush. These days, you follow a content creator you like, only to learn that their primary goal in life was landing a collab with Chili’s so they can exploit an established parasocial relationship for clicks and dollars.
Buffet Infinity aggressively harkens back to the good old days, when the commercial volume was about 100 decibels louder than whatever program you fell asleep watching. It’s welcoming but jarring, then quickly pivots into surreal and terrifying worldbuilding as an endless block of commercials from a forgotten time begin overlapping, telling you what’s truly at stake.
100 Minutes Of Commercials
If you’re going to watch Buffet Infinity, be sure you’re ready for it, because it’s a lot to take in. We learn about the titular Buffet Infinity restaurant, located at the Crossroads Shopping Complex, which seemingly appeared out of nowhere and offers cut-rate prices for an endless amount of unwholesome gastronomy.
The commercials don’t stop there. In fact, they never stop. Between Buffet Infinity ad spots, we’re introduced to Mosley Rosin & Associates, who deal with emotional trauma and can be reached at 1-800-555-PAIN, Mattress Mattress Surplus, Babbacock Insurance, infomercials for an antidepressant called Xentophylon that take plenty of cheap shots at the people they’re trying to help, Westbridge Automotive Group (complete with a low-budget superhero mascot), and Ahmed’s Pawn Shop.
At first, Buffet Infinity presents itself like a slice of early-aughts nostalgia, but it quickly devolves into an oppressively surreal analog horror experience. Through news bumpers, we learn about a growing sinkhole behind the Crossroads Shopping Complex that everybody seems aware of, yet officials simply tell people to park in the front of the building to avoid it. Buffet Infinity keeps expanding exponentially, which endlessly frustrates Jenny Avery, owner-operator of Jenny’s Sandwiches Inc. She’s something of a local celebrity thanks to her recipe for The Avery Family Secret Sauce (she’s got the sauce!), and she isn’t too fond of the new competition.
A Gradual Escalation You Can’t Escape From
As Jenny passive-aggressively takes shots at Buffet Infinity for making a cheap imitation of her sauce and threatening her livelihood, scores of people begin to go missing, including Jenny herself. Meanwhile, the Buffet Infinity bumpers keep rolling, making fun of how easy the sauce was to replicate and how she claims it’s an Italian recipe even though it’s basically just ketchup. Ahmed desperately tries to keep his pawn shop in business, while the spokesperson for Babbacock Insurance experiences escalations of her own in the form of repeated maimings and even familiacide so she can collect on her various policies.
What starts as a simple series of unrelated commercials quickly turns into a community of business owners in distress. Buffet Infinity now has a play place, serves oysters, and positions itself as a luxury destination, but ceremonial walls are also being erected to honor all the people who have disappeared since the restaurant first appeared. As society continues to fall apart, you’re met with unnervingly intrusive ad spots from the Westbridge Society for Religious Freedom, a death cult of sorts that doesn’t tell you much other than “ITS WATCHING.”
As horrifying as it all is, Buffet Infinity is extremely effective at getting its point across. It’s straight-up brain rot with an early-aughts vibe, and it robs you of gratification every step of the way. Every time somebody is about to reveal something substantial enough to explain what’s truly going on, the film smash-cuts to yet another commercial, and the cycle continues with no relief in sight.
It’s also a stark criticism of consumerism and what happens when there’s clearly a crisis unfolding in your community. It’s the late-night Fox 61 (that was on channel 21) commercials that make absolutely no sense when you’re dozing off, fully aware that you should just turn the TV off. It’s small business owners recognizing that something horribly wrong is happening, but still having to open tomorrow and figure out how to stay operational while some all-knowing, ever-growing evil entity slowly strips their community of its humanity.
Buffet Infinity is surreal, upsetting, and at times downright horrifying. But it does all of the above with a wink and a nod, as if to remind you that this is all just a bad dream. It makes you long for the pre-streaming era, while simultaneously making you grateful that you don’t have to wake up halfway through a three-hour block of paid programming that seems determined to wear down your will and kill you.
As of this writing, Buffet Infinity isn’t available to stream on any of the major platforms, but you can rent or purchase it on demand through YouTube, Amazon Prime Video, and Apple TV+.
