nyt movie review triangle of sadness

“Triangle of Sadness,” Reviewed: We’re on a Yacht and We’re Puking

With his sourly playful satire “Triangle of Sadness,” the Swedish director Ruben Östlund shoots fish in a barrel and displays them with an adventurer’s pride. He takes on the easy targets of the obliviously rich and their glamorous entourages and delivers a handful of café-table insights and would-be outrages that seem calculated to the millimetre. It’s a movie of targeted demagogy that pitches its facile political stances to the preconceptions of the art-house audience; far from deepening those ideas or challenging those assumptions, it flatters the like-minded viewership while swaggering with the filmmaker’s presumption of freethinking, subversive audacity. Of course, “Triangle of Sadness” (which opens Friday in theatres) won the Palme d’Or, the highest prize, at this year’s Cannes Film Festival.

The protagonists are two models, Carl (Harris Dickinson) and Yaya (Charlbi Dean). Their relationship is dominated by fights over money, reflecting their profession’s casual precarity. Carl is introduced at an audition where a dozen or more male models wait around, shirtless, while being prepped by a wrangler who has them pose and emote on command; the models alternate between the cheerful expressions that sell mass-market clothing and the dour ones of high-end designer fashion. Carl’s audition is a torment of superficiality and scrutiny. (The title of the film refers to the lines between his eyebrows, and his prospective employers are heard whispering of Botox.) At a fashion show where he’s a spectator, his disposable spot in the scene’s pecking order is emphasized in a runway-show kerfuffle over seating. It’s in such moments that Östlund’s surest manner is revealed: at his best, he’s a filmmaker of fine points—delicate indicia of poignant humiliations exposing characters to cruel truths about themselves—which he realizes in scenes and images of a clean precision. (The scene that revolves around seating, featuring a long, slow tracking shot, could have been part of a silent film.)

But Östlund’s strongest suit and his strongest inclination are in conflict with each other; his keen observations are submerged in his efforts at social criticism and political philosophy. When Yaya and Carl fight over picking up the check at a fancy restaurant, the extended proceedings discharge their meaning in a pair of quickly delivered lines: Carl says that she makes much more money than he does; Yaya responds that her career is likely shorter, especially if she gets pregnant. The film is sardonic about modelling, but there’s nothing satirical in its view of the business or of the couple’s self-aware place in it. The movie attempts to expands its range with Yaya’s side job as a social-media influencer, which gets the pair a cabin on a yacht cruise for a self-selecting handful of the blithely wealthy, but this plot turn, which takes over the film, prompts Östlund to transform his cast of characters into a sociological cross-section of secondhand types.

The emblem of the cruise is the team of assault-weapon-toting guards who are conspicuously posted on the deck. The belowdecks crews of manual laborers are almost all nonwhite—the cleaning crew comprises mainly Southeast Asian women, and the engine-room workers mostly Black and brown men. As the cruise gets under way, the service staff, a dozen or so young white people in crisp, white-shirted uniforms, meets under the command of the cheerily martial Paula (Vicki Berlin), who exhorts them to say “Yes, sir,” and “Yes, Ma’am,” with hearty enthusiasm, and to never say no to anything—even if a guest is requesting an illicit substance or a “unicorn.” (Unfortunately, this elaborate scene adds little to a similar one , of staffers at a summer hotel-resort, in Busby Berkeley ’s “ Gold Diggers of 1935 ”—complete with its race-based distinctions.)

Not only does “Triangle of Sadness” mock Yaya’s work as an influencer; it sets up Carl and Yaya as frivolous wannabes, even riper for a takedown than the rich with whom they hobnob, because they enjoy the same privileges without selling their souls but merely their images. The hollow simulacra of humans surrounding them on this ship of fools include Dimitry (Zlatko Burić), a Russian oligarch who boasts of selling “shit,” i.e., fertilizer; plus a British arms merchant named Winston (Oliver Ford Davies) and his wife, Clementine (Amanda Walker), who lament the international ban on land mines and its effect on their fortune. There’s also a friendless software creator (Henrik Dorsin) and a haughty woman (Mia Benson) who insists that the ship’s sails need washing. (The ship has no sails.) In a characterization that reveals Östlund’s crass sense of humor, there’s a running joke about a woman named Therese (Iris Berben), who is disabled by a stroke and aphasic, able only to call her husband by name and speak the phrase “ in den Wolken ” (“in the clouds”).

