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Triangle of Sadness

With The Square in 2017, and now Triangle of Sadness, Ruben Östlund has joined a select group of directors who've won the Palme D'Or with consecutive films (Billie August and Michael Haneke being the others, though nine directors have won twice). Rarified air. Add 2014's Force Majeure and that makes up a critically lauded hat trick. With only Force and Triangle to go on (I've been meaning to see Square but, shit, I've been meaning to do loads of stuff), Östlund seems to be furrowing a mildly provocative, fluffy bête-noire niche for himself, not fully blown Von Trier, but it's early doors.

The title refers to the space between your eyes and the top of your nose, and has something to do with modelling pouts, as far as I could tell. The leads, Harris Dickinson (Carl) and Charlbi Dean (Yaya) are gorgeous, young fashion models - Yaya is also an 'influencer', which is the reason they find themselves on a luxury super boat, fraternising with other disgustingly opulent guests. You'll probably have guessed by now that this is a satire on the rich and irritating, though not necessarily a successful one.

It's hard to sympathise with any of the characters, which is fine, but it's also hard to be all that interested in anybody either, and that's more problematic. Carl is a querulous prat, Yaya is a petulant 'me-me' and Woody Harrelson's captain is a feckless blank, presenting as an 'American Marxist'. Some characters slowly begin to win us over once the final third kicks into gear - Yaya, in particular, develops some personality - but by then it's too little, too late. Most of the incidental characters on the boat are pretty thickly trowelled; self-made, drunken Russian oligarchs; extremely well-heeled British pensioners who just happen to be weapons dealers; and oddly, a German stroke victim who can only say 'In den Wolken' (admittedly, that character isn't as prototypical as the others, but she isn't really given much to do other than rant those words).

There's one uproarious sequence in the dining room of the boat during choppy seas - cue wall to wall vomming, followed by some rear-ended, liquid Krakatoas to raise the grotesquery. The audience I saw it with certainly enjoyed it, though I reckon Östlund laid it on a bit thick (if you pardon the imagery). This section is nearly the culmination of the second act, and each of the acts of Triangle (3 points?) are clearly set out to be appreciated in slightly different ways. In my case, the three viewpoints were; Act 1: bemusement; Act 2: discomfort; and Act 3: annoyance. So clearly, 'appreciate' is the wrong word, but I genuinely think Östlund would be satisfied with the affect his film has on audiences. Like it or not, it gives us something to chew over and argue about.

The third act, maddeningly dispensable final scene aside, runs the gamut of influences, from Buñuel and Renoir, to Wertmüller and William Golding. It's a farcical 'chickens coming home to roost' fantasy that many of us welcome (or is it?), but as I said above, it's very hard to give a monkey's about anyone. By this stage, I just didn't care, and that's a shame because there are moments of promise scattered throughout.

Triangle of Sadness is showing at the Somerville Auditorium at UWA for the Perth Festival from Jan 2 - 8.

See also:

Now, I can't remember if I've seen all of these or not, but here are a few satires about class divides: Jean Renoir's fantastic The Rules of the Game (1939), Luis Buñuel's The Exterminating Angel (1962), Jean-Luc Godard's Weekend (1967), and Lina Wertmüller's Swept Away (1974).

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