Triangle Of Sadness
The rich are devoured and promptly regurgitated in Ruben Östlund’s Palme d’Or winning, Triangle Of Sadness, the most satisfying feed you’ll have this year. It’s Östlund’s second trophy, nabbing his first in 2017 with The Square, an equally squirmy satire that skewered false artists and the snobs who idolise them. Continuing his streak of depicting his characters as “trying to avoid losing face” in social situations, his new film is, despite a generous helping of vomit, his most accessible for English-speaking audiences who can’t get enough of seeing the 1% suffer. And suffer they do, because in Triangle Of Sadness, no one escapes with their dignity intact.
Carl (Harris Dickinson) is a model trying to book his next high fashion job; while he doesn’t seem to have a preference between H&M and Balenciaga, it’s clear that the latter will pay for his girlfriend’s lavish lifestyle (and won’t cost him any smile lines). His girlfriend Yaya (the late Charlbi Dean) is an influencer who makes far more than him, but Carl doesn’t mind because gender roles and financial expectations are outdated. Wrapping up dinner at an extravagant restaurant, the time comes to pay the bill and a game of avoidance starts. Carl thinks Yaya should pay (because she said she would and he paid yesterday), Yaya thinks Carl should pay (because she needs a man who she can trust to support her in the future), and the question of equality is awkwardly unanswered. Carl picks up the check and Yaya reminds him that they’re going on a luxury yacht (a trip she was gifted in exchange for social media promotion), so everything should balance out.
It’s a scene that stems from a real argument between Östlund and his partner Sina (a fashion photographer who provided him many of the insights about the modelling industry depicted in the film) about the gender roles they were falling into early in their relationship. Östlund decided to tackle the fashion industry because of the interesting reversal many male models experience - earning a third of their female counterparts, being pursued by powerful men who offer to boost their careers in exchange for sexual favours - and how this concept could be explored on film. Triangle Of Sadness does so before turning its aim at inequality on a broader scale through three distinct acts: life before the yacht, life on the yacht, and life after the yacht.
It is on this yacht where much of the film’s hilarity ensues as Carl and Yaya meet their future misery comrades, including a Russian oligarch proudly claiming that he “sells shit” (he built his empire on fertiliser sales and cites Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher as idols), a German woman who had a stroke and can only speak the same three words, a lonely tech billionaire whose love language is buying champagne for strangers, and Paula, the 2IC of the yacht. Convening at the Captain’s dinner (hosted by the Marxist skipper played by Woody Harrelson), the guests discover that stormy seas and rich food do not mix.
This hysterically nasty sequence rivals The Square’s abrupt ‘Welcome To The Jungle’ dinner performance and signals the beginning of the end for many of the yacht’s guests. Those who eat the caviar and tiny morsels of stupidly expensive produce fall violently ill, turning the dining room into the kind of Roman purging room that plebs like me wish were true despite the myth having been busted. As the Captain enjoys his burger and fries - “I don’t have the palate for fine dining” - the rest of the patrons project their undigested meals across the room and all over the yacht’s interior. Imagine Titanic if, instead of its halls filling with water, they filled with the contents of overflowing toilets and stomachs. Dry heaves punctuated my howls of laughter, a response I can’t say I’ve had before in a festival film but will certainly remember for some time.
A karmic encounter for a pair of quaint British warmongers sees the yacht capsize early the next morning, as a small selection of its guests become stranded on a desert island. Social hierarchies are flipped on their head and the yacht’s head housekeeper Abigail (Dolly de Leon) becomes the group’s leader as the only accomplished provider of fish, fire and cooked meals. Claiming a washed-up lifeboat as her own little mansion separate from the campfire, she gets a taste for the finer things (like Carl) and discovers that pretzel sticks can be traded for sexual pleasure and companionship for those hungry enough. Would any of us teach a man to fish when our lot in life could be improved by gatekeeping that information? While Östlund may not provide an answer, he does give us 2 ½ hours of satirical mayhem that seem to fly by.
Like most of its characters' lifestyles, Triangle Of Sadness has a very Instagrammable aesthetic thanks to cinematographer Fredrik Wenzel (who also worked with Östlund on The Square and Force Majeure). The hazy filter of the first act lifts once the setting moves to the island and the harsh reality of having to bludgeon a donkey for food sets in. Östlund’s fascination with society’s status fixation presents itself through sharp little jabs, like Paula’s upselling of a 24-carat gold engagement ring (a purity so soft that its use in jewellery is downright stupid) to a young man who recently quarrelled with his partner over 50 euros’ change, or the teary retrieval and pocketing of a diamond necklace from the washed-up corpse of a spouse.
The film’s title refers to the space between eyebrows considered (by some in the beauty industry) to be ripe for Botox.
“In Swedish it’s called ‘trouble wrinkle’ and it suggests you’ve had a lot of struggles in your life,” - Ruben Östlund
Like pale skin used to signify not having to work in the fields, a smooth forehead now signifies a blessed life (or at least the disposable income to pay someone to make it appear so). But all faces look the same after the sea has its way; bloated, pruney and most likely missing some chunks. If you do make it to the beach, there’s not an SPF in existence to save you from the sun and its disastrous effects on exposed Caucasian skin.
Now seems the perfect time for this film to come out considering the popularity of the likes of The Menu, The White Lotus and Succession, which all take pleasure in tormenting privileged characters for their sins. Smartly-written dialogue and generous helpings of humour help make our taste for blue blood (and its spilling) more acceptable. Seeing this film at an outdoor cinema in the Western Suburbs among a population of wealthy picnic-goers (whose residential proximity to the location gave them a distinct advantage in getting the good seats) certainly amplified my own bloodlust and by the end of Triangle Of Sadness, the sense of community that had developed in the shitty plastic chair gang squinting to see the screen made the whole experience quite immersive. Perhaps if I ever acquire wealth and influence I’ll view the film differently, but from where I was sitting, everybody got their just desserts (including the people in the front whose food was stolen by an opportunistic kookaburra).
Some have made the comparison of shooting fish in a barrel and argued that Östlund’s targets here are too easy. It’s a fair claim, but for those of us who couldn’t give a fig about the poor attacked upper class, Triangle Of Sadness is an absolute riot.
Triangle Of Sadness is in cinemas January 12 and for anyone wanting to fight their fellow man for seats, Perth Festival are having an encore screening on Saturday April 8th.