The protagonist of the voyage is the yacht’s captain (Woody Harrelson), an alcoholic who stays locked in his cabin, drunk, blaring a recording of the “Internationale” while reading leftist texts (he declares that he’s not a Communist but a Marxist) and ignoring the entreaties of his crew. The result of his neglect is the scheduling of a formal dinner for all guests on the night of a storm; the ship rocks wildly in the waves, leading to a tragicomic epidemic of seasickness, complete with projectile vomiting and a literal shitstorm erupting from the vessel’s toilets. Spoiler alert: it sounds like more fun than it looks. Östlund may not hesitate to make his characters miserable, but he spares the audience (or, rather, keeps an eye on the box-office), making sure that the excremental scenes stay well short of revulsion; their grossness remains theoretical.

A handful of small-scale scenes deliver quiet but sharp jabs to viewers’ ribs regarding the cavalier display of casual power. Carl, jealous of Yaya’s wink at a shirtless and handsome deckhand (Timoleon Gketsos), salves his pique by lodging a petty complaint to Paula, only to witness the punitive results. Dimitry’s wife, Vera (Sunnyi Melles), making a spectacle of her egalitarian sympathies, tries to reverse roles by ordering a crew member (Alicia Eriksson) to abandon her duties. (The logical conundrum is quick and cutting.) But Östlund’s grandiose sensibility unfortunately dominates the film, both in its political bombast (as in a scene of the captain and Dimitry drinking wildly while trading leaden political witticisms; Dimitry’s rely on the collected works of Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher) and in the major pivot that occurs midway through. I won’t spoil this much, except to say that a motley batch of passengers and crew members end up stranded on a deserted island, forced into raw survivalism in a state just above that of nature, where money is useless and power relationships are drastically altered in ways that are utterly unsurprising and commonplace, even if they do lead to a clever trick ending.

Only the fine cast lends life to the movie’s superficial caricatures, even if the hectic, blatant script edges the performances toward the clattery side and Östlund’s precise but stiff direction leaves little room for inventiveness. In particular, Berlin’s rendition of authoritarian cheer and Dolly de Leon’s steadfast assertiveness as a long-suffering staffer leave high-relief impressions. As Clementine, the munitions-maker’s spouse, Walker delivers the best line in the film, with the perfect blithering lilt. Above all, the movie’s cast is shadowed by Charlbi Dean’s death , in August, from a lung infection, at the age of thirty-two. Although “Triangle of Sadness” sticks closer to Carl, the mercurial, elusive Yaya is the dramatic engine of the film, which would be nearly inert without Dean’s labile, coolly impulsive performance. If nothing else, the movie would have assured her stardom; there’s no telling how many characters and films her death foreclosed before their conception. ♦

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The Power Player of ‘Triangle of Sadness’: Dolly de Leon

The Palme d’Or-winning class satire hinges on her surprising character, but the veteran Filipina actress never thought she had a chance to land the role.

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By Carlos Aguilar

This interview includes spoilers about the plot of “Triangle of Sadness.”

LOS ANGELES — Humble though not self-deprecating, the actress Dolly de Leon speaks of the shortcomings in her process with a casual matter-of-factness that makes her sincerity clear. “I really do poorly at auditions,” she confessed.

Despite her assessment, she clearly did well enough at one of them: At 53, the Filipina veteran of theater, television and film in her home country is enjoying international attention for her trope-defying role in the class satire “ Triangle of Sadness ,” in theaters Friday.

De Leon plays Abigail, a crew member on a luxury cruise ship carrying entitled oligarchs and fashion models. After things go awry, her practical skills are much more valuable than wealth or beauty on a seemingly deserted island.

The multinational ensemble piece, which features Woody Harrelson, Harris Dickinson and the late Charlbi Dean, earned the top prize , the Palme d’Or, at the Cannes Film Festival in June. There, Indiewire described de Leon’s performance as “ bold and heartsick ,” while Screen Daily praised her for “playing it canny and ruthless .”

But when the film’s writer-director, Ruben Ostlund, traveled to the Philippines in 2019 to cast the pivotal role, de Leon couldn’t fathom that she would get the job — in part because of her troubled relationship with auditions. Yet Ostlund recalled being impressed with her playfulness in a romantic scene they tried. Her lack of expectations probably played to her advantage.

“I’m just an actor who needs the work,” de Leon said. “Whatever the role was, it was just another job for me. But, of course, I knew there was prestige attached to it because it was Ruben,” and she had seen his art-world satire, “ The Square ,” which won the Palme d’Or in 2017.

Interested in inverting the power dynamics between the superrich and those underpaid to serve them, Ostlund found de Leon’s transformation from shipboard housekeeping staffer to authoritative captain ashore to be searingly convincing. “In very few scenes you have to buy that she is taking control of this group,” he said via video call.

De Leon explained: “I admire Abigail because she just took it upon herself to be in charge without asking for approval from anyone. If I were in her situation, I’d probably still be following people around.”

Sitting in a hotel meeting room in West Hollywood during a recent interview, de Leon, in a white top and tennis shoes and light bluejeans, exuded a relaxed energy while occasionally inhaling from a minuscule vape.

A native of Manila, she traced her acting epiphany to a grade-school skit. A teacher asked students to pretend their mother had died. In that tragic scenario, she found a therapeutic outlet for her real, long-suppressed emotions.

“It felt so good because at home we weren’t allowed to cry,” she explained. “It was liberating. And after that, I was hooked.”

As a theater arts student at the University of the Philippines Diliman, de Leon played extras on TV until parts with dramatic substance gradually came her way. “I wasn’t choosy. I would take any role that was offered to me,” she said. Meanwhile, the stage — her first love — provided greater artistic challenges.

With time, cinema also became an option as she developed a following as a character actor in projects involving top local talent. One director, the celebrated Filipino auteur Lav Diaz, cast her in his 2019 film, “ The Halt ,” based solely on her reputation. Back then, he had not seen any of her performances.

“Here in the Philippines, she’s earned that imprimatur, that status, that level of respect already,” Diaz said via email of his blind trust in de Leon. The two would collaborate again on “ History of Ha ” (2021), a period drama about a famed puppeteer.

Unlike Ostlund, who requests anywhere from 30 to 70 takes per shot, Diaz does only one take per setup, tacitly asking his cast for hyper focus.

“When I say I trust an actor, the fundamental transcriptions of that act are responsibility and commitment,” Diaz explained. “An affirmation of that would be an actor’s eventual portrayal. All I can say is that Dolly is amazing in ‘Ha’ and great in ‘Triangle of Sadness.’”

In Ostlund’s biting comedy, de Leon embraced the task of dignifying a character who essentially represents the millions of Filipinos working abroad to support their families back home.

“To a lot of Filipinos, they’re heroes because they bring dollars into our country and boost the economy,” she added.

For de Leon, “Triangle of Sadness” isn’t only about financial inequality but also about physical attractiveness as currency, illustrated by Abigail’s transactional affair with a model (Dickinson). Their encounters were de Leon’s first-ever onscreen love scenes.

That Abigail’s abilities to fish and make fire turn her into a leader in this microcosm demonstrates, de Leon said, that authority can take many forms.

“We often feel so powerless in this world because we’re surrounded by beauty, fame and money,” she explained. “We forget that no matter how less privileged you are, you still hold a certain power in the world that we can harness to our advantage.”

By putting someone unexpected in a position of power, however, Ostlund wanted to examine whether abuses would occur. “There’s a possibility that it really corrupts her,” he said of Abigail.

In the film’s open-ended conclusion, Abigail faces a dilemma about whether to protect her status. Ostlund zeroed in on de Leon’s face for dozens of takes.

“I could feel this was the scene that Dolly had been charging for during the whole production,” Ostlund said. “Dolly has a fox behind her ear, as we say in Sweden. That is to say that she is not who you expect.”

Initially, de Leon tackled that moment with a version of Abigail determined to use force. But ambiguity and doubt ultimately rendered the scene psychologically richer.

“We tried a different approach where she’s at a crossroads and is torn,” she said, adding, “It was ultimately a better choice in that it highlighted Abigail’s humanity.”

As de Leon looks ahead at the possibility of collaborating with American and European storytellers, she remembered Dean, who died in August. It was her friend Dean who encouraged her to get a manager to expand her professional horizons.

“I really feel the loss of her while I’m in L.A. because she used to live here,” de Leon said. “I imagine that if she were still with us, she would be sitting next to me doing this interview.”

The Cannes reception to her performance still astounds de Leon. But even if her children playfully mock her newfound profile in the West, she maintains a modest outlook.

“What an incredible feeling to experience something like this, however late in life,” she said. “I’m not in my 20s anymore, so this happened at the perfect time because my head is not up in the clouds. I’m more grounded as a person and as an actor. If I were younger, I’d be acting like I’m better than everyone,” she said with an unassuming laugh.

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Triangle of Sadness

Ruben Östlund ’s “Triangle of Sadness” has become one of the more divisive Palme d’Or winners in years. On one side, there are those who think its underlined themes and obvious targets are a bit unrefined and obvious. On the other, there are people who would argue those targets deserve a skewering and the writer/director of “ Force Majeure ” and “The Square” uses his wit to do so with hysterical precision. Given this cinematic cruise almost runs as long as a “three-hour tour,” it’s easy to see both sides of this debate. There are undeniably sharp dialogue exchanges and entertaining storytelling twists in Östlund’s takedown of the shallow elite, and yet some of it, especially in the final act, all starts to feel redundant, and maybe even as superficial as the uber-wealthy that the film seeks to tear down. Still, if “Triangle of Sadness” falls short of greatness, it lives comfortably on the tier of goodness, even as it unpacks such bad, bad behavior.

Of course, “Triangle of Sadness” tells a three-act story, the first of which might actually be my favorite. A short film of its own, it introduces us to two dating models, Carl ( Harris Dickinson ) and Yaya ( Charlbi Dean ) at the end of a fancy dinner. The bill has sat there for long enough to make Carl realize that his girlfriend has no intention of paying, even though she said last night she would do so. The two argue about her gender-based assumptions and Östlund’s dialogue spins and swirls as the discussion goes back to the hotel that Yaya notes she’s covering for Carl. This is a very promising prologue for “Triangle of Sadness,” an implication that the movie is going to get into gender roles and transactional relationships in a way that’s sharp and new.

And then it doesn’t quite do that. As I felt he did with “The Square” too, Östlund has a habit of getting distracted by a similar idea without doing the work to tie it back to the previous one in a satisfying way. The mid-section of “Triangle of Sadness” takes place aboard a yacht that Yaya and Carl have been invited to socially promote. (She will take photos of herself with pasta near her mouth but not actually eat it.) It’s here that Östlund plays a little “Upstairs, Downstairs,” introducing us to a crew of people so wealthy that they’ve lost all touch with average reality. Most of them have earned generational wealth through ventures that haven’t exactly bettered the world, such as the kind elderly couple whose fortune comes from grenades or the gentleman who likes to tell people he made his money with shit—he’s a fertilizer magnate. From the beginning of this segment, Östlund is toying with literal levels of society as the rich people sun on the deck above, the white staff celebrate their potential tips in the middle, and the largely non-white staff sits in the hull below.

Östlund’s intent plays out in a series of bitter exchanges. A woman ( Mia Benson ) insists that the ship’s sails must be cleaned—the yacht has no sails. Carl gets jealous of a shirtless worker that catches Yaya’s eye and so basically gets him fired. A milquetoast software genius ( Oliver Ford Davies ) comes to life when two pretty women take a photo with him. A passenger ( Sunnyi Melles ) insists that the entire crew go for a swim. In Östlund’s most discomfiting choice, another woman ( Iris Berben ) has been disabled by a stroke and can only repeat the words “In Den Wolken,” which means “In the clouds.” Clearly that’s where Östlund thinks most of these people live, far from a grounded reality.

It’s all kind of obvious but it does put down some rich soil for a potential dismantling of societal expectations. These people have clearly been set up to fall from the pedestals on which they live. That comes in the centerpiece of “Triangle of Sadness,” a ridiculous yet riveting sequence in which the passengers sit for a lavish Captain’s Dinner on a stormy night. As Woody Harrelson ’s world-weary captain eats a hamburger instead of whatever concoction the chefs have dreamed up to impress the passengers, Östlund tilts his camera back and forth with the waves, making us feel nearly as nauseous as the characters on-screen. The night devolves into a chaotic expression of bodily fluids that basically tear down all societal structures and sets up the final act, one that reverses roles and puts one of the ship workers (a memorable Dolly De Leon) in a position of unexpected power.

It’s hard to shake the feeling that Östlund thinks he’s saying more here than he actually is—I think that pretentious intent is at the root of most on the hate side of this film’s divide—but that didn’t make the film significantly less entertaining as a social satire for me. Östlund is shooting fish in a barrel, but the fish had it coming, and he cooks them up into a tasty meal, complete with sea urchin and squid emulsion on the side. I wish the journey had lived up to its prologue—Carl and Yaya, despite a captivating performance from Dean, become unexpectedly minor players as Östlund becomes more interested in themes than people—but I don’t regret boarding the ship.

Now playing in theaters. 

Brian Tallerico

Brian Tallerico is the Managing Editor of RogerEbert.com, and also covers television, film, Blu-ray, and video games. He is also a writer for Vulture, The Playlist, The New York Times, and GQ, and the President of the Chicago Film Critics Association.

• Charlbi Dean as Yaya
• Harris Dickinson as Carl
• Woody Harrelson as Captain Thomas Smith
• Zlatko Burić as Dimitry
• Henrik Dorsin as Jorma Björkman
• Iris Berben as Therese
• Sunnyi Melles as Vera
• Dolly de Leon as Abigail
• Vicki Berlin as Paula
• Mikel Cee Karlsson
• Ruben Östlund

Cinematographer

• Pauline Hansson

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‘Triangle of Sadness’ review: A spiky social satire amid vomit and Marx

Movie review.

The question of worth flows through Ruben Östlund’s “Triangle of Sadness,” a handsomely grotesque satire about the guests and workers aboard a luxury yacht. The ideas might not be new, and the targets might be easy, but the Swedish filmmaker who has made a cottage industry out of picking at social scabs in films like “Force Majeure” and “The Square” has once again made something exceedingly uncomfortable and undeniably entertaining.

Besides, from “Succession” to “The White Lotus,” it’s not like we’ll ever tire of watching the privileged class enjoying its privileges, to quote “The Philadelphia Story’s” Macaulay Connor, regardless of whether they get their comeuppance in the end.

The beauty and pleasure of something like “Triangle of Sadness” is in the details, like the well-observed and precisely crafted awkwardness over who should pay the restaurant bill, or the rules about who gets to sit in the front row of a fashion show shifting in real time. The ideas about class consciousness aren’t anything that a college freshman isn’t already well-versed in. But even when the movie starts quoting Marx, it’s done with a wink and amid a deluge of bodily fluids. Seasickness really is the great equalizer (consider yourself warned).

The title, “Triangle of Sadness,” Östlund says, is a reference to the wrinkles in between one’s brows that plastic surgeons can fix with a shot of Botox. It’s not a phrase I’ve ever heard — worry or frown lines seem to be the common ways to describe that, but, apocryphal or not, it’s a good one. Here, our entry into the world of the 1% are a model couple, Carl (Harris Dickinson) and Yaya (Charlbi Dean, a promising talent who tragically died in August at age 32). Their only currency is their youthful beauty, which is lucrative for now.

After a sharp glimpse inside their public and private world, Carl and Yaya are invited aboard a $250 million yacht for a little vacation among a rarefied set. Their ticket is paid for on the hope that Yaya, who is also a social media influencer, will Instagram the experience. The others on board have presumably paid their own way, with riches from big business — tech, agriculture and even arms dealing (embodied by the most harmless-looking English grandparents you’ve ever seen).

The crew are reminded that every request should be met with a yes. In this transactional relationship, the hope is that their servitude is rewarded with a big tip. But what happens when a guest requests, then demands, that the entire crew take a break and go swimming on the afternoon when everyone is supposed to be preparing for the big captain’s dinner? Well, it’s the avalanche scenario of “Force Majeure” but with Champagne and fine dining. They keep up appearances for a bit. Then it’s all vomit, blood and general excreta as Woody Harrelson’s drunk, Marxist captain and a Russian oligarch (a scene-stealing Zlatko Buric) opine on ideologies and quote Noam Chomsky over the loudspeaker.

This could be a natural conclusion to “Triangle of Sadness,” but Östlund, who wrote and directed, still has one chapter to go focused on what happens when several of the guests and crew become stranded on a desert island. There, a character we’ve barely met, Abigail (a terrific Dolly de Leon), who on the ship was the toilet manager, is the only one who knows how to catch and clean fish and build a fire. In this environment, her skills are the only ones that matter, and a new world order is formed.

The third episode on the island is not lesser than the others, but it does start to overstay its welcome. “Triangle of Sadness,” which clocks in at almost two and a half hours, is at its sharpest before the symphony of bodily fluids and survival plots arrive. Östlund could have probably kept the whole story under two. But maybe the maximalism is part of the point since revolution certainly is not. The film won the Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival this year, a gathering that is not without its own excesses.

Maybe Östlund’s thesis was right there at the beginning, on the large screen behind the fashion show: “Cynicism masquerading as optimism.” Again, it’s territory that has been covered before, but one only need look at the shenanigans currently happening at Paris Fashion Week to realize that as hyperbolic as he tried to be, he only scratched the surface.

With Harris Dickinson, Charlbi Dean, Woody Harrelson, Zlatko Buric, Dolly de Leon. Written and directed by Ruben Östlund. 149 minutes. Rated R for some sexual content and language. Opens Oct. 14 at SIFF Cinema Uptown.

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Triangle of Sadness

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Time Out says

After skewering male ego in Force Majeure  and lampooning the art world with The Square , writer-director Ruben Östlund takes the handbrake off altogether with a takedown of the super-rich aboard a superyacht that plays like Buñuel by way of the Farrelly brothers. A film that really goes there – the second half is positively spattered in bodily fluids – it’s hardly subtle, but it’s a wild ride and in many ways, it’s also the perfect comedy for our times.

Two models, Carl (the going-places Harris Dickinson, a compelling blend of thoughtful and vacuous) and his influencer girlfriend Yaya (Charlbi Dean), are our conduit onto the boat. We meet them in a Zoolander -esque prelude on dry land, dealing with the pass-agg slights of the fashion world and bickering about who should be picking up the bill on date night. 

She’s in it for the likes – his secondary function in their relationship is to take pictures of her – and he’s in it for love. Or so he claims. He’s actually jealous and petty, neither honest with himself nor with the world around him. Soon, they’re sunbathing on a vast, freshly polished deck – there on an Instagram freebie, eye-candy for the idle rich aboard who are attended to by a crew drilled to fawn over them. But the pair aren’t the main attaction.  Triangle of Sadness sets Carl and Yaya up as a kind of two-person middle-class sandwiched between the super wealthy and the worker bees aboard, and whose lack of agency in this new world sees them recede temporarily into the background.

Instead, the focus switches to their fellow passengers: a genteel English elderly couple who turn out to be arms manufacturers, a lonely tech billionaire, and Russia’s self-proclaimed ‘King of Shit’, a bloviating fertiliser baron who made his fortune when the Iron Curtain fell and worships at the altar of Reagan and Thatcher. They’re all disgustingly rich, and Triangle of Sadness makes no effort to hide its disgust. The entire crew is forced to take a swim on the whim of the fertiliser king’s bored wife. ‘Everyone’s equal!’ she tells them, without a hint of irony, as they’re forced down the inflatable slide.

It’s a takedown of the super-rich that plays like Buñuel by way of the Farrelly brothers

In an Agatha Christie novel, one of these people would be discovered with a fish knife buried in their back at the end of act one. For this floating metaphor for late-capitalist decay, comeuppance comes in act two, in the shape of a Force 10 gale and a boatload of pirates. Drunken captain (Woody Harrelson) is locked in his cabin quoting Karl Marx over the PA – told you it wasn’t subtle – and soon a handful of survivors are washed up on a seemingly deserted beach.

Östlund doesn’t work particularly hard to disguise the direction his social reversal allegory is taking – the wealthy marooned survivors turn out to be useless, leaving the yacht’s multi-faceted toilet cleaner Abigail (Dolly De Leon) to catch fish, build fires and slowly take charge – and you’ll probably guess where it’s all heading, but there’s such clarity and economy in the way the scenario plays out that it doesn’t matter a jot. If the final moments feel a little late in the day to be introducing an element of obliqueness to things, that’s a rare dud note. For the majority of the film,  Östlund’s combination of sledgehammer and scalpel  work a treat. They’re fast becoming the hallmarks of a satirist who’s unlikely to run short of subject matter any time soon. 

Triangle of Sadness premiered at the Cannes Film Festival .

Cast and crew

• Director: Ruben Östlund
• Screenwriter: Ruben Östlund
• Oliver Ford Davies
• Woody Harrelson
• Harris Dickinson
• Charlbi Dean

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Triangle Of Sadness Review

28 Oct 2022

Triangle Of Sadness

Ruben Östlund loves to take the piss. The Swedish director has made a habit of it in his films, delivering scathing satires of family dynamics ( Force Majeure ) or the pretensions of the art world ( The Square ). This time, the effective enfant terrible of European cinema trains his eye on the wealthy and the privileged, though perhaps not in quite the way you would think; his sixth film is as much a farcical comedy as it is a searing indictment.

The film is divided into three distinct chapters. The first act establishes a very modern supermodel power couple, Carl ( Harris Dickinson ) and Yaya (Charlbi Dean, tragically her final film role), and Östlund’s script delights in poking fun at the fatuousness and status anxieties of the fashion world. (It’s here that the film gets its title — derived from a term casting agents use to describe a triangular area of the face supposedly most prone to wrinkles.)

Then, in the film’s middle section, the couple set sail for a trip on a luxury yacht, invited there for their influencer clout: new money, contrasted with old money. The Insta-influencers rub shoulders with aristocratic Brits who politely explain their family business is in weapons of mass destruction, plus a drooling Russian oligarch (deliciously played by Croatian-Danish actor Zlatko Burić — an oligarch specialist) who made his fortune in waste management, the self-described "king of shit".

Östlund’s filmmaking is pointed, almost sarcastic, and about as subtle as a gold-encrusted sledgehammer.

Finally, when disaster strikes the boat, the third act becomes its own thing entirely, and the film turns into an examination of what happens when the status quo of power, class and currency is recalibrated. Throughout, Östlund’s filmmaking is pointed, almost sarcastic, and about as subtle as a gold-encrusted sledgehammer; there’s nothing either discreet or charming about these bourgeoisie. But it is confidently delivered and enjoyably presented, a vigorously compelling riot of gaudiness. It’s almost like watching a nature documentary: you can’t help but be fascinated and repelled by these grotesque, alien creatures.

The carnival of excess is all staged with immense immediacy — never more so than in the central, 15-minute set-piece of the film. It begins with a captain’s dinner of the ocean’s most unappetising seafood during a stormy night; it ends with nearly all the passengers falling victim to violent sickness and diarrhoea, filmed with the kind of explicit scatological fireworks that would make Monty Python’s Mr Creosote blush. No filmmaker has ever before depicted the inglorious act of coming-out-at-both-ends with such disgusting lucidity.

As the walkouts at its Cannes premiere would suggest, this is arthouse comedy at its most juvenile; filthily fun as they are, sequences like that have about as much depth as a toilet bowl. But it is far too enjoyable a ride to care too much: as the cost-of-living crisis deepens and a recession looms, there’s something acutely cathartic in watching the guts of rich people being emptied out for our pleasure.

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